The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [29]
A large building suddenly came into view, capturing Kanai’s attention. “What’s that, over there?”
“That’s the hospital,” said Nilima. “Is this the first time you’re seeing it?”
“Yes,” said Kanai. “I haven’t been to Lusibari since it was built.”
The lights that flanked the hospital’s entrance each seemed to be enclosed within a moving, buzzing halo of its own. When the cyclevan rolled past, Kanai saw that this effect was created by clouds of insects. Also clustered beneath the bulbs were groups of schoolchildren, sitting on the ground with books open on their laps.
“Aren’t those electric lights?” Kanai said in surprise.
“Yes, they are.”
“But I thought Lusibari hadn’t got electricity yet?”
“We have electricity within this compound,” said Nilima. “But just for a few hours each day, from sunset till about nine.”
One of the Trust’s benefactors, Nilima explained, had donated a generator, and the machine was turned on for a few hours in the evening so that the hospital’s staff could have a period of heightened activity in which to prepare for the stillness of the night. As for the children, they too were drawn to the hospital by its lights. It was easier to study there than at home, and cheaper too, since it saved oil and candles.
“And that’s where we’re going,” said Nilima, pointing ahead to a two-story house separated from the hospital by a pond and a stand of coconut trees. Small and brightly painted, the house had the cheerful look of a whitewashed elementary school. The guest rooms were upstairs, Nilima explained, while the flat on the ground floor was the home in which she and her late husband had lived since the mid-1970s. Nirmal’s study, where all his papers were stored, was on the roof.
After Nilima had dismounted from the cycle-van, she handed Kanai a key: “This opens the door to your uncle’s study. You should go upstairs and have a look — you’ll find the packet on his desk. I wanted to take you there myself but I’m too tired.”
“I’ll manage on my own,” said Kanai. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Kanai was heading for the stairs with his suitcase when Nilima called out, as an afterthought, “The generator will be switched off at nine, so be prepared. Don’t be caught off-guard when the lights go out.”
FOKIR
ONLY AFTER THE LAUNCH had disappeared from view was Piya able to breathe freely again. But now, as her muscles loosened, the delayed shock she had been half expecting set in as well. Her limbs began to quiver and all of a sudden her chin was knocking a drumbeat on her kneecaps; in a moment she was shivering hard enough to shake the boat, sending ripples across the water.
There was a touch on her shoulder, and she turned sideways to see the child standing beside her. He put his arm around her and clung to her back, hugging her, trying to warm her body with his own. She closed her eyes and did not open them again until the chattering of her teeth had stopped.
Now it was the fisherman who was in front of her, squatting on his haunches and looking into her face with an inquiring frown. Slowly, as her shivering passed, his face relaxed into a smile. With a finger on his chest, pointing at himself, he said, “Fokir.” She understood that this was his name and responded with her own: “Piya.” With a nod of acknowledgment, he turned to the boy and said, “Tutul.” Then his forefinger moved, from himself to the boy and back again, and she knew he was telling her the boy was his son.
“Tutul.”
Looking closely at the child she saw he was even younger than she had thought, perhaps no more than five years old. He was wearing a threadbare sweater against the November chill. Below this hung a pair of huge, discolored shorts that looked as though they had once belonged to a school uniform. He had something in his hands, and when he held it up she saw it was her laminated flashcard. She had no idea where he had found it but was pleased to see it again. He brought it to her, holding it in front of him like a tray,