The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [52]
This was Kanai’s last glimpse of Kusum. The next day Nirmal announced to him that his exile was over and he was to be taken back to Kolkata.
STIRRINGS
ALTHOUGH THE MOON was only three-quarters full, it cast such a bright sheen on the river’s surface that the water seemed to be glowing from within. Although the night was cool, there was no wind and not a sound was to be heard from the shore. Turning over in drowsy discomfort, Piya adjusted the sari that was her pillow and found her head resting against the boat’s wooden prow. Her sleep was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a great bustle: a restless, scraping, scratching noise was echoing through the timber, percolating up from the boat’s bowels. It took a few minutes for Piya to work out that this was merely the sound of the boat’s live cargo of crabs, scurrying about in the hold. She could hear the rattle of their shells, the clattering of their claws and the rustling of leaves and branches: it was as though she were a giant listening to the stirrings of a subterranean city.
The boat rocked as if under the shifting of someone’s weight, and she glanced down to see that Fokir was sitting up in the center of the craft with a blanket draped tent-like around his shoulders. She had thought him to be asleep under the shelter, but there was a boulderlike immobility about him that suggested he had been sitting there for some time. He seemed to feel the touch of her gaze, for he turned to look in her direction, and when he saw she was awake gave her a smile that was both apologetic and self-mocking. It warmed her to think of him sitting there, keeping watch as she and Tutul slept. She remembered the moment when his hand had touched her in the water and how violently she had tried to fight it off until she understood it was not a predator that had touched her but a human being, someone she could trust, someone who would not hurt her. In remembering this, she was amazed to think that no more than a few hours had passed since she had tumbled out of that launch and into the water. The memory caused a tremor to shake her body, and when she shut her eyes it was as if the water had closed around her again and she was back in those swift, eerily glowing depths where the sunlight had no orientation and it was impossible to know which way was up and which down.
SHE FELT THE BOAT move under her and realized she was shivering. She was trying to calm herself, taking one deep breath after another, when she felt a firm, cool touch on her shoulder — and this too was strangely reminiscent of her fall, for she knew it was Fokir. Opening her eyes, she saw he was looking worriedly into her face and she tried to force a smile — but it turned into a grimace for her body would not stop its convulsive shaking. She could feel his anxiety deepening now, so she placed her hand on his and he took hold of it and stretched himself out beside her. His salty, sun-soaked smell was in her nostrils now, and through the blanket that separated them she could feel the sharpness of his ribs. His body seemed to warm her coverings, dissipating the clammy sensation that had seized her limbs. When her shivering stopped she sat up abruptly in embarrassment. He sprang back at the same time and she knew he was just as discomfited as she was. She wished she could think of a way to let him know it was all right — nothing had been misunderstood, no wrong had been done. But all she could do was clear her throat noisily and say thank you. Then, mercifully, as if to rescue them from the awkwardness of the moment, Tutul cried out in his sleep. Immediately Fokir slid away to comfort his son.
Piya lowered her head again to the bunched-up sari she was using as a pillow, and it seemed to her now that in the folds of the fabric she could smell the presence of the garment’s owner: it was almost as if this other woman had suddenly materialized in the boat. Piya was glad to think she could have said to her exactly what she had said to Fokir: that no wrong had been done and nothing