The Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh [85]
Was this it? She was wondering what to do next when he lifted the backpack off his shoulders and handed it to her. Then both he and the boy withdrew a little — Fokir with his catch of crabs rolled in a length of netting, and Tutul with a bundle of clothes balanced on his head. Fokir motioned to her again to step up to the door and Piya sensed now, from the incline of their bodies, that they were poised to turn away, leaving her where she was. Suddenly she was panicstricken. “Wait!” she cried. “Where are you going?”
She had envisaged many possibilities, but not this — not that they would just walk away with nothing said, not even a goodbye. Nor had it occurred to her that the prospect of their departure would result in such an icy feeling of abandonment.
“Wait. Just a minute.”
Somewhere in the distance a generator was switched on, and a flood of light came pouring out of a nearby window. Piya’s eyes had grown unaccustomed to electricity and she was momentarily blinded by the bright, flat light. Blinking, she dug her fists into her face, and when she opened her eyes again they were gone, both of them, Fokir and the boy.
She remembered that she hadn’t given Fokir any money for bringing her here. How would she ever find him again? She didn’t know where he lived — she didn’t even know his full name. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted into the darkness, “Fokir!”
“Ké?” The answer was spoken in a woman’s voice, and it came not from ahead of her but from behind. Then the door swung open and Piya found herself facing a small, elderly woman with wispy hair and gold-rimmed eyeglasses. “Ké?”
Collecting herself quickly, Piya went up the steps. “Please excuse me. I don’t know if I’ve come to the right place. I’m looking for Mashima.” She said this in a rush, not knowing whether she would be understood or not.
There was an awkward moment during which Piya felt herself to be subjected to a shrewd and searching scrutiny: the gold-rimmed glasses rose and fell as they took in her salt-streaked face and muddy cotton pants. Then, to her great relief, she heard a voice say, in soft, fluting English, “You are indeed in the right place. But tell me — who are you? Do I know you?”
“No,” said Piya. “You don’t know me. My name is Piyali Roy. I met your nephew on the train.”
“Kanai?”
“Yes. Kanai. He invited me to visit.”
“Well, do come in. Kanai will be down any minute.” She stepped aside to let Piya through. “How did you find your way here? Surely you didn’t come alone?”
“No,” said Piya. “I’d never have been able to find you on my own.”
“Then who brought you? I didn’t see anyone outside.”
“They left just as you opened the door —” Before Piya could say any more, the door swung open and Kanai stepped into the doorway, squinting in surprise. “Piya? Is that you?”
“Yes. It is.”
“So you made it after all.”
“That’s right.”
“Good!” He gave her a broad smile. He hadn’t expected to see her quite so soon and was flattered as well as pleased: it seemed like a good augury. “Well, you’ve had an eventful trip.” He looked her up and down, taking in her mud-splattered clothes. “How did you get here?”
“In a rowboat.”
“A rowboat?”
“Yes,” said Piya. “You see, I had an accident soon after I met you.”
In a few short sentences, Piya told them about the events that had led to her fall from the launch. “And then the fisherman jumped in after me — I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t. I’d swallowed a lot of water but he managed to get me back into the boat. But after that I decided it wasn’t safe to get back in the launch with that guard. So I took a chance and asked the fisherman if he knew Mashima. It turned out he did, so I said I’d pay him if he brought me to Lusibari. We would have been here sooner but we had some unexpected encounters.”
“With what?”
“First we met up with some dolphins,” said Piya. “Then this morning we had a brush with a crocodile.”
“Upon my word!” said Nilima. “No injuries I hope.”
“No,” said Piya. “But there could have