Maria sat down in her wing chair in the light from the window repositioning the compress on her elevated ankle tutting at her own carelessness. She had lit a stick of incense and as she sat back she breathed deeply, letting the musk and tuberose erase her frustration. The Diwali candle with its mustique scented oil flickered in an orb of gold on the mantle. With her head tilted back into the warm afternoon sun she closed her eyes and was seventeen again.
They had met in Cochin in the bloom of their youth as the Diwali lights flickered in their pools of oil on every hearth and windowsill, rich and lowly alike, and fireworks sparkled in the sky with swirls of colour and glitter and her world had suddenly been complete. The air smelled of cordite, of saffron and ghee and monkey gods danced from the shadows. She was new to India, new to everywhere, newly escaped from the cardboard life of home to the vibrant sensuality of the East. She was high on her own freedom and a sense of invincibility. At last she began to understand that she could be the pearl in her own oyster.
He had been standing with a crowd of young men, laughing, joking together, familiarity pulsing in the air between them. The men were throwing firecrackers at each others feet, and they revelled in exuberance as the sparks cracked on the bitumen and they escaped the bite of the flash jumping into the air. These were not like the men she had known back home; all mouth and trouser with only echoes and silence between them. These men knew each other to the bone. If there were secrets, grudges, they did not stand between them, a ghost in the gathering to be released by beer. There was openness here; the laughter was a bond not a jibe at the others' expense.
Her eyes met his in laughter as she looked on at their fun not knowing how to join the dance, then a chance rocket thrown from somewhere in the darkness flared into fate, speeding towards him, and she let out a sudden squeak of fright. He kicked it away unharmed and it skittered away down an alley, it's path momentarily lighting a series of images, abandoned boxes, a bicycle propped against the wall, sleeping dogs, a bundle of newspapers, an old cart: a penny peep-show of images, there one second gone the next. By the time she looked back he was crossing the street, his arms reaching for her in concern.
"Eh! Little mouse, are you ok?"
"It just startled me. No harm done"
"You need a drink, something for the shock." It was not a question. This was a pick up line,surely. She had been disappointed at the prescriptive nature of it: pick up naive tourist, get her drunk: so predictable.The smile began to slink away from her face, closely followed by his, and she was about to say sorry, that she wasn't much of a drinker when he spoke again, with hope and a pipkin of something else, pleading, desire, she couldn't tell, "I know the best place for fresh Lassi." So he was different. She warmed again, looking at his open face.
"Come. We go. You will come with me little mouse?" He seemed uncertain, a little bashful and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to reassure him.
"Of course, thank you."
He guided her gently by the elbow and pointed further down the street. They sat together on a rickety wooden bench, smoothed by trade not industry, and he ordered for them both. When it came the lassi was cool and sweet and creamy, flavoured with the familiar and unfamiliar; rose and guava. They sipped slowly and breathed in the scent of night, absorbing the moment. As she remembered this first shared moment, the frisson of heat between them, she could feel the kindling igniting in her heart again. She remembered what it had been like to be vital, impetuous, fortified by youth. She had been ready for adventure, unquestioningly open.
Entranced by the amber light in his eyes she had sold her soul to the great elephant god, Ganesh, in exchange for a taste of love. After the lassi glasses were drained and the wallah dozed behind his counter they left coins on the table and walked away into deep suede shadows between flickering lights, through a maze of streets, sinking further and further into each other's spell. As the noise of the festivities dwindled the sound of their desire expanded to fill the silence. It was a white noise that expunged all else as first their eyes met, then their lips, soft and expectant.
They had walked with more purpose then, driven on by a deep yearning to know the pleasure of each other. A light shone through the tunnel ahead and he had pulled her through an old stone archway to his rooms. There was no judgement, no awkwardness, no discussion, just a hunger to close the gaps between them. His window was lit by a lamp from beneath giving the room a honey glow and he was revealed in a golden glory. They lit an emergency flair on their youthful love stripping their clothes and dropping them to the floor.mShe bathed in the warmth of desire in his eyes, admired his taught, lithe frame. He lit the coals at the core of her with his first tentative strokes with promises of a unique symphony about to be written between them. His skin was as smooth as dusted milk truffles and she tasted every mouthful of him. He had been the first to see her, to complete her. He gave the gift of love, the promise of a different kind of life, of so much more than she had ever known.
For a month they soaked in each other, consumed one another. Had she been a finger puppet to his majesty, a mouse to his cat? She didn't think so. The scales were even. But then she had returned home. He said he would follow but weeks turned to months and cobwebs dusted on her dreams. Her hopes were disappointed: mutton dressed as sheep, yet still she treasured the memory of their time. Through him she had known love and for the first time believed she was worthy of being loved.
She opened her eyes to the haze of incense and slowly lifted her foot down from the stool letting the cool compress fall away from her swollen ankle and went to make a cup of earl grey. There used to be some consolation in these daydreams but the tables had turned recently. A weight of disappointed hopes hung about her now. She was not one to mope though; she knew she had a lot to be thankful for. She smiled a salute to the memory and blew out the Diwali wick then shuffled down the Indian carpet runner to her bedroom knowing she would feel better after forty winks.
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