of the one who had called out: it was stone serious,and she was staring up ahead. And now I turned and could see, coming down the stairs towards us, four men. They were young and of Indian origin, all with short squarely cut hair that stood stiffly in the most traditional way, and two of them wore long fat snakes about their necks and chests. The young woman shrieked, “Move aside!” The men looked at her. They were bounding down the stairway lithely, as if the snakes were beach towels. “Move aside, get to the side,” she shouted at them, more authoritatively than before. They finally obliged, stepping now to the far edge of the stairway to make more room for us to continue quickly past them.
“I ’fraid them things. Don’t make joke with me around them things, you hear!” the young woman said as she passed them, the voice that had been so high-pitched and bright some seconds before now dark and thick. As I had passed, I’d turned to get a good look at the snakes—an unusual thing for me, as I am one of those people who can’t even bear to look at the image of a snake, much less the real thing. They were so thick that the outline of their scales was quite visible inside patches of cream demarcated by black, and brown patches also outlined in black, and ochre patches of irregular shape, and yellow and black spots. The snakes had the full roundness of motorcycle tires, and did not seem to be limply resting, but rather to be quite alert; the pointed head of one was angled towards the beach front. Their underbellies could be seen in parts and here they were white, the scales less smooth. The eye that I saw in swift passing hada light brown glassiness. Although I am terrified of snakes, when I saw that Zain had hunched her shoulders and turned her back to the men, utter disgust on her face, I wanted to embrace and comfort her. But of course I did not dare to do so, not even around this new and liberated brand of young women. I feared that I, and not the snakes, would become the centre of attraction.
Darkness fell fast, as it does in the tropics. On the way back to the car, Zain turned off onto the golf course road. Farther ahead, she stopped. She turned off the lights and the engine. We were engulfed in pitch-blackness. “What are you doing?” I asked, my concern about safety in such a remote area juggling in my mind against the remote possibility that she was creating an opportunity for something more between us. “I have something I want to tell you, Sid,” she said. And then she told me the news that would eventually haunt me, and it haunts me still—that she had come to know someone, someone who had come to mean a great deal to her, and whom she wanted me to meet.
Unaware that I had stopped breathing, she continued. She and this someone had met in the grocery, in the lineup at the cashier. They’d been seeing one another for some months now. Angus didn’t know, of course. And she’d told him, this new man, a great deal about me.
I knew I needed to say something, but all I could manage was an insipid “Well, that’s a bit of a shock.”
Zain repeated—as if I might not have understood—that this man meant a great deal to her and that she wantedme to meet him. I couldn’t answer. After a moment’s strained silence, she apologized for asking me, and started up the car. On the way back to Cynthia’s bake and fish, Zain told me, as if trying to explain, all the usual sorts of things—he was handsome, smart, attentive and was living on a big beautiful boat that was permanently moored in the harbour near the yacht club; he was caring, he was lean and muscular, and his skin glowed red from the sun; he was gentle and rough at once, but his roughness was never to hurt her, only to weaken her with delight, and on and on. I had heard more than I cared to know. I responded only that I hadn’t realized she and Angus were having problems, to which she answered, “Well, that’s the thing. Angus and I have no
“I ’fraid them things. Don’t make joke with me around them things, you hear!” the young woman said as she passed them, the voice that had been so high-pitched and bright some seconds before now dark and thick. As I had passed, I’d turned to get a good look at the snakes—an unusual thing for me, as I am one of those people who can’t even bear to look at the image of a snake, much less the real thing. They were so thick that the outline of their scales was quite visible inside patches of cream demarcated by black, and brown patches also outlined in black, and ochre patches of irregular shape, and yellow and black spots. The snakes had the full roundness of motorcycle tires, and did not seem to be limply resting, but rather to be quite alert; the pointed head of one was angled towards the beach front. Their underbellies could be seen in parts and here they were white, the scales less smooth. The eye that I saw in swift passing hada light brown glassiness. Although I am terrified of snakes, when I saw that Zain had hunched her shoulders and turned her back to the men, utter disgust on her face, I wanted to embrace and comfort her. But of course I did not dare to do so, not even around this new and liberated brand of young women. I feared that I, and not the snakes, would become the centre of attraction.
Darkness fell fast, as it does in the tropics. On the way back to the car, Zain turned off onto the golf course road. Farther ahead, she stopped. She turned off the lights and the engine. We were engulfed in pitch-blackness. “What are you doing?” I asked, my concern about safety in such a remote area juggling in my mind against the remote possibility that she was creating an opportunity for something more between us. “I have something I want to tell you, Sid,” she said. And then she told me the news that would eventually haunt me, and it haunts me still—that she had come to know someone, someone who had come to mean a great deal to her, and whom she wanted me to meet.
Unaware that I had stopped breathing, she continued. She and this someone had met in the grocery, in the lineup at the cashier. They’d been seeing one another for some months now. Angus didn’t know, of course. And she’d told him, this new man, a great deal about me.
I knew I needed to say something, but all I could manage was an insipid “Well, that’s a bit of a shock.”
Zain repeated—as if I might not have understood—that this man meant a great deal to her and that she wantedme to meet him. I couldn’t answer. After a moment’s strained silence, she apologized for asking me, and started up the car. On the way back to Cynthia’s bake and fish, Zain told me, as if trying to explain, all the usual sorts of things—he was handsome, smart, attentive and was living on a big beautiful boat that was permanently moored in the harbour near the yacht club; he was caring, he was lean and muscular, and his skin glowed red from the sun; he was gentle and rough at once, but his roughness was never to hurt her, only to weaken her with delight, and on and on. I had heard more than I cared to know. I responded only that I hadn’t realized she and Angus were having problems, to which she answered, “Well, that’s the thing. Angus and I have no
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