Friday, 09 March 2007
Oh, wait a minute. There is a noise in the garden. I call it the garden, but it is really the little plot next to the carport. I keep the door open; there is a mosquito net to stop insects getting in. It does not work sometimes. Once a frog got in, I assume under the front door. A quite tall and rather beautiful woman is there, and knocks at the grill, using her key. We exchange greetings.
‘I’m so sorry to disturb you.’
Her voice has a delicate, yet firm timbre. She enunciates clearly, and it is clear that she is bright. She is lost. Can I help her? I look at her, the knee-length skirt, the patterned top, the modest high heels, and the long tied-back brown hair. She looks clean and fresh, even in the humid air of the tropics. I tell her that I do not know the person she is trying to see, a shopkeeper called Chong; I do not know the area she mentions, either. That is a bit unusual, because I know many people here. It’s not a very big place. I invite her in. She takes a seat, leans back, and crosses her legs. I have a good view of her legs. I try to focus on the situation.
‘Would you like a drink? I have water, or beer, or I can make a cup of tea. What would you like?’
She wants some tea. I make her a cup, and bring it into the lounge. She has her eyes closed, as if sleeping, but I know she is not.
‘Here you are.’
She opens her eyes, and gives a warm smile.
‘Thank you, that’s lovely.’
Not as lovely as you are, I think. I put the cup and saucer on the low lounge table next to the television remote controls, and sit opposite her. She tells me she is from the capital, and has come on business, to collect some money. It is not a huge amount, but enough to make it worthwhile to come over to this part of the country. She works for a company that makes cakes and biscuits. There are ten people like her, each responsible for one part of the country.
‘They order so much from us, and then at the end of the month, tell us they can’t pay. We are not a big company, I mean, we are not on the Stock Exchange, and cash flow is important to us. Therefore, from time to time, I have to come across here and try to get the money that they owe us. When we come in person, they usually settle there and then; they don’t like to be embarrassed, with customers in the shop. And we can see that they’re doing good business, too.’
I listen to her, but at the same time watch her body movements. She is very self-assured; that is not a surprise if one thinks of the work she does. She isn’t wearing a wedding ring. I am warming to her. I begin to think how I can ask her out for a meal, without wishing to seem too forward, or too eager.
‘How long are you planning to be here?’
‘I’ll be here just as long as it takes. If I can get them to pay us, I’ll leave right away. Well, maybe after lunch.’
I wasn’t free for lunch tomorrow. I had a meeting with a client. I couldn’t get away from that. That was a real nuisance. She was looking at me, with a look of puzzlement.
‘You seem a bit worried, is everything okay?’
I came back to the present.
‘Oh, yes, fine. I was thinking about tomorrow.’
She kept looking at me.
‘I have an important meeting with a long-standing client.’
‘What business are you in?’
I told her about the small interior design company I worked for, and the things we did, and where. She seemed quite interested in it. She looked around the room.
‘Yes’, she said quietly, ‘that fits. You can see the artist’s touch here. You are very talented, and I like the way you arrange your things. It is a lovely room, very comfortable and warm. I mean, a warm atmosphere, welcoming and relaxing.’
I thanked her. She got up and walked across to the bookcase, looking at the photographs. She turned and said in surprise,
‘This is you!’
I knew what she was referring to without getting up. I told her about the time I was in the army.
‘It must surprise a lot of people when they find out you’re ex-army... and a Major too.’
She walked back over to the armchair and curled up in it. It began to rain, a first a light muttering in the foliage and on the tarmac, but within two or three minutes, it had become a full monsoon downpour. She turned around and looked out of the window at the street. The orange glow of the lamps gave the rain the beauty of small insects in flight. She turned back and picked up her tea. I ask her if she would like another cup.
‘No, thank you. One is fine. It’s nice tea. You make a good cup.’
‘Thank you. It’s from Sri Lanka. It has a nice bouquet, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, very pleasant. I must get some myself when I get back tomorrow. I always shop on a Thursday.
I wanted to know why. She laughed.
‘It’s simple. On Friday morning, the rubbish lorry comes around, so by shopping on Thursday, I can get rid of a lot of packaging, and some of the tins, too. I take out what I want for dinner, as well as what I want the next day. Things keep in a bowl or on a plate in the fridge until the next day, don’t they? It means I have a lot less clutter round the house.’
She seemed pleased with herself. I had to agree. It was good thinking. The rain continued to pour down. Part of the street was under water. It didn’t sound as if was going to stop anytime soon. I asked her if she was hungry. She wasn’t. She sighed and lay back in the armchair.
‘Is it alright if I wait until the rains eases a bit? I’ll get soaked getting to the car.'
‘Of course you can.’
The last thing I wanted was for her to go. The longer she remained here, the better.
‘I told you a bit about myself; why don’t you tell me something about yourself - where you’re from, your work, anything.’
She looked at me.
‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ I told her, biting my lower lip. ‘I just thought it’s a way to pass the time. I’m not trying to be nosey, please don’t think that.’
She smiled.
‘No, I don’t think that. You’re too nice to be like that.’
That makes me happy. She began to talk about her life. She came from a small family over on the west coast. She had finished high school when she was nineteen, and then had done a secretarial course for a year. She had worked for a number of small firms over a period of some ten years. Then, for a chance, she had decided to try her hand at marketing. She joined a well-known company and worked for them for four years. Though she found the work enjoyable, she was based in the far north, and this made it hard for her to get to see her family. It took both time and money to go so far. She resigned and joined her present firm, earning a little less, with fewer benefits, but working from the head office, just ten to fifteen minutes from her parents’ house. She had a small apartment just a few minutes walk away from them.
I had to ask her.
‘Do you have a regular man in your life?’
She laughed.
‘No.’
I wait for her to continue, but she didn’t. I try to push her a bit.
‘Any reason why not? I mean, you’re a very attractive woman.’
I can see her blushing, just a little.
‘Thank you. No, it’s just that I’m happy on my own at the moment.’
That is good news for me. There was a short pause.
‘That’s not quite true.’
I felt a slight tightening in my throat. She went on.
‘I have someone that I see from time to time, but it’s not a full-blown relationship.’
I feel better.
‘Not yet.’
I feel bad again.
‘We get on very well, but maybe that’s because we aren’t together the whole time. I just don’t know, it’s confusing for me.’
I tell her I understand, even though I don’t think I do. The clock on the wall shows 9 15. The rain has let up a bit, but not that much. A taxi goes by, the little yellow light on the top glowing through the thick rain. It stops a couple of doors away, on the other side of the street. I hear the door slam shut, and the splashing as the person runs to their house. The taxi goes off, its engine noise mixing with the sound of the rain. I think of what I can do next. It’s that time in a meeting with someone when you don’t know what to talk about, when the talking just seems to stop and nothing takes its place, and you think you are awkward and empty. This was one of those times now, increased by a factor of three. I leaned forward towards the low table and picked up the cup and saucer.
‘I’ll rinse these. Would you like to watch the news … oh, you can’t, sorry. It goes off in heavy rain.’
It is a feeble excuse to do something, just to break away from the silence. I go to the back and wash the things. The neighbours’ rear light is on, the wall of their house a bright white, gleaming in the rain. The trees form a silhouette against it. A frog honks somewhere. The water in the drain is noisy from the sheer volume coming from the roof down through the pipe. I get a glass from the cupboard and have a drink of water, wash it out, and go back to the lounge. She is adjusting her hair, taking a clip out, and then replacing it. She looks up at me.
‘I’m so sorry to trouble you like this,’ brushing a loose hair away from her eye.
I tell her that it is quite all right and how much I enjoy her being here. It is true. But I can’t tell her yet. I don’t know her well enough. I realise that her skirt and blouse are her company clothes. The blouse is a pale green; an aquamarine with a gentle palm tree pattern. The green is intermixed with delicate thin flecks of yellow and brown. It is very pretty, and it suits her to a tee. The skirt is a pale brown, khaki, and around her waist is a thin leather belt. Her shoes are a rich brown that complement the colour of her bare legs. She is a woman who, it is clear, takes care of her body and her appearance. We talk for some time, about what I cannot recall. The rain is easing now, and in a few minutes stops altogether, or nearly altogether. She gets up and I feel my heart pounding. I want to touch her. She slings her handbag over her shoulder. It says Gucci, but these days here, it might be a fake. I think not though, with this woman. She extends her arm to shake hands.
‘Thank you so much. It was nice to meet you.’
That usually means that is it, in my experience. It’s like a personal form of the company ‘thank you for phoning, we’ll contact you if there’s an opening.’ I take her hand. It is firm and warm. I try to smile. I put my other hand on her shoulder, and gently move my thumb, as if giving a mini-massage, before taking it away. She keeps holding my right hand. I withdraw it, and then out both hands on her hips. I hear her breathe in, and I see her swallow. She puts her hands on my shoulders, and we just hold each other. How long this goes on, I don’t know. Right now, I hope it goes on a long time. We come closer and hold each other closer. I am so near to her hair that I can smell the lightness of her cologne, mixing with her own perfume. I am in a bouquet of contentment. I feel her hand come down, caressing my arms. I put my hands under her blouse and feel the warmth of her skin, and the slight beating of her heart. A dog barks, joined by a few, and the aroma of the night’s rain on the earth begins to come into the house …
That is it. You can imagine the ending. I’m not writing anything else. Why? It is because I do not want to write anything else. I want to finish the story. I don’t care if you’re unhappy about it. There is no law, as far as I know, that orders one to complete a story. What would happen if I had an accident and could not write? You can complete it yourself. That is your problem. No one forced you, or ordered you, to read it.
You’re not in school and the teacher tells you to read it. It’s not a set text. Therefore, don’t complain. You have wasted, oh, how many minutes of you life reading it - ten, fifteen at the most; it’s hardly earth-shattering entertainment, is it? Be honest, what would you have done if you hadn’t read it? Watch TV, have a beer, a cup of tea, maybe in a small house you might have cut the lawn. I couldn’t.
I said I couldn’t. It’s obvious what I’m talking about, isn’t it?
It is to me. We are talking about the lawn, aren’t we? Right, you’re with me now?
I couldn’t cut the lawn in fifteen minutes. It takes me fifty.
No, I am not being ridiculous; you were the one that was complaining in the first place. I just said that, if you had not read the story, there were very few things that you could have accomplished in the time that you did read the story.
Then, I gave the example of cutting the grass, and I said it would take me a lot longer than the time it took you to read this. If you are that unhappy, tell everyone. You could phone people, and ask then to phone ten other people, and so on. You could put a notice in the newspaper.
‘I advise you not to read the story because it has a stupid ending.'
I would like you to do that, in fact, because the first thing people will do is go and read it.
I know the end is quite stupid; so what? I thought it would be different. You work it out.
I don’t know if they fell in love. Did they get married? Maybe they did, maybe not. I did not mention the gender of the Major; Of course, it might be a woman; these days, you can have a same-sex marriage. Two women in the army did, not that long ago. The British Army, of course. No, I didn’t read the story. I saw the newspaper in the corner shop. You have women of high rank in the Armed Forces. Why can’t you be in the army and then become an interior designer? People change careers, nothing unusual about that. You want me to finish the story? Now?
Right, I'll complete it...now.
