Coconut Dreams Page 7

  I looked around the room—it was like everything here had a story. I avoided looking at the urn and asked, “Which antique is your favourite?”

  “That one’s very special because we both picked it out, but I don’t think I’ve got a favourite. There’s something about each piece I love. They hold on to a time and place that doesn’t exist anymore. And help you remember the way things used to be.”

  “Did you like antiques when you were my age?”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Eight.”

  “Eight already! Both you and your brother look so much younger than your age, just like your mother and father.”

  “Is that another thing I inherited?”

  “Yes, indeed. I swear, time touches your family’s faces more gently than others’. Now, when I was your age, regretfully, I didn’t like antiques. Our house in Goa was full of them, too, and we didn’t even know it. We took all those old things for granted, and played with them and broke them. There were so many things in Africa that would be antiques now, too, but we couldn’t take any of them with us. We had to leave it all behind when we came here.”

  audrey

  Herman and I were watching the lions laze around when, one by one, all the other drivers got on their radios, started their engines, and began to drive back to the road.

  “They must have heard of something else,” Herman said. “We should get going.”

  “Yes, and I still have to pee, Herman.”

  “Oh yes, sorry! Let’s go.”

  Less than a mile later, I noticed something on the horizon beyond the silhouette of a few acacia trees. I looked through the binoculars. “Elephants!”

  “Where?” Herman asked.

  “Your side. Let’s go, Herman.”

  “I thought you had to pee?”

  “I can hold it for elephants.”

  “But we’ll miss our safari.”

  “This is a safari.” I put my hand on Herman’s hand that held the steering wheel. “Let’s quickly see them and then head back.”

  Again, we turned off the road, but this time had to go farther to get close enough to see the animals.

  The farther we drove, the damper and more exposed the grass became, as if we were following the path that the elephants had stamped down.

  We approached the acacias, the trees revealing individual thorns, leaves, and branches, and one of the bigger elephants trumpeted a warning to let us know we’d come close enough. Herman stopped the Jeep.

  We’d been closer with the lions, but through the binoculars I could clearly see a family of ten elephants, including a baby. “So cute!” I said. The calf’s walk was clumsy amongst the giants all around, but it was never knocked over.

  The sun was setting behind us, casting the savannah in an amber glow. A glow I felt as well. The animals were engrossing: lumbering steps and quick twists of the tail, grand flapping ears and swinging trunks that gently probed. Like a dance.

  Herman put his hand on my shoulder and said, “We should get going.”

  I realized the sun had set and light was fading. “Yes, let’s go,” I said. “I’m glad we came.”

  Herman turned the Jeep around in the direction of the road. We both saw the muddy depression in the grass too late. Our front tires made it through okay, but the back tires sank into the thick mud. We tilted forward in our seats as the Jeep lurched to a stop.

  Herman stepped on the gas. The wheels spun and sent mud flying behind us. He tried going in reverse, also without luck.

  “Hakuna matata,” he said. “Let me get out and give it a push.”

  “You’re going outside?”

  “Just right here.”

  I looked around to see if there was any wildlife in sight; the elephants were once again dots on the horizon, and it felt like they were abandoning us.

  “When I tell you, press the gas to the floor.”

  “Be careful.”

  I moved into the driver’s seat. On the count of three, we tried four times to push, before realizing we were royally stuck.

  Herman returned to the Jeep. “Someone will be by.”

  “All the way out here?” I looked out the window. The acacias now looked menacing and the tall, wavering grass looked like anything could come crawling out of it. “Herman?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have to pee.”

  ally

  When Simba was lured into the canyon, both Auntie and I fell silent. After the wildebeest had stampeded, and the cloud of dust had cleared away from his father, I thought again of my grandpa, and Mom going to see him.

  “Did you know my grandpa?” I asked Auntie.

  “I met him when I was younger, but we moved soon after. I heard he was a nice man, though.”

  “How come he died?”

  Auntie took a deep breath. “You know he had troubles with his heart.”

  “I know, but why did he die before I met him?”

  “That’s a very hard question to answer, honey.” She let the breath out in a long, slow exhale. “Every day I ask myself why my Herman had to die, and I don’t think there’s an answer that makes sense. Every morning I come downstairs and touch that urn on the mantel.” She raised a single finger, as if saying hello. “Herman wanted his ashes spread across the plains where we went for our honeymoon. But I haven’t been able to move the urn from that spot since the day I brought it home. Before Herman was diagnosed, we had always talked about going back to visit, but never made the trip in time.”

  Auntie rubbed her eye. I couldn’t tell if she was hiding a tear, and I wondered if she needed a hug. But she just got up, her knees cracking. “How about some ice cream, Ally? Think you can squeeze it in?”

  She went to the kitchen and I looked at the urn on the mantel again. I didn’t turn away this time. I went closer, reached up, and touched the urn lightly with my finger. It was cool and smooth. I wasn’t scared. I went to go give Auntie a hug, but when I peeked around the kitchen corner, she was sitting on the stool with her face in her hands.

  audrey

  My knees cracked as I squatted just outside the open door of the Jeep. I’d told Herman not to look while I went, but also to watch out for predators in the growing dark.

  Just as I was finishing, I spotted something small moving in the distance. I pulled my shorts back up in a hurry, dove back into the Jeep, and shut the door. “What is that there?”

  Herman squinted through the binoculars. “Just a Thomson’s gazelle. Not going eat you.”

  I took the binoculars and saw the tiny deerlike animal with a tail that spun like a propeller. As it ran away, I took a few deep breaths to steady myself.

  “I should just walk back to the road and get help,” Herman said.

  “You’ll do no such thing.” I buttoned up my shorts. “We need to remain calm. Now, if we’re relatively safe in the car, then we are going to stay here.”

  “The whole night?”

  “We should have enough water, and we still have that mutton curry. Thank goodness we packed it.”

  Herman scratched the top of his head. “I suppose you’re right.”

  We listened as the chorus of nocturnal insects began to grow louder, as if signalling an uneasy awakening around us.

  ally

  I didn’t think Auntie wanted me to know she was crying, so I didn’t go give her a hug. After a couple of minutes I called out from the family room, “You’re going to miss the good part, Auntie,” hoping it would help cheer her up.

  She came back with two bowls and handed me one. She had sprinkled nutmeg on top of the vanilla ice cream. I hadn’t had it like that before and it tasted great, but I still felt bad for her.

  “Hakuna matata,” she sang, along with the movie.

  “No worries. I know that one,” I said.

  “Yes, n
o problem. I haven’t heard that in years. And Pumbaa’s name means ‘silly.’ This movie brings back so many memories.” Auntie stared at the TV screen for a minute before continuing. “I’ll always cherish my time in Kenya. All our children were born there. Herman started our first restaurant there, too. Such a busy and stressful time it was. We had to work very, very hard, but it all seemed so worthwhile.” A spoonful of ice cream hovered over and dripped into her bowl. “If I could only go back—it was just…golden.”

  It felt like she actually did go there. She sat still, staring at the TV screen, but wasn’t watching the movie. For a moment it seemed like I was alone in the house, but she came back a few seconds later, sliding the spoon back into her bowl.

  “I suppose everyone has a time in their life they’d like to return to, where they forget the bad and the good shines a little brighter.”

  audrey

  The stars were out in the sky when Herman and I shared the small meal from the metal tiffin. With our hands, we tore chapatis and pinched up mutton and sauce.

  Herman licked his fingers as he finished the last bite. “We’re lucky the lions haven’t tasted my mutton curry. We’d be in big trouble if so.”

  “You’re a better cook than you are a driver, mister jack-of-all-trades.”

  Herman kissed me on the cheek and pulled two hard caramel candies out of his pocket. “Dessert.”

  I smiled, running my fingers across the top of his smooth, bald head. “My Harry-Man.”

  I took his bottom lip in between mine, but we were interrupted by an elephant trumpeting in the distance. We looked out the windows and listened. Nothing. And then Harry was kissing me again, and we forgot all that was outside. The windows of the Jeep fogged up until we couldn’t see the stars.

  ally

  Auntie and I clinked our spoons around the inside of our ice cream bowls for the last melted drops.

  “Ally, did I tell you what happened to Herman and me on our honeymoon safari?”

  I shook my head.

  “Our Jeep got stuck in the mud and we ended up spending the whole night out in the wild.”

  “What did you do all night?”

  Auntie had a smile on her face. “Oh, you know. Talked.”

  “How did you get out?”

  “In the morning another truck came by and used a winch to pull us free.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever go back?” I asked.

  Auntie put her bowl down beside her. “I’m not sure. Ally, I think you ask more questions than all of my kids combined.”

  I was glad to hear her laugh again. “Mom said you should never stop asking questions,” I said. “Because then God will think that you’ve gotten all of your answers.”

  “Your mother is a very smart lady. I think Herman would want me asking more questions, too.”

  In the morning, I put my shoes on in the foyer to get ready for my dad, who was on his way to pick me up. I thanked Auntie for the blueberry oatmeal breakfast and for taking care of me. She said it was her pleasure.

  After I finished tying my laces, I stood up and noticed something different in the family room. The urn of Auntie’s husband wasn’t on the mantel. It was on the end table.

  Auntie caught me staring, and said, “One step closer to Africa. Think she’s strong enough?”

  I looked from the woman under the table to my aunt standing over me, and knew she was.

  Two Islands

  The ferry’s engine hummed, and you could taste the salt in the breeze. Thomas and Emma sat on hard plastic chairs with their luggage by their feet. They had left Port Blair a few hours earlier, but the boat ride on the Andaman Sea had not felt long until that stocky man, also from the UK, came over to chat with them.

  “So, which island are you two going to?” asked the man. “Let me guess—Havelock?”

  “Seems to be the consensus on board,” Emma said.

  “Some of the most beautiful, most secluded beaches in India—so says Lonely Planet. Best of the Andaman Islands, I’m sure.” The man wore a beige, wide-brimmed hat, the kind you might wear on a desert safari. His collared shirt matched his hat, and dark chest hair sprouted above the last fastened button.

  “Well, beauty is a matter of taste. Don’t you think?” Thomas said.

  The man’s puzzled look vanished when the ferry’s engine stalled and restarted with a judder, sending him wobbling around the deck. “Bloody hell,” he said, grabbing the railing. “I’ll be making a complaint when I get back to Port Blair. I guarantee India wasn’t run this way when it was under the British Empire.”

  Thomas turned to Emma, who was holding her stomach and looking sick. He passed her his water bottle and said to the man, “I think most Indian people would disagree with you. And we’re actually going to Neil Island.”

  “Are you daft, man?” He pulled out his guidebook and opened it to a bookmarked and highlighted page. “Listen to what it says about Havelock: ‘White sand, dazzling sunsets, and still untouched by tourists.’ Here, look at that picture! There’s your proof.”

  Thomas glanced at the photo. The beach was as picturesque as all the beaches in this part of the world. In actual fact, he and Emma hadn’t decided which island they were going to, but however large Havelock Island was, it wouldn’t be large enough if they had to share it with the man in the safari hat.

  Emma took another sip of water and said, “It looks nice.”

  The man grinned smugly.

  “Look, I don’t care what the guidebook says,” Thomas argued. “If this is the only ferry from Port Blair going to the two islands, and everyone else is getting off at one island, then doesn’t it stand to reason that the other one will have fewer tourists?”

  He turned away and stared at the horizon, ignoring Emma’s placating hand on his thigh all the way into port at Havelock Island.

  Thomas and Emma continued to sit there while all the other passengers rolled their luggage down the ramp and onto the dock. Emma spun her engagement ring around her finger as she waited; the gold band had a dolphin jumping over a small diamond. Thomas had proposed in December, right after finishing his masters in sociology. She’d said she loved the ring, dolphins were her favourite, but joked that when he started teaching full-time, maybe the dolphin could jump over something bigger. Thomas had been led to believe the ring was mostly for her friends and family, so he was surprised when she’d said that.

  Thomas had been offered a place in the doctoral program starting in the fall, but he wasn’t certain if he’d accept. After six years of higher education he was ready for a break. So they’d come to India, their first real vacation together. Emma had been drawn to the colourful clothing and jewellery in the pictures she’d seen. She’d studied textiles and worked in fashion. Thomas had wanted to go to India ever since he was a boy and his uncle returned with a carved stone chess set for him, as well as stories of Hindu gods, train rides, festivals, and wandering cows.

  There was so much Thomas had wanted to see in India, but Emma could only get three weeks off work, so they’d agreed that he’d leave a few weeks early. Their original plan was to meet in Goa for a beach vacation, and then head to Agra to see the Taj Mahal before flying back to England. But their Goa plans were cut short, and now they were in the Andamans.

  There was a binocular contraption for tourists welded to one section of the ferry’s rail. Thomas leaned in and pointed it at the debarking passengers. He saw the safari hat man by the road bickering with a rickshaw driver. All around him, young women with gold ear and nose rings tempted the tourists with a rainbow of fruit on banana-leaf plates. Thomas wanted to get off the ferry and buy some sliced pineapple, but the crew was readying things to set off again.

  As their boat began to putter away, Thomas watched his fellow countryman finally seat himself in the rickshaw. The young driver pushed down on the pedals with all his weight, but had what
looked to be a wide grin on his face; he must have negotiated a good price. It reminded Thomas of the advice he’d gotten from a nice woman from Canada named Clara, who he’d met on the long train journey from Mumbai to Goa.

  Clara had been sitting opposite him, and the moment the train groaned into motion, a man squeezed into the berth beside Thomas and began to pick his nose. He used his long index finger to dig through each nasal cavity, then rubbed the nostril treasures between his thumb and finger until they dropped to the train floor. A thorough cleaning. Thomas tried not to stare, and opened his Condensed History of India, a surprisingly thick book, and his train-ticket bookmark fell out. It said Bombay, even though they’d recently changed the name to Mumbai, and as he picked it up, Thomas noticed Clara holding back a smile.

  The man picking his nose finally stopped. Thomas had based his master’s thesis on the idea that social deviance and acceptability are culturally specific. So maybe in India this sort of thing was okay.

  Yet when the man exited the berth, Clara said to Thomas, “Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?”

  “Hard not to notice. Sorry, it’s my first trip to India.”

  “I see you’re reading up.”

  “Just learning all the terrible things my country did to India.”

  “That’s more than I can say for most tourists. And what do you think of my country so far?” Clara had long black hair and wore a thin gold necklace that held a small cross. Thomas had a necklace like hers that his parents had given him when he was a kid, though it sat in a small box in the bottom drawer of his dresser back home.

  “I love it. So far it’s been brilliant.” Thomas told Clara how he had started in Delhi, travelled through Rajasthan, and then down to Mumbai. And was now headed to Goa to meet his fiancée.

  “I’m from Goa,” Clara continued, “but I live in Canada now with my husband and children.” She pulled out a photo from her handbag. “That’s Aiden, such a smart boy he is, first in his class, but he always seems to get himself into trouble. And that’s Ally, sweetest little girl you’ll ever meet, but try to get her to concentrate on something for more than a few minutes, and she’ll be running up the walls.”