The waves thrust upon the rocks as crabs crawled upon the bowels of the city, along that condom strewn shore where dogs were awoken by a whore’s rhythmic roar, he walked. He walked alone yet not alone, struggling to escape from himself; in search of solitude from a conscience blind to wrong or right.
He was not blind his feet needed not sight, they knew the way in the darkness the only light he needed was at the end of his cigarette, his unkempt visage veiled by wisps of smoke. He too heard the rocks moan and sigh; he saw the waves heave upon the sandy beach and like all else it didn’t matter to him.
The air smelt damp, heavy with the smell of stale beer and stacks of money, on cue the heavens let loose a piss of a rainfall just enough to wet the rotting salted krill, a new stench bloomed in the night air. And the figure walked by breathing heavily his cigarette smoke letting his mind lighten, his body felt heavy.
The bats clawed at wild berries like whispers in the night, sweet kind chirps and ticks the only sounds pure and clean, unadulterated by the filth on the beach that night. The wanderer walked his eyes seeing not space but time, a time that was and then a time that could or should have been and then a time that would never be. The grains of sand ate into his skin eroding away his feet, a gust of sea breeze peppered his hair with salt tears.
The silence of the night is shattered by a voice dragged out of the sea, a salty whisper of a voice, an echo from the rocks of words lacking meaning mere sounds from the sea. The voice belonged to a girl pretending to be a woman, her hair if washed would be close to a dirty auburn, the light shower of rain had left in sultry curls that stretched the length of her spine and tickled the small of her back. She had a rag draped roughly around her skinny yet to mature body.
Her invitation went unnoticed, not even a glance in the direction of her voice, there was something sinister about the figure on the sand. His steps were firm and planted with confidence the loose sand yielded under his feet, his fingers were steady and the cigarette glowed perfectly, stuck between his thick lips. In brief intervals his face lit up with the faint glow it was not entirely unpleasing.
She studied him as he passed by his feet were bare yet he wore an expensive pair of jeans, not one sold under street lights. His shirt apart from the creases was of fine cloth, that glowed majestically in the soft warm halogen light. This surely was not her usual every day catch; this fish needed a special bait, spurned by a lover she mumbled to herself.
She could smell his perfume a light yet strong scent, really expensive she thinks. In her best seductive voice she learnt off the celluloid textbook she half whispers, half moans, “Aye saab cigarette de na.” He walks all he hears is the relentless sea. She grows bold she bounces herself ahead of him and looks at him before she can say another word a bottle crashes against a rock.
Trouble seldom comes unannounced, she had experienced this trouble before and knew better than to tease it. The bottle that now glittered on the sand its neck decapitated yet hanging on to the largest shard by the gold foil. Moments before it was held in the hands of the most insignificant person in the city, yet in the dead of the night where land meets sea he and his friends had more powerful than the city put together.
Charged with alcohol they saw themselves as titans, and had yet not seen the other two figures on the beach. She darted into the shadows of the rocks he walked on oblivious. In a whispers she screams a warning, he walks on. Teasing fate she leaves the shadows and pulls the stranger behind the rocks.
In the darkness of the rocks they hide, she grins, her smile is broken; a tooth lost, a lesson learnt. She ask playfully, “Aye Dev Dass, do you have a death wish? Those guys will eat you alive, I saved your life. Will I get a cigarette now?” He looks at her and wants to say something the words form in his mind but fail to come out, his hand slips into his pocket and he draws out a pack of cigarettes he hands it to her.
They are impeccable, neat, white and smell of opulence, instinctively she handles the cigarettes with care she devoted to handling expensive things. She delicately puts the cigarette between her fine lips, he clicks open his lighter and ignites a spark. In the brief flame her face lights up, if only she didn't wear garish makeup, if only she had the luxury of keeping herself clean, she could have men begging for her smile.
The moment passes he lights a cigarette of his own and leans against a rock, she sits on a lower rock and looks up at him, she wonders why he won’t talk to her, her stream of consciousness thus flows,
Maybe he has just got rejected by his item must have gone to woo her all dressed up and she slammed the door shut. But then why didn’t he come with me when I asked. Gay? He is a rich bloke from a respectable family must be ashamed to be with me. Me... a street whore...He slumps down to the sand tilts his head back against the rock and blows smoke into to the stars. she lost to her thoughts squats on the low rock nestling her head upon her knees, she looks at him, his eyes are moist a tear over flows the brink and flows down his cheek. She creeps beside him and whispers, “Story suna”
He remains silent, she wipes the tear of his face looks into his eyes trying to figure out the puzzle, his skin is cold, she moves her hand over his temples, its cold as if life departed hours before. She gets anxious and shakes him, he does nothing to resist, the cigarette dies in the sand a few grains are stained black. And silence follows.
She gets up tells him she has had just about enough of his rubbish and walks away, she does not go far she returns to find him just as she left him same expression, same position, same silence. She sits beside him sharing the silence. She knows that the night is a waste she wants to leave but cant, the stars change in the night sky. She peaks at him from the corner of her eye, his eyes are closed his face looks peaceful. She hesitates for a moment not knowing what to do. Usually if a customer fell asleep she left silently having been paid in advance.
She leans in closer to him gently her finger creeps behind his neck, and she tilts his head upon her shoulder. She leans in closer and rest her head upon his, his hair is soft and smells clean, her mind goes into a Bollywood fantasy. The morning will come he will wake up beside her shocked that he slept on her shoulder, he will storm off angry but then she will stop him, he will ignore her, but then start to notice her, then she will feign anger and walk away from him, he will then desire her and passionately try to win her over. But then his family will object to their marriage so he will have to run away and get married and have their honeymoon in Dubai or some exotic place like London.
The ebb and flow of the waves numbs her senses, the head on her shoulder slips, he is still a sleep his head now on her lap she puts an arm over him and tilts her head back and sleeps.
The sound of the waves is all that’s left of the night, a crow perched on a rock caws persistently a few more join in the chorus she wakes up alone, her eyes become moist. She gets up determined to leave the rocks and the night behind. As she gets off the sand a wallet and cigarette case fall off her lap, she bends to pick them up, her back stiff from sleeping against a rock. The wallet has a good number of crisp bank notes. She counts them over twice to make sure, seven thousand four hundred and eighty. An amount befitting the status of a call girl, enough to take the rest of the week off, she reasons. The wallet has only money nothing else no drivers licence no credit cards no receipts nothing to betray the owners identity.
She is more than grateful wasn’t a wasted night after all, and he also left the cigarettes like a bonus. Later that evening in the chawl gossip was on about the murder-drama being played about on news channels. She heard about how some 21-year-old stabbed to death his 24-year-old girlfriend and a 40-year-old banker after finding them naked in bed. That morning he walked into a police station and confessed.
He told police that he knew his girlfriend was sleeping with the banker and said he had planned the killing he, knew that they would get drunk, have sex and sleep. He had a duplicate key to the banker's apartment, that he stole from his girlfriend's purse a week earlier. The day before the crime he entered the bankers apartment and had mixed crushed sleeping pills into all of the bottles in the bankers bar. The next day at 1 am he returned to the apartment and found the duo naked on the floor. He said he cut open their carotid arteries and left them to bleed to death, he said they didn’t even feel it.
That evening she went to her neighbours room they had a TV and watched the 9 o’clock primetime news, the lead story had an all too familiar face.
