As Sweet as Honey

51




He had sat on the driver’s side, to the port, but on the return trip, he forgot to switch sides. Still, if he could just recall his way, he should be in time for tiffin. If he got off the bus too soon, he could walk, but it would be harder if the bus overshot his street. It occurred to him that this was an Adventure, and aside from not knowing Tamil, he felt excited. He could Explore, Remember, Record, as they always said in school. He had counted six stops—oh! that’s what he might have done, counted stops, but it didn’t matter now, he was going to have an Adventure. And to do that, he needed to get off the bus.

He took a breath, and jumped off at the next stop. He thought he remembered those palm trees, but soon realized there were the same trees everywhere lining the road. A plump woman in a sari with a net bag in her hand hurried by him, glancing at him curiously. Adults never bothered with him in England. Here, how did people immediately sense he was a foreigner? The street was crowded, and he had to be alert to escape being pushed about too much. He felt in his pants pocket and discovered the few coins he had left were gone. There wasn’t a hole, so he must have been pickpocketed. Maybe when he had been jostled getting off the bus. The thief must be very cunning, he thought, but also disappointed with his spoils. Luckily, he had Asha’s pink quartz in his shirt pocket, which, considering the situation was probably a good thing.

What with keeping from bumping into people, and the noise of the traffic whizzing by, there was hardly much to Explore or Remember. He was getting tired of walking and craning his head to see if he’d reached home yet. He wondered now if anyone was getting worried. He hoped his absence was still unnoticed. It had been a silly thing to do after all, venture out without telling anyone, and taking a bus. Raindrops hit the pavement before he noticed that he was also getting wet, and then the thunderstorm burst. He took shelter under a shop awning, but there were many people there. Lucky souls who remembered their umbrellas took no notice of the rain and continued on their business. A cache of children jumped into the muddy puddles, their legs now striped with dust and water. He looked at his rubber sandals, and without further thought, joined in. The water was not at all cold, and his feet created droplets as he lifted them up. His companions didn’t say anything—one girl smiled at him shyly. It was strange that while he was on holiday, island children had school. Their clothes looked very clean—children most likely from an orphanage, because schoolchildren would probably have stayed inside. He was fascinated with orphanages. But how had they got out—did they have day passes? He wasn’t sure how orphanages worked, but was sure it didn’t involve heedlessly and joyously jumping into puddles.

The rain stopped just as quickly as it started.

Very soon, too soon, there came a teacher rounding the children up, hitting their legs with a cane. He just shook his cane at Oscar, snapping at him to get in line. Oscar stood in a puddle, and then noticed a woman with an enormous toothless grin staring at him. Made uncomfortable with her attention, he ran after the group of children. Maybe they could direct him to his house. Just as he was reconsidering, thinking maybe that wasn’t really a good plan and he ought to find a policeman, the teacher surprised him by pulling him roughly by the collar and giving him a push to walk faster.

They entered a courtyard, which was so different from the bustle of the street. Here, two low, whitewashed buildings abutted one another. Two women were doing the laundry by the side of an old palm, while scents of cooking came from a small shed farther away from the women. Oscar realized he was hungry, and wondered if it would be all right just to stay for lunch before he told the teacher about his mistake. He was certain he was not missed at Great-Grandmother’s house.

The students were made to queue up in two lines. Oscar hoped they weren’t going to do a head count, but it seemed they were just waiting to be addressed by the headmaster. He spoke rapidly in Tamil, and then more haltingly in English, announcing the sports schedule for the afternoon. Oscar was surprised how much there was planned. The headmaster then asked everyone to assemble quietly and orderly for lunch, at which point the lines erupted into pandemonium. The children noisily entered the building on the left, and sat down at long tables. Oscar was surprised at first, imagining everyone would sit on the floor. Quickly, stainless-steel plates were passed around, and several men and women went up and down the tables, efficiently serving rice, dal, a tangle of green vegetables, and yogurt. Gingerly, Oscar tasted the food, and discovered he was not just hungry but ravenous.

Finishing his plate, he put down his spoon, wondering if they would have seconds, when he saw the schoolmaster coming toward him. The other children stared at him. Would the police come for him now? Rising up quickly, he ran out of the building and into the street. It didn’t look as if the headmaster was pursuing, so, panting, Oscar caught his breath. Maybe the headmaster realized he could be in more trouble if it came out that he’d mistakenly ushered a foreign child into the orphanage. Oscar walked on.


This side of the street started to seem a little more familiar, because wasn’t that mango stand the same his aunts and uncle took him to? He wasn’t allowed to drink any juices, but fruit was okay, as long as it was cut in front of him. The owner of the stand knew how to cut the mangoes into frog and turtle shapes, and served them with a toothpick. He realized he was still hungry. He wondered if they were already eating at Great-Grandmother’s house. For the first time, he thought about his mother. His clothes were still wet. He had been gone over four hours, he estimated, and she was certain to be furious. If he kept on this side and went farther, he should reach his street quickly, unless he had overshot it.

More and more buildings appeared familiar, but with slow-growing alarm, he recognized that he had gone the wrong way. The terminal was ahead. Could he have really walked all that way? He could not make out the ferry, so he must still be some distance away, he reasoned. He felt embarrassed just turning around, walking the other way again, and seeing everything and everyone all over again, so he thought he would first go down a side street. Cities were laid out in grids, he knew, so a side street should take him to a street that ran parallel to the main road. Bougainvillea and jasmine bloomed from the thick vines that dropped from gardens hugging the street, which inclined steeply. One side of the street burst with heat while the side he walked on was cool. Voices and laughter drifted from restaurants perched high on the third storeys of buildings that lined the street, and looking up, he could see waiters carrying plates of two-foot dosas, and skillfully streaming coffee from individual saucers to tumblers. The joke was, Sanjay said, the waiters could pour a vertical length of liquid as wide as their arms, so you asked for a yard of coffee.

In the distance lay the sea.

If one street would take him to the parallel street, then three would take him to the beach. If he turned left at the beach, he would be walking in the right direction to Great-Grandmother’s house. He reminded himself he would need to climb up steeply at some point to rejoin the main road, but surely the water at the sea’s edge would refresh him. And he certainly needed more shells for his collection.

Splashing into the water, he discovered the waves were rougher than he expected. They were fast as well, as he darted in and out to grab the tiny shells that were uncovered on the wet sand. The bigger ones eluded him, though. There were only a few people about, and no one paid him any attention. Soon he was absorbed in filling his pockets, which grew damp and heavy. Beach fleas nipped his toes. Left, he told himself, he needed to turn left, and then left again, but by now his legs were tired. In fact, his whole body ached.

“Oscar!”

He turned.

It must have been the wind. There was no one there. He flopped down on the sand and fell asleep.

The fleas woke him up. He batted them away, wondering how long he had been asleep. Had the sun been as low as it was now when he first reached the beach?

He was supposed to turn right. No, it was left. A small panic rose in his stomach. By now, he knew his parents would be worrying, and if he was truthful, he too was just a little scared. He could hear men shouting to each other in the distance, and a woman’s voice rising to scold someone. What if he were never to find his way back? Would he wind up homeless, sleeping on the beach? He saw a pack of dogs come in his direction. Island dogs tended to be short-haired, pointer-like, and sometimes painfully thin. Mina had told him they were wild, scavenging for food and sleeping on the beach. He wished she were here. He must have been daft to come by himself—that’s what his father would say. They might be really mad by now. It must be close to dinnertime. He knew that night fell quickly on the island, but the sun was not yet ready to make its descent into the water.

“Oscar!”

Scrambling to his feet, he turned around. No one.

“Look here.”

A few feet away, sitting against a small sand bank away from the water, was a man with a walking stick. He was white, a tourist most likely.

“Are you lost?” the man asked.

Oscar wasn’t sure whether to reply. The man looked kinder than the headmaster had, but his mother had long ago warned him not to talk to strangers. Asha told him that kids were kidnapped often, and tortured and drugged, although she admitted she didn’t know anyone personally to whom that had happened. It was, however, another reason to learn karate. Oscar wondered how karate would help if the kidnapper had a gun. Well, Asha had said, if he has a gun, you are out of luck. Oscar clutched the stone she had given him for protection.

Oscar noticed the man had bare feet, and somehow that was reassuring. It also seemed that the man was slightly transparent. Oscar wondered if he was an angel. Asha told him that when her cousin’s neighbor from Yorkshire was involved in a car accident, he had seen an angel, who kept telling him that it would be all right.

“I just came from the ferry,” the man said, indicating the right with his hand. “I’m going to the town center, if you’re going that way.”

Oscar considered. It would be nice to walk with someone, nice to go home somehow—he didn’t even know his address!—or at least go to the police station. Already he felt glad to get his bearings a bit.

The man smiled, and slowly made his way across the beach, and Oscar, following, was relieved to see some wooden steps leading to the street. Two men selling shell necklaces and straw pinwheels called out to Oscar, but he paid them no mind. He felt safe with this man, although he had already decided to refuse if the man offered him candy, but Oscar didn’t think he would. The man just walked in front of him, leading the way.

“How did you know my name?” he asked the man after they crossed two streets.

“A lucky guess. You look like an Oscar.”

The main road was upon them. His legs hurt and he wished he could take a bus.

The man seemed to understand, for he slowed his pace.

“I’m glad you trusted me. You must always listen to your stomach, Oscar. It will tell you everything.”

“You mean my gut?”

“Yes. If it gives you a queasy feeling about someone, listen to it. But of course, always use your intelligence. Assess any situation carefully.”

“Are you a spy?”

“A spy? No. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. A spy would have to be careful about people, I guess.”

“People are pretty good for the most part.”

By now they were walking at a steady pace and the streets were more crowded than earlier, as people streamed out from work and the restaurants.

The mango stand he’d noticed earlier was a chain, he now realized, but a tailor shop he remembered looking at from the bus when they went to buy art supplies was a landmark. In front of the tailor shop was a family selling young coconuts, which he also now committed to memory, just in case he needed further landmarks. Right next to them was a stand advertising Sanctuary Chai. Of course, people weren’t landmarks, but their businesses could be. Then again, he might never get the chance to go anywhere by himself again.

“So, young man, what would you do if you got lost again?”

“I’d ask a policeman. I’d might not stray off the path again, but how can you have adventures if you don’t take chances?”

“True enough. Still, a good explorer takes precautions. You want a good map, protective gear, a compass, a flashlight, insect spray—”

“But that’s a planned journey, not an adventure!”

“Well, you can always be prepared for an adventure by carrying a compass.”

“But how will that help if you are lost?”

“Well, it’s always good to ask a policeman. But if you had a compass, and you knew the ferry was west—”

“Which it has to be, because we are east of India,” said Oscar, feeling utterly foolish for not figuring that out.

“—you would know you are heading east. You could also look up at the sun.”

“But we aren’t supposed to look at the sun,” said Oscar.

“True enough.”

Oscar wondered if he should tell the man he didn’t know Great-grandmother’s address. Still, if he was an angel, maybe he would just take him home.

They walked a while in silence.

“Have you had many adventures?” asked the man.

“No. This is probably my first one.” Oscar frowned, and continued, “My mother and father have a lot of rules about where I go.”

“Are they strict?”

“No, not really. I don’t know, they’re all right.” He paused, and then asked,

“Have you had lots of adventures?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve traveled a great deal.”

“Have you been to Everest?”

“Well, no.”

“My dad says one day we might trek there together, but it’s a hard trip, and there’s plenty of preparations to make—years and years worth, but we might go on a balloon ride sooner.”

“See the mountains from above, you mean?”

“Well, not Everest, but maybe the Alps—they have climbing classes.”

“I hiked in the Pyrenees one summer. I was nineteen.”

Oscar waited for him to launch into a story. Adults always got a funny look in their eyes when reminiscing, their faces going soft, if not slack.

“It’s a good idea to carry water, even if it seems heavy at first.”

Oscar nodded. His father had told him the same thing last summer.

“And you can always ask for directions. People are usually glad to help, and if they set you off in the wrong direction, well, it’s just another adventure. Good shoes are important.”

Oscar wondered if a story would follow now. On the whole, it seemed grown-ups offered up lots of advice.

“I came to Pi not much older than you. My father brought me and my sister, and the very first day, a monkey stole my cap. Susan shrieked, and I never laughed so hard.”

“They are a bit scary. My aunt’s name is Susan, too.”

“Well, my sister didn’t much care for walks after that. The monkey didn’t snatch it off my head, mind, just grabbed it from the grass and ran off.”

“Did you chase it?”

“No, sometimes you just lose a hat. Life is full of peculiarities.”

“My parents are probably looking for me by now.”

“Not much farther, now.”

“Where are we going?”

“Oscar!”

It was his uncle Ajay, with his father close by. He ran up to them, and his father swung him up off the ground. Nearly breathless, he began to tell his story, and turned to introduce the barefoot man, but the man was gone.

“But he was right behind me—he helped me find the way back!” said Oscar, as his uncle raised his eyebrows and his father frowned.

“I’ll go get us some juice,” said Uncle Ajay, heading toward another of those mango stands.

“What did your friend look like, Oscar?” asked his father.

“He was barefoot, Daddy, but he had on a funny white suit—and a pink tie! I suppose you’re thinking I’m fibbing, but I’m not.”

“Oscar, let’s not tell your mum about your friend.”

“Why not?”

“Well, first of all, she doesn’t know you were lost, and second, she’ll be upset you tagged along with a stranger.”

Uncle Ajay gave him a cup with a straw.

Listening to Oscar’s adventure, they began to walk home.

“Not a word of this to your mother, or she’ll be livid.”

Oscar noted the street name once again.

As it was, his mother was livid anyway, having found out the truth.