Emma: Forever Ago.
It was humid throughout the day. Soon I had to move on from here and go back home, but still a month to go. Considering the three long years I was posted here for the training as marine engineer, one month now seemed like a day. With nothing much to do now; this sudden respite felt like a push-over from the buzz of insanity into a suffocating silence.
Vancouver is generally peaceful. It is a town nestling amongst hills and the sea and is covered by persistent drizzle. That accounts for the feeling of gloom that settles upon outsiders like me who cannot find the pulse of the life in here. That was a particularly cranky day when the sky and the weather were stubbornly gloomy and grey. After breakfast I had to find something to occupy myself till lunch and that was a pretty long interval. There were two antique bookshops on the street behind my lodging. I always felt at home in the one which had at its counter a rather perennially tired shop--assistant who watched over the entire shop from her dark gothic--looking corner, with an equally gothic-looking cat to give her company.
Whenever I tried to open a conversation with the lady the cat would snarl viciously from behind the counter to block any further potential or real overtures from the unwelcome alien that was me. Needless to say that it was a wise policy for me to ignore both and go past them straight to the bookshelves.
That day a notice stuck on the window pane caught my eye and I stopped to read it. It was an announcement of a book-exhibition that was housed in a small public-hall around the next corner. I threw a glance at the inside of the book-shop. The unappealing sight of the gothic cat and its dumb owner hastened to help me make up my mind in favour of the book--exhibition around the corner which was not too far from there.
By the time I started walking in the new direction, the drizzle was piercingly sharp, with the wind sweeping past my coat and umbrella with an impatient bustle. As I entered the hall, to my surprise, I found that the exhibition was to start on the next day; I had overlooked this bit of information in my eagerness to find out a new haunt.
In the meantime, the place was occupied by a group of young choir children practicing singing for the Sunday at Church. By the time, it was raining heavily outside; no point in venturing out again in the rains. So I hung my coat and the umbrella on the stand in the corner and myself in one of the chairs in the front row.
On the rostrum, seated in three compact rows of auditorium chairs were about twenty children, mostly girls, ranging in age from about seven to thirteen. At the first signal given to them by their instructor who looked all-pervasive because of her imposing manners and strident voice, the children looked at one another in bewilderment. Some of them opened their mouth, but were still afraid to articulate the sound, not sure if the others were ready to share the effort. Some of them tried to be clever and just put on an ingratiating smile. With exhortation from the coach to start and be audible they mouthed the words without the necessary feeling. The coach now thought it best not waste time on further exhortation, blew a note on her pipe and the children raised their hymn-books above their heads and started singing in unison. They sang with the unsentimental innocence natural to their age. I had never heard the hymn before, but it had a soothing quality and a healing effect; I wished it not to end soon.
Listening, I drifted in thoughts and scanned those young faces absent-mindedly. The child nearest me was in the front row of the group. Well, not exactly a child; she looked about somewhere between fourteen and sixteen, with straight black hair cut to shoulder length, which stuck around her forehead because wet, making her face look unglamorous and common. But as I continued to listen, I noticed that her voice was distinctly superior to others. It was sweet-sounding, and because it was the surest, it naturally led the others.
However, the young lady seemed to be indifferent to the activity she was engaged in at the time because I saw her controlling an overpowering yawn once. It was a closed- mouth, lady-like yawn, but her nostrils gave it away. Her eyes had no expression at all except perhaps that of being unimpressed because of over-familiarity. Once or twice she seemed to scan the people in the audience with a casual interest that did not amount to curiosity, except as if she was counting the heads. For a fraction of a moment she took notice of me and I felt out of the place occupying the seat in the front row. Perhaps she understood my embarrassment and graciously looked away. The moment the singing stopped the choir children became impatient to get away from the scrutiny and criticism of the coach and the audience, though to my tired nerves their performance was more than what I could rate. Their coach was in no mind to let them slip out so soon. She began to give her lengthy opinion on how some children can’t remain still and composed while rehearsing. That was the time I realized that my presence in the front row was going to invite the hostility of the children and the censure of their teacher. The hymn was definitely over and I did not want the coach’s dissonant voice to break the spell the children’s singing had cast upon me. I got up hastily and left the hall.
Outside on the street the things were far more difficult than when I had stepped inside the hall. It was raining harder. I put on my raincoat and crossed the street and found refuge in a coffee-shop. It was my first visit to that shop and while I was looking for the coat-stand around, the matronly looking owner of the shop gave me a look as if she would have preferred a customer with a drier appearance. Not to give her offence, I took as much care as I could to see that my dripping raincoat made as little mess as possible.
As I sat down at my table with my tray of coffee and cinnamon toast I saw the young lady at the choir entering in and taking off her coat. I noticed that she was not alone. She was accompanied by an elderly looking lady and a little impish-looking guy who was probably her younger brother. They occupied a table not far away from me and fortunately I was able to get an unobstructed view of the entire party. The boy was about five and was in no mood to obey anyone. He started looking around with curiosity to discover some vulnerable target at which he could direct his mischief. Before giving him an opportunity to decide that I could be his potential target, I hastily put on my patent “keep away at safe distance or I know how to tackle brats like you” kind of look. Luckily, they had not noticed yet me watching them.
As they settled down at their table, the boy set about annoying his companions very methodically, giving me an instant insight into the kind of tricks he had mastered rather well. He started rocking in his chair in the most irritating manner, acting as if he was going to pull down the table with the table-cloth and all. The elderly lady advised him once or twice to sit straight but it was only when his sister admonished him in a stern voice that he stuck the small of his back to the chair, but in the meanwhile he dropped the napkin on the floor, picked it up neatly and spread it over his head and sat balancing it dexterously. She did not go to the counter to get their tea. It was brought to them by the waitress.
While they were in the process of pouring tea into their cups, she noticed me suddenly and gave me the same indifferent look with which she had regarded me at the choir-practice.
For the next few moments I remained engrossed in my thoughts which did not have any specific object to feed upon. I was thinking of the letter my wife had written to me sometime back and which had reached me on the previous day. It was a long list of grievances about my mother. She wanted me to write to my mother on her behalf. I brushed aside all those concerns for a while, and started enjoying the pitter-patter of the raindrops on the window-sill. I had to finish my coffee and get ready to go. I could not prolong my stay indefinitely long. Before making up my mind to get up, I looked at her and found her looking at me with a certain curiosity. I returned her glance with a seemingly nonchalant look, balancing the act between trying not to offend and trying not to look rudely indifferent either. In that brief moment of awareness, she gave me a faintly visible, qualified little smile. It was oddly radiant as certain unexpected, half-revealed smiles are. I smiled back, less radiantly, taking care that my smile did not carry any unwelcome signs that may cause a misunderstanding. But I was overwhelmed, to be sure.
The next thing I knew was that she was out of her seat and having covered the distance in a few steps she was now standing by my table.
I got up from my seat and requested her to be seated and be comfortable. She bowed slightly and sat down facing me. “Are you from Asia?” She asked after she had made sure with a slight observation that I was a good guy. “I am from India.” I replied.
“Oh, then you are a teetotaler I suppose,” she said. I watched her for a moment to detect any trace of sarcasm. There was nothing but the freshness of adolescence in her bearing. So I ruled out sarcasm.
She saw through my doubt and while I was fumbling for an answer, she said, “There is nothing wrong in being a teetotaler. Your culture forbids you to drink perhaps.” I was not sure whether to tell her that I was not exactly averse to drinking, but I thought it best to let her continue with the impression she had formed; I am more at ease with myself and others when an acquaintance begins with an impression and not with an opinion.
I asked her if she would care to join me. “For a very little while,” she said. I got up and drew a chair for her, the one opposite me. I hurried back to my chair. I wanted to hold the thread of conversation but was not sure how to. I finally decided to let her take the lead and sat there facing her quietly, as if for a judgment.
“You were there at the choir-practice; I saw you,” she said plainly, without any coquetry. I was impressed by the poise which to my mind was rather remarkable for her age. I admitted I was there and that I was quite impressed by her singing. She nodded and said, “I know.” She was not excited over the compliment. There seemed to be a slight shadow of wistfulness in her eyes. She kept looking out at the rain outside and then in a slight whisper, as if talking to herself said, “Choir-singing is not my end really; it’s just a stop-over. I want to be a professional singer.” Though she showed no eagerness for a response from me, I ventured to say just in order to prolong the opportunity of being with her, though I regretted the moment I said it, “Oh, I would have thought that you were made out to be a nun.”
She flashed a glance at me which I felt to be a look of disapproval, if not exactly of anger. “Oh, really? And what made you think so?” she asked with a determination to retaliate what she perceived to be an insinuation at her plain looks. Though that certainly was not what I had in mind, it gave me a secret pleasure to see her annoyed. But it was too fragile a moment to be wasted in silly overtures. I hastened to clarify, “I mean, you sang with such devoutness; it was heavenly.” Again a half-smile lit up her face and as if with a glint of comprehension in her eyes she said, “Really? Don’t expect me to believe that. I wasn’t quite born yesterday, you know?”
I silenced the voice in me that urged me to say, “That was really the truth!”
I had remained a foreigner all these days while I was here in Canada, clinging to my roots back there in India. I knew nothing about Western music and if the talk were to veer around to dwell on Western music I had precious little to say. However, she was warming up to the subject and I thought it convenient to let her unwind.
She said, “I am practicing in the choir because that is all I can afford in my circumstances right now. Besides, vocal music does not make demands on your purse. My real passion is piano and guitar, but can’t afford.”
I looked at her carefully. She had placed her hands in front of her on the table and she was sitting in an upright position as if with her fingers on the keyboard of piano. She had long tapering fingers but the nails were bitten to the quick. Though there was no fidgetiness in her till then she became instantly self-conscious when she found me looking at her fingers. She immediately withdrew her hands and hid them in the pockets of her long skirt.
I offered her a piece of the cinnamon toast which she refused without an excuse. She seemed eager to talk but I could see her companions getting restless and impatient. The lady who accompanied her was making frantic signals for her to end the interaction with a stranger, but she was determined to talk. She moved her chair so as to block her companion out of view and asked me, “Are you interested in Western music?” I said, “I don’t understand the trends in music, neither in the west nor in India. I listen if it soothes my nerves”
“How did you find our singing? Was it soothing?” She asked. I was at once struck by the fact that she said ‘our singing’, not ‘my singing’. I realized that she was steeped in the spirit of the choir and had learnt to subdue her personality in the unified voice of the chorus. Perhaps that was the reason why she wanted to carve a niche for herself in piano or guitar. She answered the question in my mind rather surprisingly for me. She said, “Basically I am not cut out for team-work. I am at my best when I work alone.” There was very little time at her disposal and she did not know how best to use it. For a girl of her age she seemed rather grownup and sedate. But there was still some glint of silliness in her which showed when she asked impulsively, “Are you married?” I was tempted to say ‘no’ and watch her reaction. But by now I had begun to like her and refrained from playing games. I liked the spontaneous camaraderie she had begun to feel with me without any reason. I did not want to wreck it by giving a false answer to a question asked trustfully, whatever be its motive. “Yes,” I said, “I am married.” The next thing I expected her to ask was: “How long?” But she again asked a question that was sillier still. She said,”Are you in love with your wife?”
I gave her a searching look. Perhaps she was brought up to believe that in India being in love with your spouse is not the demand of married life and that marriages survive without love. However, I thought it best to maintain silence. She did not seem to take my silence very seriously because the question she had asked did not carry weight; it was asked out of a casual interest, to set the ball rolling. But she immediately hastened to say, “Oh, sorry, I am afraid, I am being too personal.” I told her that I would bring it to her notice if she was so. She said, “Actually I am not very gregarious, you know?” She stopped and looked at me with a look which I thought rather presumptuous. I was amused to see that she was waiting to see if the word ‘gregarious’ was there in my vocabulary.
“One of my teachers is into ‘Zen,’ you know. I am learning the lesson of compassion from ‘Zen’. She says that one must feel the vibrations and respond positively. I think those who don’t speak that lingo call it being pro-active.” I started wondering what compassion and being positive or pro-active had to do with my being married or not. But I did not have to ask. She was quickly forthcoming with the explanation. She said, “You have a very sensitive face. I noticed that you looked lonely.” This, if it were to come from any other woman who was a stranger, could have been construed as an innuendo. But I was gradually getting drawn into her world which had a strange fragrance about it.
Without betraying any kind of a reaction to her perception of my state of mind, I told her that I wasn’t lonely. However, I said I was glad for her compassion. Just then her brother was heard crying out her name loudly. “Emma, Emma, we are leaving if you don’t come soon.” I turned to look in his direction and found everyone else looking at us.
She had to get up. She gave me a broad, effusive smile without any sign of embarrassment or apology and said, “Good, Charles introduced me to you. I am Emma and he is Charles, my younger brother.
At that very moment, Charles left his place at the other end of the room and leaving the elderly lady in a state of abandonment, came and joined his sister at our end. I braced myself up for an unexpected calamity as I saw him ready to pull the table-cloth over his head. “Do sit up straight in your chair, Charles.” She commanded as she sat down again. “Say hello to uncle…” and she looked at me with a question in her eyes. “ Pratap,” I said. “Pratap Sharma”. Charles of course was not expected to be impressed. He stuck out his tongue and looked up at the ceiling. Emma was a bit apologetic now and said, “Sorry, that’s his way of expressing boredom. Don’t take it seriously”.
However, the little guy had started taking an interest in me. He was in no hurry to make a move now. He put on an angelic face and gave me a nice little hand-shake. It was a welcome sign of warmth but there was no time for us to get to know each other better. Emma signaled in the direction of her aunt to indicate that she was coming and pulled Charles towards her in a hurry.
Charles wanted to make the best use of this fleeting moment of intimacy between him and me and before going away; he turned and asked me, “What did one wall say to another?” I looked at him in a surprise when he said to aid me in answering his question…”It’s a riddle.” I rolled up my eyes and said with a stumped expression, “I give up!” He pulled his sister in the direction of the table where his aunt was waiting for them and started running. Turning back towards me, he yelled out the answer, “Meet you at the corner!’
After Emma and her companions had left the coffee-shop I sat for a while staring vacantly at the rain and listening to the sound of the wind outside. Somebody pushed the door and the wind came gushing in, bringing the chill with it. I got up hastily, went to the counter to pay for my coffee and the toast, gathered my raincoat from the stand and stepped out of the café. When I looked around, there was no sign of Emma and the party.
The next I ran into Emma was when I was returning home after a tiring day. She was in her school-uniform and Charles was tagging along. I was not sure if she would care to stop and speak, but Charles, who noticed me before her, gave a tug at her skirt and pointed towards me. She stopped. Charles was looking at her eagerly. He then offered to shake hands with me in the most suave manner. I was not amused by the civil manners he put on for the sake of starting a friendship with me. A bit of sadness came over me as I looked into his eyes. In that fraction of a moment, I saw a pleading look in those eyes. It touched me somewhere. I glanced at Emma quickly. Her eyes radiated a surprise. I pulled Charles towards me and said, “What did one wall say to the other wall?” Charles looked annoyed. He turned his face away from me in an embarrassment, because this time he wanted me to take him seriously. He pressed his foot hard on my toes. I winced and said,”Ouch!” Emma quickly pulled Charles towards her and apologized on his behalf. In that struggle Charles tried to press his foot harder on my toes and finally as he stepped off my foot he stood away from me regarding me with white-hot dignity.
Emma did not try to conceal her embarrassment and anger as she pulled him further away. “I am sorry; he got furious. He has a violent temper.” In the meanwhile, Charles had stationed himself securely behind Emma and continued to look at me keenly. He was clearly apprehensive and worried that he had lost a friend. But that fugitive, pleading look I had seen in his eyes before I had unwittingly offended him, had vanished. In its place, there was despair. In his small world it could hurt and I knew how it hurts. I did not let him know it and turned my attention to Emma. She was full of regret and confusion.
I was overcome by a certain sadness and loneliness as they stood before me as if asking me not to leave them so soon. I looked at the sky which showed signs of a quick drizzle which might begin any moment. The café where we had chanced to meet the other day was close by. I looked at Emma and asked her if she would care for a cup of coffee as it would warm up Charles who seemed to be shivering.
As we sat at the table with our coffee-mugs, I looked over at Charles who had started to drink his coffee using both his hands on the mug, staunchly refusing to look at me. Emma said all of a sudden, “My mother had a tendency to spoil him. My father was always careful to see that we didn’t get spoilt by her indulgence; he was especially careful about Charles.” She said it almost in a whisper. I looked at both of them carefully. A deep shadow had come over them as she said this. I didn’t know what to say.
By now I could guess Emma fairly well; she would have spurned any demonstration of kindliness and sympathy from me.
After a brief moment of silence Emma and I looked at each other. She said, “We lost our father when Charles was barely three years of age. My mother died of grief soon after.” I continued to stare at her as she sat there facing me with the look of a sad, grown-up person who was learning to take the rough and tumble of life in her stride, while her brother sat in front of us sipping at his coffee indifferently.
I could see from her demeanor that she had referred to the sad episode of their life rather inadvertently and perhaps, if Charles had not made that unusual display of temper, she wouldn’t have mentioned it.
I fumbled for words, but just managed to say,”Oh, I am sorry to hear that!” Emma gave me a hearty smile like a seasoned soldier, as if to say, “Come on now that you know it, let’s get on with life.” But that did not help me in overcoming my uneasiness in the presence of such overwhelming fortitude. I said, looking at Charles, “Perhaps we had better not talk about this.” Emma understood my meaning. She said, looking at Charles from the corner of her eyes, “He is used to people referring to it. He has just begun to understand that we are different from other children. That lady who was with us the other day in the café after the singing session was over—she is our aunt who looks after us now. Charles still remembers our mother and he fights her off vehemently as if she is responsible for taking him forcibly away from his mother.”
I was still wondering about how the tragedy struck this angelic pair of brother and sister when I noticed Emma fidgeting with a rather heavy-looking watch on her slender wrist. It looked very odd on her wrist because it was the kind of watch I generally noticed on the wrists of army-personnel.
I was extremely tired on that day, but I realized that for Emma and Charles, this chance meeting of ours was something like an oasis. They seemed to cherish these moments of contact. My being a stranger did not hinder the closeness they had begun to feel for me by now. Charles had finished his coffee, but unlike in our last meeting, he was not fidgety and troublesome now. He was not eager to go home. I saw him prodding his sister about something. Emma understood it and looked at him and me in amusement. “He wants to share something with you. It is something we are not allowed to look at when we are at home. So he carries it secretly in his schoolbag.” I was a bit alarmed as I heard her say this. I saw Charles looking at me eagerly and Emma looking at him and smiling indulgently. I was wary. I said haltingly, “Umm, well, I hope it’s nothing out of the way.” Emma’s expression changed rapidly from amusement and indulgence to a deep hurt. There were tears in her eyes. I was afraid she might just get up and leave. I ignored her tears and covered up my lack of tact by leaning across the table and reaching out to Charles with a great display of joviality and said, “Oh yeah! Charles, what is the secret you want to share with me?” Charles, who was blissfully unaware of the tense moment between me and his sister, fished out something from the deep pocket of his schoolbag and spread it out before me. It was a black and white photograph of a man in the army uniform. The man was full of health and energy and smiled across to the camera with the joy of life shining in every feature of his remarkably handsome face. When I looked at Charles leaning across the table, watching me proudly, there was no need for me to guess further. I looked at Emma remorsefully. She had mastered the tears, but she was in no mood to talk to me now.
I said, “Is this your father?” She just nodded. I obviously could not expect her to say more than this. I could not show any further curiosity than what was proper at that moment.
After some moments of silence I ventured to say, “But you should be proud of this photo you have of your father. Why do you have to hide it in Charles’s schoolbag? Is this the only photo you have of your father?”
Emma said, “No, we have an album full of photos. But our aunt has taken it away from us. This, we had found left behind in my mother’s drawer. My aunt says that children like us should not get stuck in the past, we have a long way to go, she says, and we must look ahead.”
I failed to understand this piece of wisdom on the part of her aunt, but Emma seemed to have no problem with that.
I looked at Charles. The little guy, though as yet unaware of the need for self-definition and self-determination in the adult world of contradictions and strife was quietly busy folding up the sheet of brown-paper in which he had wrapped up that precious image. I did not know how to relate with the two of them who, it was quite clear to me now, were in need of me. Though I sat there facing them at that moment, a chasm of continents and culture separated me from them. I did not know if Emma was aware of this.
“How was your day at school today? Do you get to practice your choir lessons or piano lessons?” I asked to keep her mind away from the past. She looked at me despondently. Then brushing off the gloom, she said with a smile, “I haven’t been able to make much progress with piano. I have neither the money nor the time for that.”
I had not been watching her carefully after she said this. I was lost in the memory of my own home and family for a while. But when I looked up I found her looking at me with a sort of adult curiosity. I wondered secretly if she knew I was getting a bit drawn to her. I was quickly on my guard lest I betray any such sign of slightest involvement on my part. I folded my hands across my chest and bore an expression of detachment. She asked rather abruptly, “Do you write?” I said, pretending not to have understood her meaning, “Write? Write what?” She said, “Oh, I mean…Are you a poet or a writer—of some sort?” I tried to look properly offended somewhat at that and said, “Some sort? Oh, do I look ‘some sort’ whatever?”
She gathered herself defensively and said, “Well I just thought so.” I said, “What gave you that impression?” That was a difficult question for her to answer. She reflected for a moment and said, “Perhaps there was something…well, something that appealed to my…” At that point I saw her almost swallow the word ‘heart’ as she paused there in embarrassment. She continued and said in completion, “To my…imagination.”
I said, “I am not a practiced writer. Well I mean that’s not my field really”. I was actually staring at the coffee-mug in her hand. The coffee-shop where we were sitting was decent but not so well looked after it seemed. There was a small crack showing on the otherwise beautifully crafted mug and in that despondent moment it seemed to open up a lane of memories leading me down to the boyhood days. I remembered the day when it was raining in torrents back in India on the day I was to embark on my career as a navy- cadet, my journey from home to the railway-station, my parents accompanying me, my mother silent, and my father looking after the details of my journey in a cool, business-like manner, hiding behind his stony exterior those days of admonishment, acerbic criticism and his constant effort to instill a stoic fortitude into my irresponsible adolescent days. But on that day he had hugged me tightly and in that embrace he seemed to pass on all the sorrow of his life’s wisdom to me. My mother had hugged me ever so lightly because she was engaged in fighting off her tears.
All that seemed so long ago as we were sitting there in the coffee-shop. Did I ever write? Did I write about all this to anyone ever? Well, what was there to write about it anyway?
I found Emma staring at me and watching patiently. I realized that I had not answered her question yet. She was a bit scared, looking at my grim silence. I smiled in an attempt not to look as grim as that.
She said, “Oh, Perhaps I should not be so curious. I really don’t realize when I start intruding on people’s privacy. But that happens only when I begin to like a person, you know!’ Then she immediately went on, “But I feel you must write; I don’t know why I feel so; but you will write wonderfully well.” I laughed. I said, “What do you think I am? A music maestro or a song-writer? I wish I was one. Then I would have written lots and lots of lyrics and set them to music for you.”
“And then we would have made lots and lots of money too!” She completed the fantasy. Then she looked at me with her peculiar penetrating gaze and said, “You seem to be dreaming a lot. I saw that while we were sitting opposite you in the coffee-shop. Of course, Charles and I didn’t know you then.” I found it interesting how she would include Charles in all her fantastic thoughts about me. The phase of childhood which linked her closely with Charles was not yet over. She seemed to be eager however, to probe the secrets of the life of the mind and heart; she was certainly poised at that curious stage. Anyway, so long as she was not curious about my profession I was not inclined to tell her that it was far from a poetic one and as marine engineer on a naval ship my job was to handle machinery and not imagination. Besides, I could not forget that a moment ago I had hurt her by completely misapprehending the situation when they were eager to share the most precious thing in their possession and that too in the complete innocence of childhood and there she was: this young girl, responding to and encouraging a stranger to express what she perceived to be a creative imagination.
I said, “Dreaming is something everyone can do, but not everyone can write stuff out of dreams”. As soon as I said this I remembered that she had said something about her father being a dreamer or some such thing. I asked her, “Was your father a dreamer?” She broke into a smile that was lovely to watch. She looked at me and said, “That’s funny. You know, I feel that it was my mother who should have joined the military. The way she used to rule over the household and over him. But she would break down easily under stress. And yes; he used to dream a lot though he would never share his dreams. But don’t you think that a soldier’s profession is incompatible with dreaming?”
On a spur of the moment I said spontaneously, “No, it isn’t.” She looked surprised at my unguarded revelation, and looked at me, as if in need of a clarification. Then she uttered her words slowly, “Are you…a soldier?” Charles was looking at me with dilated pupils now. The mention of his father and his father being a soldier had sent waves of alertness and curiosity in him. His was suddenly out of his mood for pranks. I kept looking at the crack in the mug.
I said, “Soldiers are in need of dreaming more than anyone else.”
That meeting ended on that inconclusive note. For Charles it was a vague understanding of something that teased him and waited to be found out in the image of his father which stared at him tantalizingly always; something which his sensitivity, hovering between childhood loss and the tenacious demands of life, was unable to explain to him. Emma had looked at the watch on her hand and made herself ready to go. Charles had followed her reluctantly, turning around to look at me a couple of times as they moved out of the coffee-shop. I expected Emma to turn around and say good-bye to me; but she didn’t.
When I reached my lodging it was dark and as I switched on the light I saw the three letters which I had left there on my writing –table. They were still lying there unopened.
I kicked my boots under the table, removed the woolens and took a deep breath before finally making up my mind to open the letters now. Two long letters from Neela and a brief and anxious letter from mother. Everything looked as expected. Neela was full of anxiety over my long absence , and the delay in replying to her last letter. I ran over the content in a cursory glance. The last one that needed to be opened was from mother. It was terse and as always, I read between the lines. After the routine questions about my well-being she mentioned in the last line her major concern about the need of cash as an emergency requirement on account of father's hospitalization.
The first major mission before me next morning was to visit my headquarters and arrange to transfer money to hometown. I had on my hand the time of a week or so before starting on my voyage back.
I might see Emma on her way to school if I managed to plan my schedule accordingly. But I trembled at the thought. It was destined to be my last encounter with Emma and Charles.
I wasn't sure how she would take it. She was mature and level-headed. But I was not sure of myself. And most of all I felt concerned for Charles. He had just learnt to calm down after he had begun to trust me in his innocent but proud way. It would be another rather cruel stroke of destiny to be deprived of someone who had begun to figure as a father and a friend. .
That night I was left with no appetite. The night came without a sound. I prayed, solely for Emma, and Charles desolately..
That night I dreamed a dream of Emma, or rather a dream that she would have dreamed. It .was a large dining table in a cool dark dining hall with an overhanging lampshade, a kind of Victorian type of house. Emma's family had gathered around the table as if it was a long awaited reunion; Emma, and Charles, a grown up happy young man, and they were all sharing some tough thoughts and soft prayers. I wasn't anywhere in that dream, and yet the dream was a part of me.
That was a short but good sleep and I got up feeling hopeful and peaceful, not for me so much as vicariously for Emma.
The next day, after quickly transacting the business at the bank I looked at the watch. It was rather early to expect Emma and Charles as yet. But not to leave it to chance I decided to wait at the coffee shop. The sky was bright; it wasn't likely to rain. I took a seat close to the entrance . I ordered stuff that would keep me engaged at least for the next half an hour.
I was looking attentively at the road outside until the first batch of school children appeared on the scene.. Their laughter drifted towards me on the breeze but Emma and Charles weren't among them. The sky that was bright some time ago was now cloudy and gray. As the time passed slowly I was getting restless with anxiety. I was feeling a bit awkward also sitting alone and having no idea as to how long I would be able to stay there idling away perhaps hours at a stretch. And I could not bury my head in a book pretending t read because My guests might pass that way and we would both miss each other. Everything seemed to be in danger of going wrong, the weather, the time, the day and my unreasonable longing to see them as if my life depended on that meeting. A chance acquaintance that happened to take place in some vacant hours, and if someone were to foresee the effect so deep I would not have given credence to it.
Another group of children was coming and the augury was made by their playful kidding and laughter. I eagerly scanned their faces but could not find Emma and Charles. I began to feel lost on the high sea now with nothing to see on the horizon. Where was I going to look for them except for this road and this coffee shop as my radar. Everything was perhaps to end as hastily and abruptly as it had begun. The flow of children walking to their school had stopped by now. I looked at the watch. I had spent half an hour already. It was not justifiable to prolong my presence at the coffee-shop beyond the next ten minutes.And if at all I chanced to meet them as I started walking back home they would be found in a tearing hurry to reach school. And did I wait here for them just to have a glimpse of them ? Honestly not.
I decided to end the waiting and looked up finally giving up my long and steady vigilant watch over the road that was to bring Emma and Charles within my sight. As I stood up feeling into my pocket for the wallet I saw the lady at the shop counter watching me with curious eyes. It seemed she had noted my two earlier meetings with Emma and Charles earlier. and perhaps had guessed that I was waiting for them.
To be continued
The girl at the counter was watching me as I started walking towards the counter and gave me a cordial smile as I was about to pay the bill. She said politely, "I buy the coffee and the toast for you sir. The bill is on me." I looked at her with a question mark. She said, " Emma and her aunt have been my friends . I have known them for a long time. They went to school rather early today. You just missed them." To avoid any further embarrassment to me she clarified, "I was there at the counter when you last met them. Can I help sir?"
This filled me with confidence and I said, "It was a chance meeting. And I liked them. My stay in Vancouver will end shortly and I will go back to India where I come from. I would like to say hello to them before I go."
She said, " You will definitely see them if you come here again around five in the evening. That's the time when they drop by every evening."
The next day as I reached the coffee shop Emma and Charles were waiting. Emma was sitting with her back towards the door. I found Charles looking fixedly at the road . He wasn't fidgety but rather calm which was unlike Charles.He nudged Emma but she did not look in my direction. I approached their table and she got up rather deferentially. That too was unlike Emma. Both had been silently brooding over the last meeting when Emma had suddenly withdrawn and walked away with Charles in tow. I could see the sense of misgiving writ large on Charles's face. He suddenly seemed to have changed over the last two days. A misgiving crossed my mind too. Did they regret that they had let me know them more intimately than they should have.
Emma broke the ice." I am sorry you waited long expecting to see us in the morning." She said tentatively to start the conversation.
Emma's Story. Part 2. Chapter 5.
I pulled a chair and positioned it between the chairs of Emma and Charles as we all sat around the table. Emma now sat down and looked at me as I fumbled for words and simultaneously tried to guess her mood. I made a feeble attempt not to look grim..
Emma understood. "Will you be leaving for India?" She asked, not suddenly but unceremoniously.
I said," Yes.. " And I glanced at Charles. His eyes dilated. He was not ready to reconcile with the idea of parting so soon.. In the meantime Emma got up quietly and went to the counter. I saw her coming back with the tray of coffee and sandwiches.
While she was at the counter I asked Charles, "Any new quiz for me today?" He fished out a sketchbook from his schoolbag. He had drawn three figures, a tall man, and the other two, a skinny girl holding a book aloft, and a boy , his mouth wide open, in a laughter perhaps, dancing, throwing his hands up. Behind them were drawn horizontal, wavy lines which was most likely the sea, and vertical lines which were like the tall masts of boats.
"What is this? I mean who are they?" I asked. "Guess", he said, looking minutely at his own creation. You have to answer", he said, giving me a challenging look. I pretended not to have understood. He said, "This is Emma and this is me."
"And who is the third figure?" I asked. And I was really puzzled. "This is the quiz. You have to answer", he said.
I pulled a blank face and said, " I give up!!!" I knew very well that was what he wanted to hear. He pouted his mouth and nodded his head up and down. Then looked at me and giggled. Then said triumphantly, " That is you!".
Emma's story. Part 2. Chapter 6.
Just then Emma reached the table and before putting the tray down she peered over Charles's shoulder to look at our object of interest. I looked at her to read her expression. A thin smile flitted across her face. She put the tray down and settled in her chair facing me and Charles.
She was trying to hide the pain over Charles's innocent and trustful involvement in me. For no fault of mine I feared there was a subtle resentment in that expression. After a brief moment of silence we were about to speak simultaneously and both stopped to give the other the chance. I expected her to speak about my date of departure, the impending doomsday as it were. But Emma 's astute mind decided elude the obvious. Skipping the expected she said, " How are you placed tomorrow morning? Tomorrow is Sunday. Charles and I would like to spend it with you if your time permits!"
I said, "I have absolutely no problem. But will your aunt permit you to go out with a stranger that I am?"
Emma said without hesitation, " I'll manage." and with that she looked at Charles. They both seemed to be like a duo who were used to working in collusion over finding a way out in such situations.
The next morning we were three of us at Jericho beach facing the Pacific. The sky was changing the moods fast. I hoped it would not rain like the day on our first meeting. But soon the clouds dispersed and the sunshine was clear and falling straight and candid over the sea.
Emma's Story Part 2. Chapter 7.
Emma and Charles had come prepared to spend long hours of that Sunday on the beach with me. There was the breath of freedom in their presence, the way they were dancing to the rhythm of some song that Emma had picked up recently from her music lessons. Charles threw his hands up in the air like the child he had drawn in the sketchbook. This went on for some time until Charles found a mound of a sandcastle somebody had started making and left half the way, incomplete. He got busy building it up again in his own way.
Looking at Charles who was busy meticulously shaping the form of the new castle, Emma looked pensive. I asked her about her unexplained and abrupt exit of that day. She did not speak for some time but the pause did not last long. Without turning to look at me she said, "I cannot quite explain and you will not understand. It had to do with the loss we suffered over our father's death. My parents were deeply attached to each other. My mother who was outwardly a strong person was not all that strong really. She was dependent on my father in many ways. Financially we were secured but that was not the point. In spite of her brave effort to get on with life and with her devotion and duty as mother she had caved in and collapsed under the stress. When you mentioned you being from the armed forces I recalled all that we had gone through." She paused.
I did not asked her anything more. The Pacific ocean was deep and the wind had stopped. The yachts parked in the distance were softly swaying and the masts drew lines against the deep blue sky. Emma had taken the burden off her chest. Perhaps she needed to do it earlier but could not Sometimes someone who is relatively a stranger like me is the safest outlet to relieve such stressful moments.
Chapter 8.
Emma did not know how to resume the conversation. She was keeping distance out of the awareness that there was no more meeting again and Charles , being aware of Emma's intermittent silence during the conversation, was feeling something amiss. Between my first chance encounter with them after her practice session and now, both Emma and Charles had taken on a different note. The absence of parents in their life had caused a rupture that was difficult to overcome yet. They seemed to be living constantly in fear of some invisible third eye ready to admonish them for some lapses in their conduct.
I longed to comfort them and instill in them a confidence that would help them the entire lifetime to come. I had sensed that confidence in Emma the very first time I saw her glancing at the audience casually during that practice session, in her quiet certainty that she would excel if she found an opportunity. It warmed my heart to see that there was no waywardness in either of them. Both knew very early in life they they had to be their own angels. I was myself feeling small in the presence of such fortitude.
Charles was fed up of playing by himself. He had given up the castle and was now playing with some new acquaintance. Surprisingly, Charles was not up to his dangerous games and the two were getting along well until the other boy responded to the call of his mother and was ready to go. Looking at Charles so despondent, the boy's mother came to them with a cordial smile and said a few words to Charles. She seemingly promised Charles and her son that they would both be able to play together the next Sunday. Charles responded pleasantly and my heart was at peace seeing that Charles was not without people who understood children's needs and were quick to respond without any overt display of kindness.
I asked Emma if she knew that lady. Emma said she knew the family was originally from Greece and had just recently come to stay in the neighborhood. She said that Charles seemed to have liked the boy and got on rather well with him.. By now all three of us were hungry and Emma unpacked the sandwiches to share.
After the sandwiches we decided to walk to the end of the beach towards the jetty. The sun was mild and there were no signs of rain. The Pacific ocean was calm and pleasant.
Emma Part 2.chapter 8.
Jericho beach, the Jericho Park,and the Pacific ocean were full of blessings for the three of us on that day of sunshine. For Emma and Charles it was a day of freedom in the presence of the Pacific ocean, and for me who was spending most of the days on sea, it was a day in the presence of the warmth of earth. They were invited to dream of the future and I who recalled my days of apprenticeship, was recalling the time of thrill and fear when our submarine was passing under the sea and there was no sign of humanity anywhere.
There was no despondency anywhere near. I rejoiced at the sight of Charles frolicking around and Emma, assured, at peace with herself and her world. We were together, yet apart, each cocooned in one's given world, and yet connected with a magnetic thread. We sat down on a bench under an oak tree while Charles left to chase a black rabbit he had spotted in the weeds. Emma looked at me . I knew by now that such long stretches of silence were not to her taste. Especially when we knew our time was limited, silence was a dreadful waste of time for her. I was a precious entity for her and Charles; some one through whom they wanted to know more about the life and the world they were waiting to embark upon.
Like a vessel drifting along a ripple of thought she asked me, "What is it like when you are on the sea?"
I said, "Being an engineer, I have to be in the engine room most of the time. But the hours I spent on the deck watching the sea were many. Bewitching to say the least. Sometimes the vastness and and the endless time and space filled with nothing else but the sky and the sea is awful."
Emma said, " I have never been out of sight of the shore, never been that deep into the sea. I have always watched the sea from the shore."
I said, "My first lesson in life was to overcome the fear of the sea. It was not easy. Our ship was caught in an awesome storm when crossing the Suez Canal. We were all cadets then. We were sick like anything, more out of fear than physical distress. we longed to get out of it all and quit this hazardous profession. After that I kept in mind the words of Christopher Columbus which I had read somewhere in a school book: "You never cross the ocean until you lose sight of the shore."
Chapter 9.
Emma was looking wistfully at the tranquil sea. She was trying to figure out something. But I did not intrude. She wasn't looking at me because we were both looking in the same direction, the sea. By this time, Charles who was tired of his solitary games had come back and joined us. He sat next to Emma, eager to listen.
Emma said, Did you know you were making a hard decision when you joined the Navy?"
I said, " I had read a small introductory book on Indian Navy when I was in school. I was a different guy before reading that book". I looked at Charles. He was looking expectantly at me. I could read the question which said, "Like me?" I looked back and said, "Yes; I was like you, a prankster!"
Charles snuggled close to his sister. He was all ears now. Emma said, tell him all about you as a cadet.
I said, "Well, It is a rather long story. My basic training was in Chilka in Orissa.. There I was trained for six months to learn the basic rules and discipline.. That was a beginning of change in me."
The story of a change in me drew the attention of Charles more than of Emma. He got up from Emma's side and boldly snuggled up to me. Emma too looked at me intently.
I said, "After a period of six months, staying away from family, I was granted a month's leave to visit home. After that we would not be able to see our land and people for a long long time. I wanted to thoroughly enjoy every minute of that month. But in the midst of it all, that feeling, that I was different now, and had to be different, from the rest of friends; that feeling was growing strong. I was a soldier first and all other relationships had a subordinate place thereafter in my life."
I paused for a look at Emma. She and Charles were getting what they needed to know, an insight into the inner man that their father was. By now our conversation was going along the track of intuition.
The day I had my first glimpse of the life of Emma and Charles in the coffee shop I never thought I would be drawn to them with a strong magnetic pull, and that in a few chance meetings they would seek a soul-mate in a stranger like me. It was a small tryst with destiny.
I took up the loose strands of the conversation and continued. "I still remember the day my parents came to the Railway station to see me off to my next phase of three month's training to Cochin in Kerala. That day I was upset again as I was leaving my parents for a long time. That day the rain was in full swing.. It was heavily raining. The train started and after more than 2 days I arrived at Cochin. I was shocked when I came to know that the people there don't know Hindi.. But I managed one taxi driver to drop me at the naval base..... After that I reported on board my ship.. It was the first time I was looking at such a big ship in my life.. It was like a mini city.. Next day my shipmate introduced me to other trainees who were going to accompany us. It took me almost 10 days to settle my self to the conditions of the ship. After that our ship went to Goa, followed by our scheduled visits to foreign countries like Italy and Egypt. During our voyage the sea was normal but when we arrived at Suez Canal at Mediterranean Sea the sea had gone worst like a hell. The sea was very rough and our ship was rolling and pitching. We all under -trainees were scared like small kids and praying for our lives to god. Full night we were under scare. But next day in the afternoon the sea was calm and silent like a river..."
Chapter 11.
I paused. I was introspecting. My days on the ship , and the ensnarement of the sea! The bewitching Goddess and her many moods! Stunning, awesome, vast! Once she claims you, she claims you forever! Her sounds, her calm, and her fury! The truth of my life, and who knows, perhaps of my death!
The sun had begun to decline. The Pacific ocean was sending signals to the yachts and the birds to return. The sea gulls were crossing the sea. It was a time of longing for something innate to the sea; the waves and the rocks, and the horizon. Something vast was taking on a form of something I could see. A cosmic tide of a feeling moved and touched the sky, and a scattered mass of cloud was dissipating fast in the vaults of the sky., and in its dissipation it portrayed a magnanimous love happening across the sky.
I could feel a calm descending upon all three of us. That hour and those moments had touched the three living creatures with the spirit of the magnanimity of the sea and each was trying to read its endless script in different ways.
It was time to go. Emma and Charles had to reach home before dark and I had to go to my Highbury apartment and gather my scattered spirits.
I looked at both of them. Charles who was sitting next to me had got up first and was dusting off the sand particles hugging his jacket and hair. Emma looked at him with amusement. She was familiar with his ways and the mind. His resilience was his chief strength. And perhaps he was her mentor in some respects, though she was his elder sister. She stood up; took a deep breath, and smiled at me. In that smile, I found an assurance that she was the same Emma I had seen at the practice session, one among the many children, on the threshold of youth, and ready with a casual awareness of her difference from other children, a precocious girl-child who was taught early by life to carry herself with insouciance.
My mind was at peace.
Chapter 12.
The next three days were extremely busy for me as my attention was divided over many things under the focus. I hardly had any time to think of myself. In between, I thought of Emma and Charles intermittently, but avoided the temptation of seeing them again. I was busy with the correspondence with my headquarters at India. When at last everything was in order I thought of strolling along the paths I had trodden, mornings, evenings and sometimes at night but wasn't sure if I would be able to do it again without feeling the wrench in my heart.
I could imagine Emma and Charles walking past the coffee-shop, morning and evening, glancing at the place I had waited for them to see them walk in, soaked in rain. Then on one such night I prayed for them as never before, intensely, passionately, devoutly. I remembered the instructions their aunt had given them not to get entangled in any emotional ties lest they lose focus on their goals in life. There was truth in the lady's advice however harsh it sounded to me when I heard it first from Emma. I respected the lady for her perspective on life.
I convinced myself that another meeting was neither likely nor desirable. But it was not in place to leave them without a word of final good bye. After a lot of procrastination I decided to write a small note of thanks addressed to both. I am poor at expressing feelings in writings or gestures. I feel myself hollow and superfluous when I try to do that. I knew the safest and the surest channel to deliver the note into their hands was through the girl at the counter who had read my mind last time and helped me.
The next morning as i was relatively free, I decided to proceed towards the coffee shop taking care to avoid the time when Emma and Charles would be passing that way to school. I knew a florist on that way at the next corner on Alma street. I collected a few daisies and chrysanthemum and asked the florist to make a bouquet. Then I suddenly remembered the girl at the counter who had read my mind and played a role in arranging my meeting with Emma and Charles. I hurriedly asked the florist girl to make one more. She made the two bouquets and handed them to me with a graceful smile which was characteristic of the people living in Vancouver.. I took it with thanks, the first ever, and the last bouquet I had bought for some while living in Vancouver.
As I hurriedly barged into the coffee-shop the girl at the counter noticed me with a look of surprise, seeing me walk in with the two bouquets in my hand. I explained to her who the bouquets were meant for and she smiled. I told her that I would be leaving for India and there were only two days left before my departure, and that I would not be able to meet Emma and Charles again. She thanked me for the bouquets and promised to deliver Emma's bouquet and the note as soon as she met Emma next. I was about to leave the shop when it struck me that I was leaving Emma clueless about my whereabouts in case she wanted to contact me in future. I turned around and handed my business cards to the girl, one for Emma and one for her to keep.
On the appointed day I embarked upon my voyage back to India.
The brief episode ended, but not without an indelible mark in my memory. The ocean would be silent at night and I would spend a few hours watching the journey of the moon and the stars from the deck wondering about the mystery of human bondage.
Years passed by. I rose to a higher rank in the next few years. Life was full of excitement and new challenges but the memory of Emma and Charles accompanied me at every stage. In the coming years I was blessed with two kids and my parents spent the last few years of their life in contentment.
One day, as I returned home as I was off duty on account of my three months leave,.. my wife gave me a letter and a small parcel. The letter had traveled a long distance as it had an inaccurate address written on it. The handwriting on the envelope was neat and elegant. The letter was pasted and securely tied to the parcel. I weighed the parcel curiously as I simultaneously felt a strange vibration coming from the parcel.
I opened the parcel and to my surprise the letter and the parcel were from Emma.
I took a long pause before opening it, not being able to make up my mind whether to open the letter or the parcel first. I was flooded with memories of Vancouver and Emma.
The parcel first! I gently removed the wrapping. There was a wristwatch inside, the same wristwatch which I had seen on Emma's wrist on our first meeting on that rainy day in the coffee shop. I scanned the letter, hastily at a glance and then slowly again to imbibe every word. Nearly twelve years had elapsed after that day.
She wrote, "Dear Mr. Pratap Sharma, I do not know where to begin. There is a huge time lapse. I am not sure if you will remember the Emma you had met on a rainy day in Vancouver. For me and Charles you are the same precious soul without a name. It was painful for me that you did not spare a few minutes to hand over that bouquet to me personally. We missed you terribly, especially Charles. Anyway. We valued your company. You left a deep mark on us in that short period. Certain things happen in life and bring about a change.
To come back to the present... Charles has changed a lot. He is a responsible young man with a lot of understanding and patience. You were his role model after that day we spent on the beach as he listened intently to you describing your experience of the sea. He is a cadet now in the Canadian national cadet corps and soon be a part of the naval force. I am getting engaged to Kevin Walsh, my friend from our school days. He teaches music and piano in a college academy in Vancouver. I shall soon take up a job in the same college.
You must be puzzled over the watch. It is the same watch you used to look at with a question in your eyes. It belonged to my father. I wanted to find a rightful place for that watch and I thought of you. It belongs to you. It will have its rightful place on your wrist. Please accept it. "
There was no formal ending at the end of the letter.
I stared wearing the watch on my wrist ant it became a part of my life thereafter.
That is Emma, forever ago.
The End.
