The Phantom Afternoon

Killing is a slow business, like Hiruago, which was about lovemaking. Alec waited in his car for the nervous lunch hour to descend into an unfeeling digestive period. Reader, if you are from the more salubrious climes of the Northern Hemisphere, you have not experienced a phantom afternoon. Not long after the dishes are washed and the womenfolk have consumed their rice, pulses and fritters, and the men in the shops and warehouses have finished their hand-rolled cigars, a sudden lassitude overcomes everyone.  Nothing moves. Nothing at all. So it was that day.

The sullen sun beat down upon the market, the houses beyond it , the large lake where amateur fishermen gather closer to sundown and the club  beside it where bridge rubbers go on till midnight. The municipal school was deserted after end of class, the solitary guard sleeping in his cabin with his mouth open. He dreamt, as usual, of his home by a foaming river between Nepal and Tibet. Only the post-office at the edge of the settlement stayed awake, it’s inhabitants comforted by subsidies, tea and powerful air-conditioning. Alec waited, the sweat descending from his neck to the band of his trousers and trickling into his underwear. The target emerged from the post office with a small bag in hand and hailed a rickshaw. There had been several standing where the market street bends to meet the arterial road. A flower seller sits there early mornings to tend to devotees. In the evenings, the flowers are for racier clients. And so, onwards from the post office. Alec gave the target a sufficient head-start and slowly rolled his car at between fifteen and thirty or so, in pursuit.

To call it a pursuit would be amusing. It took time as the rickshaw moved from one street to another. Then it entered the lane where the house stood. He knew the house well. Trees gave shade and a couple of cows ate leaves thoughtfully. A dog slept on it’s stomach beside a bench beyond which the lake sparkled. This was where the moneyed people were-and still are. The target got off, paid the rickshaw puller, opened the gate and entered the house. Alec waited again. He counted twenty minutes and then went in.  He walked through a garden of  marigold, sunflowers, zinnia and pruned rosebushes. A low series of steps went up to the verandah which was wrapped around the house. There was elaborate furniture to sit out and a brass knocker. He used it twice.

The target opened the door, frowning. On seeing Alec, the target started asking something and fell silent upon seeing the gun. “Inside”, said Alec. They walked into a large, living room, cool from the absence of hot sun light. It was sparsely furnished but the walls were decorated elaborately with paintings, wall hangings and Tibetan tankhas. “Sit down”, Alec commanded. The target sat on a chair by a dining table. The table was empty and clean. “You know who I am.” “Yes”, the target admitted. “Then you know why I am here.” “It has been a very long time”, the target replied,”Do you really need to do this now?” Alec drew up another chair and sat down. “I have orders. Nothing personal.” The target looked at him without any outward sign of fear. “I have money. A lot of money. You can have it.” Alec pointed a finger. “Money that you made by killing your comrades. If I were to take it, it would be justified. And I wouldn’t need to spare you.” “But you need to know where it is, to get it.” A girl walked into the room from a side door. “Hello, Alec.”

If he was surprised, he did not show it. He had known there were two of them in the house. Even so, seeing someone you loved after years could have an impact on the hardest heart. His training helped him disguise his feelings but he knew she would know. “It has been many years, Anna. You are well?” She smiled faintly. “How polite. You come to kill my mother and ask about my health. Good manners pervade the brotherhood, I will grant you that.” “Show me your hands, Anna”, Alec said. She held out her hands, her dark eyes on him. “On the table, palms up, please. Thank you.” He frisked her quickly. “Ok.” She  sat opposite him. Alec waved the gun at her. “My orders are only about Madhu. Do not get in the way, Anna.” “And what will happen afterward?” “What do you mean?” “After you kill my mother?” “I will leave and you will report the murder.” “I have seen you. You will not let me live.” Alec shrugged. “It is up to you to believe. Or not. I believed you. And we all believed her. Give me some credit.” I loved you, he wanted to say, and one day you were gone. Instead, he pointed the gun at Madhu again. “She betrayed the brotherhood and got paid by the authorities. A lot of money. A lot of money for selling the lives of your own people. You know the consequences. At least, we do not want your money or house. Or your life, Anna.” “Unlike in the old country, where the people’s court would take it all,” Annapurna smiled again. “This is enough. Let me finish this and be gone, Anna. You will be ok. You have my word.” He took the safety off. “Close your eyes, Madhu. It will be a second. You won’t feel a thing.” Madhu kept her eyes on him. “No, Alec. Listen to me.” “I am not interested in your money.” “No, it’s not that. Anna, please explain.”

“My mother has cancer. Stage 4, stomach. It won’t take long. And this place, this house, this neighbourhood -these are all she has to live with.” He put the pistol down but kept his hand on the trigger. “And you did not go for chemo or radiation?” “I did not want the pain, the nausea or a bald head.” She smiled at the idea. “Do you want to see the prescription, Alec?” Anna asked, but without the sarcasm he expected. He shook his head. Madhu continued. “Alec, all you have to do is walk away from here and tell them I am dead from cancer. And in a few months….whenever it happens, Anna will send you the proof. The photos, certificate of death, whatever you want. Alec, let me at least live these last few months with her in peace.” Madhu turned to Anna. “A glass of water, please.” Anna got up and Alec followed her movement with his pistol. “Do not step outside this room, Anna. I will shoot you.” She sighed and shook her head, going to the sideboard next to the table. She poured a glass and brought it back for her mother. “Would you like some water, Alec?” Alec shook his head. He had to take a decision soon. His only advantage was time. As the afternoon wore out, people would wake up again. The streets would be crowded. Someone might turn up-a neighbour, a hawker, someone. He hadn’t expected things to turn out like this. Old Master would have been disappointed. He craved tobacco but did not pull out the packet. The dark eyes remained on him, boring through the armour of his defence and the years of separation. The man who had trained him in the fine art of killing had also taught him something else. When the facts change, Old Master had told him, change the facts you live in.  The world is always on the move. Only your feelings will remain, like a flower pinned to a wall. Do not be rigid. Believe in what you feel and be part of the facts. Indeed. “What if this afternoon did not exist?” The two women looked at Alec with startled expressions.

Alec stood on the roof of Madhu’s house, smoking. That was a concession she had granted him. Up there, no-one would see him using tobacco. There were no high-rises around. He had taken time and effort-and a lot of money-to remove all evidence of his presence there that afternoon. Then, he had to cover his tracks so that the brotherhood wouldn’t find him. A month later, he was back again. Bags, new passport, a new name. Call me Rick. A slightly altered face. A business, he had told immigration at the airport, in the Far East in semiconductors. He would be here for a long time, hopefully. The wise men in the club and the gossiping ladies in the precinct were the first to be told through appropriate channels. They would take care of the rest. Madhu did not have long to live. Her daughter, Anna, had written to her boyfriend who had been traveling overseas. He had come to live with her permanently. At last, Madhu had a son-in-law to dote on her in her final months. No, he was more like a son. He did not know the local language and his English wasn’t all that good. He spoke with Anna in one of those strange tongues she had picked up years ago as a student of foreign languages. God bless Madhu, they all exclaimed. After all those years in the mountains, the turmoil, the return to her grandfather’s place she had seen only once as a child-she finally had some peace. And that boy. He called himself Rick. Was he European? He could really pass off as anything. How gentlemanly. And so quiet and fit. Would Anna marry him? They were all broad-minded here, of course. But surely a marriage ceremony would be a nice thing for Madhu to see? And they would all get invited into that large house her grandfather had built, where he once hosted glittering parties for the rich and famous and which her own mother, Madhu’s mother, had walked out of decades back. How nice to know that people always come back home.

Author’s Note-Apart from the obvious places that do exist, none of the characters, locations, cities, countries and incidents mentioned here are real. This is a work of pure fiction. Any resemblance to any real person, alive or deceased, is not intentional and deeply regretted. Many thanks to Patricia Prudente on Unsplash for the photo. https://unsplash.com/s/photos/sitting-on-porch