He grinned. “Going Tobago.”
Dutchie raised an eyebrow. “You look like you going to church, man.” He laughed. “When I tell the passengers to jump if they on the wrong boat, I was talking to you.”
Krishna noticed Dutchie had fallen into his colloquial tongue and it pleased him somehow, like a quiet understanding had passed between them.
The captain guided the steering wheel with an extended finger. “Don’t think I ain’t see them big bags you tote on my boat. I know them ain’t have no snorkelling gear, Boss.”
A sheepish expression crossed Krishna’s face. He ran his hands through his wavy hair, unsure how to explain that his father had been too cheap to buy a plane ticket, or to pay for passage on the real ferry. How could he tell Dutchie without offending him, or embarrassing himself, that this four-hour journey on
The Reverie
was part of Krishna’s punishment for shaming his father?
Dutchie gazed past Krishna. “Boss, take the wheel. It look like George sick.” He slapped Krishna on the back and walked away. Over his shoulder he said, “Don’t shit up your khakis, nuh, man. I ain’t care what you have in them bags as long as I ain’t going to jail for it. From the time I see you with that white-white shirt and luggage, I done know you was t’iefing passage to Tobago on my boat.” He chuckled, shaking his head of dreadlocks as he walked away.
Krisha took the wheel in his hands, surprised at how natural it felt. He enjoyed the rock of the vessel beneath him, the sporadic spray of the sea on his face, the fluidity of his whereaboutsin the world. But a whisper of guilt nagged at his conscience, and the more he ignored it, the more insistent it became.
Vimla
.
The waves lapped to the rhythm of her name.
Vimla
.
The wind carried her name to his ears.
Vimla
.
The last time he had seen her, they had lain on their bellies in the dark and dared to unfold the future blueprints of their lives. Vimla would teach at Saraswati Hindu School and perhaps attend a university in the city the following year. Krishna would continue his pundit work under his father’s tutelage and carry on the family legacy. In a year, when they were more established, they would marry and start a family. Vimla wanted a boy. Krishna wanted a girl. Vimla wanted a house on a hill. Krishna wanted a house by the water. He smiled now, remembering the heat of her elbow next to his, the brush of her hair on his cheek, the undercurrent of excitement in her quiet murmurs, the sweet sound of her muffled giggles. Krishna leaned his weight against the steering wheel and stared, unseeing, at the endless blue. They would have made it happen, he told himself, had Sangita Gopalsingh not played the hand of fate.
Bitterness boiled hot inside him and suddenly he was standing in his bedroom with his father again. “You mad if you think I marrying Chalisa Shankar!” he had exclaimed earlier that morning.
“Hush your mouth, you hear?” Anand rounded on him. “You go marry she. And while I fix up the wedding, I sending you to study in Tobago!” The veins beneath Anand’s eyes throbbed as he shoved a few articles of clothing into a bag.“Straight to your Auntie Kay’s house. Away from
she
, away from Chance!”
“For how long?”
Anand zipped the bag roughly. “Until this scandal die down. Until I organize the wedding and thing with Nanny.” He eyed his son, scowling. “You behave like a real scamp, boy.”
Krishna folded his arms over his chest. “And what make you think Auntie Kay go want me to stay with she?” he asked.
Anand froze. “Eh!” he said, eye twitching. “It ain’t matter if she want you or she ain’t want you—she getting you.”
“Why?”
“Because she costing me a damn fortune, that’s why.” He sucked his teeth, stroked his moustache. “And stop asking me so many questions!”
Maya, Krishna’s mother, stood in the doorway covering her mouth with her hand, her round eyes brimming with
Dutchie raised an eyebrow. “You look like you going to church, man.” He laughed. “When I tell the passengers to jump if they on the wrong boat, I was talking to you.”
Krishna noticed Dutchie had fallen into his colloquial tongue and it pleased him somehow, like a quiet understanding had passed between them.
The captain guided the steering wheel with an extended finger. “Don’t think I ain’t see them big bags you tote on my boat. I know them ain’t have no snorkelling gear, Boss.”
A sheepish expression crossed Krishna’s face. He ran his hands through his wavy hair, unsure how to explain that his father had been too cheap to buy a plane ticket, or to pay for passage on the real ferry. How could he tell Dutchie without offending him, or embarrassing himself, that this four-hour journey on
The Reverie
was part of Krishna’s punishment for shaming his father?
Dutchie gazed past Krishna. “Boss, take the wheel. It look like George sick.” He slapped Krishna on the back and walked away. Over his shoulder he said, “Don’t shit up your khakis, nuh, man. I ain’t care what you have in them bags as long as I ain’t going to jail for it. From the time I see you with that white-white shirt and luggage, I done know you was t’iefing passage to Tobago on my boat.” He chuckled, shaking his head of dreadlocks as he walked away.
Krisha took the wheel in his hands, surprised at how natural it felt. He enjoyed the rock of the vessel beneath him, the sporadic spray of the sea on his face, the fluidity of his whereaboutsin the world. But a whisper of guilt nagged at his conscience, and the more he ignored it, the more insistent it became.
Vimla
.
The waves lapped to the rhythm of her name.
Vimla
.
The wind carried her name to his ears.
Vimla
.
The last time he had seen her, they had lain on their bellies in the dark and dared to unfold the future blueprints of their lives. Vimla would teach at Saraswati Hindu School and perhaps attend a university in the city the following year. Krishna would continue his pundit work under his father’s tutelage and carry on the family legacy. In a year, when they were more established, they would marry and start a family. Vimla wanted a boy. Krishna wanted a girl. Vimla wanted a house on a hill. Krishna wanted a house by the water. He smiled now, remembering the heat of her elbow next to his, the brush of her hair on his cheek, the undercurrent of excitement in her quiet murmurs, the sweet sound of her muffled giggles. Krishna leaned his weight against the steering wheel and stared, unseeing, at the endless blue. They would have made it happen, he told himself, had Sangita Gopalsingh not played the hand of fate.
Bitterness boiled hot inside him and suddenly he was standing in his bedroom with his father again. “You mad if you think I marrying Chalisa Shankar!” he had exclaimed earlier that morning.
“Hush your mouth, you hear?” Anand rounded on him. “You go marry she. And while I fix up the wedding, I sending you to study in Tobago!” The veins beneath Anand’s eyes throbbed as he shoved a few articles of clothing into a bag.“Straight to your Auntie Kay’s house. Away from
she
, away from Chance!”
“For how long?”
Anand zipped the bag roughly. “Until this scandal die down. Until I organize the wedding and thing with Nanny.” He eyed his son, scowling. “You behave like a real scamp, boy.”
Krishna folded his arms over his chest. “And what make you think Auntie Kay go want me to stay with she?” he asked.
Anand froze. “Eh!” he said, eye twitching. “It ain’t matter if she want you or she ain’t want you—she getting you.”
“Why?”
“Because she costing me a damn fortune, that’s why.” He sucked his teeth, stroked his moustache. “And stop asking me so many questions!”
Maya, Krishna’s mother, stood in the doorway covering her mouth with her hand, her round eyes brimming with
Similar Books
