the dock, between old barges and old
machinery. It sure didn’t look like there would be ruins and churches here, but
the book said there were. We had tea and toast and went to bed. I listened to
Radji cry out again before I fell asleep. It was the same as before; he was
crying out to stop someone.
In the early afternoon we snuck out from underneath the old pier, climbed the
bank and went in search of Old Goa. We found it right above the industrial zone
after we passedthrough some trees. It appeared as if in a
fairy tale. There were ancient ruins and a gigantic cathedral—the church of St.
Francis of Assisi. It was incredible inside and out. So were the ruins. For
hours we wandered around in the hot sun, exploring alleyways between fallen
stones and vast open courtyards and crumbling walls. But the St. Francis church
was really special. It was in great shape. It was the biggest church I had ever
seen, and the first one Radji ever entered. No one stepped in our way to stop
us, although I put Hollie in the tool bag when we went inside. We lit candles
and stared at paintings and stained glass windows and statues. Radji asked me a
lot of questions, which I found kind of hard to answer. He was particularly
interested in angels, and he couldn’t understand why there was only one god.
Outside, we bought bottled water, chai and snacks at roadside vendors, sat in
the shade and ate them. It was a very relaxed and enjoyable afternoon.
By evening, we were still sitting in the shade of the great church, playing
chess, when we were interrupted by a rather strange old lady. She was dressed in
white linen, like a saint, and wearing an extremely wide-brimmed hat. Her face
was old and wrinkled. Her eyes were blue and shiny. She stopped to watch us play
and seemed lost in concentration.
Finally, she spoke. “Well, look here—east meets west.”
I looked up at her. “What?”
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“I’m from Newfoundland. Canada.”
She nodded with approval. “And where are you from?”
Radji raised his head from the game very reluctantly. He looked at her but he
couldn’t believe that she was actually speaking to him, and so he dropped his
head again.
“He’s from Kochi,” I said.
“Is he? Well, my name is Melissa Honeychurch. I live not too far away from
here. You two are an unlikely pair. How did you meet?”
I stared more closely at her. I wondered why she wanted to know. I also
wondered how to answer her. “We met in Kochi.”
“And you’re travelling together?”
“Umm . . . yes.”
“And how are you travelling?”
Now she was getting nosy. I wished she would stop asking questions. “By boat,”
I said. I dropped my head and hoped she would just go away. But she didn’t. She
kept watching the game.
“He needs a bath,” she said suddenly, as if it were her job to go around and
tell people when they needed a bath. I looked at her and thought: what a strange
person. She looked right back at me. “You do, too,” she said.
Chapter Fourteen
MELISSA HONEYCHURCH DIDN’T mind telling people what she thought,
whether they liked it or not. She wasn’t afraid of anybody. I liked that about
her. I didn’t like that she was so bossy though. But something she said caught
my attention. She said she lived in a lovely old house on a lovely piece of land
beside a lovely river. She said she kept an English garden and that she had an
ancient wheelbarrow, a Jaguar she kept in a garage and a riverboat she kept in a
boathouse, but that the boathouse needed attention and she was too old to do it
by herself.
“A Jaguar,” Radji asked?
“It’s a car, not a cat.”
It was the boathouse I was interested in. “Would you
consider renting your boathouse to us for a week so that we can go to
Varanasi?”
“Rent my boathouse? Why on earth would you ever want to rent my boathouse?” She
looked at me suspiciously. “Why
machinery. It sure didn’t look like there would be ruins and churches here, but
the book said there were. We had tea and toast and went to bed. I listened to
Radji cry out again before I fell asleep. It was the same as before; he was
crying out to stop someone.
In the early afternoon we snuck out from underneath the old pier, climbed the
bank and went in search of Old Goa. We found it right above the industrial zone
after we passedthrough some trees. It appeared as if in a
fairy tale. There were ancient ruins and a gigantic cathedral—the church of St.
Francis of Assisi. It was incredible inside and out. So were the ruins. For
hours we wandered around in the hot sun, exploring alleyways between fallen
stones and vast open courtyards and crumbling walls. But the St. Francis church
was really special. It was in great shape. It was the biggest church I had ever
seen, and the first one Radji ever entered. No one stepped in our way to stop
us, although I put Hollie in the tool bag when we went inside. We lit candles
and stared at paintings and stained glass windows and statues. Radji asked me a
lot of questions, which I found kind of hard to answer. He was particularly
interested in angels, and he couldn’t understand why there was only one god.
Outside, we bought bottled water, chai and snacks at roadside vendors, sat in
the shade and ate them. It was a very relaxed and enjoyable afternoon.
By evening, we were still sitting in the shade of the great church, playing
chess, when we were interrupted by a rather strange old lady. She was dressed in
white linen, like a saint, and wearing an extremely wide-brimmed hat. Her face
was old and wrinkled. Her eyes were blue and shiny. She stopped to watch us play
and seemed lost in concentration.
Finally, she spoke. “Well, look here—east meets west.”
I looked up at her. “What?”
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“I’m from Newfoundland. Canada.”
She nodded with approval. “And where are you from?”
Radji raised his head from the game very reluctantly. He looked at her but he
couldn’t believe that she was actually speaking to him, and so he dropped his
head again.
“He’s from Kochi,” I said.
“Is he? Well, my name is Melissa Honeychurch. I live not too far away from
here. You two are an unlikely pair. How did you meet?”
I stared more closely at her. I wondered why she wanted to know. I also
wondered how to answer her. “We met in Kochi.”
“And you’re travelling together?”
“Umm . . . yes.”
“And how are you travelling?”
Now she was getting nosy. I wished she would stop asking questions. “By boat,”
I said. I dropped my head and hoped she would just go away. But she didn’t. She
kept watching the game.
“He needs a bath,” she said suddenly, as if it were her job to go around and
tell people when they needed a bath. I looked at her and thought: what a strange
person. She looked right back at me. “You do, too,” she said.
Chapter Fourteen
MELISSA HONEYCHURCH DIDN’T mind telling people what she thought,
whether they liked it or not. She wasn’t afraid of anybody. I liked that about
her. I didn’t like that she was so bossy though. But something she said caught
my attention. She said she lived in a lovely old house on a lovely piece of land
beside a lovely river. She said she kept an English garden and that she had an
ancient wheelbarrow, a Jaguar she kept in a garage and a riverboat she kept in a
boathouse, but that the boathouse needed attention and she was too old to do it
by herself.
“A Jaguar,” Radji asked?
“It’s a car, not a cat.”
It was the boathouse I was interested in. “Would you
consider renting your boathouse to us for a week so that we can go to
Varanasi?”
“Rent my boathouse? Why on earth would you ever want to rent my boathouse?” She
looked at me suspiciously. “Why
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