Valmiki's Daughter by Shani Mootoo
Authors: Shani Mootoo
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, FIC000000, Family Life, Fathers and daughters, East Indians, Trinidad and Tobago, East Indians - Trinidad and Tobago
Ads: Link
path of dirty grey skylight mirrored the roadway. In an instant, the windows fogged up. He switched back on the ignition and lowered the windows a fraction all around. The glass cleared, but he saw nothing save for a blur of shivering greens and the darkness of the forest magnified.
The rain tapped relentlessly off the carâs metal and glass, on the asphalt and gravel, off the leaves. The ground was coursed by muddied vein-like rivulets. Even while it rained, birds could be heard chirping in the trees. Caws and squawks in call-and-answer patterns came from all directions. Through the incessantand loud ringing of innumerable cicadas he heard the occasional grunts of howler monkeys. No human sounds could be heard. He mumbled nonsensical sounds just to hear himself.
This forest was dense and dark enough that at any time of day it offered good hunting opportunities. In the rain the animals would have hunkered down beside the wide trunks of trees, on the inside of one of the wall-like roots of a balata tree, or under the umbrellas of wide-leafed trees. They would be easy prey like that.
Valmiki hesitated at the rain and mud. Then, with a jolt of determination, he opened the car door, got out, and stood in the rain until he was thoroughly soaked. He went to the trunk and opened it. He unfurled the rifle from its pouch. He licked the trickles on his lips. His own salt had already begun to break through, in spite of the rain washing over him. A grin set on his face.
It did not last long, though. Once the car and roadway were no longer visible he tensed and moved one deliberate step at a time. By himself, without someone to watch his back, he had the sense that anything could fall out of the trees onto him, or that he could be pounced on from behind. He tiptoed, even though the falling rain drowned the sound of his presence.
He hadnât gone out or used the rifle in the rain before, and wasnât sure how he and it would fare. And, he remembered, snakes got washed out in this kind of weather. In spite of the tall heavy rubber boots he wore, he felt that he could be bitten and die right there. In the forest. Alone. Like a man. Devika and the girls would live the rest of their lives wondering what on earth had made him leave his office and go into the forest by himself. His heart raced.
He walked a hundred or so yards into the forest. Suddenly, he stood still. He could hear something. Fear caused a thunderingpulsing in his head. He did his best to listen beyond the sound of his own fear. He watched with the painful acuity of one whose life depended on it. Soon he could hear a steady, fast-paced panting. A whimper. He bent down and looked through the binoculars that hung around his neck. Rain covered the lenses and the forest was an undecipherable mess of fractured shades of green. Again, there was that sound, a wince or a whimper. He looked with his eyes, the water globbing on his eyelashes almost blinding him. About ten yards or so away, he could just see something that seemed out of place. A honey-coloured shape, huddled in the stalks of a stand of baliser. He couldnât see its face, but judging from the shape, the heaving body, and the paler hanging folds of skin knobbed with rows of teats, he knew it must be a dog that had been recently nursing. Rabies came to mind. He watched for a while, until the dog ducked its head under and out from the heavy dripping fronds of the baliser. He aimed the rifle. In its hooded target lines, he could see the dogâs face. Its eyes were soft, its face soft â almost timid. The dog shivered. He lowered the rifle and looked around. The dog seemed to be alone. No pups, no sign of a person nearby or a squatterâs lean-to or shed. He lifted the barrel again, and let the scopeâs target lines roam the face of the dog. He let it run down the dogâs body. Its neck. Its visible hind leg. He lifted it toward the chest. There. Between its ribcage. He steadied himself and
The rain tapped relentlessly off the carâs metal and glass, on the asphalt and gravel, off the leaves. The ground was coursed by muddied vein-like rivulets. Even while it rained, birds could be heard chirping in the trees. Caws and squawks in call-and-answer patterns came from all directions. Through the incessantand loud ringing of innumerable cicadas he heard the occasional grunts of howler monkeys. No human sounds could be heard. He mumbled nonsensical sounds just to hear himself.
This forest was dense and dark enough that at any time of day it offered good hunting opportunities. In the rain the animals would have hunkered down beside the wide trunks of trees, on the inside of one of the wall-like roots of a balata tree, or under the umbrellas of wide-leafed trees. They would be easy prey like that.
Valmiki hesitated at the rain and mud. Then, with a jolt of determination, he opened the car door, got out, and stood in the rain until he was thoroughly soaked. He went to the trunk and opened it. He unfurled the rifle from its pouch. He licked the trickles on his lips. His own salt had already begun to break through, in spite of the rain washing over him. A grin set on his face.
It did not last long, though. Once the car and roadway were no longer visible he tensed and moved one deliberate step at a time. By himself, without someone to watch his back, he had the sense that anything could fall out of the trees onto him, or that he could be pounced on from behind. He tiptoed, even though the falling rain drowned the sound of his presence.
He hadnât gone out or used the rifle in the rain before, and wasnât sure how he and it would fare. And, he remembered, snakes got washed out in this kind of weather. In spite of the tall heavy rubber boots he wore, he felt that he could be bitten and die right there. In the forest. Alone. Like a man. Devika and the girls would live the rest of their lives wondering what on earth had made him leave his office and go into the forest by himself. His heart raced.
He walked a hundred or so yards into the forest. Suddenly, he stood still. He could hear something. Fear caused a thunderingpulsing in his head. He did his best to listen beyond the sound of his own fear. He watched with the painful acuity of one whose life depended on it. Soon he could hear a steady, fast-paced panting. A whimper. He bent down and looked through the binoculars that hung around his neck. Rain covered the lenses and the forest was an undecipherable mess of fractured shades of green. Again, there was that sound, a wince or a whimper. He looked with his eyes, the water globbing on his eyelashes almost blinding him. About ten yards or so away, he could just see something that seemed out of place. A honey-coloured shape, huddled in the stalks of a stand of baliser. He couldnât see its face, but judging from the shape, the heaving body, and the paler hanging folds of skin knobbed with rows of teats, he knew it must be a dog that had been recently nursing. Rabies came to mind. He watched for a while, until the dog ducked its head under and out from the heavy dripping fronds of the baliser. He aimed the rifle. In its hooded target lines, he could see the dogâs face. Its eyes were soft, its face soft â almost timid. The dog shivered. He lowered the rifle and looked around. The dog seemed to be alone. No pups, no sign of a person nearby or a squatterâs lean-to or shed. He lifted the barrel again, and let the scopeâs target lines roam the face of the dog. He let it run down the dogâs body. Its neck. Its visible hind leg. He lifted it toward the chest. There. Between its ribcage. He steadied himself and
Similar Books
