From a novella in progress...

Sayontoni woke up earlier than usual; the morning suddenly seemed oppressive, sweat on her neck and arms settled on the linen. She shook of the sheet that had covered her at night, but that wasn’t enough; she extended her hand to the ledge and unfastened the window. It recoiled slowly allowing the freshness of the morning to float in. The breeze entered, dispelling the staleness of the night. The freshness of the morning, the glow of the sun still low in the sky, the ample shadow of the bamboo groove across the garden fused with the smell of the earth fresh with rain. It was the twenty-seventh and Ashim must have arrived a few hours earlier. A glow seemed to spread from her face into the air around her. She caught the smile on her face and felt silly about it. Her stretched limbs cocooned in the softness of her bed linen, her toes touched the wrought iron bedpost and immediately she felt tingled by its coolness. She liked the coolness against the warmth of her skin; gingerly she placed the flat of her foot on the wrought iron. The chill on her skin, amidst the dispersing warmth of the room, made her think of Ashim, the last time he was here and the first time she had made love.

The anticipation of their meeting a few hours from now, made her queasy, filling her with a sense of excitement. Excitement - not because he was here now, but because he would stay for a while. She closed her eyes.

The lakes looked pretty when the rains first came, the dust and grime of the city washed in the wake of the first drops of rains. He had touched her on the shoulder and she had turned to see his face ablaze. The warmth of his breath filled the taxi like a cloud. She turned into his arms feeling warm, scared and fitful. The windows - patterns of rivulets formed by the falling rain, clear streaks on an obscure slate. He had clutched her, close to him.

She opened her eyes, feeling that restlessness again, not for what was to transpire, but for what had. She buried her face in the uneven softness of the pillow, and closed her eyes again; she didn’t see the rain pelting down on the lakes anymore. The moment from a few months ago had dissolved into now. And now, with her shuteyes the mind saw flashes, images running in a cinemascope gone awry. The denim of his trousers, the feeling of trepidation and felicity when she had held him with her half cupped hands and how he had gone weak with his head falling back on to the Rexene headrest. The rear view mirror, her navy blue t-shirt clumped like a crutch under her arms, Ashim’s head on her shoulder and under her chin. The gaze of her eyes in the mirror, at once both the object and the image, linked by time, space and action, but incongruous in every way else. Her eyes suddenly opened, feeling the exhilaration of a fair ride and the despondency of a long journey. Her temples ached, she took a deep breath to calm herself, but her mind was in turmoil, a canvas of random images.

Labels: Fiction