A Man among Wolves

Chapter 25

The wine shop belonged to Agilan. He was the 'A' in AKS Wines.

Selva knew that. In all honesty, he was counting on that.

The water droplets from his hair and face dripped on the plastic table before him. Their thuds might have been heard, if not for the loud song playing in the background from the TV. The song was soothing. The hum of the small refrigerator a few tables away that contained coca-cola cans, added to the reassurance that the song provided. The sounds could be used as a lullaby. Selva didn't need a lullaby right now, though. He was calm himself. Actually, he was feeling many things. Calmness was just the out-of-place wrapper on top of those feelings. But that was necessary for what he hoped to achieve.

Because Selva was about to die. A calm death would be the sweetest thing a man could ever get in his life.

The young boy who had asked for his name and order was now conversing to the caretaker, who had a funny face. The boy looked no more than twelve. In a perfect, moral world, someone would have condemned the caretaker for employing child labour and the boy would have been rehabilitated. Selva's childhood had been such a perfect, moral world. More than a decade and half ago, he could see himself working in a wine shop just like this young boy was. But some moral human being had seen him and done something and soon, he was going to school once again. People were imprisoned, including his own father...

Maybe, it was a skewed sense of co-incidence that he was spending his last moments in a shop just like the one where his life was restored.

The boy turned to glance at Selva out of the corner of the eye and continued to talk to the funny-faced man. Selva knew they were talking about him. They had to be.

The boy came over to him again. "Na, are you sure you don't want anything to drink or eat?"

They wanted to hold him there, he thought. Keep him waiting. They might bring him anything he asked for, perhaps even for free. Selva sighed internally.

"I don't want anything to drink. I don't drink," Selva said to the boy. "Get me some chicken though." As the boy scurried away, Selva called out to him. "I want a leg in it!"

He stared back at the caretaker full in the eye. That man held the stare and so did Selva. He didn't know why but he didn't want to be the one to break it. As he desired, that man turned away. His lips were moving soundlessly. He checked his mobile phone. It was probably the fourth time he was checking the phone, in all the five minutes since Selva had entered.

It would only be a matter of time now, wasn't it? Who would come here? The red-haired man? Albert or Gugan, if they had recovered? The chances were low for that.

Gurumoorthy? That thought made the hair on the back of his head stand up. But fear couldn't harm him now. It couldn't paralyse him nor make him wet himself. He was beyond all that. Nothing could affect him now, it seemed. Perhaps this was how those who were about to die felt like. The elderlies who stared calmly at their caretakers before they began the process of their death. The aged dogs that just moved their eyes around with serenity before they breathed their last. Maybe people felt calm when they had one leg out of the door.

If he had known this, he probably wouldn't have tried to run away.

But there was another side to this whole issue. Another feeling that was bubbling beneath the poise.

The boy brought the chicken. It was hot enough to blister his tongue if he took a bite out of it. It didn't matter though. Selva wasn't planning on eating it. He ordered chicken only to satiate the anxieties of the caretaker and the boy. So, he sat there and stared at the thin vapours rising out of the chicken leg.