The Old Lady and her flowers

CHAPTER EIGHT

The next morning began very late for me, much to the warden’s displeasure. I had stayed awake late into the night writing my letter. She pursed her lips meaningfully at me as I hurried around gathering my mattress and setting the bed neat before leaving, then I wasted the next ten or so minutes searching for a comb in the room, my hair open and tangled flying around me. I kept getting in the way of a helper who had come to sweep the floor and when I toppled the water glass for the second time in my haste, the warden’s ephemeral patience reached the point of high irritation. She showed me out of the room and hoarsely yelled for Sister Lisa. I must have apologized to her thousand times but she was not in the mood to listen.

Sister Lisa peeked out of the adjoining hallway and clucked her tongue at the state of me. The warden handed me over to her and she, with all the affection of a loving elder sibling, got hold of a comb from somewhere and began detangling my hair. I, meanwhile, started to stuff my things in my small bag. I must say Sister Lisa’s tongue worked more that morning than her hands as she incessantly kept clucking at me and jabbering away of all things in world,

“That’s not a very sensible behavior, now, Maya. You are starting your job today and you are thoroughly non presentable. Workplace demands a certain presentability and etiquettes, dear. And what is this that you are wearing? The same old uniform. I’ll lend you my shirt after we tie your hair.” She said generously to which I replied quickly, “The clothes are fine. It’s not as if I am going to work at a fancy place. It is just a handy job. I am comfortable this way.”           

   “Fine. As you wish. But, I doesn’t matter if the job is small, you should still look your professional best,” she went on like that and I turned wary soon of listening to her. If I only told her what exactly I was going to do there she would go off like a rocket. A moment later she tugged hard at my hair then and I                   winched in pain. She groaned and put the comb down and began detangling them with her fingers and complaining along. I apologized to her saying, “Sorry Sister for having to do this. Here, give me, I’ll do that on my own.” I turned around to face her but she smiled and continued.

“It’s no problem. It’s like having a child of whom you take care.” I laughed at it.

“I’ll cut them short after some days. Just to save the trouble.” I added.

“Don’t you dare!” She exclaimed slapping my shoulder and I remembered my mother saying similar words on countless such occasions.

“There. You are done.” Sister Lisa sighed after a long moment of silence and got up, pulling me along. “Now, don’t be nervous or something, okay. Everything will be fine. God be with you.”

And I repeated for the umpteenth time, “It’s not a very big deal, Sister. In fact, all your seriousness is very frightening.”

She patted my cheek and waved me goodbye. I set out of the orphanage right as the sun as bearing down upon me from the dead centre of the sky. I took a deep breath and chanted the name of God as I walked along the path which was a mile or more long to reach the village.

The mid-day sun was dead beat in the centre of the sky, but I could hardly feel the heat. A strong, cool wind which always envelopes these mountains played around me in lazy delight today. The fresh and invigorating air filled my being as I took long breaths while trudging towards the village along the bare forest road. I saw a couple of familiar children some distance ahead, hurrying along with a man, on their way to the town for school. I called out to them and waved. I saw little Lily turn back and yell enthusiastically and then they ran of towards the gate of the near by railway station. I smiled and hurried my footsteps; I hadn’t realized before just how far the village was from us. It took me nearly twenty minutes to reach there for the huge clock on a very high, official looking building already showed that it was well beyond quarter past twelve now. I revised my visit again in my head as I entered the village. The neat village road was hardly dotted with a few passers-by at this time of the day. I passed the potter’s house; he was lounging on the old, wooden swing on his verandah, while is tiny wife hurried about the house. I smiled at him warmly and he gave me a small smile in return but it turned into a grimace as he gauged the direction in which I was going. I sighed; how bad would be my presence in that big house, anyway, that people have made so many discouraging conclusions about it? I turned wary again; well, I was just a few moments away from knowing it myself.

And surely, I was not surprised at all to find that nothing had changed about its doleful appearance. Yet. It stood there as if a picture from an old, tattered album- an original stillness hung about it in a stark contrast to the dynamic surroundings of the farm work which went about in all direction, far and wide. I opened the rusty old garden gate and entered, meanwhile saying a swift prayer to God. Yet again. God must be so tired of me by now. The three steps which led to the verandah were still littered with the same junk as yesterday and the tantamount front door stayed resolutely shut. Again, just as yesterday. I went forward somewhat hesitant and knocked at the door. And quite predictably, it didn’t open. Again. Fine, I thought, and began pounding it without any apology this time. It stayed shut. I sighed, slightly irritated. Do I have to knock the door so many times every while I came here? Then I remembered the key Arthur had given me. Okay, since he was not opening the door, I could definitely use it; thanks to Arthur for being thoughtful so. I placed the key and turned- it was hard and rough, due to lack of use, I think. And then, just like before, the door opened from within. Really, now! Does the speed of sound decrease when I cross the threshold of this house or what? Who takes that long to answer the door?

I looked up to see the very same person as before but this time a significantly more number of details registered with me because, knowing that it was coming, I placed my left arm on the open door and held it back just as he was about to shut it in my face as unceremoniously as before. It was somewhat difficult to tell about his exact face for it was obscured by a thick beard and a tangle of dark, unruly, matted hair on the top. Also, quite evidently, the thick cigar was in place as before and the phenomenal pair of piercing grey eyes even in their sunken state. He frowned at me as I continued to push the door that he was trying to shut, now with both my hands. I quickly said,

“Mister, I am here on Mr. Arthur Abel’s order. He has assigned me a job of refurnishing in the house on account of reasons know to him alone, so would you please quit trying to shut me out? He is coming here in person later if you think I am lying.” I announced thus in a thoroughly mechanical manner. I expected him to move aside now. But, again, for a strange creature he was, he opened the door wide and as I began to move in, he leaned against door, folding his hands across his chest and stood right in the door. I raised my eyebrows at him and he continued to stare right over my head past the fields. I waited for some time expecting him to speak something, anything at all. But, to my befuddlement, he didn’t move at all, neither looked at the person standing in front of him. When, half an hour past, I had made many moves and questions and all had fallen on deaf ears. Bewildered and irritated, I sat down cross-legged on the step trying to get my bearings. Finally, I got up and decided to bring the person of authority. I turned around and said, somewhat stiffly, “I am going to get your Father. We’ll see about this.” I turned and stepped down from the verandah and as I left I think I heard a faint whisper say, “With pleasure.”