Helen Goes for Mr. Sunday

Who is Mr. Sunday?: Part 7

The chilliness caused by the dense vegetation added bite to the night air, which smelled predominantly salty, with occasional whiffs of rottenness. Helen twitched her nose and rubbed her arms with her palms. Apart from the rustling of leaves and the chirping of crickets, the only sound around was that of Helen's own footsteps, as she walked along a long rows of trees on her left, twigs and sticks crunching under her shoes. As she approached a slight break in the row, she stopped. Momentarily sliding up her kurta, she adjusted the knife wedged behind her right jeans pocket. Then she unlocked her mobile phone and checked her maps application. Turning on her mobile phone's torch, she turned left into what seemed a narrow corridor. There was barely enough space for an adult to go through, with thick and occasionally thorny bushes on either side. After walking for around half a minute, the bushes on either side abruptly ended, and she entered into an open space.

She stopped to look around.

Straight ahead of her were around ten steps leading up to a bridge that was built over a water body--the water body was around a couple of stories below the level of the ground on which she stood. The bridge was in a state of major disrepair, with bushes and moss growing indiscriminately all around it. Except for the moonlight, the only illumination came from some sort of light source--possibly a lamppost--on the land on the other side of the bridge. The water close to the shore was anything but clear, with empty cigarette packs and beer bottles and other sorts of waste and litter floating in it.

Far across in the distance somewhere, a train faintly rumbled along for a while.

Drawing a deep breath, Helen started climbing the steps to the bridge. As she stepped on to the bridge, she saw Vinay leaning against the railing of the bridge with his left side toward her, around a hundred meters from her. There was a backpack placed on the floor, close to his feet.

There was no one else in sight.

Helen slowly moved her right hand over her kurta in the area above her right jeans pocket and felt the knife one more time. Then she slowly took her hand off and started walking toward Vinay with slow, tentative steps.

"She walks in beauty," enunciated Vinay with clear, perfect diction.

Helen strained her ears.

Vinay turned toward Helen, casting a devouring gaze on her. He was very well built and had prominently vacant eyes lodged between a conspicuous unibrow and sunken cheeks. He had a dimple in his chin and a small mouth with tight, thin lips. The combination made him oddly attractive.

"She walks in beauty--like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies," said Vinay, in lyrical cadence.

Helen scowled at him, continuing to walk toward him.

"One ray the more, one shade the less, had half impaired the nameless grace," Vinay continued.

Helen had a deep furrow on her forehead and opened her mouth to say something.

"Which waves in every raven tress or softly lightens over her face..." continued Vinay in songlike phonation.

"I'm not here for a poetry recitation," interrupted Helen sharply.

"Ah!" said Vinay gleefully. "I was never heckled by anything of greater value. Tell me, Helen of Mumbai, do you know what you are worth?"

"For starters, I'm worth the house you have illegally occupied."

"Witty repartee!" said Vinay slyly, flashing a wide grin. "I love it!"

Helen did not respond.

"Which means," said Vinay in an affected lilt. "Just as I had suspected, you have no clue of what you are worth,"