—
Santosh dug the pit. A basket of firewood was brought from the huts. The beach dog came and watched. It didn’t take long for the whole thing to wheeze and crackle and pop, roaring magnificently, sparks spewing and blinking out in the night. When it calmed, more logs were loaded on top and the three of them stood, admiring the work that pitched the rest of the beach into dark.
Santosh was the first to pull away, returning to the huts. Neda climbed into one of the hammocks and felt the heat spread over one side of her body as the other received the cool air. When she closed her eyes she saw the imprint of flame. Santosh returned shortly with three other men, from where he brought them she didn’t know. They were dragging cushions and mattresses. They spread them around the fire.
“My mother brings food in one hour.”
Another man brought blankets.
“Don’t you need them?” she protested.
“We don’t sleep,” he said.
“What do you do?”
He pointed to the sea. “We fish tonight.”
* * *
—
The fire became something solid, permanent. They lay cozy in their hammocks while Santosh and the men hauled their boats out into the waves. It couldn’t have been more than eight. When night fell, it fell.
* * *
—
By an unspoken agreement they descended from the hammocks and arranged themselves low down on the mattresses near the now hot sand, the blankets loosely draped around their bodies. Neda’s feet toyed with the cold sand away from the fire until the sand became too cool, then she moved her feet near to the flame. The beach dog crept closer on the other side and curled up to sleep. Santosh had left them a bottle of water and a bottle of Old Monk. Sunny poured large measures of rum into two chipped glasses, squeezed a little nimbu with the seeds falling in, threw in the husks, passed one glass to her, wedged the bottle in the sand. “I have some grass,” he said. “We can smoke.”
* * *
—
In her mind she stood and stretched and looked out to sea, though she lay still. “They’re out there now. In the dark. I’ve always been afraid of the sea. Not the surface, but what’s underneath.”
He passed her the joint.
She propped herself up on her elbow to smoke.
“I bought those boats,” he said.
“What?”
“The boats they’re in. I bought them.”
“You own them?”
“No. I gifted them. So they could make money. They sell the fish in the market in Karwar, him and his brothers.”
“Real brothers?”
He laughed gently. “I don’t know.”
She passed the joint and pulled the blanket round her shoulders and held her hands out to the fire.
“Damn, it gets cold.”
“Did you ever think about something like this?” he said.
“Like what?”
“Buying a plot of land, having a kid, building a house, learning to fish.”
“Selling it in Karwar?”
“I’m serious.”
“Because I’m warning you, I already know how to fish.”
“I’m serious. Do you think about it?”
“No.”
He paused. “It’s not a bad life.”
“It’s a fantasy.”
“Yeah. I’d probably drink myself to death.”
* * *
—
She waited awhile, then went to pee in the surf. For some minutes she was lost in the blackness of the water. When she came back to him she pulled her dress off and hung it over the edge of the hammock and stood glowing naked in front of him. He was smoking a new joint, smiling up at her, absorbing her body in the firelight.
“I haven’t seen that in a while,” he said.
He held out the joint and she took it. She was swaying above him. She fell down and wrapped the blanket around herself.
“I turned my phone off on the way here. God knows what will happen when I turn it back on.” She shivered. “But fuck it.” She mimed the banishment of thoughts from her head.
“I liked your mom,” he said.
The words took a long time to reach her.
She turned to him and said, “Who they are, they’re not you. They’re not you. You’re here with me now and you’re real.”
He looked at her but didn’t speak. He didn’t speak again for what felt like an hour. She put on her dress.
* * *
—
“Have you heard of this guy called Gautam Rathore?” he finally said.
“Yeah, everyone has. He’s a cokehead degenerate. I’ve seen you with him in the paper.”