The alarm was ringing.
I opened my eyes to the darkness that stood next to my bed.
I looked at the clock. It was six-thirty. I still got time. Today was a
Saturday. The university would be closed. I didn’t have to get up. I got time.
I closed my eyes. The darkness slipped into the bed and lay next to me.
I woke up at eight-fifteen. I left the bed
some fifteen minutes later. Should I make breakfast today? I felt like having
eggs but couldn’t remember whether I had them in the fridge. Probably not. Between
brushing my teeth and making myself a cup of tea, I contemplated about eggs.
They are surely the most popular breakfast food after cereals. What made them
so popular? Who decides these things? Cinema? I had seen many films where
people had eggs in the morning. I sipped at my tea and thought for a couple
minutes about the influence of popular culture on our dietary habits.
I put on a shirt and went out. It was a nice morning. Bright
but not hot. I sensed some urgency in the air. It was my eagerness to have eggs
for breakfast, heightened by my memory of watching well-dressed people have
them in cafes with glass windows. Did I see that in films or in real life?
The first cafe was on the left side of the street – always a
good sign. It’s nice to turn left than turning right. I entered the cafe, sat
at a table and looked at the menu. They had omelettes. That would do.
Truth be told, I also ordered coffee. Waiting for my orders,
I looked out of the window. A middle-aged man was looking at me. I felt the
chills of the AC in the cafe. Why do they always keep the AC at its highest?
The man was about to enter. I took a few seconds to decide
my next move. Meanwhile the omelette had arrived. I had no choice but to say
‘Thank you!’ to the waiter and wait for my destiny to run its course.
The man came down to my table and cleared his throat,
‘Finally.’
I held the fork in my right hand and the knife in my left,
and then remembered to switch.
The man sat in front of me.
‘How long has it been?’ His voice meant business, and the
business was booming.
‘Three years. Give or take,’ said I, trying to manage a big
chunk of the omelette. It was a bad choice of chunk. My throat was already
quite dry and the coffee didn’t arrive yet.
‘Did you miss me?’
‘Yes, actually. I missed you a lot.’ I was being polite.
‘Well,’ the man lit a smoke, knowing very well it was
banned, ‘your wait is over. I am here to collect.’
He couldn’t be more wrong. I was not waiting for him. I had
waited for many things in my life, buses, food orders, morning newspapers, postcards,
winter, but never for him.
‘I know what you are thinking. You never thought I would
actually come. You played with the idea in your mind and every time you assured
yourself that it was possible but not probable. Am I right?’ The words were riddled
with smoke and contempt at my ignorance. I wanted to feel enraged but the
omelette was too good.
‘Let me tell you why you thought I would never come. Because
you thought we were too different. Because you thought you were okay until I
came and saw you. Because you thought you were better than me.’
I savoured the last chunk of omelette like it was the last
piece of food on earth. I kept on chewing until it melted in my mouth. With
every pore of my tongue I felt its folds and fluff; its succulence and warmth
reminded me of a girl I kissed when I was sixteen. We were standing under a
tree.
‘The truth is you were with me when I stole the money,
killed the man, raped his wife and sold their children. The truth is you could
have stopped me but didn’t because you wanted your share. The truth is you
built your house and filled your stomach with that share. The truth is you are
me and I am you,’ he stubbed his cigarette in my empty plate and looked
straight into my eyes. ‘The truth is you owe me and I have come to collect.’
The coffee had arrived. I took a sip and retained the
bitterness. Before he could move, I pushed the table and threw the coffee at
his face. He shouted and covered his eyes. I punched him once, twice, thrice,
and ran out of the cafe and jumped into a bus. I was not sure whether he was
following me. I changed my route few times and bought a burner phone from a
shopping mall. I called my boss and we had the following conversation:
‘He has arrived.’
‘How did he know you are here?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe he has got a tip from one of my
friends.’
‘Of course. Nobody should be trusted now. Where are you?’
‘I don’t think I should tell you.’
‘Right, right. Can I tell you something?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘I always had a hunch he would come to collect his debt.’
I didn’t reply. Everybody would act wiser now.
‘Be well and be safe. It’s time for us to organise but don’t
trust anybody.’
I told him I wouldn’t and disconnected.
I came back home later at night and started packing. As it
seemed, I had to skip town. Not many places were safe now but I had to try. I
had to find a town with good omelettes, cafes with glass windows, a fine
shopping mall and a phone with long battery life. I went to sleep with a hope
that he might not recognise me in my new disguise – that of a gravedigger.
The darkness thickened. I didn’t know it was my reflection.
When the shot was fired, my darkness and I were thinking about eggs. Do eggs
have life? Do they bleed? Do they think about killing themselves?
The alarm rang. I thought we had time.
We didn’t.
