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| Under the Mango Tree: Short Stories from Goa |
-Brian Mendonça
All was still when José started walking homeward. It had been a tiring day. It was so difficult to make ends meet these days. Still, being a clerk in one of the numerous offices, in the bylane facing what used to be El Capitan theatre and movie house in Mapusa was the best he could manage.
His steps quickened when he thought of his son and daughter. They were his life and soul. The very sound of their laughter chased away the blues. When José was wearied by the toils of the day or the boss’s hecklings he discussed the incidents with Arnold – Arnu for short – and Angeline – Angel for short. His son was five and Angel four. They would listen to him intently and then pose innocent questions. The other day Angeline, his favourite, asked ‘Why doesn’t he scold someone else, why only you, dada?’
Fed up with this idle chatter Maria would stomp out of her kitchen, take the kids in hand and feed them their dinner. Surreptitiously, like a shadow José would reach for the bottle of caju feni by the side board to feed the fire in his belly, but mostly to brush off the nagging for bringing in such a meagre amount at the end of the month.
The winter months were the hardest when there were so many expenses. Everyone demanded a gift for Christmas these days. With so many relatives descending on the house and the sweets to be made, José wished they did not have to celebrate the festival at all! However, since they were God-fearing Catholics, the family oscillated between Easter and Christmas, and all the attendant rituals and social occasions. Such was life in the village of Corjuem in Aldona.
The grand house and the palatial balcaos of Corjuem were a cruel riposte to José’s small and shabby tenement on the outskirts of the village. He worked in the city of Mapusa and though he tried to supplement his income by doing odd jobs like fixing broken furniture or helping in re-roofing the houses before the monsoons, the children’s ever increasing demands never seemed to end. The school fees bore a hole in his savings which often left him wondering at the necessity of an education.
He, for example, was a self-made man. In all the forty years of his life he never believed in taking loans to buy things so that he could enjoy the luxuries while paying back the loan in installments. The neighbours looked down on them with disdain and considered them old-fashioned. Three generations of his family had lived there. José and Maria were already eyeing suitable matches for their children from the village.
That day José was downcast. He had been fired for no fault of his. With the new crop of younger workers, the old were not valued any more. Even the flimsiest excuse was good enough to give them marching orders. In this case it had been the ingénue Monica who had burst upon the scene with her tight tops and flashy, if somewhat vacuous, laugh. But it was enough to unseat José from his job to which he had clung to valiantly for over ten years. Dropping out of school for want of finances, his father had got him a job when José was a strapping youth.
‘What happened Dada? Why are you sad’ said Angel when he entered the house. José tried to avoid answering Angel but Maria sensed that something was amiss. It was 7 p.m. -- time for the Angelus -- and she shepherded the family near the spare altar. The Lord had always seen them through she thought. All would be well. Her devotion to Mary Help of Christians was well known. Not for nothing was she named Maria. She also, when they could afford it, used to take the family to Bombay for their annual visit so she could pay her obeisance to Our Lady of the Mount. If finances permitted she allowed the children a run of Bandra fair.
Maria pushed a plate of rice towards José and ladled him some kalchi koddi. For the children she had prepared some weak gruel with boiled vegetables. This they ate with rotis.
‘I am not going to work tomorrow,’ José said after a long silence. In the darkness outside crickets were singing. Maria had in fact expected this. She by now could discern his sullen moods being married to him for over a decade. Though she was a shrew in certain matters when it came to the upkeep of the family she would leave no stone unturned.
‘What happened?’ she asked, her eyes flashing.
‘The boss asked Monica to take my place. She is a B.A., knows typing, and also computers,’ José offered by way of explanation.
‘Those pampreles in the office think too much of themselves these days. They have stolen my husband’s job. Next they’ll stoop to steal my husband himself!’ Maria thought to herself. ‘But they can’t do this! Not after you have worked there for so long!’ she retorted instead indignantly.
‘They can and they just did.’ said José quietly.
Maria’s mind was racing. What could she do that would bring her some income and that too immediately? The fancy courses they offered in Mapusa teaching computers were way beyond her reach. Neither did she have the time. With four mouths to feed, and no income, the wolf was already sniffing at her door. ‘I shall do crotchet and embroider cloths and sell them in Mapusa market. I am good at it. My mother taught me. I have preserved all her needlework books with me. Foreigners specially are fond of buying crotchet work for huge sums in the Friday bazaar.’
So the next week after collecting what was due to him at his by now erstwhile office, José took a low stool and sat with his wife in the Mapusa market among the red chillies, the jaggery, the solan, the brooms and even the Moira bananas so famous in the village. The scenes and the smells assailed him. From where he sat just behind his wife he had a good view of the buxom lasses who tripped by gaily to pick up their fashion accessories. He would have never had such a windfall at office -- Monica notwithstanding.
Soon José began to enjoy going to the market with Maria. He carried the bags with her cloths to the market and put the children to sleep as Maria stitched or knitted away. As a couple they were fondly enfolded into the community of traders, merchants and local sellers – simple people who were sincere and warm-hearted . The women showed Maria how to get the best prices for her wares. José did his bit by attracting the attention of the passersby and sometimes playing loud Konkani music, much to the consternation of those around him. They made arrangements for parents to drop off their children to the market after school. Maria used to cook the day’s food for them all before they set out for the market. They ate together.
They were spending more time as a family. Maria softened her rebuke of José now that she knew what it meant to be the bread winner. Sitting side by side with her, José glowed with pride at seeing how his wife had turned the situation around.
Soon they were able to afford a modest shop to sell their work. Maria’s intricate designs soon became the rage, so much so that even seamstresses getting ready for the wedding season began lining up outside her door for some advice and, of course, designs.
Glossary
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