Rene Completes His Schooling

Rene retired to his room, a ramshackle structure roofed over with asbestos sheets. He was preparing to stretch himself on the cot when he heard the sound of someone sluicing water into a tub in the next room. The room next was apparently the bathroom, and the plywood partition that separated the rooms was full of cracks and holes. Rene looked through some of them. Aunt must have been aware of the possible uses of these openings for she had papered them over from the other side. There was one, high up, but within reach of this six-footer, that did not appear blocked. Light was coming through that crack. Maybe the paper was thin, or maybe aunt thought it too high for anyone's eye to reach. Anyway it was worth investigating. Rene had to stretch himself up on his toes to get his eye against the opening. The view was without any obstruction whatever, and the sight that met Rene's eye set his heart racing—aunt was arranging for her bath. If he had been a very nice young man he would have got off that peephole in a hurry, and stayed away. Rene was not; his intention was to peek. He was looking round for a chair or stool on which to stand and look comfortably.

To Rene's chagrin there were none. A cot made of heavy timber was in one corner well away from his hole. A sturdy young man though he was Rene was not able to slide that cot even an inch on the uneven flooring of the shed. There was not even a table. Rene wished these presumably civilised Parisians treated their guests in greater style: An unfurnished shack was all they provided. Aunt meanwhile was singing. She was singing in some language that was not Tamil, nor English, nor Hindi, possibly French. He had no time to lose; he had to act fast to organise his viewing. He ran into the house. There was a sofa set and a couple of double chairs, but no stool or chair that would serve his purpose. He rushed back. Sounds emanating from the bathroom indicated that commencement of action was imminent. Rene was a determined young man. Mere unavailability of a chair was not going to defeat him. He would stand on tiptoe and peek.

*

This was Rene's second visit to his aunt's house in Karaikal, in the Eastern coast of Southern India. The first was years ago when he was just seven. His recollection of her was hazy, nor had he any picture in his mind of her house. But he did remember splashing about in the sheltered cove hardly a hundred yards from her house. It was in this cove that Rene's brother, six years his senior, gave him the first lessons in swimming in the sea. Now at eighteen he was making his second visit, this time alone by himself to relax after the strain of the final school examination. He looked forward to the visit eagerly; it was the chance to swim in the sea, something that he always dreamt of.

Aunt Shalina was a distant relative; some sort of cousin of his mother, twice removed or thrice removed. The only thing he knew about her was that she was at one time a French citizen (Karaikal was till the early fifties a French possession), and that some French blood flowed in her veins. This last was one of the reasons his caste-conscious family tended to keep away from her. There was some talk too that her husband, who at the time of his marriage had a promising career in the civil service, was embroiled in a scandal and was dismissed from service. The impression that Rene got from his family was that he did 'menial' work for a living. Rene's notion of the menial work was sweeping the streets. He wondered whether his aunt was a municipal sweeper's wife.

Things were not that bad. His aunt lived in a Karaikal suburb that had seen better days. The street had rows of identical semi-detached houses all in various states of decay. The owners were pensioners from the French civil service. The French government paid them in francs, and this made them relatively well to do in impoverished Karaikal. Aunt Shalina, as the sole living child of her late father, got a family pension. Uncle Charles was not a sweeper; he was a job typist in the court. He had a manual typewriter on which he typed out petitions and court documents for litigants for a small fee. It was aunt's pension that was apparently keeping the pot boiling.

Aunt showed some faint evidences of French blood in her veins: Light coloured eyes, and hair not as black as was normal in a pure blooded natives of Karaikal. She affected Western ways too in her manner of dressing anyway; she spent the day in a dress meant to be a housecoat but was really a nightdress. She was about 35 years old, very much to Rene's surprise for he was expecting someone in the late forties or even fifties. She was very attractive to look at, and very warm towards him. She embraced Rene and kissed him on both cheeks. Hugging and kissing of relatively unknown young men, even nephews, was not the culture in what was once British India where Rene came from. He was greatly embarrassed but thrilled nevertheless. If this was French hospitality he was all for it. 'I remember you from your earlier visit,' she said, 'and you have grown to a very, very tall and very, very handsome young man indeed,' she said and she kissed him again.

Rene had a bath after which he drank limejuice prepared by aunt. He had a pleasant chat with aunt; so pleasant that Rene completely forgot the first item in his agenda, namely the sea swim. Aunt was a delightful conversationalist and had many interesting stories to relate. She told Rene of the eleven months she had spent in Paris with her family when the government of Pondicherry had deputed her father to work in that city. She went to school in Paris and Rene listened raptly of the adventures that happen to young schoolgirls in that City of Lovers.

"You should now have a nap, Rene," said Aunt, "while I have my bath; after that I'll ring for lunch." It was this bath that had got Rene excited.

*

Rene stood on his toes and peeped. He got a good view. Aunt had arranged a three-feet high wooden screen in front of the tub. She herself was standing wrapped in a Turkish towel knotted high on her chest. Rene expected her to take it off and throw it on to a rack visible in the corner. Just then the pain in his calves became so unbearable that he had to lower himself. He sat on the cot and kneaded his calves to relieve the crampy pain. He was up again in position, eye at peephole, but alas, aunt now was squatting behind the screen in a spot so (unfortunately) well chosen that the upper part of her face alone was visible. She was pouring water over herself. Rene cursed his luck. It was early days, though; Rene patiently waited. He did not have to wait long. The soap plopped out of her hand and landed not one yard from the partition.

Rene's only thought was that the thudding of his heart was not loud enough to filter through the thin partition. Holding his breath did no good at all. Rene watched nevertheless. Aunt had apparently fully lathered herself when she let go of the soap; she was in no hurry to retrieve it. She continued spreading the soap, singing the while. The song was a recent hit from a super Tamil movie, and like most love songs in Tamil movies the lyric was replete with suggestive statements on lovemaking. To Rene the song seemed appropriate for the occasion. Meanwhile the cramps had returned in full force. Rene held on as long as possible. Nature had endowed him with lots of will power, but even the most determined can bear pain only up to a point. Rene rested his heels, briefly maybe twenty seconds. He was up again on his toes; but the soap was gone. Aunt's timing was so uncanny that Rene was not so sure this time his luck alone was to blame. Was the wily woman aware of his presence?

Rene was loth to give up on mere suspicion. He could have had a good nap for all the good tip-toeing was doing him, for aunt bathed, wiped, and changed, all in the brief moments Rene's eyes were off the peephole. The show was over. The frustrated Rene lay on the cot, kneading his sore calves. Aunt now came into his room, extremely attractive in a flowered gown.

"I just wanted to see if you are comfortable," she said. Rene nodded. Aunt pottered about the room and suddenly jumped up, wringing her hands as if she has forgotten something important.

"There's not even a chair for you to sit down," she said, and immediately ran out to fetch the missing item, not a chair, but a stool. She apologised for not having a spare chair ready for the guestroom. Rene indicated by a wave of his hands that the stool was perfectly all right with him. It was too; it was the stool of his dreams, just the right height for him. But he had no idea of bathing habits of Parisians. He hoped aunt was not an every other day bather in which case the stool made no difference. Rene was leaving the next afternoon.

Whatever hostility Rene might have developed towards aunt for what now he was practically certain was her chicanery, evaporated with the meal. It was a superb demonstration of the art of cooking from a woman who must have learnt it from a master in Paris. Rene never drank wine with his meals, but today, with guidance and encouragement from his gentle hostess, he did, and he liked it immensely. There was no question of swimming after a meal of such a dimension inside him. He went to his room, lay down and slept. It was late in the evening when he woke up. A treat was awaiting him: Uncle Charles was back from work.

Uncle Charles was a small bird like man, and to accentuate the resemblance to a bird he had a moustache like a beak. Rene expected him to be a quiet person. Uncle quickly belied that impression—he talked incessantly. His job, it turned out, was not just typing, but drafting the petitions he typed. According to uncle himself he was the best petition writer in town. The people came to M. Charles for redressal of their grievances. Yes, Uncle no longer considered himself a petition writer; he was the person who set things right in the historic town of Karaikal by the power of his pen. When uncle was reminiscing there was no possibility of escape. It was dark when Rene finally found release; too late for a swim.

*

Rene got up late, no doubt exhausted by uncle's reminisces. He was to leave that afternoon. His only chance of the sea swim was in the morning. He was getting ready for a swim when aunt threw a spanner in the works.

"So finally you are ready for a sea bath," she said. Rene nodded. "I give you just one hour for I need you to help me with the special cake I am preparing to send your Mom. Just time for me to have my oil bath." Oil bath indeed. The young man was at the crossroads. Rene had the right stuff in him—he opted for the bath—aunt's.

I'm not sure I want that swim," he said sheepishly. "I have no experience of swimming in the sea. It is better I swim when someone is with me. I thought of uncle, but he had gone off to his court. I think I'll wait till I get someone to accompany me. "

"Wise thought, Rene," said aunt. "I agree. It is unsafe to swim in the sea if you have no previous experience. You can rest in your room till I have my bath, and then you will have to whip the butter and fold the flour into my cake."

Rene retired to his room and lay down straining his ears for sounds from across the plywood partition. Soon he heard water sluicing into the tub. Rene got up and closed the door. He examined the stool in detail. It was very shaky like everything else in the house, except aunt of course. But he was confident it would hold if he stood on it and remained steady like a statue. He noiselessly placed the stool under the hole stood up and peeped. The stool was unstable, but soon he mastered the technique of standing on it. Aunt was not in the room. Her towel was on the rack; she had apparently gone for soap or bath salts or some such thing these Parisians use to beautify themselves. Rene waited.

Presently she was back; she disappeared into a corner, and was undressing, for she was throwing items of her clothing, one at a time, on the rack. The nightdress followed by her bra, and then after a short interval a pair of bright blue knickers. This last item drove Rene's excitement to fever pitch. He could picture aunt in the nude. Finally aunt emerged fully wrapped in the towel. She was now singing a movie song that was Rene's favourite too, and he mumbled it, as if he was singing a duet, to himself of course. He noted with considerable satisfaction that the wooden screen that had thwarted him the previous day was gone. There was a moment of panic when aunt's gaze rested in the direction of the peephole. It was only for a fraction of a second. Aunty checked the bottles of perfumes and bath salts and withdrew to the corner to remove the towel and hang it on the rack. Rene's heart was thudding, and his hands trembling.

Aunt took her hand to the knot on the towel, undid the knot and as she did that she turned towards Rene, and then inexplicably knotted it again. This was too much for Rene. He shuddered, and the shaky stool crumbled. There was the sound of wood splitting, followed by a thud, a stifled cry, and surprisingly the sound of a giggle. Rene to this day is not sure he heard a giggle, but strongly suspects that he did hear it, though he had no idea of the direction from which it came. Rene was on the floor, spread-eagled; his knees were aching and elbows bruised, but his mind was clear. In the crisis he acted with decision and purpose, qualities that one day would surely land him in tops jobs. He did not waste time examining his wounds, as lesser men would have done. He knew what he had to do in a hurry. Any moment aunt will be in his room investigating the thunderclap. Rene had to act fast and remove the debris of the stool from under that peephole. In spite of the pain and the shock, he managed to shift most of the pieces. Aunt now entered the room, fully clothed.

When they see a person injured Parisians do not start lengthy inquiries on the whys and the hows. They go for the sufferer and do what they have to do to see him whole. Aunt almost screamed when she saw her prostrate guest. For an 18-year-old he was of above average build, but that made no matter. She lifted him up and placed him tenderly on the cot. A quick survey of the injuries followed and soon, with bottle of tincture of iodine in hand, she was ministering to Rene. Rene wished that France, alone among the developed counties, had not stuck on to good old tincture of iodine. He bore it like a man though. Liniment to his knee followed, and soon Rene was in the house, seated on the sofa, kneading the flour for the cake. Aunt, meanwhile, had her deferred bath, a quick one, and soon the cake was in the oven.

The meal, though not up to the previous day's standard, was a splendid one nevertheless. Rene by now was free of body soreness, but his mind was throbbing. The more he thought of it the more he was sure that aunt had planned the debacle.

The time to take leave had come.

"You must come again, this summer itself," said aunt. Rene nodded. He was still sulking. "And when you come next time bring snorkelling equipment. This sheltered sea is a fine place for under water swimming."

"I must also bring my own stool, " said Rene. Such was the state of his mind that he spoke it aloud, and immediately he realised his mistake. With mouth open he stared at aunt. For a moment aunt was speechless too, and then she convulsed in laughter. She stood holding her sides; then out of exhaustion she sat on the chair and laughed, banging the table the while. The look of surprise on Rene face turned to a sheepish grin, and then he smiled too, for now he saw the humour in it.

"A sturdy stool, and whatever else you need," said aunt and went into another spell of laughter. She caught hold of Rene and implanted no less than half a dozen kisses on his willing cheeks. She kept on waving till he turned the distant corner.

Rene's schooling was complete.