47˚ East 18˚ South 5

I walked slowly back to my room along the little path edged with seashells, a man in a brightly coloured sarong was sweeping the bark chips into place. As I passed him, he bowed at me and smiled. I tried to smile back, but I didn’t really feel like it. To my right, on the beach, in the shade of a large white canvas parasol, another man wearing the same uniform was amusing two small blonde children, while their parents stretched out on matching deckchairs in the sun nearby.

It was wonderful in the room, dark and cool, smelling of sandalwood and jasmine. Someone had been in and tidied up. The bed had been made, towels tidied away, and a few rose petals had been scattered on the white linen cover. I breathed in deeply, trying to get the coolness into my lungs. After a minute I went over to the little fridge and took out a bottle of water, which I drank quickly. Then I pulled my clothes off and lay down, wondering what to do. The image of the child wouldn’t leave my head, nor would the voice of the Englishwoman after I’d tried to explain what I’d seen to her.

After seeing my white face, she’d been all concern when we’d met back at the beach, and as soon as we’d returned to the hotel she’d fussed around, making me sit down in the shade of the restaurant, ordering me a cold drink. She’d waited until I’d finished my account of what I’d seen, and then she’d looked at me, nodding sympathetically, and said “It’s far worse in India you know”

I hadn’t understood at first;

“You mean?..”

“They just never stop hassling you for money. At least here they don’t pull at your clothes. You can’t even walk down a street in Bombay or whatever they call it now without someone trying to attach themselves to you. The children are the worst. Sweet looking, but they just don’t understand no. I did a slum tour there before Christmas for one of my charities – to look at conditions”

I’d tried again……“The boy was so young though – really, I don’t think…”

“Oh it’s so different in the third world – they grow up much sooner than ours. Anyway” she drew the last word out, “….speaking of children, I hope Milly’s going to leave her laptop alone for a while this afternoon. She’s being very tiresome at the moment. She could have all this..” she turns and makes a big sweeping gesture with her hand at the lush gardens facing us “and all she wants to do is catch up on Skins”

I’d lifted my glass to take another sip, then realised I didn’t really want it. Instantly she’d been all concern again, her brow furrowed in sympathy. She’d put her hand gently on my arm;

“Still not very well? Poor you. Maybe you ate something …or the heat? Perhaps you ought to go and lie down”

On the bed, in the cool room, I felt exhausted and sick. Perhaps if I closed my eyes, I could rest for a while…I’d talk to Al when he came in. He’d been here before; maybe he’d know who to talk to.

Much later, on waking, I lifted the corner of a blind, and I could tell I must have been asleep for several hours because the stars were already out. The nap hadn’t helped; I felt worse; like shit – hot and sticky, and my head ached. Twenty minutes on, and I’d just stepped out of the shower when I heard the door slam; Al had come back. I wrapped a towel around myself, walked out of the bathroom and watched him fling his five-day-old copy of the Wall Street Journal onto the bed.

I tried to explain to him what happened, how it had made me feel, but it was like talking to a stranger. He stood there looking just past me and I knew he wasn’t really listening. I could smell whiskey and I guessed he’d been shooting the breeze with his new banker friends. My voice tailed off – there didn’t seem any point, and I sat on the edge of the bed to get dressed wondering how long I could keep this up. After a second or two, he seemed to notice my silence;

“Was it the old guy with the wife who looks like a corpse? Hah – you can almost see why”. He paused, then sat down next to me and started to run his hands along my legs. I froze. I couldn’t even be bothered to pretend at the moment, and I stood up, exasperated;

“Don’t tell me you understand as well…..”

“There’s nothing to understand honey – these people will do anything for money. It’s a different mentality. Hey – where are you going? Come back here…”

It took me no time at all to pick up my shorts, pull them on and open the door. As I closed it, I could hear him saying “fuck you bitch” and the thud of something as it hit the wall. I didn’t care anymore. I’d made up my mind.