2.3 Hot Fiesta

Nine-thirty, Muaz sat for breakfast. Aunt Nabila, in her usual manner with her gown tucked on the midriff, served very hot tea. There stood a neighbour carrying a toddler in the dining room talking to his aunt. She was a tall dark woman wearing island chic clothes – kandiki and libas. She smiled at him and he gesticulated with a second glance. She wasn’t familiar though she wore an innocent look. She did not say anything.

That moment, podgy Ashwar in a sloppy sarong stepped into the hall. “Aren’t you going to the boatyard?” he asked Muaz.

“Boatyard?” muttered Muaz.

“A cup of tea!” offered Aunt Nabila.

“Thanks,” he said, “Boatyard in the south. Multi-Ibre is repairing his sailing boat.”

“Let’s go there!”

They came out of the green gate on Giruva Magu and Ashwar passed him a note, “Kish asked me to give it to you.” He shoved with his left hand which was his prime hand.

“Kish?”

“The girl on the stage. What does it say?”

Muaz read out those few lines written on a piece of rose paper in a horrible handwriting and in English.

“Isn’t that a rhyme?” cried Ashwar.

“It is! It is! This is a verse from a song. What does it mean, meet me tonight in the moonlight?”

“That means after the concert.”

They climbed Immagu – a path cut through the woods towards south beach half a kilometre away. The whole truth about it was that Ashwar wrote this note by himself in his own handwriting. Muaz hadn’t got a notion to doubt and he was completely drawn on it.

“Don’t they lock the gate?”

“No,” said Ashwar, “No gates are locked. But you must be careful about her father. He must not see you. I can show you how to reach her.”

“Very good.”

Behind the brushwood there appeared a breath-taking blue horizon and an endless beach out of eyeshot, vacant and white, lying in the easterly breeze, disturbed by the rolling waves and roaring noises. They called it a boatyard but only a couple of ruins remained there under windswept sheds.

“This place is deserted!” muttered Muaz.

Ashwar said, “There are folks on the beach.”

They headed westwards up the beach, “Look at that old man! He is dangling a hefty long dick!”

“Don’t look!” cautioned his friend, “You should not look at people doing a private!”

“Say! Where do women go private?”

“There is no specific place,” replied Ashwar, “It’s all around the beach near the houses. You’ll find a lot of women get down Giruva Magu beach, both at sunrise and sunset. Yeah, that is a good spot.”

“Ouch!” cried Muaz stomping on a piece of shit.

“Hahaha!” Ashwar laughed, “You stepped on it!”

“How the hell!” cursed Muaz, “Who did this? You poop in the middle of the beach!” Promptly, those houseflies buzzed around him.

“It must be a little kid,” said Ashwar, “Get in the water and wash it off!”

“I can’t wear these flip-flops!”

“It’s nothing! Get in and wash it off! Get rid of these flies!”

Muaz entered the water and thoroughly cleaned his legs and flip-flop.

Further up, they found a bunch of girls enjoying a bowl of ambu-maja – mango served with hot fish sauce. They called the guys to join. Some of them wore T-shirts and sea-shorts – a pair of briefs or stretch pants of wool knit. Those attires made available in the market known as the Singapore Bazaar in the capital and it became very popular among men, women and children, even in casual wear.

Out of the blue, he was looking at a woman who just appeared in the middle of the beach. She wandered in the opposite direction. She wore a pair of black cheeky thongs, a cigarette in her hand and a black wristwatch on her wrist, ploughing her feet in the soft sand.

“Who is that?” asked Muaz drooling saliva from his mouth. It was a very hot plate.

“That is Nisha, the one you danced with.”

“Nisha?” His eyes caught those slim yellow legs and round bubble bums. He had not seen a local wearing a two-piece beachwear but tourists in Malé streets walk in them – in bikinis.

“They’re lying low on Women’s Lane,” the bunch enunciated.

Ashwar nudged him on a shoulder, “Haven’t you seen a naked bather?”

“Naked!” cried Muaz.

“Oh yeah!” echoed the girls, “We bathe naked in the water.” Though with caution, they bathed naked away from prying eyes when no one was around.

“Let’s go meet them!” suggested Muaz.

They left the bunch to join this other group from Malé. Muaz began to call her as she entered the turquoise water, “Nisha! Nisha!”

She looked around and called, “Come on, Muaz! Join me in a swim!”

Muaz ran right into the water and Ashwar joined this other group.

Wafig was in the crowd, “What is he doing here?”

“Madiri,” muttered Ashwar, “he is going to suck blood tonight. I think it’s Kish.”

“Madiri!” exclaimed Wafig smiling to expose that gap in his front teeth, “Maybe he bites like one!”

“He’s a complete jerk.”

When Nisha and Muaz returned from the dip, his red nylon shorts revealed his undertones. He was soaked to skin. And shorts those days were very short.

Wafig gestured, “Madiri, come over here! Why do they call you madiri?” and he choked out a chuckle.

“Classmates…” began Muaz in a beaten manner, “how do you come to know!”

“Your folks, I heard last night.”

Wafig started a tease throwing watermelon bits and things at Nisha. It continued for a while. Nisha, now with wet hair, got on her feet with sand on her legs. Wafig tried to grab her arm and missed. He got on his feet and attempted on another step unsuccessfully. Nisha, aware of his nuisance, stepped on the beach. Wafig went after her. She made some rapid moves crisscrossing the beach and avoiding him completely. She began to run and Wafig chased her.

Everyone in the crowd got up hurriedly to watch what he would do to her once he grabbed her. Nisha ran into Women’s Lane.

A long path cut across the field winding towards the village behind Kimbili House. This path was scenic, neatly kept and brushwood cleared, trees fell and profuse in view on both sides of green fields of the watermelon plantations. Tall palms planted in two rows abreast the path dividing the acres to the two societal clubs. The plot on the southeast belonged to Moonlight Club and the half lying to the northwest belonged to Sunlight Club.

She ran up the path on Women’s Lane and somewhere turned into the northwest half through the palms and headed towards the beach, towards them.

She ran like the wind. As Muaz caught her sight; her torso straight upright, long legs and long strides, her arms close to the chest. She zipped like a film reel behind the palms planted in equidistance. On the other hand, he saw Wafig tumbling on a forward motion, his arms flung open and out of control.

Nisha climbed Women’s Lane and disappeared behind the brushwood. Wafig reached the crowd panting. “I am wearing sweatpants…” he found an excuse, “I could have caught her…” the gap in his mouth exposed.

“Nuts!” cried Muaz, “You weren’t even close!”

“I could, I could…”