8.1 Underthings

The dancers stepped down from the boat to LH shore and crossed the sandy beach to the reception and bar sheltered in a single bungalow. The roof thatched and parapets painted white without plaster. Here the tourists remained in close proximity to the girls seated in the bar.

Muaz was mingling with the dancers kissing and smooching on their faces as they knew him well. Soon it was noticed by the resort boys. Muaz had few quick shots and apparently his vocabulary changed. He asked Hassan for the room key, “May I have the key, please!” in English.

Hassan flipped his shoulder to remove his touch and passed him the key.

Muaz could walk in and walk out of the dancers’ bungalows without anyone stopping him while the resort boys loafed around wanting to talk to the girls. Two guys of the percussion maintained an eye on these rooms and allowed nobody but they did not stop Muaz.

At the senior staff mess, a small room with one single glass-fitted door, they sat to dine. They expressed discontent towards him for taking advantage on the girls. There they sniffed someone blow off and staffers pointed at him.

Front Office Manager cautioned, “Muaz, you will not be allowed to eat here if you break wind.”

Muaz responded, “It wasn’t me! I swear!”

The senior staff mess was too small so the girls were seated at the restaurant for dinner. Afterwards, the headwaiter complained not because they used hands and fingers to eat, understanding that they weren’t versed in the etiquettes of dining at a restaurant, but they dropped bones and refuse, all the waste on the sand-filled floor. “Not again on my watch!” he swore.

The gig was organised on the southern sandbar and it was a Full Moon night.

After the show, Majid told Muaz to stay back on the island and he climbed the boat with the dancers. They somehow didn’t want to take him with the girls.

Next morning, he entered the senior staff mess for breakfast. He was almost done when the Front Office Manager came in.

He falsified an act. “Excuse me!” he staggered to the door and grabbed the knob, simultaneously releasing a loud fart. He turned his head and apologised, “Sorry!” then stepped out of the door.

They sent him to Malé on a supply boat.

The six-storey building of Welcome Café by the corner reached completion and painting began of pink walls and grey borders. The teahouse would exist on the ground floor with an entrance opened to the corner.

Five-ten in the afternoon, he came across Bilqis and cornered her to tease, resting a shoulder on Mesquite wall – the same corner he first met her.

“I’m going home early,” she said, “I must go back to school at seven. We arranged chairs and prepared the hall for the Literary and Cultural Society meet.”

“What do you do in the forum?” he asked.

“Recite poetry, sing songs, debate.”

“Are you singing?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “mostly senior students take part but I’m noted to participate in a Divehi drama.”

“What is your role?”

“A stepmother,” she chuckled.

“When is the concert?”

“June, Twenty First.”

“Muaz!” Nisha came to a halt, “Come with me! I want to show you something.” She walked two of her kids home. Those two kids glared without an expression and they talked less.

At the hour, scores of school-goers walked home from schools. At this hour, they were pupils from private schools generally but they all wear white uniforms.

Families gathered by the gates with their babies and kiddies for fresh air in the coolness of the evenings. They chattered and laughed. Muaz pulled his bike behind Nisha and her children. Bilqis followed with him engaged in a conversation. Their shadows fell lengthwise on Black Coral Road.

Crowd outside Usvaru began to cackle and jump on their toes when they saw him. A breastfeeding mother gave such a shudder that the infant in her arms separated the nipple spilling feed. And the rest around turned their focus on this amusement. One of the girls called Nisha’s mother-in-law to the gate.

Goat’s mother stumbled out and danced around clapping hands, laughing at him.

“What is going on here?” Muaz asked surprised.

Abruptly, voices died. They were all listening to Goat’s mother.

“That girl came!” she cried amused.

“Who?” he muttered.

“Bandiya girl,” Nisha’s mother-in-law continued, “She came looking for her jangiya…” Crowd hooted. One woman training a toddler to pee beside the mosque wall, holding under his knees, turned in laughter and the boy could not cut the spurt of urine. It scattered all over the place.

“She came to fetch her underwear she left here,” Goat’s mother continued hilariously, “I did not know she left an underwear with us. I have three daughters and one daughter-in-law. Nisha gone out and I had to go through all the lockers to find her UNDERWEAR. It was in one of our lockers.”

“That is embarrassing,” admitted Muaz.

Kish explained how it happened. That night she actually leaked to her panties. When she was ushered to the big bathroom sheltered with a water well and toilet, she sat down to clean. She noticed a wash basin with all their dirty laundry in it. She dropped her panties into the tub. And she walked around without underclothing that night. Muaz failed to notice it afterwards.

“Ridiculous! Why did you go to collect it?” Muaz uttered in disbelief.

“It is mine,” she claimed, “I do not want to lose that piece.”

“Of course, but you went there after a week!”

“Am I not lucky! They even washed it and ironed it for me.”

“Noxious!”