Two, Now and Then

"A fin-like tunnel top and greenish algae grease looked more like a not-so-welcoming drooling trip. Ken felt as if he'd been on any dose of tranquillizer. Ken’s hand shivered when he rowed hard with the oar for the last time. His boat swiped towards the tunnel at high speed. After a few tosses in the water, his boat suddenly dropped from the high end. His heart fluttered, his legs flapped in speed, but he could only see dark, bluish hollowness and billions of bubbles."

"How’s it?" Dhruv asked.

"Good but…" Daksh said this with some chewing sounds. He sipped the tea and then took another grab of chanachur (an Indian-Bangladeshi snack mix).

He then said, "Will it be a horror story?"

Dhruv said, "No, no dada... It will be on hallucination. You know, in my last chapter, when Ken left the station, she..."

Daksh stopped him with a hand gesture and said, "It has other chapters? Well, buddy, sorry! Will listen later."

Daksh left the adjoining chair, and Dhruv closed the black notepad. He again came back to the highly chattering living room. He saw some of his brothers’ friends coiling around beer cartons. He picked up a chilled water bottle from the fridge. Then he waved at his sister-in-law, Malini and left the apartment. He jumped into the dark streets from two steps down the stairs.

Dhruv and his brother had a very awkward and contrasting relationship. They had never been friends. They looked very similar but their senses were like compass hands’ forceful crossover. He chuckled unapprovingly at his hysterical decision to read anything to his brother. He kicked a stone on the footpath. He kept doing that until he reached Hazra Crossing. Finally, the stone got stuck in the usual dirty edge of a manhole. He muttered, "Now I’ll move my head into circles... well, in a half circle, of course."

He saw nothing but an empty road.

He sneered, "It's almost 2. Come tomorrow morning... 10 or 11. Cars gonna throw you out from this road."

"You’ll start hallucinating... for real! Don’t talk to yourself!" A chortling voice came from Dhruv’s back.

He turned around immediately. He saw a long nose and a poking tip of a grey flat cap.

"I mean, don’t become that Ken of your story!" The man said it quite loudly.

The man’s narrow eyes looked like a set of an old black-and-white television set in the flickering street light.

Dhruv stammered a bit, "How... how do you..."

The man said, "I was at your brother’s place. Sorry, dude, I overheard your conversation. Hello, I’m Edgar!"

Dhruv didn’t see Edgar’s extended hand. He asked in shock, "Edgar? Poe?"

Edgar laughed like any elephant would do and then said, "My mother was an Edgar addict! His name came to me! Well, it’s only the nickname. My name’s…"

A big milk van crossed the road with a high clattering sound. Dhruv couldn’t hear the full name.

Edgar said in a nagging voice, "You didn’t say hello!"

Dhruv said, "Ohh, extremely sorry! Your name…sorry… Hello, I'm Dhruv Ghoshal!"

"So, Dhruv, are you writing stories?"

"Only for college magazines. It’s nothing much."

"Tell me one thing, what do you know about hallucinations? Have you ever met anyone?"

"No… Yes, I mean not in real life but in films."

"Whoosh!" Edgar shook his head and said, "That’s bluff! Real experiences are not that well designed! Wanna listen a real one?"

Dhruv said in excitement, "Bolben? Tahole toh khub bhalo hoy!" (Will you say? It’ll be great then.")

They sat on a bench in front of a closed shop.

Edgar lit up an old-fashioned pipe. He blew white smoke and said, "It happened in twentieth-century Calcutta."

Dhruv tried to say something, but Edgar narrowed his flashy eyes and said, "Don’t interrupt, buddy. Listen."

Edgar again started, "It happened in twentieth-century Calcutta. Two friends came here for trade business. Ship stuff, you know... they both had tremendous interest in clothes like coats, leather boots, flat hats... here like mine."

Edgar adjusted his cap quite nicely.

He continued, "But the main interesting thing was their collection of gold buttons and cufflinks. Their hands were quite frequent on other things, but the gold things... It was difficult to buy regularly. Well, one’s name was Burton, and the other was Moore. Burton had a tendency to borrow money with high interest to keep his luxurious collection updated. Although he was a very popular, shiny defaulter, he had no shame. One day, one of his money lenders came to the deck. He gave him an ultimatum on money matters and threatened him that he'd cut off Burton’s right thumb if he came up with any other smart ideas. The money lender even slashed Burton’s arm with a knife. It deeply cut his forearm."

"Any questions?" Edgar asked Dhruv.

Dhruv shook his head softly. Honestly, Dhruv had questions, but he let Edgar speak.

Edgar said, "Good. Now comes the next part. Burton didn’t ask for money from Moore because he knew Moore didn’t have that much. He visited Moore’s place that night. It was a good, starry night like today. After dinner, Moore started vomiting blood. Burton whispered in his friend’s ear, "You’re a citizen of heaven. Let me live here."

Moore could barely say, "Live, perv!"

His last words had a reflection of disgust, sadness, and anger. Burton scoffed. Then he went to Moore’s bedroom. He broke Moore’s wardrobe and stole all the gold buttons and cufflinks. He took Moore in his carriage. He dug a clumsy grave and dumped Moore’s body...there at the Bhawanipore Cemetery."

Edgar pointed aimlessly.

Edgar put his pipe in his pocket and said, "Then Burton moved to different locations. He got married and had children. He started a steady life. You know, he took himself off from those ostentatious trivial things. His wife never knew about his past habits. But after around seven years of Moore’s death, every night he could hear Moore’s last word, "Live, perv!"

At first, it was slower. Then it became louder, eerier, and more frequent. Then the situation started deteriorating. He started digging holes in his backyard. He used to whisper, lowering his head into the hole."

Edgar looked at Dhruv’s face. He looked extremely pale. Edgar patted Dhruv’s face. Dhruv felt Edgar’s hand. It was chilled and stoney. Dhruv felt drumbeats in his left chest.

Edgar again started, "After a year, he used to fake vomiting after every dinner. He used to shout, "Look, there’s blood on the table. You poisoned me, Moore. You’re taking revenge." Things started getting so much worse that one night his wife almost dragged him from the backyard and admitted him to the hospital. Burton cried constantly, "Don’t put me in a grave. Don’t…"

Edgar suddenly sniffed and then continued, "Hospital management later said Burton never stopped shouting at nights. He even loudly responded to auditory hallucinations. You know, at one time he used to be Burton, and at another time he was Moore. Burton had explanations for Moore, and Moore had only laughter. One day, he went missing from his ward. Hospital officials got notice from Burton’s family. But there was no answer. After several months, police recovered his body from a river bank. An old, rusted ship anchor was poked into his hand at the same spot where he once got that scar from the money lender. They suspected that Burton fell from the nearby bridge, and accidentally the jettisoned anchor got into his hand.”

"Hey Dhruv, you can use that passage for Burton’s death with some changes, of course. That goes so well. What was that? Hmm, “His heart fluttered, his legs flapped in speed, but he could…”

Dhruv stuttered in a very low tone, "Are you Moore?"

Edgar looked baffled, but then he laughed quite a bit for a few good seconds. He said, "No... No, you’re not having a horror experience. I heard this story from my grandmother. She knew Burton’s family. Come on, let’s get you a taxi."

Edgar stopped the conversation abruptly. Suddenly, a taxi arrived from nowhere, and it pierced Dhruv's face with its strong yellowish headlight. Edgar pulled the car door open. His sleeve had a gold cufflink.