Overnight Guest (Part One) -Rajasir

                      OVERNIGHT GUEST (Part One)
                                                                    By Raja sir
The area was almost deserted. Having kept his suitcase in front of the door, Raman pressed the button of the bell. No response came, and nobody stirred. For a second, he thought that he was standing in front of an unoccupied house. Sweat began to appear on his forehead. Using his handkerchief, he wiped the perspiration and kept his airbag on top of the suitcase. He pressed the button again and brought his ear close to the door, as if to listen to any response emanating from the house. In the back side of the house, an open window was swaying on its hinges and the sound was audible.
He stepped back and looked at the building, two-storey house. Like the other houses in the lane, the house had a V shaped top with a firm stone wall between, serving as the façade. The number of the house in the center, near the point of the V was like a dot on the forehead of a woman. The windows on top floor were shut and the curtains were drawn. He whispered," Where could they go at this time?"
He moved toward the back of the house- the same lawn, the hedge, and the bushes; everything was same as he had seen two years before. The willow in the centre, as if, seemed to be dozing like an old grizzly. But the garage was open and empty. They may have gone out, having waited for him in the morning. But they could have, at least, left a chit at the door.
He came back to the front door. The sharp August sunlight was blinding his eyes. He was sweating to the core. He sat down on his suitcase in the veranda. Suddenly, he felt the people from the windows of the houses across the road were looking at him. The English, generally, do not peep into the lives of the others, but he was sitting in the open and there was no question of privacy, therefore, they were staring at him with curiosity and interest. But, perhaps, their curiosity was aroused by another reason: almost everybody in that small town knew the other town-dwellers, and he, not only for his appearance but also for his loose Indian suit, seemed to be a strange creature to them. No one could even guess just by looking at his wrinkled suit and sweating face that he had read his paper in Frankfurt Conference just three days before. "I might be appearing an underprivileged immigrant Asian to them," he thought and got up quickly, as if it would be easier to wait while standing. Without a second thought, he knocked hard and jumped back-the door opened with a touch. He heard footsteps on the staircase. Melina was standing in front of him. She had run downstairs, and embraced him, before he could ask whether she was inside the house all this time.
The neighbors closed their windows one by one.
She asked softly," How long have you been waiting outside?"
"For two years..."
"Aha! Such sense of humor of her father irritated her.
"I rang the bell twice. Where were you all?"
"The bell is not working, so I had left the door unlocked."
"You should have informed me on phone. I have been restless like a madman for last one hour".
"I was about to tell you but the line got disconnected. Why didn't you insert more coins?"
"I had only ten cents and the lady was like a witch!"
"Lady? Who?"
"The same that disconnected the line."
Raman dragged his suitcase into the drawing room. The girl began to examine the contents with eagerness- packets of cigarettes, a long bottle of Scotch, bars of chocolate, etc. these were the things which he had bought in a hurry at the Frankfurt airport duty free shop.
"You got your hair shortened?" he looked attentively at her face for the first time.
"Yes, only for the vacations. How do I look?"
"If you were not my daughter, I would think a rogue has broken into our house."
"Oh...Papa!"She laughed and removed the wrapper of a bar of chocolate and offered to her father.
"Swiss chocolate," he waved the bar in air.
"Could you bring me a glass of water?"
"Wait, I will prepare tea for you."
"Tea I will have later," he began to grope for something in the internal pocket of his coat- a note-book, wallet, passport- everything came out but he found his box of tablets at last.
The girl came with a glass of water and asked," What is this medicine for?"
"German," said he," Very effective." He swallowed the pill with water and resettled himself on the sofa. Everything was as he had thought. The same room, the glass-door, behind the curtains the same square of a lawn, the shadows of birds on the television screen. The birds would fly outside but the shadows appeared on the TV screen.
He came to the threshold of the kitchen. He saw the back of the girl, in front of the gas stoves.
In her black jeans and white folded sleeved shirt, she seemed to be a very delicate girl.
"Where is your mother?" he asked. Perhaps he had asked in such a low pitch of voice that the girl did not hear it but he felt as if she had raised her neck. "Is your mother upstairs?" he asked loudly but the girl remained unmoved. Then he realized that she had heard his first question as well. "Has she gone out?" he asked. The girl moved her head so indistinctly that it could either be a nod or a shake.
"Papa, will you help me?"
He quickly entered the kitchen," Tell me, what is to be done?"
"You carry this kettle, and I will be back in an instant."
"Is that all?" he felt depressed.
"OK, carry cups and saucers as well."
He reentered the room, carrying the things. He wanted to go back to kitchen but, fearing his daughter, he sat down. A smell of something being fried wafted from the kitchen. She was cooking something for him, and he was unable to help her. Once he felt that he should go to inform her that he didn't want anything to eat but Raman knew that he was hungry. He hadn't eaten anything since morning. There was such a long queue at the Huston Station that, buying his ticket, he had boarded the train straight. He had thought of having something in the dining car but they didn't serve anything before midday. In fact, he had taken his last meal at the Frankfurt airport the previous evening. When he reached London at night, he kept on drinking in the bar of the hotel where he had put up for the night. After the third drink, he took the notebook out and saw the phone number and, going to the telephone booth, dialed the number. At first he did not recognize whether the voice belonged to his wife, or his daughter.
                    ...to be continued....                Raja sir