CONTINUITY

Emily Frampton walked down the pavement alongside the market in town, glancing at the fronts of shops when she could, as she had to look down at the uneven paving to make sure she did not trip somewhere. She clutched her purse to her breast, making sure none of the local guys were following her. Once or twice she had caught a boy trying to snatch her purse and she no longer carried bags with handles or straps. It was not worth the tension nor did she have money she could afford to lose. She passed the shops where they sold nuts and spices and then she came to the end of the strip where there were a couple of shops owned by Kashmiris one after the other so you always got confused which one you were trying to enter. They sold rugs, shawls, precious stones, gems and jewellery made of silver and white metal. They displayed elephants and deer carved out of walnut and papier-mâché boxes with vines and flowers painted on the surfaces in an endless pattern escaping outside the contours of the box. Emily recognized her shop, Kashmir Gift House. The other one was Kashmir Art and Craft and she tried to remember that. There was an old man who owned the shop and when he talked, he spoke without commas or full stops. “Here the elephant bracelet you wanted to see there are elephants in a circle going around and there are two types one in a bangle and then these elephant charms and they are all gone I have only this piece left now I had six before now I have only one they keep coming you know we get them all the time.”

She did not want to look when she passed the shop, but unconsciously her gaze was drawn to the doorway. He was there, unselfconsciously mopping the floor. She could not explain why she felt sad that he had to mop the floor. The shop was run by the old man and his two sons, of which the older son, a bespectacled type, had the airs of one who knew the world. He was the younger son and he did not look like the father or the brother nor did he behave like them. There was an air of innocence around him and Emily perceived his guilelessness with a sorrow that came from her very depths. He was not of this world. There were men who mopped their floors in disgust and spat, men who mopped their floors as if stuck with mopping and men who mopped their floors with cleverness, smiling to attract their customers as if to show, look we keep our store clean. The Kashmiri youth did not do any of these things. He just mopped, he did not question why. His eyes did not move in distrust to the street, he did not look this way or that, he was always serious about his job. She passed by quickly before he could spot her, thinking she would go back sometime when a purchase had to be made. She thought about the real reason why her heart grew heavy when she saw him, because he reminded her of her husband as a young man, a mere boy. He too had been innocent like that. But it was not just that. The Kashmiri boy resembled John Frampton.

It had been ten years and she no longer mourned him. The gap that had been there earlier had shrunk but it could never disappear as there was a part of Emily that was gone when her husband died. For two years after the accident, she relived those moments when she heard the news and after a struggle for his life for three days, he had passed. After him, there had been a few entanglements that came apart like a string wrapped around a brown paper package without a knot. Emily was single again after twenty years and she had her circle of friends, but there was a sense of being alone always. There was no choice in that just like there had been none when they came to India together with notions and aspirations and now Emily was left behind. Two years back she got Doggo, the terrier mix and her life changed. She was happy with him and she could talk endlessly and Doggo did not mind. He wagged his tail and listened and yapped when he approved of something she said. She called herself Milly instead of Emily as it was more Indian and easier for most to pronounce. After those initial years, no one asked her about John and the world passed by with few warnings.

On Friday she decided to go to his shop to buy a gift for Ingrid and Baan. Ingrid was Swedish and Baan was from Bengal. They had met at an English language class. They were leaving the town and moving to France after being here for ten years and so she had to buy them a goodbye gift. There were several shops to choose from but she went there, as she wanted to give the boy business. When she walked in, he was there right at the door. Her heart melted when she saw him, just like John with fair hair, blue eyes and a fine mouth that was pale with a hint of pink so well suited for a man. He kept his blonde beard close to his face and not overgrown, that too, just like John. She looked at him, tears brimming and threatening to spill. He smiled at her with pleasure. “I have not seen you for so long. You never came all these days.”
What strange words, she thought to herself. They could be words John himself said to me. But she collected her thoughts and smiled back and answered, “Yes, yes. I do not live here the year around. That is why.”
“Oh”, he looked confused. “I thought you lived here.”
“For six months. That was when I saw you last year.”
“Yes, so long back”, he enunciated, with that lost boy look. “Today, how can I help you?”
“I am looking for a gift for my friend and her husband. I think I will get her a bracelet, garnet or turquoise. Both will look good on her.”
He opened the glass door of the jewellery case and with his usual sincerity began to take out a few pieces to show her. “There is this one and then there are the charms, silver and stone, alternating.”
Emily looked through his selections and pointed at other items she wanted to see and he took them out. “Sorry to make you take out so many.”
“No problem. No problem. You see as many as you like.”
He was not eager, just sweet and helpful, so rare for a tradesman. She picked a turquoise bracelet with oval stones set in silver for Ingrid and for Baan, she asked to see a silk scarf. “It’s unusual for a man I think, but he wears those with kurtas.”
“This is for men”, the young man showed her a range. “They are long, not square.”
Each time she opened one to check, after that he folded it and put it away. He folded them carefully with his fair well shaped hands. Emily felt that confusion rise within her again. She was fifty five and he must have been all of twenty three. He was old enough to be her son. She knew she did not feel attracted to him sexually, not to his youth or his handsome features, but a strange sense of belonging arose in her when she saw him. As if it was their son, John’s and hers and he had grown up without knowing and it was too late now to tell him because he would not understand.

They had never had children, she and John. At first, they put it off because of their work, then she began to travel for a while and finally, they got so used to things being the way they were that it was an unspoken agreement not to have any progeny. They spoke sometimes about why couples have children and John said it was to make something together and she said it was because people were scared that there would be nothing of them left after they were gone. They had children to continue their blood on to the next generation, for continuity. Then all of a sudden all of it was over, she and John, and there were only memories she cherished, memories that grew fainter with the years and finally only the sense of loss, that sense of not having which got amplified on her encounter with the youth.

“What is that?” she asked the Kashmiri salesman pointing to a box that was wedged between a deer with antlers and a tabby cat replica. “That”, he said, pulling it out carefully without letting other objects drop. “is a jewellery box.”On the lid there was a painting of a Moghul prince and a princess sitting in an open enclosure with four pillars and an arched roof. Emily opened it and was about to say something when a voice called, “Hi Emily! How are you?” She turned around and saw Mr. Das, a dapper man in his late sixties. “Buying something?”
“Yes, yes, for Baan and Ingrid.” She turned to the youth, “Can I have those two items we picked already gift-wrapped? Separately.”
“Yes, certainly.” He went about finding a piece of gift wrapping paper and came back with gold tissue. Carefully and earnestly he measured and cut the paper and wrapped the scarf in it. He put the bracelet in a box. Mr. Das chattered non-stop but Emily did not hear him. She only saw the boy, cutting the paper, taping the sides and finishing the ends carefully and setting the two packages in front of her when he was done.
“It’s ready.”
She paid him and said, “I will be back. I want to look at the carpets sometime.”
“Shall I show you a couple since you are here?” he asked.
“Six by nine – do you have any?”
“Just two pieces left”, he said and pulled them both out. They were at the bottom of the pile, but he did it as soon as he could, so as not to keep her waiting. One was a light colored paisley pattern and the other was bold : greens, blues and reds on a background of cream. “How much for this one?” Emily asked holding the edge of the second carpet. “It’s for my sitting room.”
“It does not look rugged”, said Mr. Das, proffering his opinion. “May not last Emily.”
The boy answered without getting deterred. “We’ve had these in our homes for years and they are made of wool. Nothing happens to them. I can guarantee.”
“How much?” asked Emily.
“I am not sure. I will have to check. Maybe six thousand.”
It was a reasonable price, perhaps too low. Emily felt that sadness again that he was not like the other shopkeepers trying to cheat people. He was not trying to be smart. “I will give you a good price”, he told Emily, that faraway look in his blue eyes.
“I’ll come back for it”, she told him and smiled. Then she left with the packages he had carefully wrapped, trying not to look back, carrying her heavy heart. She knew she would pass him again, sometime in the future, very soon.