But nothing, absolutely nothing, killed the ageless romantic in her. To this day she dreamt of a swashbuckling prince charming, the years adding to his weight and subtracting from his mane, riding a rather tired horse, knocking her door on a starry night and gathering her up in one swift move. The image of them galloping down the street at breakneck speed into the sunset, her virgin white train billowing in the crisp evening wind, her tenants gasping in surprise, cheering and hooting the beautiful couple always gave her goosebumps. Her man’s face remained a mystery though, mostly because she had tears in her eyes, and partly because he wore a Zorroesque mask. This she took as a sign from the good lord that the right time to unmask her soulmate was yet to arrive.

Finally, in a fit of naked rage she brought her right palm heavily onto the unsuspecting devil, which miraculously disengaged its straw, furiously beat its fragile wings, and rose hastily into the sky. As she followed the flight, her eyes caught sight of the handsome Lawrence, her tenant on the first floor, working up foam as he brushed on a lazy Sunday morning. A decade-long umbilical chord separated them, yet she increasingly felt that the face behind the mask belonged to him. When their eyes met, he winked at her flashing an impish smile. She felt her heart beating furiously and hastily moved behind the curtains. A minute later, she peeped through a narrow nick, half expecting to find him gazing longingly at her window. Not finding him in the balcony anymore, she dejectedly made her way to the bathroom for a quick bath.

Today being the first Sunday of the month, she was to begin her rounds collecting rent from a total of five tenants. Both floors of her sprawling villa, bequeathed to her a decade ago by her father, were occupied by a motley group of tenants. Maggie often boasted that her villa was second to none in Goa. The tenants had every right to find her claim far removed from reality: the leaking ceilings, clogged drains and faulty wiring were proof
enough. Mr. Desai from the second floor had to be hospitalized for a week last monsoon, when he’d been blessed with a shock of his life mending a blown fuse. But low rent and a naive landlady was an inimitable permutation: second to none.

In the bathroom, she trembled as the cold shower numbed her senses, and strands of her hair snaked around on the tiled floor. She soaped her now slippery skin; humming her favorite tune with eyes closed, all the while fantasizing kissing Lawrence by some turquoise lake. The bath was cut short when the tap went dry and she wasted no time summoning the choicest curses: everybody from the local councilor to the US president was targeted.

Dripping wet, she stood naked in front of the mirror turning this way and that, assessing everything that she saw with a critical eye. Her focus finally shifted to her face, and she practiced ex-pressions that would befit a hard-as-nails landlady. After much deliberation, she put on her finest dress, dabbed her favorite perfume, and smeared her lips with her favorite shade of lipstick. Lighting a candle before a cheap replica of the Pieta she’d bought at the church fair, she prayed and made her way to the first floor.

The voice of a fight too loud for her liking greeted Maggie as she neared Mrs. Dsa’s doorstep.

‘But Mia, that thing you are wearing…modern you call it…is too short. Nothing doing, you are not wearing that to church,’ Mrs. Dsa was too busy admonishing her daughter to notice Maggie.

‘Mom, this is what girls wear these days! If you could, you’ll make me wear a burqa I swear!’

‘If I could? I can very well…’ the sound of a deliberately coughing Maggie broke Mrs. Dsa’s chain of thoughts.

‘Oh Maggie! I am so glad you are here. Will you make this silly girl see some sense? Look at what she’s wearing to church!’ She almost dragged Maggie by the hand into the living room all the while pointing an accusing finger at Mia. The girl to her credit was unmoved by her mother’s hysterics and looked very fetching in the gorgeous peach frock. It is short thought Maggie, but she’d seen other girls wear skimpier clothes. The poor girl obviously felt awkward, dressed as she was by Mrs. Dsa in severe frocks that did nothing for her budding curves. The peach color went well with her clear skin, auburn hair and added light to her deep eyes. The neck was quite low though and drew attention to her taut breast; Maggie thought of her own reflection in the unforgiving mirror...

‘Maggie?’

‘Sandra! Let the little girl be! The frock is just fine; this is the fashion these days. Add a stole and she’s all set to floor them boys,’ Maggie winked at Mia.

‘O Maggie! A single mother is judged by one and all. I don’t want people to…’

Maggie walked across to the dresser, opened the chest of drawers, and after rummaging through it drew two stoles: black and deep copper. Mia draped the copper-colored stole around her neck, slipped her feet into a dainty pair of sandals and was out of the door in a jiffy. The sound of her ‘bye mom...bye Maggie’ ricocheted off the stairway. Mrs. Dsa looked dejectedly at Maggie, who gave her a reassuring smile.

‘Sandra, she’ll be fine. Mia is a responsible girl!’

‘Oh Mag, before I forget! I had a most amazing dream last night. I saw you walking down the aisle with a handsome man. Oh! What a gorgeous couple you guys made! You were wearing the most beautiful gown Maggie. You looked so pretty! Your hair was done up in a bun so soft, like dew on a blade of grass. The church was decked out with exotic flowers, the choir boys sang the most melodious tunes and the guests wore their best clothes. I was there too, all teary eyed as you kissed your man after the vows. O Maggie, my cheeks were all salty when I woke up this morning!’

‘Really Sandra?’ Maggie couldn’t think of anything else to say. Sandra was good at them tarot cards. Some of her past predictions had rung true. Like the time she’d cautioned her
against Xavier, the guy who owned a seedy restaurant down the street. ‘He’s after your villa Maggie. He doesn’t love you…he loves your money. My cards never lie to me,’ she’d said with a grim air. Sure enough, that scoundrel had ditched her for the daughter of the local strongman. On her part, Sandra was thankful to the good lord that he fashioned
coincidences when she most needed them. Society frowns upon a woman abandoned by her husband; she wasn’t even married to that lecher when Mia was born. As luck would have it, he died in an accident and she was christened Joe’s widow by one and all. As the years flew, she’d passionately immersed herself into the occult. The townsfolk often
gossiped that the local strongman paid for her sustenance in return of harmless favors: that was years ago. Now with her sagging bosom and burgeoning waist, money was hard to come by.

‘Maggie! When was the last time I lied to you? Wait, let me get my cards. Let’s see what they have to say. Will you draw those curtains please?’

Maggie was familiar with the routine. She drew the curtains, laid out the frilly tablecloth on the circular table, and placed two chairs facing each other. She then patiently sat on one of the chairs, waiting for Sandra as she donned her Madame Fortune paraphernalia. Sure enough, she emerged wearing a deep-necked black dress complete with a colorful scarf over her head and her hands carried the exalted pack of cards. Madame Fortune wasn’t Sandra and Sandra wasn’t Madame Fortune. Madame Fortune was a dour lady of unverifiable age who was rarely known to smile. She laid out the tarot cards on the table in a neat semicircle with an experienced hand. She motioned Maggie to pick a card with the swift movement of her arched eyebrows unevenly darkened with kohl. Maggie took a deep breath and picked up a card that lay at the very centre of the pack. Madame Fortune took one look at the card and a feeble smile betrayed her thin lip.

‘Just as I told you Maggie! Love and marriage knock at your doorstep very soon. Keep your ears open at all times! I am sure you wouldn’t want to miss it this time. Maggie? Are you listening?’

‘That man in your dream! Sandra did you see his face?’

‘I sure did. He was very handsome like I told you. My! What broad shoulders he had and deep eyes that spoke fluently!’

‘I mean did he look familiar? Someone from our town? Someone we know?’

‘I am not so sure of that Maggie. Those were fleeting images actually…grainy too…like them old movies.’

‘Oh Sandra! Please try to remember. Okay okay…did he resemble Lawrence? Please tell me Sandra!’

Maggie instantly regretted what she’d blurted out in the heat of the moment. She wasn’t even sure if he had any feelings for her. Well, he did flirt a lot with her and the last time she’d been on her rent rounds, he’d almost kissed her mouth. But the fool that she was she’d rushed out of his room empty handed: without the kiss and the rent. On lonely evenings she would stand by her window and wonder why she was denying herself all that life offered. Love was just a flight of stairs away, yet she found that distance impossible to traverse. Several cold nights when she pined for a warm body next to hers, she’d think of running up the stairs in her night dress to him, but a warm blanket and
shame would keep her bedridden.

‘Maggie! Are you out of your mind? Don’t tell me you have fallen for that useless idiot!’

‘Well, Sandra…’

‘Listen to me dear, he’s no good. Unless you are looking for an energetic bunny in bed. The scoundrel has been jobless for as long as I’ve cared to know. If I am not wrong, he hasn’t paid you for how many…six months? People tell me he’s into the drug trade pleasuring those shameless firangs who infest our beaches. Joshua, my nephew, tells me he’s seen Lawrence walk with them white girls into their rooms in the dead of the night. Even if none of this is true Maggie, how can you forget that you are much older than him? Nothing wrong with marrying a younger guy I say, but for how long can you keep him on a tight leash? Know what I mean? That bastard has been eyeing Mia for quite some time now. I’ve warned the scum that if I catch him inasmuch as looking at her, I’ll cut his balls and feed them pigs!’

‘Oh Sandra!’ she rose with a start as she glanced at her wrist, ‘it’s been an hour! I better get going now. It’s the first Sunday of the month you know…’

‘Maggie, I haven’t had much money lately. You know, not many believe in tarot and with Mia’s rising expenses…but next month I’ll pay all the arrears. I’ve decided to take up a job at Louis’ restaurant. He so loves my pasta! So you know…’

‘I will wait Sandra; not a problem. You’ve been so good to me. Never charged a paisa
for these sessions! I owe a lot more to you. In fact, if your prediction has any grain of truth in it…I might as well waive a month’s rent or so!’

The earnestness in Maggie’s voice reassured Sandra that she was still good at fleecing people: a must have if one wishes to succeed as a fortune teller. For her part, Maggie was still a strong believer in innate goodness that resided in people. She collected rent from the other tenants and passed Lawrence’s locked door with a hint of sadness. Back in her bedroom, she deposited the fifteen grand in her dresser’s drawer after counting them again. She changed into a misshaped maxi and busied herself in the mundane
chores of the household.

Far from her busy kitchen, in the shade of a flame tree behind the church, two lovers kissed as the summer breeze blew away wayward bronzed leaves.

To Be Continued