For Fountainahas the night before Good Friday was a watershed in its rather uneventful history; many years after that fateful night, women in the neighborhood would habitually use it as a point of reference to establish facts: so-and-so’s age for example. ‘Oh! Don’t you remember? She was almost knee high that Good Friday!’ That night as Maggie lay on her bed fiddling with the safety pins that dangled from her bangles; her mind refused captivity. It strayed to the exact moment that afternoon when she’d bumped into Jacinto on her way to the bakery. She’d briefly dated the nerdy boy when they were both at the University. Thereafter, he’d left for some godforsaken country carved out of the erstwhile USSR for his medical degree. As the months passed the frequency of letters diminished; it finally came to naught when she learned that he’d married some blonde. Until today, he was but a faint memory for her: she’d even forgotten what he sounded like.

‘Magpie! Is that you?’ is how he’d called out to her. But for the endearment she’d have had no clue about the identity of this man.

‘Oh Jacinto! Is that you?’ she’d almost cried in astonishment, ‘after all these years!’

‘Doctor Jacinto Machado,’ he’d corrected her with a shy smile. She could see that he was genuinely pleased to see her; she was a tad embarrassed, but glad nonetheless. They’d spent the next quarter of an hour talking about loved ones gained and lost, his divorce, her loneliness, how she still looked young and the beauty of the Uzbek countryside. She was amazed at how little the intervening years showed on him. He was still muscular–– a slight paunch notwithstanding––his hair was still the same shade of coal, and he had retained his painfully shy demeanor. As they parted he’d extracted a promise from her for a visit to his clinic on the main street.

Just as Maggie rose to switch the lights off, they went off on their own and the noisy fan stopped whirring. She could hear the Lopes’ twins from the second floor shriek at the top of their voices; they would yell twice as loud whenever the power was restored. Convinced that a fuse was blown, Maggie struggled to find a torch in the darkness. As her eyes grew accustomed to the inkiness around her, she saw the metallic torch glistening eerily in the moonlight that crept in through the window. She hastily slipped a stole over her nightgown and walked busily toward the door with the torch’s narrow beam dictating her measured walk. As she opened the door, she was taken aback at the sights her eyes took in.

She could clearly see at least six burly policemen running up the wooden staircase. They were shouting instructions in Konkani to the remaining men who stood in the courtyard. Some of the men spread out around the Villa in some pattern that made no sense to her. She could hear their enormous dogs growling and barking; the shouts of her tenants added to the chaos. Maggie could clearly hear Sandra calling out for Mia––asking her to stop. Her heart missed a beat as she saw a man climb over the first floor grille, dangle there for some unsure seconds and finally jump into the courtyard. The policemen cursed from the first floor after the man and the men in the courtyard grappled the daredevil not before some gunshots were fired in the air. The cries of the womenfolk of Grace Villa woke up the entire neighborhood as the lights miraculously came on: both in the Villa and in the terracotta-roofed houses around it.

Maggie’s pupils got smaller and smaller until she could say for sure that the defeated man who was presently handcuffed was Lawrence. He was sprawled on the ground chest down, with his hands resting uncomfortably on the small of his back. His face was caked with sweat, dust and blood that oozed from his forehead. She winced as one of the men kicked him hard and pulled at his hair asking him to stand. Maggie could see Sandra holding onto a hysterical Mia as she struggled to break free from her mother’s grip. ‘Let me go mama, Laurie needs me,’ the girl pleaded amidst loud sobs. Finally, the police held Lawrence by the scruff and led him out of the Villa. At this point, Mia managed to break away from her mother and ran behind the party.

‘Don’t take my Laurie away from me! What has he done? He is innocent…why don’t you listen to me? Please don’t take him…please,’ she pleaded with the men in uniform, ‘Laurie! Why don’t you tell them that you can do no wrong…what will happen to our child Laurie? Oh God please!’ she fell to the ground as Lawrence was bundled into a jeep that soon vanished in the dark night. As the last of Mia’s words trailed off her tongue, Maggie saw Sandra slump to the floor. The voyeuristic crowd that had gathered for some titillating action soon dissipated. All of her tenants retreated to their apartments content in the knowledge that a juicy scandal was to entertain them for a long time to come.

Back in Sandra’s apartment, Mia had locked herself in her bedroom. As Maggie sat the beleaguered mother at the table, she could hear the girl sob. She felt a pang of guilt at first, but deep down she resented Sandra for her sloppy style of parenting. A mother who hasn’t a clue what her teenaged daughter is up to is no good. She’d read in magazines about how rebellious the girls are these days. The kind of questions that the agony aunt fielded made her puke: teen pregnancy, oral sex, drugs, late night parties, and orgies. Most of these girls weren’t even past twenty and were unapologetic about the lifestyle they chose. They saw it as cool, liberating––the kind who would have been branded forward in her youth. But even them forward girls were chaste compared to these stupid nymphs! She saw no sense why many women equated behaving crassly like men with liberation.

‘I knew that bastard was upto some mischief,’ said Sandra her reddened eyes brimming with tears, ‘tell me Mag where did I go wrong? Am I a bad mother?’

‘Hell no Sandra! Whatever gave you that idea? You have been a good mother; I’ve seen the sacrifices you’ve made for your girl. ’

‘And yet this is what I get in return…my daughter carrying the seed of a useless drug peddler. Oh Mag, the stupid girl won’t relent for an abortion! She wants to keep it as a sign of her lo…’ Sandra couldn’t complete the sentence as she cried a river.

‘Sandy, you got to be strong. Girls these days are a spoilt lot. No matter how good you are as a parent, they’ll play tricks on you. These rabid foreigners---shameless all––have spoiled our land. The way their women behave sets a bad example for our girls. Why, only yesterday my nephew was telling me about this group of teenaged British girls running topless on the beach dead drunk! They forget that this is not their land…really, they should be condemned to some hedonistic hell.’

‘Mag, what is your point?’

‘I am making it Sandy. Our girls envy these foreign girls. If they can have it why can’t we? Poor Mia is a victim of this syndrome. I would say she is lucky that Lawrence is in jail by now. Only yesterday I saw a Polish movie where a boy sells his naïve girlfriend into prostitution for money. Can you believe that? People like him can go to any length to make money. Mia is lucky, she’s safe with you,’ saying mean things about Lawrence strangely brought a sense of calmness to Maggie.

‘What about the child? What will people say! A single mother is no good is what they’ll whisper at street corners. Like mother like daughter! Who will wed her Mag? Christ! How will I find a good boy for her if she waddles all over Fountainahas with a bump? She says she’ll slit her wrists if I force an abortion.’

Maggie rose from the table and walked toward the bedroom. She turned the door knob. Surprised by the unlocked door she softly walked inside to find Mia fast asleep. Her face was stained with tears; so was her pillow. She drew a sheet closely over Mia and softly kissed her forehead. The girl looked very innocent, almost angelic save for the tears for angels always smiled. It broke Maggie’s heart that the lord above would be so harsh on such a fragile girl. As she closed the door behind her, a new resolve added sheen to her face.

She stood by the window and gazed at the full moon. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened as she charted out a neat plan. In the distance she could hear the church bells ring a dozen times. Still standing by the window, she finally turned to face Sandra.

‘Sandra, listen to me carefully. I have a cousin in Valpoi, Cecilia is her name; she lives alone in a pleasant house. She is a god-fearing woman and I am sure she’ll take good care of Mia.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean Sandy. Let her stay there until her due date…’

‘Wait a minute Mag,’ Sandra shut her eyes tight and pressed her forehead grimacing all the while, ‘and I always thought you were a rational woman. You are as stupid as that girl if not more. You want her to deliver that illegitimate child! What after that? Leave it for good in some pile of garbage? Spend the rest of its life fighting a stigma? Tell me Mag!’

‘I’ll adopt the baby.’

‘Mag, you can’t be serious! Why would you do that? Why would anyone do such a stupid thing?’

‘I dunno Sandy. The choice is yours to make. I’ll take Mia to my friend tomorrow. He’s a good doctor. And if you agree with my plan, we’ll visit Cecilia. Don’t worry dear, the good lord takes good care of us all. Have faith in him.’

As the first rays of the morning sun filtered in through the window, Maggie could see a million motes whirling like dervishes in a narrow beam of light. Memories of last night’s dream came back to her as fresh as just scribbled ink.

The Zorroesque face was no longer a mystery and the recent addition--a cute cherub--completed the sunset postcard askew with colors.

Finis

This could be boring...reader discretion recommended.