Short Stories: Mr. Caterpillar by Aditya Mewati

PART ONE: THE NEED.

1.

"Go to hell!"

  If God ever gave Niti a chance to turn back the time, to revisit that goddamn meeting with her friend in that goddamn hotel where her friend had asked her if she were interested in a part-time job, then Niti would have told her: "Go to hell!"

  Of course, God never gave her that chance. So, Niti accepted the offer that sealed her fate. When she took the job and finally got acquainted with the real terror, Niti Shetty was nineteen. 

  But before the job, before the meeting, came the goddamn scooter.

2.

The leaden sky was filled with the streaks of pink clouds. The Sun had almost dipped itself into some unknown ocean. Niti, worn out by the days’ worth of play, mounted her ramshackle scooter that looked as ancient as the earth itself, its maroon paint faded and chrome parts all rusted. She put on her helmet and stared at the silhouetted facade and then around the college-yard that was filled with chatting and laughing students. A distant drone of traffic told her that she won't be able to make it before eight. That meant she would miss the first half of the inaugural match of Euro cup 2016. But that was okay. The first half of a football game is usually dull. The second half is more fun to watch, isn't it?  Isn't it?

  She sighed, congratulating herself for staying so confident, and began pushing the key into the ignition but stopped halfway when saw a figure moving toward her. She looked up, expecting to see her friend, Shruti. But it was not Shruti. It was Ravi, her school crush.

  Her heart put on gear.

  "Hey," he said amiably.

  "Hi," Niti managed to choke out.

  "You were brilliant today on the field," Ravi said, his eyes twinkling with delight.

  "Thanks," Niti said in a straining-to-sound-offhand-but-not-quite-making-it tone. Her heart put on another gear. She started playing with her ponytail the way she usually did when she felt nervous. Waiting for the jitters to pass, she looked over his shoulder and saw a group of girls scowling at her. They were looking at her like skinny street dogs look at a healthy pet dog who gobbles up four pounds of pedigree every day, and all they get is dirty air, garbage, and some madman-dog-hater's kick.

  Oh my god, Niti thought. They are jealous. They are jealous of me!

  "I almost jumped out of the stands," Ravi was saying, "When you did your second goal. You were flying out there… flying!"

  "Thanks," Niti said.

  "You know what?" Ravi said, "They should make you our captain… your football skills are amazing."

  "My football skills are good, not my leadership skills."

  He laughed and gently punched her shoulder, and her heart jumped into her throat. She glanced at her wristwatch and blurted, "Oh, no." She looked up at Ravi and said, "I'm sorry, but I'll have to go. I have a game to catch."

  "Yeah. Right. Sure," Ravi said, "I am dying to watch that game." He looked out at the gate. "But I guess I'll miss the first fifteen minutes or so."

  "If you want," Niti heard herself say, "I can drop you off." Her eyes grew wide with anticipation.

  "On this thing?" Ravi asked, pointing at her ramshackle scooter.

  Niti ignored the implied insult and said, "Come on… it would be fun."

  He looked indecisively at her then at the scooter. He shrugged and sat on the pillion seat behind her (the bike shuddered under his weight as if complaining about the extra load) and put his hands on her shoulder. Her heart went berserk, rolling all around her body. Her breathing went erratic, and gooseflesh appeared on the back of her palms.  She felt like she had touched a live wire. 

  She looked at the group of girls who were now glaring at her. Whoa, she thought, first we won the final, then I won the player of the match award, and now he is sitting behind me with his hands on my shoulders. This is the best day of my life!

  Poor Niti, she didn't know that in less than fifteen seconds her best day would turn into a horrible nightmare. And that nightmare would lead to another one, much bigger and much more terrifying.

  Grinning to herself, she gave the key a twist. The engine coughed, wheezed and died. She did it again and again heard that terrible wheeze. The thing won't start, she reflected miserably. She took in a deep breath and gave another twist. The engine shuddered, wheezed and gratefully smoothed out. A crescent smile touched her lips.

  The scooter had just moved a few yards when the engine began to wheeze and soon died.

  "What the…" Niti muttered. She tried to start the engine but to no avail. Soon her temper got the better of her, and she began pounding her fist on the gauge.

  "Whoa, relax," Ravi said placatingly, getting off the scooter. He tried the ignition. But it didn't work. So, he knelt down, removed the cover and started fidgeting with wires and pipes. "Try again," he told Niti.

  Biting her lips uncertainly, Niti complied and turned the ignition. She heard a shudder and then, a few milliseconds later, the engine exploded, showering Ravi's face with smoke, soot, and oil. Coughing, Ravi climbed back to his feet, his face unrecognizable—hidden behind the black carbon.

  Everyone around them started laughing. Niti stood there transfixed. She looked at the group of girls who were howling with laughter. Swallowing hard, she gazed back at Ravi who had now pulled out his handkerchief and was vigorously rubbing his face with it. Shouldn't Niti say something to him? No, she shouldn't. A disdainful voice inside her head said: Actually, she couldn't. A dread had settled over her like layers of soil does over a fossil.

  Without saying a word, Ravi turned on his heel and stomped off toward the gents. Niti wondered if she should wait until his return? Looking around at the laughing faces, she realized she shouldn't. So, stifling curses and berates, she dragged her scooter toward the gate.

3.

The street stood dark and silent; the darkness was only broken by the lampposts that lined the deserted sidewalk. A shed of corrugated iron stood at the end of the street. It was the place where Niti had intended to reach before seven-thirty. But now it was already nine, and she had been dragging her scooter for almost two hours, her hair disheveled. Patches of sweat had turned areas of her pink top, around her armpits and back, red—a crescent patch of wetness had made the top to stick to her skin above her bosom. The lamplight behind her blinked, making her shadow to appear and disappear on the ground before her.

  As she neared the shed, a silhouetted figure of a man, who was working on a car, waved at her. She waved him back; whereupon lost her hold on the scooter and it fell to the ground, cutting her right shin. The man rushed for help. He pulled her and the scooter up and steered them to the shed.

  "Again?" he asked, staring at the scooter with a hint of distaste.  He was a tall man with a thick beard and a scarred face.

  "Yes," Niti said tentatively. Her knees were wobbling.

  The man shook his head and got to work. His calloused, blunt fingers danced gracefully over pipes and valves. "You know the difference between a garage and a restaurant?" he asked, without looking up at her.

  "One repairs vehicles and other serves food," Niti said.

  "The restaurant manager is happy to see regular customers because that means his restaurant is serving good food. But for a garage owner... You know what regular customers mean…"

  "You know it's not you," Niti said, biting her lips.

  "Yes. It's your scooter," the man said, "and it's dead."  He drew himself up. "Take these thousand rupees. I can only give this much for it."

  Niti stared at the money and then at the man. "Can't you fix it?" she said.

  The man shook his head. "I can. But it will cost almost twenty thousand rupees. You can buy a new scooter with that money."

  "No," Niti said, "I don't want a new one. I—"

  "Why are you always caring about this piece of junk?" The man frowned.

  "Because… Because…" she said, fighting back her tears, "it belonged to my dad. It's… his only memory…" she trailed off.

  The frown turned into a rueful smile. And Niti knew that the smile was genuine, for his eyes were smiling with his lips. And Niti knew that eyes don't lie. The man said, "Fine, I'll give my best and will try fixing your dad's scooter—but you know what it will cost."

  Niti nodded. “Yes, I do.” 

4.

By the time she reached home, the match had already ended. And of course, her mother was nowhere in sight. Over time, she thought. So, Niti changed her clothes, ate dinner, brushed her teeth and went straight to bed, for she was too tired to do anything else. She promptly fell asleep.

  Her cell phone buzzed. Niti rolled on her sides, trying to ignore the invading sound. But the phone kept on buzzing. Grimacing, Niti sat up and answered the call.  It was Shruti.

  "Hey, Shruti," Niti said listlessly, "I'm exhausted. Why don't you call me—"

  Shruti cut her off. "I know what happened with you today—someone posted your and his pic on Facebook—but that's not the reason I called you. I want you to meet me tomorrow evening at our regular meeting place, okay? And don't make me wait."

  "But," Niti started. But the line was already dead. Niti puffed out a sigh and slumped back in her rumpled bed. Her pic was on Facebook. Great, isn't it?  As her eyes felt heavy, she had a hunch that soon turned into a nightmare. It was about… insects.

  Niti woke up with a start, beads of sweat standing out on her forehead, her breathing wheezed gasps. As she sat in her bed, she tried to recall her dream. But it was already fading away. Thinking about it was like fixing a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, or it was like holding water in your cupped hands. She gave it up and fell back in her bed, trying to get back in a world where all laws of physics ceased to exist. She soon got success in it.

5.

Sunday had dawned bright and sunny. A golden chink of light poured in through the window. Niti flung her feet off the bed and went across the room and stared out the window. The unblemished blue sky stretched overhead, not a cloud to disrupt its beauty. Then she noticed something she had failed to notice before—the smell of fried egg and toasted bread; this smell meant that her mother was home and was in good spirits. Yawning and stretching her arms, Niti set off for the kitchen. She had forgotten all about her dream.

  Mrs. Shetty was hunched over the stove, frying scrambled eggs.

  "Good morning, dear," she said when Niti entered the kitchen.

  "Morning mom," Niti replied, drew up a chair and sat at the table. She read morning paper (only sports section) while Mrs. Shetty fixed her breakfast.

  Niti found nothing exciting in the paper, so she rolled it up and kept it on the table beside her plate and began gobbling her breakfast. She was slurping up her tea when Mrs. Shetty, her back turned to Niti, said, "Niti, I didn't saw our scooter in the parking lot."

  She had forgotten all about the scooter. In fact, she had forgotten all about the previous day.  Now, it all came back to her like a hammer-blow.

  "Uh," she said, "I left it in Mr. Nath's garage."

  "Oh, I'm so surprised to hear it," Mrs. Shetty said, her back still facing Niti.

  Niti ignored her sarcasm. "Uh, mom, the thing is going to need a big fix. Mr. Nath said that repairing it will cost more than twenty thousand rupees."

  At this, Mrs. Shetty turned her eyes wide with rage. "Twenty-thousand? Oh, Niti, you are not going to pay him—"

  "I'm going to repair it," Niti said at once.

  "Repair it? Who is going to pay you twenty thousand, for I’m definitely not paying anything for that piece of shi…" she trailed off.

  Niti clenched her shaking fist, got to her feet and stomped off the kitchen, banging the door behind her.

6.

"Okay," Niti said sitting in the chair, "I'm here. Make it quick, because I have seven assignments to complete."

  Shruti gazed at her. "You look horribly pale. What happened?"

  "Nothing," Niti said apprehensively.

  "Sure?"

  "Yes," Niti said at once.

  They were sitting at the table next to the glass wall that looked out at the busy street. The heart-warming smell of warm coffee filled the evening air. The cafe was crowded like a good cafe on a pleasant Sunday evening should be.

  Niti looked at the glass-wall at her own superimposed reflection. She looked pale, all right. Two friends, at the next table, were laughing and were giving each other high fives. Niti envied them.

  "Are you interested in a part-time job?" Shruti abruptly asked, "I know you are. And you'll be when I tell you what our job is and how much we'll be paid."

  "How much we'll be paid?" Niti asked although she was not interested in doing any part-time job.

  "Thirty thousand rupees for just one night," Shruti said, her eyes twinkling.

  "Thirty thousand…" Niti muttered, "One night… what kind of job are you talking about?" She flushed.

  "What? Oh, no. No. No. You got me completely wrong!" She laughed. "Our job is to take care of a millionaire and his pets."

  "Pets?" Niti asked, frowning.

  "Yes, pets."

  "You know I hate cats and dogs."

  "No dogs. No cats." A group of boys went past them. Shruti gazed briefly at the longer one in the group and then back at Niti. "His pets are… caterpillars."

  Niti gave her a perfect incredulous look. "Caterpillars? Caterpillars? You are joking."  She started getting up. But Shruti reached out, seized her hand and pulled her back.

  "Why do you always think that I'm joking?" Shruti asked.

  "Because you have a pet dog whose name is Cat," Niti said, and that was true. 

  "Keep Cat out of this, and I'm not joking," Shruti said with a stern expression on her face, "He is a millionaire, the one who is lying on his deathbed. He likes caterpillars and also teenagers. Hence, he is paying so much money. Please don't say no. We won't be alone in his mansion. A boy I recently got acquainted with will also be working with us. And he is cute!"

  Niti thought over it. Shruti was right. Rich people are actually weird. They have unusual hobbies. They go to weird parties, wear weird clothes and do weird things. So, a man with lots of money, lying in his deathbed and schooling a morbid fascination for caterpillars and teenagers did make sense. And besides, thirty thousand was a significant amount; she could easily fix her dad's scooter with that money.  So, after considering the aforementioned things, Niti said three magical words (and they were not: go to hell). She said: "Count me in."

  She later regretted her decision.

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