A short goodbye

Monica was going away on a cruise with her book club. The group of twenty academics planned an annual two-week cruise to fancy places; Baltic coast, Central America, Eastern Europe, Mediterranean islands, you name it. They hardly had time to relish the glorious scenery surrounding them although they did enjoy four very square meals served in elegant dining rooms and returned a little rounder, let me not be rude and say less skinny, than when they boarded the ship. The time they didn’t spend in the dining room was spent in the library of the ship. The club chose a topic for each cruise, this time it was Nineteenth century English literature. Before each cruise the members read the books from a long list containing sometimes ten, other times twenty titles. Each day on the ship they chose one and discussed its fine points till everyone was exhausted. It had often been suggested that they record the discussions for future generations but the general feeling was that this would put a damper on free expression of opinions, particularly by members of the shy sex.

This year the cruise was going to Alaska. Ravi went to Vancouver to see Monica off and to make sure that all her cases including the box of novels by Dickens, Carroll and Thackeray, criticisms by Ruskin and poems of Hopkins among others were properly loaded. After checking in a modest hotel on Saturday afternoon and playing tourist in the evening, they got to bed late but Monica was not at all sleepy. Who knows whether it was the anxiety before a long trip or the coffee that she had after dinner not having been the decaf she had asked for. After tossing and turning for a while she sat up straight and asked, “Where is my camera? I am sure I left in the restaurant.”

Ravi got up to look for it. It was not on the table, not in the suitcase lying open on the floor and not in the pocket of clothes they wore that evening. Just when he opened the phone book to find the phone number of the Greek restaurant where they had excellent Moussaka, Meat Balls and salad followed by heavenly baklava and the treacherous coffee, he noticed something peeping out of her shoes lying next to the case. There it was, the digital camera she had bought for Ravi a few months ago.

Ravi fell back in the bed, adjusted his pillow, pulled up the covers and closed his eyes. But closing the eyes is easy; going to sleep is another matter when you had stuffed yourself with spicy food. Not only that, Ravi was responsible for the important job of making coffee before waking Monica up with a steaming cup. Although he didn’t need to be awake till nearly eight, the weight on his shoulders was heavy and it did not slide off even though he was lying down. He opened his eyes every few minutes, looked at the clock on the side table and closed them again. He noticed the snoring on his left but it did not bother him, he was used to it. At long last it was 04:07 on the clock. He got up, went to the bath room and fell back in bed really tired. Now there were two people snoring a little out of synch and totally oblivious of the modern music they were creating.

Ravi woke up in shock. The clock showed 8:49 and there was no sound on his left. He was relieved to see Monica stretched out with a blissful smile, dreaming perhaps of the great arguments she would present to her gathering. He got out of bed quietly, poured water in the Coffee Mate and brushed his teeth while it was gurgling. At 9:01 he presented a steaming cup to half awake Monica.

They finalized the packing, she for the ship and he for the trip home. After a leisurely breakfast of poached eggs, yellow not green, and ham with toast saturated with butter and the cold coffee restaurants serve with breakfast, they loaded their stuff in the car and headed for the port. Most of Monica’s group was already there chatting gaily in a cluster. Someone asked Ravi why he wasn’t joining them. “English is my second language; I learnt it late in life. Cricket is my thing. Somehow literature never caught my fancy. I do think that my presence on the ship would have distracted Monica. That is why I offered to stay behind and look after the dogs and Monica kindly agreed.”

The reply seemed to satisfy them and the conversation moved to more interesting topics like weather forecast for next two weeks. Soon the ship hooted three times and passengers moved towards the loading planks. Ravi watched Monica chatting with Kate, the cofounder of the club as she boarded the ship. On the deck she turned towards him and waved. Ravi blew the kiss, in fact two kisses, and walked back to the parking lot. In a few minutes he was on the highway. With a Sousa march on his lips Ravi set the cruise control just when the ship had made its way out of the harbour.


Breaking the Law

It was past our usual time for dinner and the tummies were protesting. We were still about half an hour away from home and an hour away from dinner, assuming it would take Monica a while to throw something on the pan and then on the plates. No wonder I took my eyes off the speedometer. Soon I was wishing I hadn’t. A tall slim figure in a police uniform moved to the middle of my lane and flagged me to stop. When I opened the window, he bent down and spoke humbly but in a tone assumed by men in control, “Sir, you were exceeding the speed limit by forty kilometers an hour.”
“That fast! I am sorry officer. I am not generally so heavy footed.”
“Yes, that foot will cost you a lot,” he replied flipping open the notepad and then added while taking the cap off the pen, “One hundred and seventy nine dollars to be exact.”
“Plus GST, I suspect,” I said.
“Thank your lucky stars there is no GST on traffic fines. Can I see your driver’s license and car registration please?” He stretched his open hand towards me.
“There goes my wife’s birthday celebration. Now she will have to cook for her own fortieth dinner,” I said to the car whistling by behind him.
“I suggest you barbecue a steak for her and serve it with peas and baked potatoes and a fine red wine. She will appreciate that more than a restaurant.” He was sure good at out of this world suggestions.
“No she won’t. Last time I cooked she said never again and she has stuck to it. That was twenty years ago,” I was almost down to a whimper.
“I don’t believe it. Not in twenty first century,” the doubting officer looked straight in my pleading eye.
“Ask her. She is right here on the passenger seat,” I countered.
“Is he right madam?” The officer asked looking through me.
Monica vigorously nodded to confirm last part of the story. She looked sad as any one would who had the visions of cooking spaghetti and meatballs on her birthday while her husband watched old hockey reruns on the Sports Channel. The officer folded the pad and put it back in his pocket. His officious tone now assumed a gentle quality, “I will let you off this time with a warning sir. Be careful please. There are some more of us down the road who may not be as considerate.

I thanked the officer for his kindness, promised to drink to his health at our celebration and drove off, slowly at first and then just above the speed limit. We did see two other police cars but they were busy with crazies who, for some strange reason, can’t stay within the law.

This was not the first time I had tried this trick. It is amazing how often it works. Impressions to the contrary, not all law enforcement officers have hearts of stone.