The Cynic. PAO
They have been found up the top of Mont Centrale.” Ajay pointed east into the twilight where the shadow of the mountain was still visible against the darkening sky.
“Amazing,” Kylie said, truly fascinated. “I can’t wait to see one. How many tortoises are there on La Bajan?”
“Hard to say, as most are in the jungle in the north. Maybe thirty. Jules Norlan, the old man I introduced Dink to, has the oldest birth-gift tortoise and his sons have tortoises also. Nahim, Ishant, and Roshan are in their mid-fifties and, of course, their tortoises are the same age. Because those guys are always working the farms, or driving their ox carts, the tortoises roam in the jungle behind their land.”
“Those farms were pretty lush. What do they grow mainly?” Dink sat with one leg crossed over his knee and he rested his beer bottle on his thigh.
“It was hard to grow anything with the terrible soil. Using ox manure as fertilizer has improved the nutrients and, with basic crop rotation techniques, they can grow whatever vegetables they want. It’s mainly tomatoes, lettuce, broccoli, carrots, and onions. Things that tourists want to cook with, or eat. On a small island that’s the key, recognising and providing what people want.”
“You seem to know farming pretty well, Ajay, and what people desire,” said Kylie as she tinkered with the phone.
“I’ve picked up a bit here and there but I’m no expert. My import business is the same. Bring what the tourists want or need: wine, cheese, paper plates and cutlery for beach picnics, snorkelling gear. Pretty simple really.”
“Clever, I’d say,” Dink clarified. “And Jules mentioned that you saved his life, so I reckon different.”
“I just helped him with a few suggestions, that’s all, and he was able to save his land. He and his sons did the hard work.”
“Well, that’s more than enough.” Kylie was impressed with his modesty and she thought him to be a thoroughly nice guy.
“And your business in La Porte today, did everything work out?” Dink enquired.
Ajay hesitated momentarily before explaining, “It was more social than business. I took some fresh fruits to my friend Captain Albert, and some food Mama had made him. He lives not far from here, through the forest.” Ajay indicated the direction southwards. Kylie gushed at hearing him call his mother Mama. She though it so sweet.
“You are quite the surprise packet.” Dink clapped him on the shoulder to emphasise the point. “I can tell that you know everyone on the island.”
“Sure, man, it’s a small island!” They laughed hard but the compliment was taken.
Ajay told them a little about Captain Albert. He had been really kind to Ajay when he was growing up. Ajay used to work on his fishing boat with his friend Jonah, and Captain Albert taught them a lot about the ocean, but also about life.
“His health is not so good, so I like to look in on him. It’s the least I can do,” Ajay’s voice trembled slightly with emotion thinking of his mentor. “He’s also Camille’s uncle.”
Kylie added, “Well, I think you’re an angel, Ajay. Not many people would do the things that you do.”
“It’s Mama’s influence. She has always encouraged me to do good works, and I enjoy it. It’s easy.” Ajay started, sitting up straight as his own bright idea flashed into consciousness. “You guys should come to dinner in a few days. Mama makes the best octopus curry. I’ll arrange it.”
“Thanks, Ajay, that’s lovely. Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?” Kylie asked politely. Dink was distracted, imagining the taste of octopus curry.
“No, c’mon. I’ll let you know when it is. I better go actually; dinner will be ready for me about now.”
Dink thanked Ajay again for the phone and shook his hand firmly as they all stood up. Kylie gave Ajay an affectionate hug, kissing him on the cheek. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Ajay. Take care.”
Ajay hopped onto his bike and rode smiling into the night. He left a trail of happiness in his wake. A phenomenon indeed.
Chapter 3: Soval
January 29th, 2010
Soval disembarked the ferry and walked contentedly across the jetty, happy to have finished work on La Premiere. He wore a fine, grey pressed suit, and looked smart. Tall, with erect posture and a long stride, he oozed confidence. His hair was grey-brown but thinning, and his small dark eyes counterbalanced a long, hooked nose reminiscent of a shark fin. The overall impression was of a serious character. Reserved and reticent. Introspective. His thin lips merged towards a neatly trimmed white goatee. Soval, from a young age, had always associated goatees with intellect and he wore his with immense pride.
He headed south through La Porte. The island capital was essentially a small coastal settlement with less than one hundred residents. He continued past the row of oceanfront restaurants on his right and the police station, shops, and Catholic church on his left. Between these buildings ‘the alleys’ ran eastwards towards Mont Centrale. Narrow dirt roads, these alleys connected the coast to the interior of the island. Looking along them, Soval could see the modest houses clustered beyond. He knew the alleys all joined the Back Road, and this road channelled directly south between La Porte and the mountain. Ultimately, this Back Road became Route Centrale leading through The Pass and on to Shipwreck Beach. La Porte, like most island settlements, exhibited increased poverty with distance from the ocean. As a result, Back Road was cluttered with poor shanty dwellings, bedraggled stray animals, and the odd seedy toddy shop.
Soval sauntered past tourists enjoying the handicraft stores. He greeted other islanders as they passed on their bicycles. He was well known and respected on La Bajan, but Soval had always craved more. As he neared the Catholic church, he was aware that this was part of the reason he had not been fully accepted by the local community. He was Bahai but he was also an étranger: the local moniker for people who were born overseas but had settled in the Sedois Islands. The clear implication was that you were not a true Sedois. In principle, there was little difference. Soval had obtained citizenship and he could work, and vote. It was more about local attitudes. His son, Ajay, was Sedois and was accepted completely and without question. Soval was acutely conscious of the distinction.
He reflected on his life as he strolled. Soval had been privileged to visit many amazing places and experience incredible things. His life had been good, but he was unsatisfied. He felt that he was owed more. Hard work had been his life. Pushed relentlessly by his parents in Goa, he had studied feverishly to rise above the other Indian children who were his schoolmates. Soval Pape had achieved at the expense of a carefree childhood. With proven academic excellence, after completing school he was awarded a scholarship to study law at Kings College in London. This was an unprecedented accolade for any foreign pupil but especially a poor student from India.
Academia was a comfortable existence for Soval. He continued to study diligently throughout university as he was more proficient at this than socializing. He was not awkward, just painfully shy. Soval existed as a relative loner, studying and surviving. That was until he met Nita. She worked as a cook in a small Indian restaurant close to the university. Nita was Persian and a real natural beauty. Her lustrous black hair and piercing dark eyes combined perfectly with a broad, effortless smile and fierce intellect. Despite having fled Iran as a young woman to escape the persecution of her Bahai community, she had maintained a persistently positive attitude. She embraced life and bubbled effervescently around the local area. She had run into Soval, literally, as he was striding purposefully down The Strand deep in thought. He had struck her shoulder hard and Nita had yelped in pain, dropping her book. A softcover treatise on Freud’s Ego and Id hit the pavement. Nita composed herself quickly, rubbing her sore arm. Soval recovered the book from the ground and dusted it off, profuse in his apologies.
When he saw petite Nita standing in front of him, smiling and sparkling with a cheeky grin and searching eyes, he was smitten. Soval had overcome his natural shyness