The Guest House
Nimi Kurian
8 August 2009, 15:36Dev was looking forward to the weekend. He hadn’t been able to get away in a very long time and when this long weekend came up he knew he would have to take the opportunity.
The guest house, named simply Mer, was quaint — small but with nice clean rooms, a courtyard and a terrace which had a dining table, a coffee maker and a refrigerator. So in the evenings, you could take your drink up there, relax and gaze absently at the miles and miles of sea. It seemed ideal – a bit too perfect, he did think, but he brushed away the thought telling himself he had become too cynical about everything.
In the morning, he walked around the small town, visited a few shops though he didn’t buy anything, stopped off for a nice cool beer and then had delicious lunch. He walked back to his rest house and fell into a deep sleep. It was evening when he awoke.
He had his coffee and a sandwiches at a café close by and was wondering what he was to do with the evening. He felt really relaxed and happy, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
Walking back to his guest house, he met the owner, Bala. He was young and energetic. He spoke English with a slight French accent… all the people in this town spoke it that way. They were proud of the French touch to the town’s history and they were not in a hurry to let anyone forget it.
“So what’s your plan for the evening?” he asked.
“Actually nothing. The whole idea of taking the weekend off was to relax and not do much.”
“In that case, why don’t you drop in at my place around 8 o’clock. We could have a drink together and my wife would love to meet you.”
Dev was surprised by this hospitality. After all this was a guesthouse and the man had a business to run. He must have seen the surprise on Dev’s face for he said, “I don’t normally make this offer to all my guests. But you seem different. And interesting too. My wife is not keeping well…no, no not anything infectious. She gets like this at this time of the year. You know, a kind of pre-monsoon blues…she sees the skies clouding up, thunder in the distance, the grey blue of the sea and she is not too happy.”
Curious now, Dev readily agreed.
“My house is by the side of the guest house,” he said.
That evening, he knocked on Bala’s front door. Bala showed him into the drawing room.
“ My wife will be here soon. Take a seat. She is very happy to have you here this evening.”
Very soon, the door opened and in walked a rather plumb foreign, woman. And if, at that time Bala had not jumped up and said, “Hello darling. Here’s Dev,” he would have thought it was another guest. She looked old and was very nervous. When she spoke, she had the same lilting slant to the language.
One drink later, Dev had learnt most of her life history. Maria’s history went back to almost three generations. She was French but could not bear to think of ever going back. This was her country, her town and her home. It was not an unusual story, for, scattered all over the French quarter of the town were people like her.
Dev told them about himself, his work, and life in the city.
“It’s so relaxed here,” said Dev. “You won’t believe the stress at work!”
Bala amd Maria didn’t say anything. Dev continued.
“You won’t know how difficult it was to just get a few days leave. But now that I have got it I am making sure I can just chill.”
While he was still talking they heard thunder overhead. Maria shuddered and asked Bala to shut the windows. But even after he had done that Maria was nervous, jumpy. Then without warning the heavens opened up and there was a downpour. The rain was heavy and beat steadily against the house.
“Even though the guest house is next door, I wouldn’t advise you to go back in this rain,” said Bala. “I suggest you stay the night with us here.”
Maria rushed in, not giving Dev any time to decide. “Yes, you must stay here. Don’t go back.”
He was a bit surprised at this over-eagerness, but once again curiousity got the better of him and he agreed to stay.
After dinner, of which Maria hardly ate anything, he was shown his room. The rain continued. Heavy and relentless.
“Why was your wife so nervous? I couldn’t help but notice that she was jumpy and looking anxiously at the door.”
Bala smiled. “I guess I better tell you,” he said. “It happened a long time ago. During the time of her grandfather. The man who first came here. After he had built this house, he settled here and was very happy. He went back to France and brought home a wife. The wife took well to the country and since then all his descendants have lived in this house.”
“Sounds like a happy story,” said Dev.
“Well, not really,” he continued. “You see the new lady of the house, couldn’t get used to one thing in this country. And that was the beggars. One evening, just before the monsoons, a man came to the kitchen door. He wanted something to eat. She told him that she would give him something to eat but he would have to work for it.
‘What can I do?’ asked the poor man. ‘I am weak with hunger. Give me some food and then I will do whatever you want me to.’ But the lady would have none of it. ‘I know your lot,’ she said. ‘Once your stomach is full, you will disappear. No. I insist. It is work before food.’ Desperate the man said, ‘Okay tell me what I must do and I will do it.’
‘There is a boat out there,’ she said pointing to the garden shed. ‘Take that and go and get some fish from the sea.’
‘But I have never fished before,’ he protested.
‘Take your pick,’ she said. ‘It’s either that or no food.’
“Actually she was not a hard hearted woman,” said Bala. “It’s just that at that point she was determined to win the argument. Anyway the story goes that the man went out to sea and never returned. For by then a fierce storm blew in and it rained heavily. The woman grew anxious and send her servants out to see if there was any trace of the man. But neither the man nor the boat was found.”
“Fine, all that happened a long time ago. Why is your wife frightened at now? Nothing like that has happened since, has it?”
“That’s the thing. The year after the man had disappeared, someone came knocking on the kitchen door. One of the servants opened the door, she screamed and fell down and died. Ever since, if someone knocks on the door at this time of the year we never open it. My wife is petrified.”
“Surely this is legend grown big?” said Dev disbeleivingly. He could not believe that such nonsense could pass down from generation to generation and still hold fear.
“Oh no, dear friend, it’s not legend. It does happen you know. I have heard the knocking. And somehow the knocking is so persuasive you are almost hypnotised and you desperately want to open the door.”
Bala wished Dev goodnight and went off to bed. The sea was rough and he could hear the waves crashing into the land. It was still raining.
Dev was woken up in the middle of the night by a loud knocking. He turned over and tried to sleep. But the knocking was peristent. He couldn’t sleep any longer. He sat up in bed and once he had figured out where he was, he wondered why no one was opening the door. He got out of bed and made his way downstairs. His hand was on the kitchen door when he heard a scream as he was pulled away.
“I told you, you are not to open that door!” said Bala. He was shivering, whether from fear or anger Dev didn’t know. Maria joined them in the kitchen.
The knocking continued. They huddled together. And then they heard him, “But all I want is something to eat, please.”
