The Village by the Sea Read Free

that had to be cut, he saw a black snake slither under it and hide
so that he had to leave it alone. But all the time he thought of the factory and a job. Could he get one, too? Could he work in a factory and earn money? No, he thought, he had not finished school. Although he could read and write and add figures, he had not taken an exam and had no degree, so how could he get a job? But did you really need a degree to work in a factory? Any man could work machines and use tools if his hands were fit to work. As Hari’s were.
    He stopped to study his hands. They were worker’s hands – square and brown and callused. It was true he had done nothing with them but dig and sow and break coconuts from the trees and drag nets in the sea, but he could teach them to work machines. He felt sure he could. Was he sure? No, perhaps not quite sure.
    He was still standing and staring at his hands when Lila came down the path from their hut, a water pot held against her hip with one hand and Hari’s lunch of a few dry
chapatis
tied in a cloth in the other, and their short black and white dog Pinto following at her heels. Pinto darted forwards when he saw Hari and came hurrying to meet him. Lila followed slowly. She was tired and she did not like to see Hari standing idle in the empty
field. But she only said, ‘Here – eat,’ and handing him his lunch, went to the well to fill the water pot.
    Hari followed her and helped her to draw up the bucket after it had plopped into the still green depths of the well, frightening a small frog or two, slowly filled and grown heavy at the end of the rope. Then he sat down on the edge of the well to eat his bread. There was nothing to eat with the
chapatis
but a pinch of salt and a few green chillies Lila had plucked from a bush near their hut.
    She stood watching him, her hands on her hips.
    ‘What will we do?’ she said suddenly.
    Hari knew exactly what she meant, but he did not like to tell her so. He did not feel like talking. He never did talk much and always preferred to think things out very slowly and carefully before he did. So he went on eating his dry bread and chillies.
    ‘Father’s still lying there, asleep. He sleeps all day. He will only get up at night and go straight to the toddy shop,’ Lila said, almost crying.
    ‘Let him,’ said Hari.
    ‘Hari, he will kill himself drinking the toddy those wicked men make and sell.’
    ‘Let him,’ Hari said again, chewing.
    ‘And Mother? And Mother?’ cried Lila. ‘And us? What about us? Who will look after us?’
    ‘He
does not look after us,’ said Hari, spitting out the end of a very sharp chilli. ‘We look after ourselves, don’t we?’
    ‘But how?’ cried Lila. ‘We don’t go to school any more, you and I. Only Bela and Kamal go – and next year we won’t be able to buy them any new books. We hardly eat anything but this dry bread, or dry rice, every day. There’s hardly ever any money to buy anything with in the bazaar – only when we sell our coconuts to the Malabaris. The only time we eat fish is when you go fishing. Father never does. And then, Mother: how will Mother get well if she never gets any medicine?’
    Now Hari hunched his shoulders. He did not like Lila to say – to scream aloud – all these things that he knew and thought about all the time. What could he do? He worked in the field, he climbed the trees and brought down the coconuts to sell. When he had time, he took a net and fished along the shore. What more could he do? He knew it was not enough but it was all he could do.
    ‘What can I do?’ he mumbled. ‘I’m doing what I can.’
    ‘I know,’ said Lila, with tears beginning to tremble in her eyes. ‘But don’t you think we have to do something
more
now, Hari?’ she pleaded.
    This made Hari stop chewing, put away the remains of his lunch and stare at her while he thought of a way to answer her and reassure her. ‘Something will come along, Lila,’ he said at last. ‘The boys in the