Dada 17

Iskra took a knife out from his pocket. The Kalimantan’s didn’t move. They kept tight to each other. I noticed that the one playing the Harmonica had bent on one knee and had spread his toes out very wide as if in a kneeling crouch, the way you see fishermen or miner’s use or anyone who works in cramped conditions .

Then without taking his eyes off his enemy, Iskra asked: “Should I kill him?” I thought that if I said no, he`d get all worked up and would certainly do it.

All I said was: “He hasn’t said anything to you yet. It wouldn’t be right to stab him like that”.

We could still hear the soft harmonica notes against the rain and the deep silence was only, broken only by the chug chug of the ship’s engine. Iskra said:

“All right then; I’ll swear at him and when he answers back, I`ll stab him”.

I replied: “Right. But if he doesn’t take out his knife you can`t stab him first.

Iskra started getting all worked up. The other one kept on playing his tune and both of them were staring at us, watching our every movement.

“No”: I said to Iskra. “Take him on man to man and give me your knife. If the other one joins in or he pulls out his knife, I’ll go for him. When Iskra gave me his knife, the rain dripped in silver drops off the tip of it. I could still smell the sweat and essence of orchid and oleander that he used as Cologne and the plants that were raised in my Dada’s garden, all red and green and yellow like the beak of a jutting Hornbill. It was just before the time that he got ill and I came to live with him.