Mango Chutney: An Anthology of Tasteful Short Fiction. (15 page)

“If we don’t send you now, I am afraid we will have to shut down forever.
And that includes the place you were for thirty-one years. The virus has
embedded itself right in the core central processing unit. You will have
to journey to that point and kill it. We will give you the armor and the
antivirus. Just inject it in the virus and your job will be done.”

“Why me?”

“You are small, Vaman. You can enter the systems very easily. We are big.
Can you enter the microprocessor in the world you came from? No. The
same applies to us.”

It made sense. I nodded. The P.T. teacher whistled loudly and the very
next moment we were in front a giant pipe.

 

“This is the entrance to the systems.”

I was a little surprised to see myself inside an armor. The armor felt
wonderful. Right from my childhood I have had to struggle with clothes.
I could never buy clothes that fit me; they always had to be stitched. A
tailor could stitch clothes for a five-year-old kid who was one and a half
feet high but not a ten-year-old one. And that meant I never had clothes
that fit. But the armor was the best thing I wore. It fitted as though a
tailor had measured me out to a millimeter. It was grey in colour and as
light as a second skin.

“This armor will protect you from almost all harm.”
“Almost?”
“Well we don’t know everything about this virus, do we?” he said.

He handed me a big syringe with a purple-coloured liquid filled in it.
“This is the antivirus. Just inject it into that damn virus. And run back like
hell, okay?” he said and patted my back.

He whistled loudly and the entrance to the pipe began to slowly slide
leftwards. A bright greenish light peeped through the pipe and began to
spread as the entrance opened.

“Don’t forget your promise,” I said. The P.T. teacher nodded. I wondered
why his eyes were so sorrowful.

 

“All the best son. We shall be watching you.”

 

I entered the pipe. The moment I entered, the door closed behind me. I
took hesitant steps forward.

 

You can run
, I heard a voice in my head. I knew it was the armor talking
to me.

I began to run. Suddenly, I thought the diameter of the pipe was increas
-
ing. And after a few moments there was no telling if I was inside a pipe
or on a vast open green land with green skies and a green horizon. I kept
running towards the horizon.

That was when I saw giant rocks hurtling in my direction. I thought they
were as big as planets. Maybe they were. I dodged them.

 

“The precision. The rhythm. The timing,” the armor said to me.
“How do you know?” I asked.

 

“We saw you practicing your triple jump. All that practice and your size
will come in handy. And the answer is yes.”

“
Yes
what?”
“You really can jump across the school ground.”

I ran. I dodged. I jumped. The giant rocks kept coming. The armor kept
preempting the motion of the rocks.

Suddenly the rocks stopped. The green land, green sky and the green
horizon were gone and they were replaced by complete darkness. The
armor spread just enough light for me to see. I was feeling very tired after
dodging and jumping. And then I thought I saw the central processor. It
was the size of a continent. I saw the virus. It was a huge, moldy larva-like
being that was devouring the central processor in large chunks as though
it were a giant rectangular biscuit.

“Remember, you have to inject the antivirus right in the middle of its
eyes,” the armor said.

 

“This is news to me,” I said.
“Don’t worry. You will be able to do it. We are sure. Nobody else even
reached the central processor.”

The virus sensed me. It stopped chomping on the processor and turned
to look at me. It had countless little eyes and innumerable large mouths
full of sharp teeth. It was bright orange in colour and suddenly glowed
so intensely that it almost blinded me. I did not see it attack me. But the
armor did.

“Jump!”

I jumped. Perhaps the longest that I have. And the virus missed me by
the gap between its teeth. I quickly realized that it was a big clumsy be-
ing. It turned like a huge freight train and attacked me. The armor told
me in advance but I was tired. Very tired. And I was late. Its sharp teeth
tore off the armor from my body. The armor was sloughed off my skin.
The virus was turning to attack me once again. I knew I had just a few
seconds before the giant teeth shred me to strips.
I ran towards it. It was a little surprised and that gave me enough time to
jump.
The precision.
I landed on the little space between its two mouths.
I jumped.
The rhythm.
I landed on its snoot. By then it could not see me,
and it howled with rage. I jumped.
The timing.
I landed right in the middle
of its million eyes. I raised the syringe filled with antivirus and plunged
it deep.

The reaction was instantaneous. There was a huge explosion of colours,
some of them I knew and many that I didn’t. Just like the saris in our
store. It was beautiful in a grisly sort of way. It went on and on. I was
flung in the air and knew I would not survive it. Bastards. They did not
tell me what would happen to the damn virus after I injected it with the
antivirus.

As I was tossed in the air, with my entire body flailing like a pitiful leaf in
a tornado, it all paused. As in, only my head was mobile. I could look in
all directions. I saw the suspended explosion of colours beneath me. It
was as though a million rainbows had mixed and merged.

I looked up and saw the P.T. teacher walking towards me.

 

“You did an incredible job, son!” He said with unbridled happiness ac-
companied by loud whistling.

“You son of a bitch! You never told me about any explosion!”
“We are sorry. But you did a great job! You have saved us all.”
“Can you make this explosion stop?”
“Sorry.”
“So my death was inevitable,” I said, the feeling slowly sinking in.

“You will be revered forever by us. You are one of our Gods now, Va
-
man. The dwarf God who saved the systems, our world, in three giant
steps!”

“But an expendable one.”

“Aren’t all Gods expendable? Don’t we invoke them only when we need
them desperately,” he said with a sigh.
I had saved a world but I felt no elation. It was not my world. Maybe that
was the burden of the Gods.

“Will you at least keep your promise?”

“Oh yes, sure. Your wife and child shall be safe and sound back there,”
he said with a sad smile. I knew they would keep the promise. The P.T.
teacher began to fade. I knew it was all over.

“How long do I have?” I asked.
“Three system seconds,” only the red-coloured whistle remained.
“Can you send me back there? Only for three seconds?”
The whistle blew as though mulling over the request.

“Our systems are not up and running yet. But we will try. Three system
seconds here mean three months back there. And they would be painful
for you.”

“I don’t care,” I said and closed my eyes.

Three months later, back in the world I grew up, I was in the hospital. My
wife Tara was holding my hand. My son, the doctor said, was perfectly
normal and would grow to be at least six feet tall.

I had had a brain tumor. The doctors had tried their best for the last
three months after they accidently discovered it. They said it was simply
astounding that I survived all these years with it in my brain. I overheard
one of the doctors say that it was going to explode in my head very soon.
I hoped the explosion would be as colourful as the one I had seen. People
told me I was delirious at times, and talking about gods and viruses, about
triple jumps and a P. T. teacher.

My wife was crying. Large beautiful tears like pearls. I wanted to gather
them in my hands, but was too weak to even lift them. The last three
months were the best days of my life. Even better than the ten years,
when the systems were down.

“I love you,” I said to her.

 

She kissed my forehead and said, “I know you have saved the world.
Saved us. Our son lives because of you. I believe every word you told
me.”

 

I closed my eyes. No more words were needed. I would give a lifetime
away for those three system seconds.
15.
Not understanding Schnapsens
Shweta Mukesh

It was very dark outside and the train continued to chug slowly through
the Croatian countryside. The exact location of the train or its passengers
could not be determined. Inside the compartment the lighting was dim.
Broad outlines of people’s faces were visible. There were two Austrian
men, a female with a dusky complexion, and an American male. The
Austrians had gruff voices. They pronounced English words with thick
German accents and often looked to each for support when they spoke.
The American ignored his surroundings. He rested his head on a back-
pack pressed against the rusted metal door and pretended to sleep.

“In these seats we cannot do anything,” one of the Austrian men said to
the other, in German.

 

“Except sit... Anyways, there’s nothing to see and nowhere to go,” his
friend responded.

 

“It will take at least another 5 hours before we reach Budapest. We will
get to the station piss tired with no place to shower.”

 

“And?”

The silence resumed. In the background there was the faint sound of
train wheels turning. The Austrian pressed his face against the window
hoping to get a sense of the location. No luck…though the oil from his
nose rubbed off on the glass. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette;
thought better of it and put the pack back in his pocket. With nothing
else to do, he turned his attention to the girl. Given the limited illumina-
tion, he could barely distinguish her features. She had short, dark hair and
did not wear glasses. Attractive or not- he could not tell. At least, there
was a 50% chance that he was not wasting his time.

“Where are you going?” The Austrian asked.
“This train goes to Budapest,” she retorted.
“European trains have stops. We just had a break at Zagreb.”
“Yes and neither of us got down. The next stop is Budapest.”

“If she continues talking this way, I think I will fall asleep,” he said to
his friend in German. His friend did not respond- though his expression
conveyed the requisite.

“Are you from America?” he asked.
“No.”
“Is that your boyfriend? He does not seem interested in you.”

“I would be shocked if he did. I do not know him. A guy and a girl in a
compartment and everyone seems to think we are a couple. It’s summer
and in case you have not noticed Europe’s population seems to have
doubled due to all the tourists.”

With that remark, both the Austrians gave up. The prospect of interest
-
ing conversation that extended beyond one-word smarky answers wasn’t
inviting. The alternative to awkward silences… Schanpsen. They glanced
at one another with one raised eyebrow each. It was an option but would
she understand? Then again if she didn’t, the game would probably be
more fun.

“Do you play?” the Austrian asked.

“Depends on the game. Depends on the stakes. I have played a few
games here and there. In India, there is a month where everyone gath-
ers and plays cards. It is rather entertaining- in a dark sort of way. There
are these lavish homes decorated with plush furniture. Kids losing more
money than they will probably earn in the next one year. The ironic part
is, regardless of whether you win or you lose, everyone ends up in the
same place.”

“What do you mean same place? You either win and come out with more
money or you lose and your wallet is significantly lighter.”

“For the winners the night is: happy, drink, play, win, celebration drinks,
and then drunk. For losers the night is: happy, drink, play, win, loose,
wallow via drinking, and then drunk. In the end everyone is high. Or as
you say- drunk.”

Once again the Austrian had no response; what she said sounded plau
-
sible but the way she said it was rather blunt. “I don’t think the game I
had in mind will end that way. We are not allowed to carry alcohol on the
train…and I didn’t bring any paper bags.”

“I am glad. I hate card parties. What game do you want to play?”

“The game is German but the cards are French. One of the few times
we cooperate. There are 20 cards: Ace, 10, King, Queen, and Jack. Each
card has a different value.

Points
Ace
11
Ten
10
King
4
Queen
3
Jack
2

“Remember the points. If you have a king and queen of trumps you can
score 40 points. If you have a king and queen of non-trump you can
score 20 points. To win you need 66 points. The rest…you will figure out
as we play.”

“Shall we begin?” he asked his friend in German.

“You will not explain the other rules? She will not even know whether to
keep her cards face up or face down. There is no point in playing a game
like that.” His friend responded in German. He turned his attention to
the girl, “protect your lone 10s. If you get a bad hand, limit the other
player’s game points. If you have a good hand, close the deck early. To
close the deck you must say ‘halt’s maul, arschloch’. Also, take advantage
of dead suits. Do you understand?” Without waiting for her to respond
he turned back to his friend. “Let’s start.”

“Shall we ask her to put her money in?” the Austrian asked his friend in

German.
“She won’t. I can tell. We will bet against her. How good do you think
she is?”

He paused to size her up. She seemed intelligent. But in cards, intelligence
didn’t matter. It required: 70% luck, 10% gut, and 20% skill.
“I will put in 150 Euros.”
“You think she is worth that much?” he retorted with a half cheeky
smirk.

 

300 Euros were taken out and kept on the small green plastic side table.
The girl looked at the six 50 Euro notes.

 

“I don’t have 150 Euros to bet.”
“It’s okay. We are betting against you and the American. If you lose, my
Austrian friend will get the loot.”