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Jaimito's Friend - Maya Khankhoje Maya Khankhoje is one of the talented new voices in the evolving literature of science fiction and fantasy. Long dominated by Western-centric technological positivists, speculative fiction has become more complex today --- it asks more difficult questions, takes less for granted and includes more diverse voices than ever before. However the so-called Third World is still under-represented in speculative fiction, not only in terms of setting and subject matter, but also in terms of writers and points of view that are unique to its many cultures. Maya Khankhoje's writings help fill a great void.

Mrs Merryweather sat by the pond, looking at the ducks. There were three of them, three families, that is. One was born in early Summer and their feathers had started molting. Then there were the two younger families, so close to each other that it was difficult to tell them apart. But their mothers knew. Mothers always seem to know. Was it smell? Did they have a voice of their own? Her thoughts went back to when she was a young girl - not a girl, actually, since her twins had been born already. A young woman would be the appropriate term, even though at seventeen you are still called a girl, provided you don't have any children of your own. Then all of a sudden you are called a woman.

Somebody was tugging at her sleeve. Her heart sent a rush of blood to her face. Similar to when she used to get hot flashes, but that had been some time back. Fear. Yes, it was fear. A lone old woman sitting in the park and everybody wants to mug you. Do they really think that you carry money around? Money! There is barely any left to pay the rent, let alone carry it around.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to look at her assailant. She was going to reason with him. Maybe even make an offer. She used to be quite good at bargaining, when her husband had been posted to India. But bargaining for the best leg of mutton was quite different from bargaining for your life.

But when she heard her assailant's voice she was surprised: it was just a young child. Well, not so young, really, about eight or nine, he couldn't be more.

"Ma'am, you want me to help you tie your shoelace?"

Shoelace? Mrs. Merryweather was puzzled.

"My granny used to say that if you go around with your shoelaces undone, you can trip and fall and maybe break your nose" said the young boy earnestly.

Mrs. Merryweather smiled. He had large dark eyes fringed with straight lashes that made her wonder how he could see through them. His straight hair was closely cropped but the cowlick to the rear right of his head seemed to have a mind of its own. His front teeth were very big and strong and looked very white against his dark skin. She noticed that he was strikingly clean, except for his fingernails, which were a bit grubby.

She was ashamed of herself. Ever since Colonel Merryweather died, she had become afraid of her own shadow. Quite unlike the young woman who had braved the world when her husband was alive.

"Why, yes, thank you. With my arthritis, it's sometimes difficult for me to bend down."

The boy immediately knelt in front of Mrs. Merryweather and proceeded to tie both shoes, with a double knot.

"Oh, please don't!" she laughed like a young girl. "How do you expect me to undo them when I get home?'"

"There you go", he announced, after tying them again firmly but not too tightly.

He got up and returned to his part of the bench. "What's your name?" asked Mrs. Merryweather, fully expecting him to be from India.

"Jaime Echeverria, at your service," said the boy formally.

"Chaim Chevery?"

"Jaime", he repeated. "But you can call me Jaimito, that's what granny used to call me."

Poor lad, thought Mrs. Merryweather. He must be missing his grandmother back home.

"Where's your grandmother?"

"Gone", he mumbled, turning his face away from Mrs. Merryweather.

"She's gone back home?" she persisted. "Where is that?"

The boy didn't reply. He suddenly got up, picked the last few bits of stale bread he was carrying in a plastic bag and flung them at the ducklings. He then ran away without a backward glance.

Darn! thought Mrs. Merryweather. All my friends have been dying off like flies and I'm too stupid to realise that this poor lad has lost his grandmother! How I wish my own grandchildren missed me now and then. Samantha can't get enough foreign exchange to bring her children when she comes from India and Paul's wife took off with the kids to Vancouver after the divorce.

There was a hint of Fall in the air and Mrs. Merryweather started feeling a bit chilly. She hoisted her big frame off the bench and walked back slowly to her old apartment across the park.

It rained for three solid days. The fourth was sunny and warm and Mrs. Merryweather decided to go back to the pond to watch the little ones swimming in a V formation. She sat down and looked at her watch. Her timing was good. It was 4 o'clock and Jaimito might just be there. But he wasn't. She waited till half past four and then set forth for the library. On Fridays it closed at six and she wanted to sit there for a while and leaf through the magazines.

When she got there, she realised her mistake. It wasn't Friday. It was Saturday and the library closed at five, not six.

Oh well, she reasoned. I'll go get myself some books from the large print section.

"Hi" someone whispered timidly behind her.

"Why, Jaimito, what are you doing here? The children's section is on the other side" beamed Mrs. Merryweather.

"I know, but my mother lets me get books from the adult section. I'm not a little kid, you know".

"Of course not", smiled Mrs. Merryweather. Is that lady in red your mother?"

Jaime nodded. "Gotta go", he suddenly mumbled, and dashed off to the exit.

So they live around here, Mrs. Merryweather told herself.

It was one full week before she bumped into Jaimito again. He was sitting on the same bench by the pond with his head buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking.

She put her hand on his head.

"What's the matter, Jaimito?"

"They're gone too", he sobbed. "like granny."

Lorna Merryweather bent her stiff legs into a sitting position and put her arms around the boy and hugged him to her chest.

"Your granny has gone to Heaven because she was old, like me", she said slowly. "The little ducklings are fine. They were taken to a special place where they will be housed and fed because it is now getting too cold for them. Come, let me see you home. It is getting late."

The old woman and the young boy walked slowly round the now empty pond and headed towards Maisonneuve, where Jaime lived. They had barely climbed the front steps when the door was opened by a distraught woman with red and swollen eyes.

"Jaimito", she shouted, her sense of relief turning into instant anger, "I've been looking all over the place for you. I was about to call the cops."

"It was my fault, Mrs. Chevery. We were talking."

The young woman suddenly noticed the old woman standing before her.

"Thank you for bringing my son back. When I go to the library I don't mind his sauntering off on his own, as long as he stays close to me. But somehow he gave me the slip. I was beginning to worry."

Mrs. Merryweather nodded and was about to turn away when Jaime's mother invited her in.

"Please forgive the mess, but my husband is away on a trip and I had to finish a long translation. Would you like some coffee or would you prefer tea?"

"Tea will be fine, thanks, Mrs. Chevery."

"E-che-ve-rria, Juanita", she repeated firmly. "Juanita will do."

"I'm sorry," mumbled Mrs. Merryweather. "I used to be good with names when I was young, but my hearing isn't as good as it used to be. I'm Lorna Merryweather."

"It's all right, Mrs. Merryweather. When I first came to Canada, I had problems with names too, even though I'm a translator by profession."

"And your husband?"

"He's an engineer and has to travel a lot. It's tough on Jaime, because I'm sometimes very busy and since my mother-in-law died, Jaime has become a bit difficult to manage."

"I think he is a very sweet child" said Mrs. Merryweather defensively.

"Oh, yes, he certainly is, but I'm worried about him. I try to spend as much time as possible with him but he no longer likes bed-time stories and my cookies aren't as good as his granny's and I don't seem to do anything right."

"Don't fret, Juanita. Children go through stages".

Mrs. Merryweather turned to the boy.

"Jaimito, do you like the Book of the Jungle?"

"He studied in an American school when we lived in Colombia", interjected Juanita. "Kipling wasn't part of their education."

"American school? No wonder his English is so good. Jaimito, come sit by me. What kind of books do you like to read?"

"Oh, adventure and all about foreign lands", he said.

"I have plenty of that at home", she managed to say, after a long silence. I still have the Colonel's collection. You can come to my house whenever you like and choose some books."

"Who is the Colonel?" asked Jaimito.

"My husband, of course. But he has been dead for close to ten years. We lived in India, you know."

"India! Is it true that there are elephants roaming around in the street and that people drink buffalo milk?"

"Yes, it's true. It is also true that India trains more engineers than many countries put together and that there is a T.V. set in most villages. A radio, anyway."

"Engineers, like my father? Tell me more!"

"Mrs. Merryweather is getting tired", said Juanita. "Would you like to come for tea next Saturday?"

That is how Saturday tea at the Echeverrias became a tradition. The days in between were becoming harder and harder to bear. Now that the days were getting shorter and the weather wetter and colder, Mrs. Merryweather kept a lot to her house. She filled her days with thoughts of her twins and their children, dispersed all over the place. Her letters from India came once a week, almost on the dot. The grandchildren in Vancouver never phoned and it was up to her to phone them, but she couldn't always manage the phone bill. As for her son Paul in Toronto, he was too busy to bother about her, what with this new woman he met and his promotion at work.

But her Saturdays were sacred to her. She might be poor, but certainly not shameless. The Echeverrias were certainly generous and kind to her, but she never showed up at their doorstep empty-handed. She always arrived with a batch of freshly-baked gingerbread or English-style muffins.

Jaime Echeverria Sr. was sometimes present during these little tea parties. He drank his Scotch neat, skimmed over the business section of the papers and didn't talk much. Certainly not to his son. Lorna Merryweather didn't want to be judgmental. But a lad needed his father as well. Oh, well, it was none of her business.

"Is it difficult to stuff a turkey?" Juanita asked, as she poured Mrs. Merryweather her tea.

"Of course not, my dear. Don't they eat turkey in Colombia?"

"Well, yes, but not like here. I've never cooked a full Thanksgiving dinner and this will be our first. By the way, I hope you are free to come."

Lorna Merryweather certainly was. Funny thing, even though the weather kept getting worse, her bones weren't creaking as much as they used to a few months back. They certainly didn't when she cooked the whole Thanksgiving dinner nor when she presided at the table. Carving had always been the Colonel's job, but Jaime's father did a good job of it.

The weeks started moving fast and it was difficult for Lorna (everybody got tired of calling her Mrs. Merryweather) to remember her life before she met Jaimito.

One day, Lorna failed to ring the doorbell at five sharp.

The phone kept on ringing in her empty apartment. At six, someone

knocked on the door of the Maisonneuve house.

"Are you Mrs. Merryweather Jr.?" asked the young cop at the door.

"There is no one by that name...oh, yes, please come in, officer. What happened?" said Juanita.

"Everything is all right, ma'am, it's just that your mother slipped on the ice and cracked a hip bone. We found your address in her coin purse. She's at the Queenie, room 506-b."

By Christmas time Lorna was back home. But not in her old apartment on Sherbrooke. She moved into the Maisonneuve house, into the den, next to the kitchen and not far from the ground-floor bathroom. She wouldn't have to go up and down steps if she didn't feel like it. Once she regained her strength, she would be able to help Jaimito with his homework. And supervise his violin lessons. And maybe bake a batch of cookies. And do some cooking, but only for special occasions.

She felt quite smug. God had been good to her. First, a dashing Colonel, although he had just been a second lieutenant then. Later on, exciting postings abroad. Then a peaceful retirement in Westmount. The loss of her Colonel was compensated by the lively presence of her grandchildren, before that awful woman took them to Vancouver.

And then Jaimito. And now her own live-in family.

Lorna Merryweather was quite proud of herself. She had been smart enough to get herself a family to look after her in her old age. Little did she know that she had been cheated. Completely outwitted.

Lorna did not acquire a family. It was the other way around. The Echeverria family acquired a grandmother.

You see, even though Lorna had travelled a lot, she did not know what they say in South America.

In South America they say: Who is going to look after you once your grandmother is gone?

2nd Prize, Short Story Competition, Westmount Examiner, Montreal

Photo Credits: www.janroblinoriginals.com

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