Laugh Like a Dog
(Sex is a Lottery Ticket)
Jeff Tikari
Published by Jeff Tikari at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Jeff Tikari
A Smashwords Edition
Other books by Jeff Tikari:
The Honey Gatherer: Life of wild forest dwellers who live in the deep forest of India/Nepal border.
Aroma of Orange Pekoe
Episodes of Ecstasy: Crisp and gripping short stories
To Sweeten Boredom: More unputdownable short stories that are intriguing and absorbing.
E-mail: jtikari@gmail.com or go to
About the Author
Jeff Tikari has worked on tea plantations in northern India for twenty years and on coffee and tea plantations in the Highlands of Papua New Guinea for fifteen years. He now resides on the outskirts of Delhi with his wife and runs a Homeopathic clinic. He does all his writing from there.
His first book on spiritualism and philosophy: ‘The Future Intelligence” was published in the year 2000. He has also had short articles & stories published in magazines around India: Elle, Delhi Press, Vanity, etc. in the USA, Diabolic Publications, Chiaroscuro, Sealy Publications Secret Attic, etc. in Canada, Horizon, and short story anthologies in the UK.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author
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Laugh like a Dog
(Sex is a Lottery Ticket)
That fateful day, John Rao took a leisurely warm shower, shaved, doused a generous amount of Yardley's Lavender and patted his cheeks to lessen the sting; he checked his face in the mirror for blemishes and found none; the mirror reflected a handsome face, clear skin, light brown hair down to the shoulders. He nodded with satisfaction; his improved diet (courtesy his wife’s wealth) was showing results. Choosing a light off-white gabardine suit, he set it off with a crisp Armani sky blue open necked shirt and skipped down the steps to his new red Mercedes coupe´ (again his wife’s largesse); as there was time before he picked her up from the yoga gym, he drove with the hood down to the seafront.
Freshness to sea air is imparted by bacterium in the water that release a gas that imbues a lively and brisk aroma to the air sweeping across it. He inhaled deeply and watched the gentle rollers sizzle as they lapped the wet sand and ebbed back leaving a line of white foam.
A glance at his elegant Longines (atonement present - wife) showed he had a half hour before he picked up his wife, Meena. He would use the time to cruise the damp sand. He loved this; his fair skin, light hair, and grey eyes attracted admiring looks from women - he was often mistaken for a European. He turned the key in the ignition; the engine throbbed to life.
Nothing alerted him to the danger that lay in wait.
***
John married Meena for her money. She was plain and homely and John could have his pick of the pretty girls in college, but none had the advantage Meena presented…loads of wealth!
Father Murphy (rotund, half moon glasses – a happy smiling face) solemnized the wedding vows in a quaint six-pew church not far from his college. John's aging mother (overweight; arthritis) and younger brother, Alec (adolescent, pimpled, tight fitting suit) attended from the groom’s side; Meena had only her school friend, Jyoti (shy, nail chewing), and her liveried driver as witnesses.
After the ceremony, they visited Lee Wong – red lanterns, red tablecloth, matching red napkins; bowing and scraping waiters, and stringed, high-pitched music. The aroma of spicy food invaded their nostrils. John wondered if the Management wafted mouth-watering smells into the dining area to hone their hunger.
***
The newly weds honeymooned fifty miles away in an old colonial Dak Bungalow (John couldn’t afford anything more elaborate): high ceiling; thick wooden beams suspended droning fans on long pipes; dingy, dark furniture; and sagging curtain rods supported faded curtains – it would have to do.
Meals: chapatti, assorted sabzi, chutney; cooked by the old bent chowkidar, served in thalis placed on a long table by the open window.
View: unkempt weedy lawn; narrow flowerbeds with crumbling sides; stunted yellowing plants and blooms; rusting goat-fence; paddy fields; and a dark forest in the distance.
The couple made a few short excursions in a bumpy old hired jeep to the forest to which they took a picnic lunch and beer. They ate sitting together on a straw mat spread under the dappled shade and were serenaded by cawing forest crows. These were the only outings in the five days of honeymooning.
They returned home thereafter, John’s resources would not permit a longer stay and he wouldn’t accept money offered by his bride –not as yet.
A week after the church wedding, John was asked to attend a Hindu wedding arranged by Meena's parents: a short ceremony to 'placate the families’ feelings', he was told.
Hundreds of guests milled around the splendid gardens… the Rowals were a wealthy and respected family. Ritual chanting by pundits and heavy incense laden smoke pervaded the large open shamianas (tents). John was guided through the ceremony and stumblingly repeated Sanskrit passages after the pundit. The proceedings lasted twice as long as the church wedding and luncheon put together - but John wasn't complaining; he was happy Meena's family had accepted him…or so it appeared.
He smiled happily, forehead covered in vermillion, yellow ochre, and holy rice; but was nevertheless, apprehensive of his acceptance by Meena's dignified and rather cynical father, Ranjit Rowal, who had received him with an unsmiling straight face and a perfunctory nod… no handshakes.
***
John drove unhurriedly along the sea front; wind ruffled his locks, the swish of wheels over wet sand created a soothing resonance. He smiled at his new good fortune.
A young unkempt lad in unwashed grimy shirt, slept-in- pants, and open sandals was watching him from behind the broken wall of an old lighthouse, a loaded country pistol tucked in his pant top. Emotion was puckering his chin and a tear stole down along his nose into his mouth.
He loved John Rao. He could lay his life for him. But John had consistently betrayed his love and trust: first, he had sexually molested his young, trusting, and innocent sister and now he had betrayed him by marrying and leaving him high and dry! There was no justice in this world… he was about to change all that…he kept a cartridge for himself.
He recognized John's red Merc and stepped boldly forward raising the pistol – he was crying unrestrainedly and fired through tear-blurred vision and missed – the bullet passing harmlessly over the car and out to sea.
John was shaken and ducked under the dashboard when he saw the flash from the pistol’s barrel. Tom collapsed on the wet sand crying, his hands covered his head. John stopped and hauled him roughly up by the hair.
"What's with you? Have you taken leave of your senses? What the hell do you think you are doing, man…were you seriously trying to shoot me…? And what would that gain you other than a rope around your scrawny neck…? Look at you; you have degenerated into an animal! What do you want with me?" asked John – shaking him with every question and receiving wailings and splutterings in reply.
"I love you," croaked Tom finally; wet sand smeared his forehead – John still held him by the hair.
"A strange way of showing it…you've completely lost your marbles. You love me, eh? Then why are you trying to kill me, idiot?" John glared at him.
“Because you raped my sister and now you are betraying the love we have for each other." tears flooded Tom’s eyes again; they made rivulets down his face. "I have AIDS and you will die of it. I thought in one stroke I would avenge my sister’s rape and save you from the suffering and ravages of AIDS".
John let go his hair, "What are you talking about you fool!"
"It's true, John! I have full-fledged AIDS. Can't you see? Did I ever look so skinny?"
John looked closely – please God, let this not be true. But Tom was looking rundown and his skin looked unhealthy. Tom always had very fine skin: smooth, creamy, and unblemished; on most days it had the smell of honey on it.
“Come with me,” said John, “you look like you could do with a meal,” he nodded towards the beachside Dhabas that dotted the sea front.
“I don't want your sympathy or your meal. You are an opportunist and you grab what you can.” Tom wiped his nose on a ragged sleeve and snorted loudly. “I don't know why I wanted to kill you. Perhaps I should let you develop AIDS - I hope you haven't infected my sister.”
“I didn't do anything to your sister. We were only…”
“Come off it, John, I saw it all.” Tom managed some dignity in his stance. “I peeked through the blinds and saw all. In the beginning you coaxed and cajoled her…in the end, you roughly pulled her panties down and thrust her legs apart. I heard her cry out but didn't say or do anything because I was afraid of losing you. The old lady on the first floor also heard and asked about it, but I saved your skin and made up a story. You would be locked up for years and I couldn't bear that. I was selfish and sacrificed my sister to have you near me. But you married secretly. She's very rich I am told…perhaps you got her pregnant to entrap her.” Tom picked the country pistol off the sand and pointed it at John.
“I think I will finish it all here and now…it will be for the better,” his hands trembled.
John was staring with eyes wide. He saw Tom was gaining confidence by the moment. John thought he'd better do something quick for his life was in mortal danger – A jealous and wronged lover with a loaded pistol was like a hooded cobra ready to strike.
John quavered inside, but did his best to control his voice and show no fright.
“Look, Tom, please put that pistol down; I…I can't talk with a weapon pointed at my head. You know I'm a reasonable man and I see how I have done the wrong thing. I am ready to make amends…I'll do anything that we agree upon, even if it means divorcing my wife.” He really didn’t mean that – but how was Tom to know?
“Ha! Rubbish! You know there is no divorce in our Catholic church! And you would never give up the luxury you are enjoying. You are shaking with fear and it's ‘fear’ that is talking. My God, I never realized what a gutless person you are…a piece of shit! You don't deserve to live.” Tom's finger tightened around the trigger.
John found it difficult to breathe. He saw a wild demonic look in Tom's eyes and thought his end was near. He opened his mouth a few times, but no sound emerged; he pictured his imminent demise and sank to the sand… his bladder gave way!
Tom looked at this sniveling, quaking man. Was this the same person he idolized, and for whom he had sworn to lay down his life? He laughed jeeringly.
“Get up, John you are pathetic. You should be terminated, I know, but I will not hang for you. Today I see your true colour… yellow comes to mind like the pee staining your slacks. You are so petrified your brain has seized up”
Tom turned and walked away, across the sand and over the broken wall. He walked tall and there was confidence in his stride. John felt relief flooding through him… he was still alive! He looked upon himself and felt shamed in front of the curious onlookers who were gathering.
***
“You are late, Your Highness! What kept you?”
John’s wife's sarcasm was nothing to what he had been through.
“It's not as if you are working and got held up – my father gives you a fat allowance to free you from having to work. At least have the good grace to not keep me waiting.”
John didn't say anything. He put on a vacant smile – the bickering had started, he knew it would. Tom was right; he had got her pregnant to entrap her. Now he would pay for the privilege of acquiring a rich bitch.
***
While still at high school she had fallen for John's good looks. She realized she didn't stand a chance against the willowy beauties who were always around him, but she also knew John was from a poor family (on a Catholic scholarship to her expensive college), and money to him was like nectar to a bee. She flaunted her wealth and invited him to expensive eating-places and exclusive clubs the entrance to which would normally be firmly barred to him. John was beguiled - a fly enchanted by an insectivorous plant – but John had maneuvered and put his seed in her thus trapping her in return.
He opened the door of the car for her… the urge to slam it on her ankle as she lifted it into the car behind her was overwhelming. He waited, but nevertheless, slammed the door hard in suppressed fury. The car was rocked with the vehemence of the slamming.
Meena looked at him severely, “You got a problem?”
“Nope.”
“Why the banging of the door?”
“No reason.” His face was inscrutable.
The oftener she insulted him the easier it became for her to do so. She exulted in putting him in his place – a place she reserved well beneath her – her wealth insured that.
But she envied his smart good looks, she was plain and dowdy, but had money and that tilted the scale. He had always made love to her like as if he were doing her a good turn…she had to make the first move and she hated him for that. Of late he pretended temporary impotence, but her expert fingers soon proved him wrong. She knew he could have almost any woman he made a mind to have.
Meena realized that to retain her husband she would have to keep him interested in her money. She regularly gave him expensive gifts; pens, rings, watches, the red Merc coupe! (He accepted them with a smirk on his face – never a thank you). But now, again, he was looking for something – she could tell by his restlessness and his insensitivity to her needs. Had she made a monumental miscalculation – had she seduced him, or was she the victim of his diabolical plan to grab her money? It was looking more and more like the latter.
She discussed this with her father. The family lawyer was summoned. After a long closed door meeting, John was called. He was shown a transfer deed, which bequeathed a large holding in a grain mill to him with certain clauses and restrictions on the sale and disposal of it. He was, however, given full rights and profit from the plant.
John, street cleaver and observant, saw right away why the property was being put in his charge: his wife's clan must feel he could abandon the family and live his life elsewhere and demand large handouts from the family. That would be a singularly deep insult to the Rowals; coming after the scandalous church wedding, it would make the family look bad! For a 'nobody' to now reject the daughter of the Rowal family would be an unbearable insult; something the Rowals would find difficult to live down.
John tucked this thought away for future use…he must test this insight soon. And so a few days later, lying naked from an embrace, he turned to his wife:
"I have a childhood friend – an orphan – I would like him and his sister to live in this place. There are so many spare bloody rooms here that are not used. I would like to help my friend…he has been a loyal mate."
When Meena's father, Ranjit, heard the demand his son-in-law made, he felt faint reverberations of things to come. He was an astute businessman and looked well ahead of the situation. Would he have to buy his son-in-law off… or would he have to make a covert trip across town to the one man he trusted: a man who was circumspect and efficient and delivered on every occasion. His charges were heavy but consistent with the gravity of the undertaking.
***
"I am very impressed with your gesture," said Tom. "You are an honourable man – I am sorry I was so rough in my judgment of you at the beach."
"You have always been very hasty. I hope in future you will consider all things before making snap judgments," John replied. "Anyway, I trust you and your sister… err, Sally are comfortable in this house."
“Yes we are…when are you coming to visit me here?"
"I am visiting, no?"
"You know what I mean."
"Well let's not rush things. Let the family – and especially that pompous ass, my father-in-law, become comfortable with your staying here. He is still belching fire."
He heard the toilet flush the door opened and Sally stepped into the room: radiant, after a wash, she looked pertly pretty; her short hair gave her a young impish boy look. John smiled, waved and slipped out the front door – his guilt embarrassing him.
***
"You've been visiting those beggars again," his wife accused.
"Well, now that you and your father have so selflessly and graciously allowed my friends to stay here, I should be visiting them on and off…don't you think? Or what would be the point of bringing them here?"
His wife ignored the question.
"You watch yourself, Johnny boy. My father's patience is not interminable; and it's not as if your offhand behaviour is endearing you to him. Don't stretch your luck; you have no idea of Dad's ruthlessness. You wrong me and you are History!"
John sniggered. "Threatening me, are you? It was you, with your sex hungry looks and your hot sweaty hands, always touching me – begging for sex. You rich bitches are all the same! You had to have the most sought after boy in college – yes, I was hugely popular and you did your utmost to beguile me. You arranged and booked hotel rooms for sex with me. You could never get enough. And you flaunted me, a prized catch, to all in college. I admit I went along, for I was poor and your wealth put stars in my eyes."
She ignored him again – mainly for what he said was true.
"Why have you moved out of our bedroom?"
“I want privacy…I want a room to myself."
"You know, John, you are a bit…you know… a bit not quite okay. I mean, look at the way you greeted that beggar, Tom …it was down right embarrassing…you kissed him on his bloody mouth! I mean, would you consider that normal? You sure you're not AC/ DC?"
"I am sure."
"You are sure, what?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
She gaped at him looking not unlike a fish: eyes bulging, mouth opening and shutting, "You…you, bastard! …You been drinking…you loony son-of-a-bitch…answer me dammit, say something!" she screamed in agitation.
John turned around and strolled out of the room, a sardonic smile hidden behind his retreating back.
***
John waited in his darkened bedroom for Tom; they had planned to meet late that night. Presently the door must have opened noiselessly for John heard an increase in the faint night sounds and then Tom slipped under the covers.
Tom never allowed his genitals to be touched or handled. He was born with an under developed penis that embarrassed him. John respected his wishes and never let his hands stray there. Tom lay with his back to him. John embraced him and felt his frail body – he was much slimmer than he remembered, and smaller. Yes, smaller. Tom lay huddled with his arms hugging his chest. John wondered at his shyness. He put it out of his mind – he would discuss it later. John came very quickly that night and wondered at that too.
Tom slipped out of bed and was gone, like he was in a hurry. John had more things to wonder about. And they had not whispered a word. A month had made a big difference to their relationship John mused. Tom had behaved like a stranger; a stranger in a hurry to get it over with; and yet he had been uncommonly delicate. Was AIDS doing this to him? John had worn a lubricated condom and yet fear arose in him. He got out of bed and switched on the overhead light. He stood in front of the full-length mirror and looked at his lean, muscular body critically…he was OK. He flexed his muscles –good, all seemed in order. He needn't worry. Not yet, anyway.
***
At breakfast, on the upper balcony, Meena and John were surprised by Ranjit Rowal's appearance. He strolled across casually with a cigar held between his fingers.
"Hello, papa," Meena greeted him. "Will you have breakfast with us?"
"Just coffee," he said.
John stood respectfully until Ranjit had taken a seat. Ranjit's distinguished demeanour made him nervous – it would be a while yet before he became insolent.
"Are you taking good care of my daughter?" he asked.
John noticed that Meena's father never addressed him by name; he just spoke at him without saying his name. There was never a smile on his face; nor was there a frown or any sign of emotion. Quite disconcerting.
"Yes, Sir; but Meena would be a better judge of that," he sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair.
Ranjit turned his attention to his daughter – he held her hand and spoke in a soft voice, inquiring about her baby and how she was keeping. He stood up, kissed his daughter on her head and departed without looking or acknowledging John. His face may not show much, John thought, but his body language was a dead giveaway. John stuck his middle finger up in the air at his retreating back, hiding it behind his own back.
"What have you got behind your back?" asked his wife.
"Nothing," John said bringing his hands in front and spreading his fingers.
Meena looked at him levelly for a while, as if she would say something, but let it go. John produced a hurt, innocent look and shrugged. When his wife looked away he smiled wickedly and sat down. He picked up the newspaper, opened it wide and curtained himself behind it.
***
At the rear of the house was an enclosed garden. Tom sat there taking in the sun. John found him there.
"What was the tearing hurry last night?" he asked.
“What night? What are you talking about?"
"When you visited me in my room, silly boy."
"I will visit you, I promise…the moment I feel a little better. So don't get sarcastic. I'm sorry I haven't been able to so far."
John was stunned. Who was it then? My God…Sally! He stood staring; his emotions running riot.
"You alright, mate?" asked Tom, "you look like you've just seen a ghost."