togetherness

"Ha, ha, ha..." she laughed uncontrollably.
"Shhhhhh... don't do that! People are glaring at us." he squeaked, thoroughly embarrassed.

This was routine. They loved watching animations together. She would chuckle, giggle, snigger and snort; while he would implore, nag, plead and urge her to curb her uproar.
They had met years ago at the dingy little pet shop down the street from where they lived. She had gone there to buy a pair of gold fish for a glass bowl that had served as a sweet bowl for years. Doctor had finally advised her to stop her intake of anything sweet. She had caved in and decided to do the right thing; i.e, to put fish in the fish bowl. The first thing she had laid her eyes on as soon as she had entered the shop, was a tortoise shell. It was about 15 centimeters long and 13 centimeters wide. She had frozen in shock when she had heard the hissing and popping sounds coming from within the shell. There had been a string tied around the dry hard mass lying in the middle of the cemented floor. He had his grip tight around the other end of the string, as if to keep the lazy, slow and immobile creature from scurrying away (which he obviously couldn't!). The animal hiding in it's shell, probably playing with the wondrous things it had smuggled in, and it's master had piqued her interest. Her fascination with him and his pet had led her to his red brick house with a white stucco fence. He had told her about his quiet and unfriendly pet on their walk back from the pet shop. Like a well-bred and cultured man he had invited her in for a cup of herbal tea. Hence, began the succession of conversations over several cups of tea, long walks in the compound (with the pet tortoise in the perambulator), watching animations at his house (on a 17 inch computer monitor) and in the theatre.

Their relationship had a childlike quality. Innocent, simple and without artifice. They were so engrossed in each other that daily routines were also set to accommodate the other as much as possible. He liked the comfort of his own house and she appreciated the peace and quiet surrounding it. The plants out in the lawn, the bedroom window overlooking the green field beyond, the dim lighting in the sitting room, the compact modular kitchen, the twin beds in one of the bedrooms, the tiny alter hooked up on the wall with miniature deities placed ever so neatly on a red silk cloth, the fragrance of the incense stick in the room after he finished praying were all so familiar and filled her with tranquility.

He urged her to consider moving in with him. She could stay in the guest room with the twin beds, the computer and the altar. She was reluctant to give up her abode, even though she was hardly living there. Most of her time was spent with him in his red brick house or in his compound where they went for long walks in the evening. But then she was tempted too, to live with him in that neat and tidy house with everything functional and in order. Her own house was in shambles with the peeling walls and running taps. Also, the incessant barking of the hideous dog across the street was making it difficult to get any sleep at night.

Who was she fooling? Why was she hell bent upon keeping their lives detached? He needed her and she had to admit, she needed him too. They had come extremely close over the past couple of years. He had shared every little detail of his past with her and she had done the same. She even knew the faces in the pictures he had taken over the years as real people. They loved talking to each other, sometimes they would ramble on mindlessly too. His ceaseless prodding and rationalization of the situation crumbled her objections. She sold off her house and moved in with him.

"I am glad you came", said he; with tears welling up in his eyes.
"I had to, you wouldn't survive a day without me!", she laughed; just to keep the tears from trickling down her bony and wrinkled cheeks.
"Take my hand...live while you can...", he serenaded tunelessly and offered her his scrawny thin hand.
She put her gnarled fingers through his and squeezed them hard. He gave her a charming toothless grin, his eyes gleaming with roguish delight. Although, when he spoke, he sounded sincere; "I promise to help you up when you hurt and curse your arthritis."
She couldn't stop the tears from spilling over now and made a promise of her own; "I swear to listen carefully and not interrupt when you want to talk about your late wife who served, pampered and suffered you for 49 long years! Even though I've heard those stories a million times already..."
He groaned and a tinge of red ran up his ears in sheer embarrassment.

They both sat in companionable silence on the rusted swing in the veranda, with a smile of contentment playing on their dreary enfeebled faces but ageless and bright twinkling eyes for a long time. Only the croaking of the crickets and the rasping sound of the 30 year old swing breaking the silence of the cold still night...