Some time last year, Gloria was appointed as a personnel manageress,
in a position, which had been lying vacant for quite some time.
When Mr D'Costa saw her for the first time, he felt she was quite
beautiful, and had he not been guarded, he would have developed a
strong attraction for her on first sight. Gloria did not deem
it necessary to smile at people or socialise, even though she was
a stranger to all at the office. She must be a strong person
to do that. One day she bluntly told the boss that she did not
agree with his suggestions and would not comply with his instructions.
When the steno who was present at that time, broke this news to the
office people, Mr D'Costa commended Gloria for the courage she had
shown. But she made a peculiar gesture and D'Costa didn't know
if it was her way of acknowledging or if it was meant to brush him
off.
Days elapsed but there was no interaction between Gloria and her
colleagues. She would eat her lunch at a corner table, would
have tea at a time when others would not be around, and she hardly
spoke when it wasn't required. The others at the office labeled
her a snob, but D'Costa did not share their view. Once, or rather
twice, it happened that D'Costa had to exchange files with her; she
spoke in a very business-like, measured tone, and this made him wonder
about her. Her icy aloofness, her deep penetrating eyes that
were jet-black in colour, her bluntness, and her absolute need to
keep away from people, struck D'Costa, and he realised that a desire
was growing within him. He was becoming curious to know her
intimately, to befriend her. Once, at an office get-together,
he was surprised to see Gloria there, for he had not expected her
to come to the party. She was beautifully dressed and she danced
away to glory. D'Costa sat in a quiet corner because he did
not know to dance and moreover, he was quite a loner.
Back in the office, however, Gloria was her usual indifferent self.
Once, in her absence, D'Costa entered her cabin and saw audiocassettes
on the table-'The Dream of Olwen' and 'Pathetique' typed in bold letters.
It was beyond him. He was really intrigued by Gloria and the
desire was gaining strength as the days passed. He felt he had
found a reason to be happy and alive, but when Nina, during a lunch
break, mentioned that Gloria often spent vacations abroad, he began
wondering if there was something in common between them. Yet
he could not decide once and for all to ignore that urge within him
which became more intense each day. At other times he would
have told himself that it was not necessary to be happy and that it
was not necessary to tell Gloria what he felt about her. But
his reasoning betrayed him and he merely ended up telling himself
that just because Gloria is what she is, it did not mean he could
not befriend her. D'Costa thus kept on looking for opportunities to
interact with Gloria, but in vain. He often tormented himself,
for there was a conflict in his mind, between the desire and the awareness
of the desperation of his situation. One hope is enough to keep
a man alive and one desire is enough to ruin him, especially if an
unpretentious accountant, who does not know to dance, and does not
understand western classical music, desires to be intimate with a
beautiful intelligent girl with sophisticated tastes. D'Costa
recalled that he had had a habit of banging his head against the wall
when he was a child.
One day, without any premeditation, D'Costa went to Gloria's cabin
and stood in front of the table. When she looked inquiringly
at him, he was at a loss for words. He hastily moved the tip
of his tongue over his dry lips, leaned on the table and told her
what he had been thinking about her. He could not evoke the
right tone in his voice, which was cracking too often, and as he gasped
for breath he felt his face was rigid. Gloria was as indifferent
as she could be. "Be off with you Mr D'Costa", she said, in
a matter-of-fact tone. He fumbled for words and his hands made
some gestures. When he looked at her he felt all his hopes dashed.
As he left the cabin, he staggered a little and bumped into a chair.
He went to his table but was distracted too often by the ticking
of the clock, the hum of the air-cooler, the giggle of the typist,
the tap of heels. The Boss's screaming touched something sore
within him. Across the table, through the glass, he saw Gloria
absorbed in her work. He concentrated on his own work and the
day was over.
On the road he was intensely agitated by the honks, the screams,
and the general chaos. At the bus stop there was a deafening
clamour. His head ached and as a bus went past, a man sitting on the
upper deck spat on him from out of the window. The red
colour of the pan mixed with saliva stained his shirt and through
it he felt his shoulder and neck becoming wet. He felt extremely
helpless. Another bus halted with a prolonged screech; as he
entered the bus the conductor screamed in his ear and the man ahead
of him was talking loudly with someone behind him. He wondered
if these damned people had any concept of noise pollution.
He got down from the bus and started walking on the pavement parallel
to and adjoining the railway lines. A train went past with its
severe, chaotic, metallic rhythm. He suffered intense pain within;
it was almost the zenith of pain. At that moment he realised
that the noise of the passing train and all the other noises which
tormented him were time-bound. Everything else was time-bound
too, a very finite existence, a finite suffering. He thought
no more and walked to his apartment, which overlooked the railway
lines.
Over the next few days, it dawned on him that he was being troubled
by the noise of the trains rattling past. The journey to and
from the office, the long hours of work, and the indifference of Gloria
were the essence of his life, and the days passed at their usual pace.
Yet, each morning and, evening, until he fell asleep, the rattle of
the trains disturbed him.
One evening he sat by the window. The night had begun manifesting
its early signs. The first star was gradually gaining importance
and the moon was half its actual size, and still quite pale.
In the distant sky there was a play of colours, each merging smoothly
into the other without any demarcation and he felt his solitude was
also gradually blurring; he felt unexplained joy. Soon the night
had assumed its full dimension and only black colour remained in the
sky. Other stars were now prominent and from his room it was
difficult to say if they flickered or were continuously illuminated.
He thought very fondly of Gloria. Soon he became hungry, went to the
restaurant across the road, and ate in the company of a drunkard.
He left the restaurant and crossed the road. After entering
the building, and as he climbed the stairs, he was severely tormented
by the rattle of the trains. He decided to visit his aunt who
lived nearby. A strong lady, congenitally deaf, with whom he had had
many prolonged silent conversations.... One could not ask for more.
Soon he was on the road and as he entered the narrow lane, all of
a sudden he heard no noise, as if he had become deaf. He stood
for a while and then became bewildered by the silence. He looked
helplessly at the lampposts, which shone with a white glow around
them. A fixed distance separated the lampposts. As he
walked past one, his shadow grew larger and went far ahead of him
until it reached the territory of the next lamp and then the entire
cycle of his shadow moving away and coming nearer, was repeated.
He sensed some change deep within him. His blood seemed to be
engorged in the periphery and within him, there was hollowness.
He realized he was weeping, but there was no noise. His eyes
were dry but he felt tears rolling over his cheeks, his throat was
tightly closed and he felt sobs rise within him. It was a pure,
chaste sorrow, very intimate and uncontaminated by any extraneous
thoughts. As he approached the building in which his aunt lived,
his shadow ahead of him bent at right angles and climbed the walls.
On the stairs he saw a cigarette - long, dirty white, flat and with
a slit along its length unto the filter. Tiny tobacco leaves
sprouted from the tear and lay in a heap. By now his internal
sobbing had subsided and when he reached the door, he was firstly
amazed, and then genuinely amused to find a lock on the door.
'Even a silent conversation is not possible tonight' he thought and
began laughing.
At home as he lay in the bed and thought of Gloria, the rattle of
the trains created disequilibrium in his mind. He went to the
window, uttered a few profanities, and cursed himself that he could
not buy a better apartment, away from the railway lines. He
realized that the arrogant, metallic chaotic noise of the trains had
become antithetical to his existence.
Next morning, he awakened still filled with sleep and the memory
of a dream still fresh in his mind. He saw a man with a horn
projecting from his forehead, sliding down a cliff, which overhung
the sea. His shoes were torn and he grabbed a shrub and hung
there awhile. The shrub gave way and he slid down further, desperately
flinging out his limbs. He grabbed another shrub even weaker
than the previous one. Soon even that gave way and as he slid
further down he screamed for help. As he reached the steepest
part of the cliff his body gained momentum and he seemingly flew in
the air. He landed on a tree, but could only manage to hang
very precariously onto a thin, peripheral branch. As he looked down,
tears rolled over his cheeks. He could not move to a safer
place, the twig would give way any time and beneath was a vast shameless
sea; moreover, he did not know to swim.
Mr D'Costa could not remember what happened after that but his day had
surely begun on a depressive note. He decided to take leave from
work. He got through his chores and as he sat by the window, he remembered
how indifferent Gloria was and how she had been avoiding him after that
day. He felt something within him give way. When a train went
rattling past, the irritation surfaced again. "No, I can't take it
any more", he said to himself. He realised that although he had convinced
himself the previous day that the torment generated by a passing train
was finite, he had overlooked the fact that throughout the day many more
trains would come at regular intervals, until the last train came.
Each would disturb him for a while. And then another day would come and
all the games would be played again, and then there were many more days
to come. He wrote a letter of resignation and decided to go and live in
a small town or a village where trains never pass by.
