Tasting Gold

I popped my head above the water, and in the second before I went under, I finally caught a glimpse of it – the garden of the hanging gold.

Against the background of the darkening sky, in the blinding flashes of lightning, it swayed violently in the brewing stormy winds, shimmering like a colony of frolicking fireflies, seductively extending an invitation whilst challenging to take part in its chaotic celebration.

Though I wanted to get a better view, I dared not wipe my eyes, frightened I’d sink.

My tiny arms, trembling from pushing the weight of the never-ending stream, grew heavier with each stroke.

My legs, bony and puny, kicked desperately at the invisible hands trying to drag me under to its depths.

My hollow stomach growled over the roaring atmosphere, ringing a jarring alarm throughout my gaunt body.

Holding my head barely above the water surface, I gasped to fill up my little chest with breath.

I pushed, kicked and gasped – determined to touch gold.

And then the sweeping current struck – like an unrelenting train.

In an instant, I disappeared from the view of the hanging gold.

I stopped pushing.

Kicking.

Breathing.

The invisible hands pulled me under in a violent spiral, down into the darkness.

I woke up gasping and soaking. My long, strong limbs were shaking.

It was my big day.

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Standing at the entrance of the five-star hotel I was guested in, I checked my watch for the third time. Underneath the fractured glass, the distorted hands ticked I was going to be late.

Just then, a black luxury car, sleek with dark tinted windows, smoothly came to a halt right in front of me. The driver, a middle-aged man, clean-shaven except for a walrus moustache and dressed in all white, hurried round the car and opened the backdoor.

The last couple days, the treatment I’d been receiving – the rehearsed smiles, the practiced politeness, and the constant offering to do stuff that anyone could simply do for themselves – I couldn’t stand it.

“Mis...?” cooed the driver, with confused eyes and that vexatious smile on lips, opening the door wider, bending forward a little more and gesturing politely with his loose hand. I walked around and entered from the opposite side. From the inside, I pointed to my watch and signaled him to start the car.

For the initial stretch of the way, we sailed smoothly through the traffic. The roads, broad and well-regulated, were lined on either side by stacked skyscrapers until at one particular junction, we had to stop and when we did move, it was in increments of inches.

I’d skipped the complimentary breakfast in anticipation of the golden apple feast I’d specially requested, and my stomach growled loudly in the spacious silence of the interior. The driver, noticing me checking my watch through the inside rear-view mirror, reassured that I’d be on time.

Tightening the cracked, crumbling leather strap, the image of mama’s bare neck came to mind. Before dada handed the watch to mama and mama put it on my wrist the first time I left home, she had to give her mangalsutra to dada and dada had to take it. Their smiling, tearful faces and quivering goodbyes stuck with me frozen in time. I was a few too many years late.

As we crossed the junction, the driver pointed to an old crowded building of worship for the delay where the reds and yellows mixed with the blues and greys and the chorus of prayer from the inside synced with the bawl of the beggars on the outside. Beyond it, the roads grew narrower and irregular and the buildings were crammed like misfit building blocks jammed together.

Further along the way, the roads remained bumpy, but were broadened and less occupied with most of the traffic staying behind. Open wastelands spanned on either side sparsely dotted with small cubes of houses.

“When I was a child, I used to live in houses like these” I said thoughtfully, leaning against the window glass.

“Huh?” asked the driver, glancing back.

“Nothing” I replied plainly continuing to gaze outside.

“You see there?” he said pointing to a cube at a distance. “That’s my house.”

I had a second look at him. “That could’ve been me” was all I could think the rest of the way.

And the golden apple feast that awaited me.

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I was received with large, decorative bouquets by the wide-smiling, heavily made-up faces of two young women, dressed in bright colored, tight-fitting gowns and tall heels. “What a waste” I thought as I reluctantly held out my hands.

It made no sense to me why someone would spend money on a bunch of flowers wrapped in plastic that might, at the best, last for a week and had no tangible use whatsoever. It felt like I was receiving a gag gift. The card read “Congratulations” – I read “Whatever. I don’t really care”. In one fluid motion, I took and tossed them into the backseat of the car.

I was late but instead of guiding me to the venue, the women insisted on taking a picture together. Hungry and tired, with onlooking cameras, I had no choice but to give in. I nodded with a restrained smile and a deliberate sigh.

Oblivious to the cue, the women took their time readying themselves, adjusting their attire and hair, and validating each other before one of them pulled a phone hidden in the folds of her dress. With no warning, they leaned into me, pressing their bodies against mine, their faces so very close our cheeks grazed. I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to add another layer of red to their faces.

“Smile a bit, please!” said the woman on my right with the phone, trying to be cute.

I thought I let my frown show, but they didn’t seem to be bothered.

“Come on, give us a smile!” cried the other woman, getting touchier.

All my life, people had never taken a second look at me, even when I tried. I was even excluded or shunned away at times. Suddenly, having found myself continuously caught between strangers being friendly, I actually wished they would simply leave me be as they always did. I just wanted to have the meal I’d been working for all my life. Nothing more.

The thought of the golden spread brought a smile to my face and they got their picture.

The sky started to grey and the sun disappeared behind it as I was led along the long dock to the cruise ship. The women, prancing ahead of me, continued posing cheerfully to the flashing cameras. A ring of bouncers cordoned us off from the excited locals and the restless media, trying to get a reaction from me.

I couldn’t recall a time when I had been called by my name so much before – it was always a ‘you’ or a ‘hey’. The variety of voices all around sang praises in my mispronounced name, showed a sudden curiosity about my irrelevant life, wanted to shake my hand and get their shirts signed. The rumbling cacophony hurt my ears.

At the end of the dock, the women shifted to either side of the entrance of the gangplank, welcoming me onto the red carpet. It ran upwards in a steep ascent to the top of the deck where the small, imposing silhouettes of the Governor and Mr. Mister awaited to greet me. From where I stood, the two figures appeared as all seeing eyes of a faceless beast and the red carpet, the beast’s tongue that devoured only the delicious.

A chill ran down my spine. The sensation of those insidious hands – I felt it.

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I first shook hands with the Governor – an old, stocky man with a wizened face and grey hair, dressed in all white, except for a patterned angavastra bunched and draped over his left shoulder. His grip was rough and his aged calluses wrestled with mine. Forcing a fake smile and leaning forward, I received his bouquet as shame took over me.

Mr. Mister’s hand was soft and smooth, as though he had been born just that morning. The young man was dressed casually, almost like a homeless person, but weirdly didn’t appear like one.

“I apologize my father couldn’t make it” he said nonchalantly. “He’s caught up with work but he sends his wishes.”

“Of course, he’s working” I thought, getting used to smiling, and said “I’m glad you could make it.”

I was worried he was going to pull out another bouquet, but instead, he surprised me with a black box edged in gold. He opened the lid to reveal a golden watch, its black dial marked by four diamonds. Enchanted by its minimalist opulence, I couldn’t help but stare at it in wondrous desire.

“That’s beautiful. Must’ve cost a boatload” said the Governor, insisting Mr. Mister to put it on me. “Show your hand, kiddo. You deserve it.”

Before putting forth my hand, I stealthily slipped the mangalsutra into my pocket. Mr. Mister slid the watch onto my wrist and as he clipped it in, leaned forward, our cheeks almost touching.

“It’s incredible what you’ve done” he whispered. “What all you can do for us.”

Stepping back, still holding my hand, he said “We can’t wait to work with you.”

I smiled with an unrest settling in me. He seemed to sense it and looked pleased. “There’s more to come” he said, pointing to the watch. Heavy and loose on my hand, it gleamed in the rays of light filtering through the thickening clouds, making time difficult to read. Even away from the light, I couldn’t tell the twelve from the six. It bothered me.

“We should get the event going” said the Governor squinting at the clouds. “It looks like it might rain.”

After a few more people in distinguishable appearances and badges were let onboard, the ship set sail with a deafening horn. The Governor encouraged me and Mr. Mister to wave our hands at the people left on the dock. Only I obliged.

“I just need to hang on a little more” I told myself. “I can taste gold.”

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On the podium, I finally saw it.

The golden apple.

Right in front of me. At arm’s length.

With a heavy hand, I reached. Almost had it – when another hand grasped mine.

There was lightning and with the thunder that followed, I was hauled to my knees by the iron grip.

When I looked up, the farmer’s face frowned down on me. The cruel lines from age and work amplified his contemptuous glare. His burly, exposed build heaved with a silent rage. I was petrified.

Taking a step forward, he drew a long, thick wooden stick from behind. I opened my mouth to apologize but was struck with a terrible blow that sent me crashing into the ground. I wailed in pain, spitting blood and dirt, as blow after blow thrust me down into the earth. My voice was reduced to a whimper by the time the stick splintered.

“You piece of shit” he said sharply. He wanted to go on but heavily panting, he couldn’t. After catching his breath, he resumed the assault.

“How dare a piece of shit like you lay hands on the golden fruit! If trash like you could have it, it wouldn’t be gold, would it?” he said squatting down over me. “You know why I beat you?”

There was a pause as he waited for the thunder the subside.

“Not because you entered my land. Not because you tried to take my gold. Not that anyone will come looking for you. It’s simply to remove the thought that you could even dream. That’s all it was.”

I’d risked my life a second time crossing the perilous waters but for the hell I went through, I tasted blood and dirt, not gold. At that moment, an inexplicable anger replaced the crippling fear. To defy my said destiny, I decided to earn the golden fruit, have it come to me. If I could make it across the river, I could make it to the other side.

A few failed attempts later, I raised myself onto my knees. The unwavering look of resolve on my face made the farmer tremble in fear as he grabbed a nearby rock and charged at me. I remained unflinching, which made him stumble.

Just then, a voice called his name and he froze. Dropping the stone, his shoulders and knees bent instinctively, and he scurried in the direction of the voice. Realizing I was still there, he stopped abruptly, turned around and rushed back. He grabbed hold of my hand.

Lifting my hand up away from the golden apple, the Governor proudly said “Here’s our Olympic champion!” which was followed by applause and cheer. The appreciation and admiration grew as the gold medal was put around my neck. When the noise dwindled, he passed the mic to me. “Tell us about your journey, champion.”

Taking center stage, I said “I’m hungry for more. Let’s eat”. 

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I tried to stay poised, focused on containing my impatience. To my left, sat the Governor and opposite me, Mr. Mister. He had a woman seated next to him whom I supposed he was trying to pick up. I couldn’t fathom any other reason for her being seated at the VIP table in the executive dining suite. It had started to pour, forcing the banquet to be shifted inside with the rest of the attendees directed to the general dining area.

The wait finally came to an end when three large bowls of golden apples were placed strategically equidistant from each other as centerpieces. I could’ve reached it if I lifted my butt a bit, but I refrained. After a minute or two, the dishes came out, being carried by a parade of crisply dressed waiters who gently laid them down in a rehearsed formation.

The Governor called upon the chef and showered praises on him to which he bowed repeatedly. Before the old man could continue, I started to clap. Mr. Mister smiled mischievously as he too joined in. Much to the annoyance of the Governor, the entire table applauded, commencing the feast.

A waiter placed a large white bowl in front of me. “Golden apple soup” he said grating shavings of the fruit skin on top.

I was confused by the thin layer of pale-yellow liquid clinging to the bottom of the bowl. I dropped my head and smelt it – it was warm and soothing. “Like victory” I told myself as I slurped a spoonful. My eyes sprang open in confusion. It was tasteless.

I took another spoonful. Still confused, I inquired “What’s this again?”

The chef walked up to me with his hands interlocked at the chest level. “It’s golden apple soup, my dear Champion” he said in a cheerful accent. “Prepared by own two hands from the finest fruit and ingredients, specially for you.”

I smiled awkwardly as I sipped another half-full spoon.

“Chef’s one of the best in the business” said Mr. Mister blowing on his spoon. Feeding it to the woman, he said “It’s great, isn’t it?”

With her palms against her large chest, “It warms my soul” replied the woman.

I rose from my chair and took a spoonful from Mr. Mister’s bowl. “Don’t mind me” I said and gulped it in. Still tasteless, it burned my tongue.

A waiter hurried to my side with a glass of iced, healthier colored juice. “Here’s some golden apple juice” she said helping me back into my seat. The cold drink eased the burn but I could neither swallow it in nor spit it out. The weird taste spread through my mouth as I wondered if the color was a trick.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed. The moment I’d been waiting for all my life was unraveling in a terrible way. It didn’t make sense. Golden apples were highly valuable produce available and affordable only to those who could. The exorbitance and the extravagance – I couldn’t taste the reason why.

Letting go of the cutlery, I randomly picked a piece of food with my hand and threw it in my mouth. The sudden burst of flavor eased my growing anxiety. But before I could swallow, the chef interrupted me. “I hope you like it, Champ, but it doesn’t contain golden apple.”

The chef’s uneasiness reflected my disturbed countenance. “Show me the golden apple dishes” I croaked.

As he pointed to each dish, I unceremoniously grabbed a handful and chucked it into my mouth, one after the other. I was looking for some sweetness, some spiciness, some savoriness, any flavor at all. But I got none. Everything tasted like nothing.

I went around again over the same dishes trying to prove my tastebuds wrong. And while doing so, I grabbed the food from the Governor’s spoon just before he took a bite and he hurt his mouth on the metal. It still was flavorless.

But the Governor was having it and so was the woman opposite me. Looking up for the first time, I saw the baffled, disgusted faces staring at me with the contempt I so well knew and hated. What mattered though was very little of the golden fruit dishes were touched.

I took one of the plates and put it in front of the Governor. “Does this taste good?”

“Yes” he replied unconvincingly.

I turned around to Mr. Mister. “How does it taste?”

“Sorry, I won’t” he said lurching backwards away from the plate.

“Why won’t you?” I cried.

“I don’t like golden apples.”

Everything flooded in together all at once. Almost ending up dead crossing the river, getting whacked and humiliated for no real reason, toiling for years to strike gold in record time - all for what? It couldn’t be.

I went around again stuffing my mouth with more than I could swallow, food dripping down my chin, until my belly bulged and ached for me to stop. Looking at the mostly empty plates, I sank back into my chair in despair. The room had fallen silent.

A blaring burp escaped me. And the ship shook.

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A squadron of military personnel escorted the Governor and Mr. Mister to the top leaving the rest of the room confused and panicking. The woman, having been left behind abruptly, had a meltdown and screamed to Mr. Mister to let her through. Getting no response, the table, excluding me came together in protest at the exit. The guards did not budge until there was static following which it was announced that the ship was sinking. Within seconds, the scrambling group emptied the room leaving me alone with the food.

Despite the nauseousness from the violent rocking of the ship, I ate what was left. Each insipid bite made me throw up in my mouth but I couldn’t stop. I still held hope somewhere in my heart that I could find flavour in the then cold gold.

A sudden shift of the room to one side sent me flying off the chair onto the glass window which cracked on impact, leaving me dazed and awake. Staggering to my feet, I saw the sea below through the creaking fractures in the glass. The ship was sinking.

I stuffed my pockets with as many rolling golden apples as I could from the floor before making my descent up. Being tossed left and right along the corridors and stairs, I lost some from the falls I took and some from the vomiting I couldn’t hold back. Bruised and soiled, I emerged out of the hatch half-alive on to the slanted deck. The deserted ship had no boats or jackets, only the screeching winds and piercing downpour.

I could barely make out the shoreline but it wasn’t a challenge I couldn’t conquer. With the ship halfway under on its side, I took the plunge.

My arms pushed and my legs kicked synchronously thrusting me forward in the direction of land that I saw with my head steadily above the water. The view kept disappearing momentarily as I went under a few too many times as I realized that I was faltering, struggling to stay at the surface. The heaviness of my stomach dragged me down as my arms and legs fought against it. After a short battle, my limbs lost turning to dead weights and the shore permanently disappeared from my view.

I woke up to the tearful faces and warms hugs of mama and dada. Dada sold his net for mama to prepare the meal for me. It was the tastiest food I’d eaten in my life. As I licked the plate clean, mama and dada drank the watery, white porridge. I was happy and so were they. Until they handed me dessert - apples, one red and another, green. I watched the joy melt from their faces as mine showed bitter disappointment. Complaining, I took a large bite.

It was salty.

The golden apple tasted salty.

I grabbed another of the floating fruit and bit into it – salty again.

As the hands gently lowered me, the pieces of gold became dark blots that were no longer within grasp.

“How ironic?” I thought as I disappeared into the darkness. My big day was my last.

“Mama. Dada. I’m coming home.”