Che Guevara gave Him a lift

A short fiction by  Mayuri Bhattacharjee

Che was living in their house for the past 6 years. He had been very discrete lest his presence be betrayed to them. Though he enjoyed the advantage of being invisible, he couldn’t take his chances.

They were a family of four — son, daughter, mother and father. Che found the father the most interesting. He wanted to speak to him, about many things – revolution, capitalism, America, women, cigars, Bolivia, Africa ,medicines, Coca Cola etc. But for circumstances owing to a failed revolution, Che didn’t have the heart to do so.

Being an expert in guerrilla warfare Che knew how to avoid human contact. He knew how to have his food from the bowls kept in the kitchen without anyone suspecting that something was missing. Che even managed to take a bath and shave his beard, when everyone in the house had left and the mother was watching her favourite cookery show in the afternoon.  At the end of each day Che would eagerly wait for the father to come back; he liked that man a lot.

THE FATHER

The father, Mr. Das couldn’t stop his son from going to the US. He couldn’t stop him when he joined a software company instead of sitting for the civil services. He despised his son, his wife and his daughter. They weren’t fit to be with him.

They didn’t understand him. At the end of the day he would tell them about the need for a revolution. His wife would nod her head, while thinking of what to pack in her son’s lunch box, the next day. The daughter would switch on a Hindi serial.The son would argue with him and call the Naxals murderers.

“Murderers. That’s all we get for wanting a change”, said Mr Das. He truly hated his son. He was the embodiment of everything he hated and had fought against.

At present, nothing was worthy of respect. Even the leftists had failed him and the country.

OCCUPY WALL STREET

It was all around. The people who had created the monster of capitalism were now shouting slogans against it; just like he had done years back. He told his son, “What timing. Just when you are going to realise your American dream… I told you it’s not working. Did you see the news, your company’s stocks are down by 0.59 percent?”

His son ignored him. After so many years he had got used to his father’s banter. But not any longer he was escaping this man at last.

   Che felt sorry for Mr.Das, “I failed him. But the time has come to make it up to him.”

A FEW DAYS LATER

A yellow taxi carrying a tearful mother and sister; a quiet father and a quiet son entered the City’s international airport. Hugs and tears. And the son left.

Che was enjoying this scene from a distance, sitting on top of the taxi. He was observing the movements of the father. “The time has come”, he thought.

THE MOTOR CYCLE

Mr Das was irritated.Two weeping women in the taxi. Suddenly he sensed a feeling of uneasiness creeping inside his body. The feeling was odd; it slowly crawled up and settled down heavily on his heart.

“Call Dr.Lahiri”, he told his wife. “There is a hospital nearby pull over”, he instructed the taxi driver.

He was breathing. He felt a prick in his arm. Minutes later Mr Das closed his eyes.

He didn’t open his eyes for the first few minutes. As his senses were regaining their strength, Mr Das felt the hardness of the surface and the soft touch of sea breeze on his temple. Sea ???

He forced his eyes open. He saw nothing but miles of white landscape all around him.

Suddenly he became aware of another man’s presence.

He turned around. He saw an old motorcycle and  a good looking man against the whiteness. 
He had seen the man before. The man slowly took out a cigar, and lit it deftly; He threw the match-box at Mr.Das.

“I have been waiting for you. We have revolution to start, and a war to win. Come on quick.”

Mr Das was spell bound. He had recognised the man.

“Make it fast comrade”, said Che Guevara, as he kick started his beast.

Mr Das gingerly placed his bottom on the pillion. “This is the famous motorcycle”, he thought.

"Yes it is" , answered Che.

The engine roared;it sped through the whiteness and the void.

And with the cool breeze caressing his face, Mr Das forgot all his bitterness; riding pillion on Che’s motor cycle.
                                
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