Greentext · 4 minThe Fish Mark

>be me, 11 years

>eluru, powerpet, 2000

>once a month, on a tuesday, a cycle comes into our street

>on its carrier there is a stone wheel in a wooden frame

>a leather belt from the pedal to the wheel

>the man parks it on its stand, sits on the seat and pedals

>the cycle does not go anywhere

>only the wheel spins

>"kathulu saana, kathera saana" he shouts

>knives, scissors, sharpened

>his name is subbarao

>the women bring kitchen knives, the vegetable cutter, the coconut knife

>the tailor brings his big scissors

>subbarao holds the blade to the wheel

>and sparks fly

>orange sparks, a whole fountain of them, in the afternoon

>for me it is better than diwali

>i sit on our compound wall and watch every spark till the last knife

>this is the thing i did, and nobody in my house knows even now

>tatayya died in 1999

>in his drawer in the front room there was a folding knife

>wooden handle, black with oil, a brass ring

>on the blade, near the handle, a small mark, a fish

>tatayya used it to cut mangoes, to cut the thread of new books, to open letters

>"do not touch it" he said, to everybody, always

>after he died nobody opened that drawer

>amma kept his specs and his watch also inside it

>i wanted the biggest sparks

>a kitchen knife gives small sparks

>i thought tatayya's knife, so old, so thick, will give the biggest

>one tuesday in july i took it from the drawer

>put it in my shorts pocket

>and gave it to subbarao with one rupee from my own savings

>he opened it

>he turned it in the light

>he stopped pedalling

>he looked at the fish for a long time

>"where did you get this" he asked

>"my tatayya's" i said

>"your tatayya is from pedapadu?"

>"yes"

>he put the knife on his knee

>"my father made this" he said

>"in the pedapadu forge, in 1962"

>"the fish is his mark, he put a fish on everything"

>"your tatayya paid him two bags of paddy for it"

>"my father talks about it even now"

>"he says it was the best blade he made"

>then he looked at me

>"how is your tatayya"

>i do not know why i said what i said

>maybe because his face was so happy

>"he is fine" i said

>"he is sleeping now, afternoon"

>subbarao laughed

>"tell him rangayya's son says the fish is still sharp"

>he sharpened it very slowly, very carefully

>the sparks were the biggest i had ever seen

>he did not take my one rupee

>i put the knife back in the drawer that night, under the specs

>next month, tuesday, he came again

>"did you tell him?"

>"yes" i said

>"what did he say?"

>"he laughed" i said

>"he said rangayya always talked too much in the forge"

>subbarao laughed so much he had to stop pedalling

>"that is true, that is true" he said

>"i will tell my father, he is in bed now, his legs are gone"

>"this will make him happy"

>after that every month it was the same

>he asked, i answered

>tatayya says the paddy that year was bad, rangayya got the worst two bags

>tatayya says rangayya's wife made the best pesarattu in pedapadu

>tatayya says when he is better he will come to see him

>i made them up on the compound wall while waiting for the cycle

>i got very good at making them

>i knew how tatayya talked

>i only had to think what he would say and say it

>every month subbarao laughed and took them home to his father

>every month he did not take my rupee

>this went on for two years

>i stopped thinking of it as a lie

>it was just the tuesday thing

>in 2002, a tuesday in march, the cycle came

>but subbarao did not pedal

>he sat on the seat with his feet on the ground

>"my father died on saturday" he said

>i did not know what to say

>so i said "sorry"

>he nodded

>then he said

>"before going, he told me to tell you something"

>"he said, tell the boy thank you for the replies"

>i felt my ears go hot

>"my father knew" subbarao said

>"he saw your tatayya's death in the eenadu district page in 1999"

>"he cut it out, he kept it under his pillow"

>"the first month when i came home and told him, he laughed"

>"he said, the old man has sent a small one to talk for him"

>"he said, let him talk"

>"he said your tatayya never once made a joke in forty years"

>"he said the boy's tatayya is funnier than the real one"

>subbarao smiled, a small smile, his eyes were wet

>then he took out a small thing wrapped in a cloth

>a folding knife

>wooden handle, brass ring

>on the blade, a fish

>"the last one he made, before his legs went" he said

>"he said give it to the boy who writes the replies"

>he put it in my hand and pedalled away without sharpening anything

>"kathulu saana, kathera saana"

>i have two knives now with a fish on them

>both in one drawer

>my son is nine

>he is not allowed to touch either

>he asks why

>i tell him something tatayya would say