Her hospital room is set up. Little office in the corner, 8 or 9 books, journal, computer, phones, glasses, chamomile tea… it's just after 5am.. the bed is as yet unmade. She made a quick trip home yesterday. He was afraid to have her back in the house and he admitted it. But he took her anyway, as requested. Still on heavy detox drugs. They went for a swim in the crystal clear ocean, most likely in contravention of instructions she had not requested. She lay on the beach and drank the sun into her body. She wished dearly and impossibly to recapture last summer, the summer of innocence and falling in love. In the house she showered and despite herself looked in a bathroom draw which she noticed had been cleared out, so to speak. She suspected every other drawer where she kept stuff had also been cleared out. This was the new way. If she was to come back to the house and start again.
One more summer. She wanted one more happy summer with him in their beach shack. She picked up a few few things. Some made her stop and think. A picture, a piece of jewellery. Some room spray to make her cell in princess prison smell good… Kitan… she always liked the smell.
Back at the hospital she woke at 5am, had a shower and sprayed Kitan around. The effect was instant, in that hazy but instantly evocative way that fragrances are.
Years earlier he had arrived after she had been in the country three weeks. She wore her favourite white shalwah kamiz to meet him at the airport and everyone stared at the white woman with her silky white and gold orna blowing in the breeze, white tunic, white pants tucked into leopard print boots. She ignored them and waited. She saw him come through he gates. She ran to him, jumped on him, wrapped her legs around him and hugged him for what seemed like the longest time while people snapped pictures on their phones. To hold hands was scandalous in that place.
Back at the Joy House no housemates were home. I had taken the day off work. I led him through the tiled pad, with all its open windows and balconies abutting balmy trees and views of the horrid city beneath. "Here is the drinking water."
In my room all the furniture was cane and my bed spread was made of sari's sewn together in blue, green, gold silks. The doors to the balcony were flung open and a warm breeze floated through. He took a cold shower, dressed in a towel and showed me presents picked up on the journey.
"And from Shanghai Tang.. this department store that you would really love… a scarf.. this book to record our journeys… these nice room sprays." I played with all of them. Jasmine Tea, Ginger Flower and Kitan. Kitan was my favourite. It fitted the open breezy nature of my aerie, my sanctuary from the madness.. Something exotic, light, sensual, feminine, elegant, exotic, intoxicating. When lifted with the light breeze it made the room smell of Himalayan flowers, blue poppy, rose, freesia, vanilla flower. Bitter and sweet… Little bits of luxury in that strange place. My room was lovely and all white clean tiles but something about this smell… The blue and gold silk curtains I had haggled vigorously over blew in the breeze… The little bottles sat near the framed pictures, on my cane dresser, by perfume, the strange little statue of an elephant.. I had so little and I liked it this way. It was all about the little things. That day the smell symbolised civilisation, loveliness, sanity, luxury and being taken care of.
