Laugh Like a Dog: Fiction

By Jeff Tikari

Thinking of Sally made him horny and want to go back soon. If his wife wished to stay, she could, BUT without him. He had had enough of this country bloody life. His butt was paining ever since he got here – those saddles were solid hard pain-in-the-arse leather, man! And his mother-in-law was a deeper pain in the exact same spot.
He left at dawn, quietly packing his few belongings in a hand-grip. His wife lay huddled under the bedclothes – she wouldn't bother saying ‘goodbye’ – she was pissed off. He dropped his bag and mumbled an apology. She stirred lightly. He smiled wickedly, waited a few minutes and dropped the bag from a greater height. That should do it!
“Sorry, darling. I hope I didn't wake you.”
“Just fuck off!”
“Yes, yes...err, okay, yes, dear.”
He, he, ha, ha! He could just picture her complaining to her mother of his doltish behavior at that surreal hour.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Tikari
• Release date: Nov 18, 2008
• ISBN: 9781452363370

Jeff Tikari

Author and Homeopathic doctor. Jeff has written nine books and has been published in India, USA, UK and Canada.

Book preview

Laugh Like a Dog – Jeff Tikari

Laugh like a Dog

Laugh like a Dog

(Sex is a Lottery Ticket)

Jeff Tikari

Published by Jeff Tikari at www.smashwords.com

A Smashwords edition

Copyright 2012 Jeff Tikari

Other books by Jeff Tikari:

The Honey Gatherer: Life of wild forest dwellers who live in the deep forest of India/Nepal border.

Aroma of Orange Pekoe

Episodes of Ecstasy: Crisp and gripping short stories

To Sweeten Boredom: More unputdownable short stories that are intriguing and absorbing.

E-mail: [e-mail] or go to

www.jeffspage.com

All published books can be viewed at:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=Jeff+Tikari

About the Author

Jeff Tikari has worked on tea plantations in northern India for twenty years and on coffee and tea plantations in the Highlands of Papua New Guinea for fifteen years. He now resides on the outskirts of Delhi with his wife and runs a Homeopathic clinic. He does all his writing from there.

His first book on spiritualism and philosophy: ‘The Future Intelligence" was published in the year 2000. He has also had short articles & stories published in magazines around India: Elle, Delhi Press, Vanity, etc. in the USA, Diabolic Publications, Chiaroscuro, Sealy Publications Secret Attic, etc. in Canada, Horizon, and short story anthologies in the UK.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

****

Laugh like a Dog

(Sex is a Lottery Ticket)

That fateful day, John Rao took a leisurely warm shower, shaved, doused a generous amount of Yardley's Lavender and patted his cheeks to lessen the sting; he checked his face in the mirror for blemishes and found none; the mirror reflected a handsome face, clear skin, light brown hair down to the shoulders. He nodded with satisfaction; his improved diet (courtesy his wife’s wealth) was showing results. Choosing a light off-white gabardine suit, he set it off with a crisp Armani sky blue open necked shirt and skipped down the steps to his new red Mercedes coupe´ (again his wife’s largesse); as there was time before he picked her up from the yoga gym, he drove with the hood down to the seafront.

Freshness to sea air is imparted by bacterium in the water that release a gas that imbues a lively and brisk aroma to the air sweeping across it. He inhaled deeply and watched the gentle rollers sizzle as they lapped the wet sand and ebbed back leaving a line of white foam.

A glance at his elegant Longines (atonement present - wife) showed he had a half hour before he picked up his wife, Meena. He would use the time to cruise the damp sand. He loved this; his fair skin, light hair, and grey eyes attracted admiring looks from women - he was often mistaken for a European. He turned the key in the ignition; the engine throbbed to life.

Nothing alerted him to the danger that lay in wait.

***

John married Meena for her money. She was plain and homely and John could have his pick of the pretty girls in college, but none had the advantage Meena presented…loads of wealth!

Father Murphy (rotund, half moon glasses – a happy smiling face) solemnized the wedding vows in a quaint six-pew church not far from his college. John's aging mother (overweight; arthritis) and younger brother, Alec (adolescent, pimpled, tight fitting suit) attended from the groom’s side; Meena had only her school friend, Jyoti (shy, nail chewing), and her liveried driver as witnesses.

After the ceremony, they visited Lee Wong – red lanterns, red tablecloth, matching red napkins; bowing and scraping waiters, and stringed, high-pitched music. The aroma of spicy food invaded their nostrils. John wondered if the Management wafted mouth-watering smells into the dining area to hone their hunger.

***

The newly weds honeymooned fifty miles away in an old colonial Dak Bungalow (John couldn’t afford anything more elaborate): high ceiling; thick square wooden beams painted black suspended droning fans on long pipes; dingy, dark furniture; and sagging curtain rods supported faded curtains – it would have to do.

Meals: chapatti, assorted sabzi, chutney; cooked by the old bent chowkidar, served in thalis placed on a long table by the open window.

View: unkempt weedy lawn; narrow flowerbeds with crumbling sides; stunted yellowing plants and blooms; rusting goat-fence; paddy fields; and a dark forest in the distance.

The couple made a few short excursions in a bumpy old hired jeep to the forest to which they took a picnic lunch and beer. They ate sitting together on a straw mat spread under the dappled shade from overhead trees and were serenaded by cawing forest crows. These were the only outings in the five days of honeymooning.

They returned home thereafter, John’s resources would not permit a longer stay and he wouldn’t accept money offered by his bride –not as yet, anyway.

A week after the church wedding, John was asked to attend a Hindu wedding arranged by Meena's parents: a short ceremony to 'placate the families’ feelings', he was told.

Hundreds of guests milled around the splendid gardens… the Rowals were a wealthy and respected family. Ritual chanting by pundits and heavy incense laden smoke pervaded the large open shamianas (tents). John was guided through the ceremony and stumblingly repeated Sanskrit passages after the pundit. The proceedings lasted twice as long as the church wedding and luncheon put together - but John wasn't complaining; he was happy Meena's family had accepted him…or so he unknowingly thought.

He smiled happily, forehead covered in vermillion, yellow ochre, and holy rice; but was nevertheless, apprehensive of his acceptance by Meena's dignified and rather cynical father, Ranjit Rowal, who had received him with an unsmiling straight face and a perfunctory nod… no handshakes.

***

John drove unhurriedly along the sea front; wind ruffled his locks, the swish of wheels over wet sand created a soothing resonance. He smiled at his new good fortune.

A young unkempt lad in unwashed grimy shirt, slept-in- pants, and open sandals was watching him from behind the broken wall of an old lighthouse, a loaded country pistol tucked in his pant top. Emotion was puckering his chin and a tear stole down along the side of his nose into his mouth.

He loved John Rao. He could lay his life for him. But John had consistently betrayed his love and trust: first, he had sexually molested his young, trusting, and innocent sister and now he had betrayed him by marrying and leaving him high and dry! There was no justice in this world… he was about to change all that…he kept a spare cartridge for himself.

He recognized John's red Merc and stepped boldly forward raising the pistol – he was crying unrestrainedly and fired through tear-blurred vision and missed – the bullet passing harmlessly over the car and out to sea.

John ducked under the dashboard when he saw the flash from the pistol’s barrel. He was shaken and recognized Tom who collapsed on the wet sand crying, his hands covered his head. John stopped the car and walked swiftly to where Tom lay sobbing and hauled him roughly up by the hair.

What's with you? Have you taken leave of your senses? What the hell do you think you are doing, man…were you seriously trying to shoot me…? And what would that gain you other than a rope around your scrawny neck…? Look at you; you have degenerated into an animal! What do you want with me? asked John – shaking him with every question and receiving