Note on translator:
Mr Thillainayagam Sangaralingam, a retired professor of English from M.S. University Thirunelveli. After retirement he has been doing translation from Tamil to English, mostly fiction. His English translation Pichamurti’s Selected Short Stories for the Sahitya Akademi won the greatly acclaimed Nalli-Thisai Ettum Award for the best Tamil to English translation for the year 2019. His latest work Password and Other Stories has been published by Ratna Books, Delhi. He has also published a book containing simple and precise meaning for the 1330 Thirukural couplets (NCBH, June 2022).
My sincere thanks to Prof. Thillainayagam Sangaralingam for this translation.
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Fifth Chair – a short story by A. Muttulingam
This is an English translation of "ஐந்தாவது கதிரை" written by A. Muthu Lingam.
There must be something extraordinary afoot if an owl comes out in daylight. So it was for Thangarasa that day when he stepped out of his house. He was about to make another of his attempts to placate Pathmavathi.
There was nothing that was not available in that huge hypermarket, spread over an area of one square mile; nor was there any dearth of wonders and amusements. Every time he took Pathmavathi to this mall, she would get excited like a young girl.
All these difficulties had risen because of a chair. A trifling matter had got blown up to this extent. She was adamant and would not budge an inch. If he gave in now, she would not consider him worthy of even a dime afterwards.
This chair, sold in Canada, was made in Kashmir. Next to carpets, articles carved out of walnut wood were most popular there. This chair made of seasoned walnut wood, was in no way ordinary. It was made with royalty in mind and particularly for discomfort. There were minute, exquisite carvings on its legs, armrests and back. Light blue velvet cushions added to its beauty. It was so high that one’s feet would not rest on the floor if one sat on it. Pathmavathi was stubbornly insistent that they buy it.
There were only four cushioned chairs in their house. They had been bought for their durability and colour, the colour of an earthworm on which grime was not visible. One was a sofa and the others single seaters. If the number of guests who turned up could not be accommodated in these chairs, they had to use the dining chairs. Shameful! That’s why she was so eager to buy this one. She even pointed out sarcastically that the price of the chair was less than her weekly salary.
Thangarasa was equally adamant on standing his ground. Whenever a quarrel broke out between them, the honour of surrendering was always his. But this time, he was not ready to give in. He was firmly determined to assert his authority by employing all the tricks he could think of.
But Pathmavathi was a great deal craftier than him. She was awaiting the opportune moment to use her most powerful weapon. She knew that it would devastate him totally. She was bold enough to do it. This trait of hers was evident when she was just fourteen years old. One day, she was returning home from school in her white uniform. Her schoolmates, all of them of the same age as her, were walking along with her. On the way, she noticed a cart loaded with heavy cement bags and the cartman belabouring the skinny buffalo, which stood stretching its legs and frothing profusely at the mouth.
She instantly stopped talking to her friends, walked up to him, and to his surprise and dismay, wrested the stick from his hand, broke it into two in no time, threw the pieces in the middle of the street and returned to her friends, as if nothing had happened. She took just twenty seconds to do all this. After joining her friends, she didn’t turn back even once.
Such a bold person she was, And this daring was the reason why Thangarasa lost his heart to her. After landing in Canada as a refugee, the first thing he did was to bring her there, through an agent.
The wedding took place in a temple in lavish grandeur with elaborate festivities. There were plastic plantain trees; a real grinding stone; two nadaswarammusicians, one sitting and the other standing (the latter’s fees being higher); a wedding dais decorated with mythological figurines depicting lion-faced elephants with trunks and tusks, plantain and mango leaves in freezer boxes, milk bread, green gram pancakes and many more rare sweets and savouries. All these had been flown in from Sri Lanka. ‘Video Fame’ Jagannatha Gurukkal conducted the marriage rituals fittingly.
She was not adept at wearing saris. That day she had draped the sari on her casually, with the palluhanging off her shoulder. Some people look unusually lovely in saris. And when it comes to certain others, their beauty gets dimmed to the extent that they start looking common. She was of the second type. Her figure seemed in no way remarkable. Her complexion was dull and dusky.
Only then did Thangarasa realize that a person could be deceived by his own eyes. She did not have an iota of bashfulness or fear. She was unpretentious and natural in her manners. This is what he liked, and also disliked.
That night, many surprises lay in store for Thangarasa. Her shoulders were hard and shiny, like a wrestler’s. Her breasts, round and white like a crocodile’s belly, came into his view suddenly. Her stomach curved inwards, like a lumberjack’s. His nightly imaginings about femininity were smashed to smithereens; but he was only too happy about it.
When they had sex, she would plunge into it in full swing, with all her might. A state of being oblivious of one’s self and immersed in sensual pleasure that obliterates the world! A confounding situation in which one cannot distinguish which arm and which leg is whose. She would close her eyes and enjoy the rapturous delight unselfconsciously.
At such times, he would feel that the human body was not fit for copulation. Hands and legs would constantly intrude and obstruct. A snake’s body was the best suited for intercourse. He would feel sad that the miserable human body was not capable of coiling, twisting and intertwining or tupping in fast and thick.
On most days, an awkward problem would rise as they went about it in speedy vehemence. Her silver anklets would get interlocked. This frequent midnight occurrence puzzled him and also made him happy. She would cringe: ‘Gosh! Tangled together! Please unfasten them.’ He would silently enjoy her discomfort, stroke those feet which were pale on the edges for a while and untangle the anklet chains slowly, taking his own time.
But this happened only in the early days. Later on, having learnt her lesson, she would take off the anklets before coming to the bed once she had finished the daily chores. Thereafter, it became a signal. On certain days, she would take them off unbidden and approach him with a smile. He would understand and get ready. On other days, she would walk up to the bed with the anklets jingling noisily and jump into the bed. A holiday.
This was in the nature of a symbolic overture and continued even after their daughter was born.
That, too, was an old story now. Nowadays, she never took off her anklets. How was one to know what was going on in her mind? She would turn her face the other way whenever she talked to him. It seemed that she disliked the idea of coming near him.
After she came to Canada, it took six months for the sandy red tinge in her cracked heels to disappear. But it did not take even six weeks for her to metamorphose into a totally different person. Canada seemed to her a paradise. Unlike others, she braved the chilly weather nonchalantly. She integrated herself into the Canadian way of life as if she were to the manner born and took to it like a duck to water.
Thangarasa continued with his old habits, such as ironing his shirts himself and examining his shoes carefully before wearing them. But Pathmavathi bobbed hair and went around in Louis Vuitton jeans, T-shirts displaying bold statements, and Nike air shoes. She spent most of her time buying things in supermarkets, using credit cards.
Thangarasa got a computer programmer’s job in Canada after going through a full year’s training. He became an expert programmer; bugs couldn’t crash his programmes. Once they had been written, the need to rectify them never rose. But the files sent to his table moved at a snail’s pace and he lost his job.
Left without a job, he was just vegetating at home. He, who had committed only minor mistakes until then, made an enormous mistake, prompted by Pathmavathi. He permitted her to take up a job in a factory. He lost his authority over her that day and could not retrieve it even after he got a job.
A large number of South American women who worked with Pathmavathi became friendly with her. Seeing her clothes, complexion, appearance and hairdo, people took her to be a Columbian or Costa Rican. Her posture, gait and the manner in which she picked her teeth resembled theirs exactly. While waiting at the bus stop, she would get unduly excited if anyone addressed her in Spanish.
No one believed her when she said she had a fourteen-year-old daughter. One day, a woman they met in a ballet class pointed to her daughter and asked, ‘Is she your sister?’ That whole day, Pathmavathi was floating in joy. She said this to her husband again and again, and his fears increased.
What an excellent rapport they had with each other in the days of those symbolic exchanges! If he addressed her by her full name, Pathmavathi, it meant that he was angry. In a happy, loving mood, he would call her ‘Pathu’. He would call her ‘Pathma’ in the presence of others. But it was an entirely different story in the bedroom. He would call her ‘Pathoo’ in a sweet voice and stretch this to ‘Pathooo…’, according to the mood.
Several years had passed by and even the memory of those happy moments had been forgotten.
At last, everything had come to a standstill, with this tussle over the chair. He was dead set against buying it. He had taken a secret vow to cut that chair piece by piece if she bought it without his knowledge. This was the ultimate battle. If he lost it, that would be the end of him. She would reduce him to nothing and stow him away in the lumber room.
Their daughter had also joined hands with her. It had been years since he had eaten anything with relish. She had bidden farewell, once and for all, to their traditional dishes, such as idli, vadaiand appam. The devil burger and the demon pizza danced weirdly at every meal. Every day, these same food items would be laid on the plastic sheet spread over the table and covered with old newspaper. His gorge would rise at the unpleasant smell. One day, he asked for idliand she exploded:
‘You, who are used to eating idlimade of fermented batter, dosaimade of fermented batter and vadai fried out of fermented batter , will only wallow in outmoded thoughts. Am I idle at any time of the day? I get up at four in the morning, cook for you and also take care of the house. Don’t I go out and work hard, just like you? On top of all this, I’m taking care of a youngster. But you gulp beer and lie down all day, with your legs spread out. The cooker has not been working for the past six months. You have the time to buy a remote for your TV, but no time to get the cooker repaired. I don’t know what I’ll do next.’
There was another reason for her to lash out at him like that. Three of the stove burners did not work; she had been managing with one for about six months now. Though she had told him innumerable times, he hadn’t bothered to get them repaired. She was extremely vexed about it.
The main purpose of Thangarasa to visit the mall with his family was to get some relief from the uneasy situation at home. She walked ahead of him. Viewed from behind, she appeared exactly like a Costa Rican. Intemperate behaviour and seductiveness were found in her personality in equal measure. The house for which he was clearing the loan was registered in her name. Canadian laws are advantageous to women. His mind warned him that he should be very cautious in his dealings with her.
Passersby stopped to take a second look at her. She was wearing jeans and a knotted blouse. Her stomach, tightened with a belt, caved in like a drum. She seemed intent on keeping herself as far away from him as possible. Lest he lose sight of her, he ran behind her, carrying his big paunch like an ungainly animal.
A Chinese was tattooing a picture of a dragon on the wiry shoulder of a handsome white man. They stopped and watched the wonderful sight unblinkingly. Thangarasa caressed her strong arms, which were like snake gourds, and tightened his grip. She knew that it was a signal for the night.
Her face brightened as he took her to a beauty products store. He bought her eyeliner, sindoor, nail polish and all that she asked for. After an arduous search, she at last settled on a shiny lipstick of a hue that was between black and brown and applied it at once. Just a slight stroke and her lips pouted and turned seductive.
He did not want this happiness to melt away. As they crossed an ice cream stall, he asked if she would like to have her favourite sundae. She nodded and that was it. He at once started excitedly like a young lover would do for his girl and returned with three scoops of ice cream topped with melting chocolate, wafer, cheese and a cherry on top like a crest. She began licking it with her chocolaty lips.
While returning, a chilly wind lashed their faces harshly. Cars were speeding in the opposite direction. Boats were attached to some of them, some even had houses in tow and a few others carried bicycles on top. Signs of happiness vibrated all around them, heralding the ensuing holidays. Expectations rose high in Thangarasa’s mind.
Even though he had been so generous and friendly with her at the mall, only disappointment awaited him in the bedroom. He realized that the ice cream had done nothing to conciliate her. She pushed him aside as if he was a leper. She wriggled out of his reach again and again with brutal force. Thangarasa fell flat on the floor in front of the TV, as if whipped. He didn’t go back to the bedroom that whole night.
The next morning, Pathmavathi picked up fourteen empty beer cans from all the nooks and corners of the reception hall.
For the next two weeks, an unusual silence prevailed in the house. A battle characterized by secrets and plots was being fought. Using lipstick, she had tactfully hidden her lips, which had swollen up after a backhand slap from him. She was biding her time to retaliate with a lesson that Thangarasa would never forget all his life and also put him in an ignominious situation he could never share with anyone.
A woman educated in the Namagal Mahavidyalaya, totally ignorant of English when shifting to Canada and incapable of reading anything beyond comic books, had turned into such a scourge to Thangarasa, a wizard in computer programming.
Thangarasa could smell that he was in insurmountable danger. He also realized that the results of the battle wouldn’t be in his favour. So, he decided to cool her anger and bring her back to their past way of life by any means. He made a beginning after he had carefully and logically prepared a plan, the way he did when writing a flawless computer programme.
It started at dinner time. All the signs and overtures of their glorious past love life were exchanged. The dining table was a witness to a silent conversation, which was incomprehensible to the daughter.
When Pathmavathi was cleaning the utensils, he walked up to her noiselessly, like a cat, and stood close behind her. The cleaning kept her hands busy and he put his hands over her hip caressingly. She squirmed, unable to either prevent him or ward him off. He couldn’t contain the excitement he felt.
She was taking her time over her chores. He thought she was delaying deliberately. She switched on the humidifier and then checked the locks. Now she was going up the stairs. He could hear her setting the alarm system. The lights went off.
Behold! She was coming!
The door opened slowly. She had not taken off the anklets, but walked with extreme care to muffle any noise. She moved forward, taking steps sideways. Thangarasa’s excitement went beyond all limits. He was in such an uncontainable hurry.
He pulled her overcoat. She shouted, ‘Not today, no, not today. You’ll get angry.’ But he was in no mood to listen to her. A spark had been ignited in his body. In implacable haste, he pulled her blouse and the buttons snapped. At once, she clutched the edges of the blouse and pulled them close to herself, as if protecting a precious treasure, and resisted his attempts.
He had crossed the limit now. In that moment of frenzy, he pulled her blouse again violently. The edges moved apart. Full breasts, as ample as ever.
But what he saw stunned him into silence.
Both her breasts had been tattooed. That Chinese bloke’s dragon opened its mouth wide and roared at him. Her breasts between which even a pencil could not pass through, breasts which he had all along thought were created for his exclusive enjoyment dangled, unable to bear the weight of the pictures drawn by a nameless pavement tattooist.
He felt as if a beast lurking in the dark had pounced upon him. He collapsed and fell down.
She pulled the blouse together and covered her body. A crafty smile appeared at the corners of her mouth and vanished the same moment. Thangarasa did not notice it.
This was their last battle. This victory was her ultimate victory. After this, the question of buying that chair would never come up. Now, he was the fifth chair.
***Ended***
Source: Writer A. Muttulingam's short story "Ainthavathu Kathirai"
Translated into English by Thillainayagam Sangaralingam.
