Susan and Suzanne

A Story by Aryan Stevens

The story follows Leonard Cohen's song, Suzanne, and talks about the relation between two girls.

I was disobedient as a chid. I deliberately did not listen to anything anyone say, I do exactly what I decide to do. I was always a subtle trouble to everyone around me, I was the one who was racing down the track of time, slipping, and getting up. I remember what my father had told me once, a little about the minutes before my arrival on earth, my mother was bleeding in pain. They had said that either me or she…we won’t live together for long. My father let me know that it was mother he had asked for. I do not think much over it, I would have been no different. However, I survived. It was one of those rare cases where the baby pushes itself out, I had battled my way to the world. I am a mad child, my mother often says.

My family was always a group of closely knit people, who would talk with each other all the time. Talk about so much more that eventually you wonder how can they look at each other or throw a glance. Growing up in a family of refugees, one of their first borns in India, I always knew that I am in a place of squabble upon a certain few matter which have been the cause of agitation. have only seen people get angry at the finest word, so angry that life becomes a pestered toy to them. They think they protect, they glorify. But they are yet unaware.

Susan and I grew up in the foothills of Darjeeling. It was a popular town of the North, on the foothills, Siliguri. We were both attending English medium Catholic schools back in town. We had it instilled in our minds that life more or less the same in every age, we only feel different. School was way too hard to cope with in the later years. We, however, enjoyed our stay in school. I still remember…for almost four years in school I would stare at the bark of the tree and wonder what hold in it. The last few years were blur. I was barely being somebody or doing something.

The school buses were the places where we would learn. The girls of various standards would together under one roof after a very long day. This would be the times when we would depart. Susan was in bus no. 2 A, I was in bus no. 1 B. We would never cross paths while returning home. We would be with people who would never fail a moment to amuse us. Bus no. 1 B had the mid-school girls in them. They were the popular lot who had not much to offer in exchange. They would drop their bags on our laps and take away any food items. They said it was prohibited, they said it tasted good. They never spoke to me much-that has always been everywhere- they spoke to my friend Diya a lot about it. Diya fluttered around and no one would call her off. She was a charm to everyone, she spoke to people as though she was their own, as though she knew them. I knew everything as she would describe me, I never knew how could some other being trigger another to such high lead. I never wished speaking to anyone much, I preferred staying away. Yet I never was invisible. People knew me to be the dancer. They would all look at me like a stage on wheels; people knew that I was also mad in the head. Susan had later told me that someone had told her a headless head. We did not know if we laughed at all at anything, anymore.

Susan and I would meet in the evenings as we would go to the same tutor. We would walk past the Rajbhavan, up towards Mall and down the club side, and disappear in a lane behind the clock tower. The clouds would follow us as we would smoke down the lane and listen to a few of the 60’s musician. We would spend some time talking about almost anything, and we would laugh a lot. We would often carry mud, and raw paint, and horse s**t with us. We were never entirely clean, we always had a flaw on us. We would partially be present in our tutorial classes. We would spend most of our time reading about new artists, passing papers with half written poems, we would finish the ourselves, sometimes we would play a game of Rock, Paper, Scissor I somehow predictably stuck to rock. I Would always come up with a rock,Susan would always be the paper. She would wrap me every single time. We would head back in the evenings. One late November evening we drank for the first time.We bought a quarter of rum and chucked it while walking towards club side from the tiny lane. We would walk back listening to John Denver. We would worry about people sniffing us, we were paranoid about it. We still laughed at the spinning road in front, we were humming, “Take me hone…” And we were together in those moments, we were holding on to each other like we belonged right here. And we did belong exactly where we were. We did not want to change a bit of it, I will wanted us to be in a separate place. But Susan had long wished to remain. I left that summer, as I had always hoped. I walked away, I simply walked away. Looking back now seems too far away, like a tale. I moved to the bustling capital of Bengal. I have never been so lost before. I was under the upper-hand.

While in school, Susan never came down to the plains or even the foothills with me. I would come to Siliguri for five days a week to attend my classes. St. Joseph’s High School, Matigara was not particularly kind to those who bunked classes; yet we had the freedom to call home for our parents to come down and get us. That way we would save ourselves a few extra hours of sleep. Ma later on told me that I had to discontinue with what I was doing. “It is a loss of my time and my money.” She was right, I had called home way too many times. I know I was lazy, but I know I was particularly lazy about certain things. Things which I knew I would never utilize in my life, things which were not being taught in a singular proper manner. I would meet Susan in the weekends. She would come to meet me at the jeep-stand. We would walk up to Kaventer’s for some hot chocolate and later walk towards mall for a cigarette. Susan would tell me about the new scale she was learning on the piano. She would tell me that the girls in her school are planning to make her a candidate for the Head Girl. She said she was willing to stand up for it, she was only scared that she would promise way too much. I assured her she wouldn’t. She feared a lot, and her fear kept her sane. Susan would never promise anything, she would only abide by her words and affection. It was on one these evenings that Susan and I spoke about it.

Susan: Is the bag too heavy?
Rai (laughing): Look at you. No, it is all the same.
Susan: You look tired.
Rai: Yes…the concert’s coming up.
Susan: You always take some extra load on you.
Rai: It give me happiness.
Susan: It leaves you empty, Rai.
Rai: I still like the stage, Susan.
Susan (after a short pause): I received my letter of acceptance today.
Rai: From where?
Susan: Royal Irish Academy of Music.
Rai: When are you leaving?
Susan: August, next year.
Rai: We still have a year, Susan.
Susan: Play the harmonica by then.

WE walked up the hill towards Rajbhavan where we would part ways. We did not hug each other that night. WE just waved at each other, as though everything was assured and certain, we only had to wait for the right time to arrive. I knew my last days with Susan were near.

I liked living with my father during the weekends.There would be guests from anywhere and everywhere. There would be guests of every kind. It made me certain about the fact that Darjeeling was not a tiny hill station, it was massive in its magnificence. Among all those that would visit, Arthur, Mihir, Anjan and Sundor remained constant. Papa grew up with Sundor, he learned all about professionalism with Mihir, he would visit places and attend art exhibitions with Anjan, Aruthur was his favorite tea-time story-teller. Papa loved them, and I could sense that in him. I enjoyed them. Anjan and Arthur were my favorite. I never had the scope to Sundor much, as he would travel downhill on the weekends. Mihir was not the kind I would like to speak to much, but he was always around. Anjan was always full of gifts and stories, Arthur was what I had closest to having a grandfather. That evening after meeting Susan, I sat on the balcony of our cottage with Anjan. He was telling me about Ireland. I slipped through almost all that he was saying, however, something triggered within me when I heard him talk about a bar tender playing a tin whistle at night. I looked at him, he was gleaming while talking about it. He spoke about the beer, the foot-taps, the claps, the cheers, and the people around him. I would think that he was in Heaven. I realized that Susan was going closer to Heaven, I wanted to know what she would be doing. I wanted to listen to the music she would be listening to. I knew I wanted Susan to go. I told Anjan about it. He said he would make a list for Susan, that will help her explore heaven better. I told him to mention the musical hubs. He said there was music in the land. I had to tell Susan about everything that was going on.I returned late in the night in my room to listen to Bob Dylan and read Dylan Thomas. Those were my special hours.

Susan and I went to New Elgin that night for one of Rotary Club’s annual parties. This time the guests were coming down from Italy. Susan and I were looking forward to meet Arthur’s son, we were told that he owns a horse. Arthur told us that his son could teach us how to ride one. Susan and I wanted to take part at the Tea Festival Horse Race, my brother has been riding there for almost three years. Arthur’s son was not a tall, blond man in his mid-thirties. He was a mid-heighten man in his early thirties with blazing black hair. However, his blue eyes were royal. We drank some wine with him, later we sat near the stage where old Gurung was playing the piano. He was good with the keys. He has always been so. Jamie told us about the music they play in the Spain and the horses he rode across the wild wild west. He had rode stallions all across the west, tearing through the desert. He spoke about the sunset which would drown with him rushing into the village. In the village they would dance, and drink ale. In the morning he would once again leave with his horse. He would once again return to the West in the end of summer to attain a certificate so that he could take care of the horses. Susan and I sat listening to him. We could feel the sand beneath our feet washing away by horse hooves.