The thick, long blue curtains drawn tightly across the window almost touch the floor. It is impossible to look out because of them. The room has only one window and the thick curtains guard over it zealously. However, on one side of the window there is a small gap in the curtains through which the sky has been peeping stealthily.

"But why does the sky have such a dark face? Is it already evening?"

Just before lunch there had been a light storm accompanied by a heavy rain. It was a great relief to the thirsty city, which had been roasting under a pitiless summer sun. It had not rained a drop for over three months. There oozed from the ground a sweet and soothing aroma that seeped through the window. The balmy mingling of thirsty earth with cool fresh water could be felt even from the corner of the second-story room.

"Did that aroma induce sleep?"

Normally, the window curtains are drawn aside after lunch to let in air and light. But today they had to be drawn tightly because of signs of an approaching storm. Maybe the wind striking the folds of the curtains had parted them on one side to make a gap to reveal a slice of the dark sky. But the sky was puzzling.

"Is it afternoon or evening?"

It is not possible to get up and check as I am unable to leave my bed where I am confined because of a back injury. Old age brings such problems; it takes away the power to do things freely and independently.

"Didn't I have almost a similar problem in deciding what time of the day it was, i.e., whether it was morning or evening when I was a child?"

I had returned home and was very tired after the mile-long journey back from school. Every day I had to cover over two miles for my trips between my home and school. Most of the road lay between houses on one side and paddy fields on the other. The houses were screened off by a kind of natural fence of palm, banana and coconut leaves hanging from bamboo poles that were tied to the lines of mango or guava or whatever trees happened to be there. Each house had a kachari ghar in front it. The men-folk, who gathered there usually for a chat or work, were normally out at that time of the day. Peering hard through the fence one could see empty courtyards or the morning wash hanging on clotheslines. The women worked in the back yards. Once in a while one could hear servants quarrelling or the cackling of hens or geese.It would be eerily still and quiet.

My walk to the school was usually a lonely one, which I didn't really look forward to. Neither school nor studies repulsed me; I knew of their value even as a child. It was the journey to the school that worried me. Every day as I walked to school I longed for someone to walk the same path I did. Not that I was a gregarious child. On the contrary, I was a bit of a loner even at an early age. A fear of being attacked by monkeys thrust the longing for company to the back of my mind. I was told that there was a time when the village was full of monkeys, but only a few were left. Either most of them had died or migrated to distant villages. God, how I feared them! I didn't understand why the few that still lingered had not followed their fellows.

It so happened that they used to gather in a garden through which the road to my school lay. Unfortunately, it was the only garden without any house. Its owners had left the village a long time ago. It had earned the name 'banorer bagan', or monkey garden. The days when I didn't see anybody near the banorer bagan I used to run at top speed to cross it. Not that the monkeys had ever attacked me; but the stories of monkeys attacking lonely children haunted me. I still do not know why my mother would not give me an escort to see me safely out of the monkey garden. I used to think that parents were often unfeeling and failed to perceive what lay at the bottom of a child's heart.

On that particular day there was nobody on the road and getting closer to the monkey garden I suddenly saw one of them sitting on the ground and a few others hanging from a tree eating something. I could have gone back and waited for someone to come along. I got so panicked that instead of running back I ran forward as if to crash into their arms. Fear had robbed me of the power to think. Oh, how I ran and ran!

By the time I reached home I was exhausted. Fear and the run had almost killed me. As usual, I could not share this monkey matter with anybody. After lunch, I laid down to rest. The room was getting dark as clouds began to gather in the sky. A patch of cloud looked like a monkey - I think I saw its angry face and gnashing teeth. I turned my eyes away from the sky. Imaginary monkeys didn't interest me; I was pleased that the actual ones had not been able to hurt me so far.

But when I woke up and looked through the window, it still looked dark outside. The room was quite dark too. The banana leaves that hung beside the window appeared dark green as they do in the afternoons. Often, after opening my eyes, the first thing I saw in the morning were the banana leaves shaking in the wind or hanging still. Even on wet days they wore a light green shade. I looked outside a second time and scanned the color of the banana leaves and they had their usual dark greenish hue. I could not make up my mind whether it was morning or evening. I was quite puzzled.

It was at this point that my elder sister walked into the room and asked me why I was sleeping late. We had not spoken to each other for the last two days after a row about who was a better student between us. She always got the first position in all examinations at school, but I used to secure the second position missing the first one by a mark or two. Still, I insisted that I had a better brain. My point was that anybody with average brains could get the top position in a girls' school. After all, weren't girls rather silly by nature? She should compete with the boys at our school and prove herself

Boy, wasn't she right? She secured the fifth place in her school final examination beating all the boys and girls in our area.

Ignoring our last fight, I asked her whether it was morning or evening. I didn't realize that I had handed her the chance of an easy victory. Pretending all the innocence of the world, she told me it was morning and I should get up to get ready for school. A fear seized me. Instantly, I remembered that I had a few home-tasks that I had to take to school with me that day. How would I go to school without them? The teacher would certainly cane me as he did the other lazy boys. I got up and began to search for my school bag.

A little later, my mother entered and asked me why I hadn't gone out. She reminded me of the importance of exercising every day.

'But I haven't finished my home-work,' I protested.

'Well, you can do them in the evening,' she said.

'Isn't it morning?'

Amused at my reply she said laughingly, 'Silly boy, can't you distinguish between morning and evening?'

I went out and saw my aunt fixing the lamps to be lighted for the night. From the adjacent play-field I could hear the children bidding joyous farewells after an afternoon of games and fun. Alas, the day was over! It was almost evening and too late to join them. Well, a day of games and fun missed!

I could have started another row with my sister for playing a dirty trick with me, but that would make me look a bigger fool. I should have the commonsense to distinguish between morning and evening. I saw a victorious smile spreading across her face and glared at her. Once more she had defeated me. Well, there would be a second time to beat her. But that was along time ago and I beat her in many things and was defeated by her too. But there is no second time now, because she died three years ago.

"Has that old uncertainty about time returned to me? What a pity that at my age I am unable to decide whether it is afternoon or evening!"

As I lie on my bed, I keep a count of the time by listening to varied sounds that filter through the window. Otherwise, it's a blank sky that witnesses my empty, motionless hours. From morning to lunch, I have no problem with keeping track of time, though I had no clock or watch in my room. I had insisted on removing them after my return from the hospital. The daily chores like eating breakfast, cleaning the room, dusting the bed or taking medicine or a regular wash followed each other with the precision of a clock. I could figure out the time following the activities taking place inside the room. But the time following lunch became uncertain. I listened to sounds to keep track of the time.

The first one to pass through the world of sounds is the peanut-seller hawking his wares in a nasal voice.

As his voice slowly fades away, a girl next door begins her music lessons.

A gate opens with ear-splitting screech.

"Why don't they grease the wheel gates?"

Occasionally, there are crows that keep cawing from the roof of the next building or sparrows chirping querulously from the eaves.

But the sound that keeps me waiting is the noise made by the children playing by the building I live in. Everyday I wait for them and follow almost every moment and movement of their games; their joys, fights, and cries of both victory and defeat reach my eager ears through the window. Though I do not see them I try to draw them in my imagination. Maybe one of them is fat and has a chubby face. May be another one is lean and has a hungry look. May be a third one is fretting about a secret hole in his shorts that may embarrass him exposing his genitals unawares. But their game comes to an end as the evening approaches and as they leave, they toll for me the departure of another day.

After they leave, silence falls across the whole place.

There are sounds here and there, but they are not quite orderly. There are vehicles that return late and thunder along the lonely road on which the house stands. Once in a while, a nocturnal bird or two fly by the window. Cities do not have much space or darkness for them. Sometimes the night watchmen can be heard crying 'beware' to their fellows. On some nights, a rickshaw rings its bells sadly.

Suddenly, it begins to rain again. Oh, the possibility of the return of the old familiar sounds is destroyed. At least, the children, the final mark on departing time, cannot come and play outside today even if it is afternoon. Silence will reign uninterrupted tonight.

"Is it already evening then?"

The silence is never silent. It opens holes in the hours ahead. I lose count of the progress of time and try to work out its journey by listening to the haphazard sounds outside. More holes open up as the uncertain hour crawls on. Memories, both sad and sweet ones creep through the holes as I struggle to make sense of time.

"Why don't the holes fill up with something from future? Does it mean that I don't have any future waiting for me? Or, is my life bounded only by memories?"

Quazi Mostain Billah teaches English at Chittagong University.