Apple Picking

“So what are we doing today?” I asked Eugenie.

“Apple picking,” she replied. She said it like it was obvious, like we had spoken about a thousand times before. In fact, this was our first interaction on the subject.

“What is that?”

She gave me a wry look. “Exactly what it sounds like.”

“Literally picking apples? That’s a thing you do?”

“Yes, silly. It’s a thing we do. Now do you want to waste time talking about it or do you want to go pick some fucking apples?”

I nodded and followed her into her car. This was my second week in New York City, third week in the country. Eugenie was my old roommate Vikrant’s estranged ex-girlfriend, someone I had briefly spoken to when she was doing an exchange in India. I had kept tabs on her, not in a creepy way, in a I-paid-attention-to-her-Instagram kind of way. I did not have notifications for her turned on, if that’s what you’re thinking.

A few months ago I got a job offer to move here, an up and coming architecture firm had liked my work, and wanted to poach me to design some futuristic buildings. I quit my boring Dubai job within moments of getting the offer. I was packed and ready to fly in what felt like moments. I found the time to contact Eugenie somewhere in between, she remembered me and promised to show me around once I was there. Within a week I was sure I was in love with her. Maybe I was from before. Maybe I did have my Instagram notifications turned on.

The apple picking was way out in Long Island, wherever that was. The road to the place looked like it came out from one of those creepy films where the kids would go out to a cabin in the woods and get slaughtered one by one. Trees filled both sides of the road, mist filled the little space that was left between. Eugenie left a tiny crack open on the windows of her car, letting in a cool breeze. I had on three layers of clothing, but I felt the chill down into my bones.

“You’re shivering,” she said to me, rubbing my hands on the hand-rest.

“I’m not used to this weather.”

She laughed. “Well, you’ve picked the right time to come here. It only gets worse from now on, my friend.”

Instead of replying I continued staring out into the scenery.

“Do you not have apple picking where you come from?”

“We have coconut picking,” I said. “However that’s usually just done by someone we pay.”

“You’ve never gone to an orchard or a garden to just take a day out and pick some fruit?”

“We usually just picked the coconuts for fear of it dropping on someone’s head.”

Eugenie laughed. She had this throaty laugh that filled the entire car. You could feel it vibrate through you.

“This is something you did growing up?”

“Sure, my brothers and I loved to go to Long Island and pick apples. Now I mostly do it for nostalgia. And the cider, of course.”

“Of course.”

“So how are you liking it here so far? Living up to all your expectations?”

I shrugged. Work had not started off great. The boss had this idea that your first week was supposed to be a trial by fire. They threw seven projects at me in one go, seeing how many I could land. I worked my ass off the entire week, finished all but one. They were impressed, I was exhausted and having second thoughts. I decided not to bore Eugenie with the details.

“Eugenie, can I ask you something?”

It was her turn to shrug.

“What happened between you and Vikrant?”

“Vikrant? That was ancient history. Vikrant and I were just something out of a romance novel. All fire, no brains. We tried to keep it going long distance but after my exchange finished and I had to move back, the relationship sort of fizzled out. I’m sure he started dating someone else the moment my flight took off. Am I right?”

I moved my head around into a nod. Vikrant was notorious in college. Eugenie was just one of his conquests that he bragged about even today. The white girl from the US that had fallen head over heels for him. I wondered if he had any feelings about anything.

“Whatever happened to him?”

The question surprised me. “You don’t know where he is?”

“Why would I?”

“I thought he would have messaged you when he came here. He moved here soon after university ended.”

“That bastard. Least he could do was tell me about it. Not everyone is as sweet as you, Kiran.”

I don’t know if she could see my face turn red. I looked away just in case.

We drove into a crowded parking lot. White people really love their apple picking, I thought to myself. I had heard stories about brown discomfort, the sense of dread that arises when you are surrounded by only white people. This parking lot, with its abundance of white people was the first time I ever felt it. It would not be the last time that morning.

We pulled into an empty space, Eugenie got out and started rummaging in the back of her car. “Don’t tell me I forgot it.”

“What is it?”

“My basket! Can’t go apple picking without a basket now can you?”

As she continued to search her messy boot for a while, I looked around and absorbed the morning air. Trees blocked off the entire horizon. Somewhere on the highway we had turned into a small road, the kind you would need to know to find. Eugenie squeezed in without a thought, and we drove for another ten minutes. It must be at least 100 kilometers from the city now. 62 miles I corrected myself with a mental note. I took in a deep breath of pure oxygen and dried leaves, just to make sure this was real. In that second I held my breath I heard only the sound of birds nearby, and felt only the pressure of wind on my face. Once I let go the sounds of chatter and people honking others out of the way came back.

“Found it! It was under my dart board.”

I noticed something in the boot next to her dart board. “What is that?”

She took out what looked like a brace athletes wore for injuries, but with gaping holes all over. “This? It’s a brace for archery. I’ve trained in it since I was six.”

I was impressed. Here was someone who picked a sport that was rare and unique. Just like the person picking it. “Amazing.”

“I could teach you some time if you like.”

“I don’t know about that. I am not what you would call athletic.”

She motioned towards the entrance of the orchard and we started walking. “It’s nothing, really. Of course it will take practice, but more than anything all you need is some patience and some anticipation.”

“Patience I have, anticipation I’m not so sure. It doesn’t need any strength?”

She laughed. “Yes, a little upper body strength wouldn’t hurt.”

The orchard was arranged into a hundred rows of apple trees. I was worried about missing out on the apples when I saw the crowd that had gathered at the parking lot, but seeing this all such thoughts vanished. One could collect every single apple in this orchard and still have some left over for a few generations from now.

“Where do we start?” I asked Eugenie, who was beaming at the orchard beside me.

“That way,” she said and started walking. I followed.

We walked for what felt like an hour speaking about a variety of things. She told me about her childhood and how she was the youngest of four siblings, all boys apart from her. I told her about my upbringing as an only child in a land where it felt like everyone had at least a small band at home. She told me about her job in marketing, and how she had grown to hate it. I could not relate there - I have always felt like I was born to be an architect, so I decided to drop some complaints about my workspace instead.

“Why haven’t we started picking the apples yet?”

“These apples are not very good.”

I looked around at the bright red pieces of heaven dangling around everywhere confused.

“Pesticides,” she said and moved on. Once again I followed, thinking about how similar to my mother she was in caring about such things.

Once a silence descended between us my mind started its usual journey into self doubt. Was she into me or was she just being nice? There was definitely an ease in talking to her, but really that could just be an ease she had with everyone. I remembered in college she was always surrounded by people - was that her charm or was it just the tendency of brown boys to flock to white girls?

“Eugenie?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“When we get back to the city, do you think you and I could get some-” A whack on my head and everything went black.

When I came to I was tied up to a tree and my mouth was gagged. A small crowd of people were in front of, their expressions dead serious. I looked around and I saw that on both my sides there were two other men gagged and tied up to other trees. Eugenie was nowhere in sight. Were we attacked? Was she dead already?

Eugenie emerged from the crowd. Her face was deadpan too. She walked across to me, basket still in hand, only now I noticed that inside were three apples. First she went to the man on my right, took out an apple and placed it above his head. He struggled but calmed down after she whispered something into his ear. The same happened with the man to my right next. She approached me next.

She put a hand on my face and sighed. “I know you were about to ask me out. We still can if you want to after this, I was going to say yes.”

I wanted to scream but the gag stifled my voice. She stroked the side of me gently and said, “Calm down, if you can. If you struggle, there are more chances of this going badly.”

I yanked and wiggled inside my bounds but realised quite fast it was of no use except to further the pain on my skin. The rope had already dug its way in, I could feel drips of blood falling on my feet. The apple on the head and the archery gear in her car had given me some sort of clue to what was happening here, even if none of it made sense. I gave in hoping it was her who would be taking the shot - at least she had been doing archery since she was a child.

She placed the apple on my head, gave me a kiss on my cheeks, and walked back to the crowd. Two women in full archery gear came up and handed a bow, a quiver full of arrows, and the brace to Eugenie. She spent some time weighing the bow, adjusting the strength of the drawstring, and feeling it out. Once she made sure she was happy she took the instruments and laid it out straight in front of me. She would be taking the shot.

She wore the brace, took up an arrow from the quiver and strung it into the bow. Then she looked at me for what felt like an eternity. Our eyes met and I tried my best to plead for my safety. She was not so much looking at me as in my direction. There was a calmness in her eyes, the kind you saw in athletes about to attempt a prize jump or a big dive. She drew in a deep breath and held back the bow. I felt my butt clench, and she let the arrow loose.

I blacked out as soon as the arrow left the bow. When I came to, I was already untied and lying next to the tree. The men to my right and left were missing. I thought the worst, especially after I saw big pools of blood on the spots they were tied. No one else seemed to be around, but I heard the sound of a whistle coming from somewhere. I looked around for a weapon but I found nothing. From behind one of the trees I saw a head pop out. It was Eugenie.

“Are you ok?” she asked.

“Apart from the fucking apple you tried to shoot from the top of my head, the near death experience?”

She nodded.

I touched my chest, and then head. “I seem to be in once piece.”

“Can I come close?”

I shrugged yes. “What the fuck is happening here? Is this some satanic thing?”

“No it’s not satanic. It’s just a tradition we’ve had since the time my family came over on the Mayflower. Something from the old country.”

“The old country of hell?”

She laughed. “You’re pretty funny for someone who just had a ‘near death experience’.” She put the last part in air quotes.

“I must still be in shock.”

“Well in that case, do you still want to get that dinner?”

I gave this question a lot of thought. Time froze around me for at least a minute. I played back the entire day in my head. The answer to her question became clear.

“Yes.”