The Ingredients

Dried up autumn leaves fallen on the ground outside, strong sunshine that had descended and a delicious smell inside the walls- the day could not possibly turn out to be bad, could it?

Mr. Wilson drove through hurriedly, swearing at the rash drivers, through the blearing, deafening horns.

“Are you mad? Trying to get killed, are you? If you are so desperate, you might as well go and take a dive from the Burj Khalifa!” one called out.

“Sorry buddy, it’s my wife’s birthday today,” came his reply with a grin. For some reason, he took pride in that. Everyone has a birthday. But to Oscar it was exceptionally special. He wanted to shout it out to the entire world like six year olds who went around telling everyone that it was their birthday.

“Oscar! You’re back!” Cara called out skipping up to the door to greet her husband. Mr. Wilson smiled after being greeted with a kiss on each cheek and the familiar smell of Cara’s mouth-watering meals.

They were a newlywed couple, not very rich. Oscar had recently started working as an intern and had a salary of only fifteen pounds per month. Cara worked as a nurse at a very shabby hospital on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays.

“How was work, honey?” Cara asked taking Oscar’s briefcase from his hands and keeping it below the table.

“A little tiring, but I managed to squeeze in a break. It was Raphael’s birthday today as well. The boys have sent you a slice, they remembered your birthday, it’s in my bag,” Oscar smiled, taking off his tie.

“Oh, why, that’s so sweet of them. Do give them a thanks from me. Now, you better change while I get this meal ready,” Cara replied getting back to the kitchen.

Humming a soft tune, Cara exasperated, trying to remember which song it was.

“It’s Charisma, Cara.” Oscar smirked.

“Huh?” Cara asked visibly confused.

“The song you’re trying to remember, silly!” Oscar laughed.

“Oh why, you’re right! Remember how we dance to this at our wedding party? By Bexley something, wasn’t it?” Cara grinned back.

“Bexley Davies,” Oscar laughed again. “You’ve got a worse memory than someone with amnesia, honestly!”

“I can’t deny that!”

“Cara, I’m not hungry yet, why don’t we go out for a walk?” Oscar asked eagerly giving her a back hug.

“A walk? It’s dark already, but alright, if you want to. I’ll get back to the meal once we return, then,” Cara replied taking off her apron and flopping it on a nearby chair.

“I’ll grab my coat. Meanwhile, you ring up our neighbor and ask her if her television is working, won’t you? She called me at least seven times in the afternoon, you know? I really feel sorry for old Mrs. Jones. But honestly, I don’t blame her. To be so very old and to live alone must be pretty hard! I went up once, you know, to help her out, but it was still not working,”

“I’ll do that right away, Cara. You go ahead,” Oscar called out, dialing a number.

“That’s funny, she isn’t picking up,” Oscar muttered re-dialing the number.

“Well, she is a little hard of hearing,” Cara piped in, smothering her lips with a gloss in a dark shade of red that looked way too much. Realizing it, she rubbed it off immediately and out on the ‘normal raspberry shine’ one that she bought for two pounds after a fifteen minute bargain.

‘A little hard of hearing’ wasn’t exactly correct since Miss Jones was practically deaf.

“Much better,” she said to herself pressing her lips together.

“Cara, I think we should go and check on Miss Jones.” Oscar muttered again, his eyebrows knitted.

“Alright, as you say,” Cara shrugged tucking her arm into Oscar’s.

“Miss Jones? Miss Jones, are you there?” Oscar called out on reaching the door.

“Oh, look, the door’s open!” Cara exclaimed pushing the door open.

“Heavens! What in the world? Miss Jones?” Oscar exclaimed rooted to the spot, on seeing Miss Jones and her stick fallen on the ground.

Rushing to her, Cara started feeling for her pulse.

“Dead?”

“Dead,”

“What do you think it is? A heart attack?” Oscar asked.

“Oscar, look there!” Cara exclaimed pointing towards another lifeless body that lay on the kitchen. A knife was stuck in her chest and blood was flowing out. “That’s Miss Jones’ help!”

“What’s this?” Oscar asked curiously picking up a scrap of paper that lay beside the body.

“What does it say?” Cara asked standing up on her toes.

“Another death is yet to come,” Oscar muttered under his breath.

“Whatever does that mean?” Cara asked, her eyebrows knitted.

*****

Later-

“Gosh, the police said Miss Jones has been poisoned,” Cara sighed shaking her head.

“It really is terrible. I’m absolutely starving, honey, what are you making?” Oscar asked stretching his arms and giving a soft yawn.

“It’s your favorite, hon. Pork belly glazed in my special sauce,” Cara smiled stirring the sauce over the flame.

“Oh, goody!”

“Oh, there’s the rain again. I do feel so sorry for the homeless ones out there. They must be starving and shivering outside!” Cara pitied tasting a bit of her sauce and nodding in approval.

“Sweet Cara. Cara who wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Oscar thought to himself.

“Now there, Oscar, what are you smiling about like that, huh? Got some other girl, have you?” Cara smirked, placing the dish in front of Oscar.

“Do shut up Cara!” Oscar laughed.

“I always have wondered what you put in here, Cara. Do tell me,” Oscar said cutting a piece and offering it to Cara who refused to have any saying “There’s not too much, anyways, you can have it.”

“The sauce?” Cara asked through a mouthful.

“The sauce,” Oscar confirmed tucking in.

“Well, there’s nothing much honestly,” Cara shrugged.

“Oh, but do tell me, Cara. My curiosity is killing me,” Oscar laughed putting his arm around Cara and taking another mouthful.

“If you really want to know I’ll tell you- there is a generous amount of cheese, butter, flour, and… a drizzle of poison,”

- Sampurna Dasgupta