Читать книгу Bone China - Roma Tearne - Страница 7
ОглавлениеTHE WAR ENDED. IN SPITE OF ALL the predictions, Japan had not invaded. The enemy, it seemed, was within. The writing on the wall was no longer possible to ignore. A hundred and fifty years of British Rule, guided by Lord Soulbury, drew to a close and the island became a self-governing dominion. One day it would no longer be called Ceylon. A few days before independence was announced Aloysius was offered early retirement.
‘They want me out of the way,’ he told Grace, avoiding her eye.
Ostensibly his retirement was due to his ill health. Privately, all of them knew it was a different matter. His drink problem had never gone away, his liver was failing, his eyesight poor. On his last day he came home early.
‘Well, that’s that,’ he announced. ‘The end of my working life!’
There were several vans with loudspeakers parked outside on the streets delivering party political broadcasts.
‘Of course I drink too much,’ Aloysius shouted above the racket, glaring at the servant who handed him a drink. ‘But they kicked me out for a different reason.’ He was more subdued than Grace had seen him for a long time. The servants closed the shutters to muffle the noise.
‘I’m a Tamil,’ Aloysius said, to no one in particular. His voice was expressionless. ‘That’s not going to change, is it? They can give their damn job to one of their own, I don’t much care any more.’ He was beginning to sound cornered. ‘The old ways are finished. These fellows have no need for courtesy. Or good manners. Life as we have known it will shrink. We’ve been sucked dry like a mango stone!’
Discarded, thought Grace. That’s how we’ll be.
‘I shall breed Persian cats,’ declared Aloysius.
He looked with distaste at the cloudy liquid in his glass.
‘I’ve forgotten what decent whisky tastes like,’ he muttered.
Christopher, standing in the doorway, looked at both his parents in amazement. Why did his mother remain silent, why couldn’t she stop his drinking?
‘Hah!’ Aloysius continued, grimacing as he drank. ‘The Sinhalese have been waiting years for this. Well, let’s see what happens, now they’ve got the upper hand.’
He’s like a worn-out gramophone, thought Grace wearily. In all the years of their marriage she had never told him what he should do. But she was tired. Aloysius switched on the radio and raised his voice.
‘It was bound to happen. I told you! Independence will change everything.’ He was getting into his stride. ‘The Tamils won’t be able to keep a single job.’
Pausing, he took a quick swig of his drink.
‘The English language will become a thing of the past.’
‘Don’t!’ Grace said, sharply.
‘What d’you expect, men? The minute the suddhas, these white fellows, are gone and Sinhalese becomes the official language, what d’you think will happen? They’ll forget every bit of English they’ve learned. In schools, in the offices, all over the bloody place! It’s obvious, isn’t it? And then,’ he gave a short laugh, drained his glass and poured himself another drink, ‘not only will the Tamils suffer but we’ll be cut off from the rest of the world. Who the bloody hell except the Sinhalese will speak their language?’
He held his glass up to the light and peered at it for a moment.
‘Here’s to the new and independent Ceylon!’
Christopher waited uneasily. He knew the signs. His father would gradually become louder and his arguments more circular. The six o’clock news finished. Evening shadows lengthened in the garden and a small refreshing breeze stirred the trees. Somewhere the liquid, flute-like notes of a black-hooded oriole could be heard calling sweetly to its mate: ku-kyi-ho.
‘Our Sinhalese peasants will be the new ruling class,’ Aloysius declared, waving a hand in the direction of the servants’ quarters.
Christopher was horrified. Well, don’t for God’s sake antagonise them, he wanted to say. Don’t just get drunk, do something. His father was all talk.
‘On the other hand,’ Aloysius continued, the arrack taking effect, ‘can one blame these fellows? The British have been snubbing the Sinhalese for a century. Is it surprising they are angry?’ He paced the floor with furious energy. ‘They lost their language and their religion was totally discarded. How d’you think you can suppress a large majority like this without asking for trouble? Huh? Tell me that, men?’
He glared at his wife as though it was her fault. No one spoke. Grace closed her eyes and waited while Aloysius drained the last drop in his glass, triumphantly.
‘Having finished playing merry hell the British fellows are off now, leaving us to pay the price. Is this fair play? Is this cricket?’ He was working himself into a frenzy. ‘Soon we’ll all be talking in Sinhalese. Except I can’t speak a bloody word of course.’
He belched loudly. Christopher made as if to leave the room but Aloysius held out his glass absent-mindedly.
‘Get me some ice, will you, putha?’ he said.
The radio droned on. It was beginning to give Grace a headache. She went over and switched it off. Then she looked at her watch. Although she knew he was right, Aloysius in this mood was best ignored.
‘That’s enough,’ she said finally. ‘Dinner will be ready in an hour. Myrtle,’ she smiled at her cousin, ‘can you tell the others, please?’ She would not have talks of politics at the dinner table. ‘And stop frowning, Christopher,’ she added. ‘Tonight we are celebrating your father’s retirement.’
She spoke firmly, hiding her anxieties. The signs of civil unrest had been growing steadily for months. Two weeks before independence had been declared a series of riots had broken out in the north of the island. The poorest outcasts, the coolies, had had their vote withdrawn. Predictions of trouble swarmed everywhere with a high-pitched whine. Rumours, like mosquitoes, punctured the very flesh of the island. Discrimination against the Tamils, it was said, had already begun in the north. When she heard the stories it was always Vijay that Grace thought of.
Their affair had run on for several years. It had exceeded all their expectations. It had proved that rights and wrongs were complicated things with mysterious inner rhythms. It had given them hope when they had expected none. Vijay was the most disturbed by this. Grace, having discovered her conscience was smaller, steadier than his, had never been as frightened as he was. It was Vijay who struggled to accept what had been given to him. He submerged himself in her, making no demands, never probing her on her other life which was so patently different, never questioning her on her sudden long absences. He loved her with a burning intensity, impossible to quench, existing only for her visits, trustingly, utterly faithful. His understanding still astonished Grace. Whenever she appeared at his door, tense and worn, he would unravel her sari and massage her with sandalwood oil, waiting until the strained anxious look left her face before he accepted what she offered. Silently. He did all this silently. Instinct kept him so. Instinct made him give her the passion she seemed so desperately to crave.
Occasionally, when news from his home town could not be ignored, he would talk about his childhood. Grace, unable to help him, listened as his anger burrowed a hole through his life. Vijay had grown up in a smallholding where the red-brick, earth and the parched years of droughts had made it impossible to grow much.
‘Our land was always tired,’ he had said, stroking her hair, lulling her to sleep, his voice husky. Usually it was after they made love that Vijay did most of his talking. ‘But my parents never stopped working.’
After his father died of dysentery Vijay’s older brothers took over the farm. His mother struggled on and although food was scarce there was always a pot of dhal and some country rice on the fire.
‘I couldn’t bear to watch my mother and my brothers becoming old before their time.’
He was the youngest child. He was bright. The schoolteacher, before he had lost his job, had wanted Vijay to continue with his studies, and maybe one day try for the university.
‘I thought, if I moved to Colombo, I could find work and send money home. Maybe I could even begin to study again.’
But it was not to be. The only work he could find in Colombo was tiring, and difficult to come by, and Vijay soon became dispirited.
‘There are too many prejudices towards the Tamils,’ he said. ‘And in this country, if you are born into poverty there is no escape.’
At first, alone and homesick, all he had been able to do was survive. He had never expected to stumble upon Grace. She had not been part of any plan, he told her, smiling a little.
‘I remember exactly how you looked, and where you stood!’
The light slanted down on them through his small window, casting long purple shadows on the ground.
‘I saw you first, long before you even noticed me!’ he told her, delighting in teasing her.
He had dropped a bale of silk in his astonishment, he remembered. The silk had slipped and poured onto the ground, so that he had to gather up armfuls of it before the manager saw him. He had stood holding the cloth, cool against his face, watching as Grace went out of the shop.
‘Do you remember? You had a young girl with you,’ Vijay told her, smiling. ‘I could see, one day she would be like you.’
Alicia. Grace had been glad that he had seen Alicia. She longed to show him the others, reckless though it was. She wanted him to meet Frieda and Jacob, her solemn son, and fierce, angry Christopher, and beautiful Thornton. But every time she voiced this thought Vijay shook his head.
‘It is enough for me to imagine them.’ Grace felt her heart contract.
Everything about him, his voice, his words, soothed her. Like the coriander tea he made whenever she came to him, exhausted from dealing with Aloysius. She found it unbearable that he asked for so little. It was the hopelessness of their love that hurt her most of all. But when she told him this he dismissed it lightly, with a small shake of his head.
‘It’s just a dream of ours,’ he said. ‘How can a high-caste woman like you make a life with someone like me? Let’s just dream!’
It pained her to hear him speak this way, so accepting of his place in society, with no attempt to change his lot. There were no words to express her own feelings. Not since her father had died had she felt so cherished.
‘But he loves you, doesn’t he?’ Vijay asked her once, referring to Aloysius. ‘How can he not love you? He cannot be a bad man, Grace, not if he loves you.’
She loved him for his generosity.
‘Yes,’ she had said, Aloysius loved her. It was not Aloysius’s love that was the problem any longer.
‘We belonged together in another life,’ Vijay liked to say. ‘In some other time. In another place. Perhaps you were my child, or my wife. Only the gods will know.’ Vijay was a Hindu. It was easy for him to think this way. ‘After you died,’ he said, his eyes shining as he kissed the hollow in her neck, ‘my grief was such that the gods told me, wait and she will come back to you.’
She wanted to believe him. Often, kneeling in the church, she heard his words. But when she looked all she saw was a cross.
‘You are such a courageous woman,’ he would tell her. ‘D’you know that? You have insights far in advance of these times we live in.’ He had learned much from watching her. Slowly he had begun to understand the rich Tamils in this country. ‘This gambling and drinking is just one more sign of what is happening.’ They had lost their way, he told her, earnestly. In the wake of British Rule, they shared a thread of hopelessness with the poor. ‘Aloysius is no different from the others,’ Vijay said, in his defence.
When he ran his hands over her fair, unblemished skin he felt as though he touched all the despair of the island, all their collective troubles, their desires, their confusions, here on this lovely, warm and unlined body.
‘For all of us,’ he told Grace, ‘are doomed in our different ways. Both rich and poor, it makes no difference. We are caught, in the wheel of history.’
Dinner that night was quieter than usual. For a start there were only five of them present. Alicia was at the Conservatoire, Jacob was working late and Thornton was out. Christopher and Frieda were silent. Myrtle watched them without comment. She could see Grace was very agitated while Aloysius was not so much drunk as in a state of rage. The loudspeakers continued to pour out their endless stream of messages in Sinhalese.
‘Why can’t they move away from this road?’ Aloysius said, irritably.
‘Take no notice,’ Grace told him, quietly. And she asked the servant to close the dining-room shutters.
‘No!’ Aloysius bellowed, flinging his napkin down. ‘Why should we be stifled inside our own home? Wait, I’m going to have a word with them.’
He stood up. But they would not let him go outside.
‘What’s the point?’ said Christopher, unable to keep silent any longer, glaring at his father. ‘This isn’t the way to do it.’
‘Christopher,’ Grace said, softly, ‘that’s enough.’
‘Where’s Thornton?’ asked Myrtle, challengingly, looking at Grace.
Grace continued to eat, her face expressionless. She refused to be needled by her cousin. The servant brought in another jug of iced water and refilled the glasses. The election vans were moving off to another street but the tension remained.
‘Thornton’s visiting a friend,’ Frieda said, quickly.
‘Who?’ Aloysius asked, sharply. ‘Who is it this time? Some girl, I suppose. Why doesn’t he just get a job and make himself useful, for a change?’
‘He’ll find it harder and harder to get a job, now we have independence,’ Christopher reminded them, slyly, helping himself to more swordfish curry.
‘Well, that should suit Thornton, then,’ Myrtle said. She laughed hollowly.
Grace stopped eating. She was no longer hungry.
‘He’s a poet! He can’t do any old job,’ protested Frieda.
No one seemed to hear her. Frieda felt like crying. She wished Thornton were here; she loved his cheerfulness. She wished her sister wasn’t at the Conservatoire; she missed her terribly. I hate Myrtle, she thought, glancing at her mother. Grace looked around the table. She too wished Thornton were present, with his uncomplicated cheerfulness and his easy affection.
‘We must stay calm,’ she said at last. ‘There’s no point in letting all this talk of civil trouble upset us. Nothing has happened. It will be all right,’ she added, with a certainty she did not feel.
Later that evening, after the servants had cleared the plates, she went out into the garden. The loudspeakers had stopped spewing out their propaganda and the sound of the sea could be heard again for the first time that day. Across the city, as the Independence Day celebrations began, fountains of fireworks rose and sparkled in the darkening sky. The scent of jasmine drifted towards her on the cool breeze and mingled with the faint smell of the sea. Grace walked to the end of the garden where the coconut trees rustled and whispered in the grove. Vijay was out again tonight. He had gone to a meeting organised by a group of Tamils from Trincomalee. Grace had not wanted him to go, but he had told her, in the future, the Tamils would need to stick together. She heard the sound of baila music somewhere in the distance. Small lights twinkled in the trees beyond the coconut grove. The Burgher family were having a party. What was there to celebrate? Grace wondered. She would have liked to slip out, to go and find Vijay, but in the last week she had suddenly become conscious of Myrtle watching her. Every time Grace had come back from the city Myrtle had stared at her, meaningfully.
‘I wish she would leave,’ Grace had told Vijay. ‘I can’t ask her to go but I don’t want her living with us any more. She hates me!’
Vijay had not taken her seriously. He could not imagine anyone hating Grace. Grace, however, remained uneasily watchful. She had tried talking to Aloysius about Myrtle but he too had dismissed her fears.
‘She’s harmless, darl. What’s the matter with you? Of course she doesn’t hate you! That business before we got married was long ago. She’s forgotten about it. She wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t.’
But Grace was no longer so sure.
Having retired to her room after dinner Myrtle took out her diary. Grace had done her disappearing act and Aloysius would undoubtedly be drinking himself into a stupor. There would be no interruptions.
October 8. Aloysius left work today and the de Silvas will now be in a serious financial mess. So, where has all their privilege got them? It’s true they still have some influence, should it be needed, but they’re no longer wealthy in the way they once were. When all is said and done, this is a Tamil family. It will take more than a Sinhalese surname to change that! They look Tamil. And the head of the family is a perfect drunk! What a liability. One wrong word and he’ll cause trouble. Tonight, Grace managed to stop him making a fool of himself over the election vans but how long can she go on stopping him? Poor, useless Aloysius can’t see beyond his bottle. Perhaps it is time for me to think of leaving, going back to Jaffna? Perhaps it might be safer there?
She paused and gazed grimly out of her window. The stars were out. Once, her cousin had had everything. Now, however, the planets were moving, they were changing houses. Life did not stay the same forever.
Walking back to the house Grace decided she would begin a novena tonight. She had no control over Aloysius, but this did not bother her. It was Vijay she was thinking of. Last week, he had lost his job at the silk merchants. The manager was new; he was a Sinhalese man. He had told Vijay, since the war finished, cutbacks were necessary in the silk business. Naturally he was sorry to lose Vijay, but, he had shrugged, things weren’t so good for small businesses any more. He would not look at Vijay as he spoke. Later on, Vijay told Grace, he found the other staff would be remaining at Maya’s. They were all Sinhalese. Grace had been speechless with anger. She had wanted to go to the silk merchant and talk to him. But Vijay would not let her.
‘To think of all the business I gave that man,’ she cried. ‘I’ll never shop there again.’
‘Forget it,’ Vijay had said. ‘I’ll find another job.’
I will say a novena for him, thought Grace, staring at the sky. I will go to church especially for him, tomorrow.
Somewhere in the distance a train hooted. Grace shivered. She heard the sound of the gate shut behind her. It was Thornton coming home. In a few weeks Alicia would be graduating at the Conservatoire and they would be all together once more. I must not despair, she thought firmly. Faith was what she needed. Turning towards his footsteps, with a small smile of gladness she waited for her favourite son to walk up the path.
The concert hall, controlled by the last of the Westernised elite, was packed. They arrived late. Heads turned as they took their seats. The de Silva family out in full force for the occasion were very striking. Thornton watched the audience with interest. This is how it will be one day, he thought going into his favourite daydream, when I am famous! This is how they will come to hear me read my poetry. He felt a little nervous on his sister’s behalf. Frieda too was nervous. She had gone to Mass that morning to pray for Alicia. Frieda had been longing for this evening. Weeks and weeks of longing. A lifetime seemed to have passed since her sister had left home. Frieda had never stopped missing her. Now, at last, Alicia would be returning. We’ll be able to be together, thought Frieda happily, her heart beating with joy. We’ll be able to talk properly instead of her constant rushing backwards and forwards. Crossing her fingers she watched the stage expectantly, waiting for Alicia to appear.
Christopher moved restlessly in his seat. After the concert, he was going to see Kamala. He had decided to teach her to read in English. It had only just occurred to him to do this and he was looking forward to seeing the expression on her face when he told her. Jacob was deep in a conversation with a man from work. The Tea Board had been taken over by the Sinhalese, it was not run as efficiently as when the English had been there, but Jacob did not mind. His job was secure enough. He spoke Sinhalese and was generally liked. Besides, what did he care? He was still saving up for his passage to England.
‘Jacob has lots of friends among the Sinhalese,’ remarked Aloysius in a benign mood, watching his eldest son. ‘How does he do it?’
‘Oh look, there’s Anton Gunesekera,’ said Thornton excitedly. ‘He’s from The Times. Shall I tell him about my poetry?’
Idiot, thought Christopher.
‘There’s a girl staring at you, Thornton,’ Frieda said, giggling.
Happiness bubbled up in her. At last, sang her heart. The three years were over. Hurray! They would all be together again. Forever and ever. Her lovely family.
‘She’s been looking at you for ages,’ she told Thornton, happily.
‘Well, there’s a surprise,’ said Myrtle. ‘Let’s hope she’s rich!’ She laughed at her own joke.
The auditorium was buzzing. Proud parents, talent scouts, even the national newspapers were here. Thornton grinned with delight. It was all so thrilling. The Director of the Conservatoire came over to them.
‘Welcome, welcome, Grace, Aloysius,’ he beamed. ‘How lovely to see all of you here together, supporting Alicia. I promise you there’s a wonderful treat in store for you this evening.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Drinks backstage afterwards, don’t forget.’
Aloysius hadn’t forgotten. He watched the Director’s receding back and then, observing Grace’s annoyed expression, he burst out laughing.
‘That fellow’s keen on you, darl!’ he told her.
Aloysius too was relaxed tonight. Looking around the concert hall with unusual pride he thought how beautiful his wife looked. They sat for a while longer, fanning themselves with their programmes. Then without warning the lights dimmed and the noise subsided. The first item was a Beethoven trio. Aloysius sat up, instantly alert. He knew the piece well.
‘Good!’ he said afterwards, above the applause, as the musicians took a bow. ‘Well, quite good, a difficult choice, really. For their age, I mean. Don’t you think, darl? It’s a difficult piece.’
Grace agreed. Myrtle looked at them, at their bent heads, and felt a knife twist in her. It had been music that had first brought them together, long ago.
‘Here we sit waiting for our daughter to appear!’ Aloysius remarked, but he was looking at Grace. How radiant she is, he thought, genuinely surprised. ‘No different than on the day I first set eyes on you!’ he told her, loudly.
Myrtle winced. Yes, thought Grace, sadly, aware of the look, you think I’m someone who has everything.
‘We should go out more often, darl,’ Aloysius said. He was in an expansive mood. ‘Now I’ve retired, now I’ve more time. D’you remember the concerts your father used to put on?’
She nodded. All she had wanted then was him, and his children.
‘Of course, these Sinhalese philistines might stop the concerts,’ Aloysius continued, unable to resist the thought. ‘They’re bound to see Western music as part of the British Empire, just like the language!’
Jacob sighed, pointedly. Grace seemed not to hear. She was lost in thought, engulfed by a sudden wave of sadness, an unspeakable loneliness. Vijay would never share this part of her life. Bending her head, she stared with unseeing eyes at her programme.
‘Alicia has become more and more like you,’ Aloysius burbled on.
Myrtle, unable to stand any more of such remarks, turned her head away. Must be the thought of the backstage party, she decided, sourly.
In the end, thought Grace, as she waited for Alicia to appear, I am alone. Perhaps after all the Buddhists were right and, ultimately, one was always alone. But, as she waited, musing over these things, her face softened with longing, the lights dimmed again and there she was, on the stage. Slim, beautiful Alicia. Poised and very calm, her long hair was pinned up, making her appear strangely older. A replica of her mother, yet not quite so. The other de Silvas, watching her, gasped. Is this my daughter? thought Grace shaken, astonished, forgetting everything else. For Alicia was playing Schubert. In a way they had never heard her play before, with an effortless passion they had not known she possessed. Revealing something about herself none of them had noticed. Had it always been present? Perhaps she had always played in this way; maybe it simply had slipped their attention in the bustle of everyday life. The sounds fell perfectly, parting the darkness as though it were a path, pausing, running on, lifted by Alicia’s fingers, cascading into the silent hall, until finally they rose and floated to rest, gently, somewhere above them in the darkness. Where had such music come from? Will she live her life as she plays the piano? Grace wondered, transfixed.
She brought the house down. The applause, when it came, flooded the concert hall. Nothing matched her after that.
‘Brava!’ the audience shouted when she re-appeared at the end. ‘Brava! A star is born!’
People were staring at the de Silvas. Flashbulbs exploded like flowers.
‘Tomorrow,’ mouthed the music critic Anton Gunesekera, looking at Grace, pointing to his notebook, ‘buy the papers tomorrow!’
So young, everyone said. Such talent! Astonishing! Aloysius looked at his wife, his eyes shining, visibly moved. They were both speechless. United for once, thought Myrtle, bitterly. Thornton was writing furiously on his programme. Christopher, glancing at him, burst out laughing.
‘Not another bloody poem,’ he said, but the applause drowned his words. His own hands ached with clapping.
‘Come on,’ Aloysius shouted boisterously over the noise. He waved them onwards. It was so long since they had something to celebrate. ‘Backstage, everyone. Come on, come on. I always knew she was talented. You see, darl,’ he told his wife, ‘I always said she should study at the Conservatoire!’
Grace felt laughter explode in her. The tensions of the last few weeks, the new independence, her daughter’s music, all of it, gathered in her, making her eyes shine with unshed tears.
Backstage, all was noisy celebration. Alicia stood among a crowd of fellow students holding a spray of orchids. The de Silva children were startled. Was this their sister, this self-assured, beautiful stranger? Shyly they watched. It was in this way that Sunil Pereira first caught sight of her.
‘My name is Sunil,’ he said above the noise, daringly, having fought his way towards her in the crowd. ‘I sent you those.’
He pointed at the flowers she held. Alicia, delighted, took the hand he offered.
‘The Schubert was beautiful,’ Sunil added.
He hesitated, not knowing how to go on. He felt overwhelmed by the sight of this girl, filled with an unaccountable joy. He was unable to do more than hold her hand.
‘Hello, Miss de Silva,’ said another voice. ‘I am Ranjith Pieris, Sunil’s friend.’
Ranjith Pieris was older than Sunil. Putting his arm around his friend, he grinned. Then he too shook Alicia’s hand.
‘Don’t believe a word he says, will you? Sunil’s a philistine about music. No, really,’ he added as Alicia laughed. ‘Truthfully! I’m telling you, he’s completely cloth-eared! What he really means is you are beautiful. Now, although I would agree with that, I thought you played magnificently, as well!’
Ranjith Pieris winked teasingly and Alicia blushed. She opened her mouth to speak but Ranjith continued, making Alicia laugh a little more.
‘As you can see, my friend is unable to speak for himself. Fortunately for me he’s lost his voice! So, may I use this rare opportunity to invite you to the Mount Lavinia dance next week?’
From the corner of her eye Alicia could see Aloysius. But where was her mother? She smiled again, fanning herself, dropping the spray of orchids, which Sunil bent and retrieved for her.
‘Why don’t you come and meet my family?’ she asked him, starry-eyed.
Her mother was deep in conversation with the Director of the Conservatoire. Alicia waved urgently trying to catch her attention. And that was when she saw Frieda. And Thornton and Jacob and Christopher, all together in an awestruck group, all looking uncomfortable. She burst out laughing. Tonight she felt as though she had wings.
Aloysius advanced towards his daughter, beaming. He had noticed Sunil Pereira when he had first walked in. Why, the boy looked as though he was in a trance. Hmm, thought Aloysius. A Sinhalese boy! It could have been worse. His eyes narrowed with interest but he kept his thoughts to himself.
‘Splendid! Splendid!’ he said out loud.
And having kissed and congratulated his daughter, he asked Sunil what he did for a living. Sunil hardly heard him and it was left to Ranjith Pieris to speak to Aloysius.
‘We both work for the External Trade Office,’ Ranjith said.
‘How interesting!’ Aloysius nodded. Civil servants, he thought, pleased. Well, well, how very interesting. I may be an old dog, but I can still spot a winner, when I see one. How fortunate, they were fluent both in Sinhalese and in English.
‘So,’ he asked, casually, ‘you work in our new government, huh? How d’you find it there? Now that the British have gone?’
Christopher frowned. His father was looking shifty. ‘What’s he up to, now?’ he muttered to Jacob.
Aloysius was thinking furiously. Being in the new government meant access to British whisky and British cigarettes. Aloysius was sick of arrack and unfiltered Old Roses. Being in the government meant better rations and a superior quality of rice. With his eyes firmly on the main chance, he watched Sunil talking to Alicia. His daughter, he observed, with a growing sense of well-being, had changed in the last three years. The promise of her childhood good looks appeared to have come to fruition. Until now her life had been filled exclusively with her music. She had spent her days in a dreamworld hardly straying from the confines of her Bechstein. Never mind, thought Aloysius, delightedly, all this was about to change. Tonight had brought the first public recognition of her talent. What else had it brought? Seeing his wife approaching, he waved, excitedly.
‘Darl,’ he cried, ‘come and meet Sunil Pereira.’
And without a moment’s hesitation, before his wife could comment, he invited this courteous young man home. The romance, for clearly it was to be just that, was to be encouraged.
‘He seems very nice,’ Grace admitted later, a little doubtfully. Left to herself she would have waited a while before issuing any invitations. ‘Aren’t we being a bit hasty though?’ she ventured. ‘Perhaps we should find out a bit more about him first? Her future is just beginning and this is only the first one.’
‘Nonsense, she’s the perfect age, darl,’ said Aloysius, looking sentimentally at her. ‘The same age as you were when your father gave me your hand.’
Yes, thought Grace, sharply, and look what a mess I made. But she kept her thoughts to herself.
‘Why do I have to be there when he visits?’ complained Jacob, who had planned to work overtime. ‘I don’t have anything to say to him.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Jacob,’ Aloysius replied, annoyed, ‘show some family solidarity, will you?’
The day after Alicia’s graduation the newspapers were full of reviews of her performance. Her talent, her youth, her future, all these things were suddenly of interest. Already she had been offered two concerts.
‘Beethoven and Mozart,’ she said, in a panic, ‘all in a month. How will I learn them?’
The de Silvas were staggered. Overnight, Alicia had become something of a celebrity. A photographer came to the house and her picture appeared in a music magazine. The family felt as though they were seeing her for the first time. And suddenly there was an admirer as well. Two more weeks went by. Sunil Pereira came to call. He had thought of nothing else but Alicia since the concert. He waited, impatient for the visit, a prey to Ranjith Pieris’s teasing. He hardly slept, dreaming constantly about her.
‘Go and see them, men,’ Ranjith teased. ‘Put yourself out of your misery, or I’ll have to!’
So, plucking up his courage, unprepared for his meeting with her, much less her eccentric colonial family, he went.
Let loose at this first encounter, the de Silvas reacted each in their different ways.
‘Hello, Sunil,’ said Thornton, shaking hands with him, smiling in a new and dazzling way. It was clear he needed to do nothing else. ‘Why don’t you come with us to the party at the Skyline Hotel next week? There’s supposed to be an extremely good jazz quartet playing.’
Ah, yes, why not? thought Myrtle. Why not show off in our usual fashion?
Christopher, resigned and silent as always, saw no point in getting annoyed with his family. They were completely crazy. Any friends of theirs were bound to be crazy too. What am I doing here? he thought. I don’t belong.
‘Where do your parents live, Sunil?’ asked Grace tactfully, thinking, first things first. A few discreet enquiries never went amiss. Earlier that day she had discussed Sunil with Vijay. Lying in his arms, she had told Vijay about their first encounter.
‘He has an open, friendly face,’ she had said.
Seeing him again, she felt she had been right. The young man seemed unaffected and honest.
‘My father worked for the railways,’ Sunil told them. ‘He was killed in the riots of ’47: Now my mother lives in Dondra.’
He hesitated. Would a family such as this have heard about the riots in ’47? Grace nodded, encouragingly. Of course she remembered.
‘He was crushed in an accident,’ Sunil said. His father, he told them, had been working his shift at the time. He had not been part of the riots but in the skirmish that followed he had been trampled to death. ‘My mother couldn’t get her widow’s pension because it was thought my father had taken part in the demonstration. She should have taken the matter to a tribunal but, well…’ He spread his hands out expressively.
Alicia was listening. There was not a trace of bitterness in Sunil’s voice. In the silence that followed, Grace read between the lines. She had heard how terrible things had been, how many people had been killed. Sunil’s childhood would have been very hard as a direct result. Being a Sinhalese woman, Sunil’s mother would have been ignored by the British. She would have had no idea how to get any compensation. Aloysius nodded. One brown face, he guessed, would have been the same as any other. Aloysius was unusually silent. The talk turned to other things. To Sunil’s political ambitions for the new country they were building. Good God, thought Aloysius astonished, I must be growing old. This boy’s optimism is so refreshing.
‘Our only way forward is through education,’ Sunil told Alicia, earnestly. It was a simple thought, he admitted, apologetically, but the discovery was a turning point for him. Christopher, about to leave the room, stopped in surprise.
‘All the foreign rule we’ve been subjected to is bound to affect us as a country,’ Sunil continued. ‘We have become a confused nation. What we desperately need now is free state education. For everyone.’ He was talking to them all, but it was Alicia he was looking at. ‘Sinhalese, Tamils, everyone,’ he said.
There was no doubting his sincerity. Ah, thought Jacob, cynically, here we go again, same old story. Well, what does he think he can achieve alone?
‘I went from the village school to being a weekly boarder in town,’ Sunil told them. ‘Then I took the scholarship exam for Colombo Boys School.’
A self-made man, thought Aloysius, impressed. They are the best. It’s men like this we need.
‘I found it paid off,’ Sunil smiled at Alicia. ‘After that, I could send my mother some money.’
But he’s wonderful, Alicia was thinking. He’s so wonderful! Christopher too was listening hungrily. Here at last, in the midst of his idiotic family whose sole interests were concerts and parties, was someone he might talk to. Here at last was a real person. Someone who might care about the state of this place. Suddenly Christopher wanted desperately to have a proper conversation with Sunil. But there were too many de Silvas present. He stood sullen and uncommunicative, hovering uncertainly in the background, not knowing what to do next.
Sunil had no idea of the tensions around him. The family behaved impeccably, plying him with petits fours (where, he wondered fleetingly, did they get them?) and tea, served in exquisite white bone-china cups, and love cake on beautiful, green Hartley china plates. Alicia played the piano for him and Jasper watched the proceedings silently, gimlet-eyed and newly awake from his afternoon nap.
The conversation became general. Grace and Aloysius were charming hosts. All those house parties, those weekend tennis events had not taken place for nothing. Even Jacob became cautiously friendly, talking to Sunil about his work exporting tea. Sunil was interested in everything. Aloysius told him about the tea estates that had once belonged to Grace while Thornton showed him some of his poems. But this last proved to be too much for Christopher. Taking the cats with him, he disappeared.
‘Thank God, sister!’ shouted Jasper, who loathed the cats.
Sunil was enchanted all over again. How could he not be? Jasper alone was a force to be reckoned with.
‘Have you ever played poker, Sunil?’ asked Aloysius.
‘Oh no, please, no!’ exclaimed Grace. But she was laughing.
‘Wait, wait,’ Thornton cried. ‘Let’s all play. Come on, Jacob, you too!’
The evening meandered on. The card table was brought out; ice-cold palmyra toddy in etched Venetian glasses appeared as if from nowhere; and, with the unexpected arrival of the aunts, Coco and Valerie, the family launched into a game of Ajoutha. It was a magical starlit evening, effortlessly filled with the possibilities of youth. Alicia was persuaded to play the piano again, this time for Sunil’s friend Ranjith Pieris who arrived just before dinner was served out on the veranda. Sunil could not remember another time as wonderful as this.
‘You know, I have Ranjith to thank for meeting you,’ he told them, beginning slowly to relax, feeling some inexplicable emotion glowing within him each time his eyes alighted on Alicia. For it had been Ranjith, he told them, shyly, who had bought the tickets for the Conservatoire recital. It had been Ranjith who, persuading Sunil to accompany him, had sent him reluctantly out into this bright looking-glass world of elegance, from which there would be no going back.
The wedding was set for December when it would be cooler. The invisible forces of karma worked with effortless ease. Gladness filled the air. Sunil was a Buddhist, but in the face of Alicia’s happiness, no one cared much. For Alicia was radiant. Everyone remarked on the change in her. Her career was taking off. Having given two more concert performances in Colombo she was invited to take part in a radio series in the New Year.
‘After that, who knows?’ said the Director of the Conservatoire. ‘An international tour perhaps? Grace, your daughter is an extraordinary girl.’
‘Let’s get the wedding over with first, for goodness’ sake!’ begged Grace. The world seemed to be spinning madly with so many things happening at once.
‘Yes, yes,’ agreed Aloysius joyously, helping himself to the whisky the bridegroom-to-be had just brought him.
The marriage was arranged for the last day in the year, a Poya day, a night of the full moon. An auspicious sign, a good omen.
‘Come along, everyone,’ cried Aloysius with gusto, ‘let’s drink to the wedding of the year!’
It was the first proper whisky he had drunk in months. It was clear he was going to get on with his future son-in-law like a house on fire.
‘What we need is a small windfall,’ he added with a small gleam in his eyes. ‘A little poker might do the trick, what d’you think, darl? Huh?’
Grace ignored him. She was still ignoring him, when, four weeks later the windfall turned out to be in the form of a broken arm.
‘Don’t worry,’ Aloysius told her, finding it hugely funny. ‘It’s only August after all. By Christmas I will be out of the sling!’
Grace had other things on her mind.
‘Father Giovanni wants the bride and groom to attend matrimonial classes together,’ announced Frieda, who was in charge of helping her mother on all such matters. Frieda was to be the bridesmaid. ‘Otherwise, there can’t be a church wedding, he told me.’
‘Hindu bastard!’ screeched Jasper, not following the story very well. He was feeling the heat.
‘Be quiet, Jasper,’ said Grace absent-mindedly.
‘Bastard!’ said Jasper sourly.
‘That bird should be shot. He’s a social embarrassment. I’ll do it, if you like, darl,’ offered Aloysius, whose right hand was still capable of pulling a trigger. ‘This is entirely Christopher’s doing, you know. God knows what he’ll come out with when the guests start arriving.’
But naturally everyone protested and Jasper was spared yet again.
Meanwhile, in all this commotion, no one noticed Thornton’s frequent mealtime absences. Jacob, the usual guardian of all the siblings, was preoccupied. In just over a year’s time he hoped to secure a passage on one of the Italian ocean liners that crossed and recrossed the seas to England. He told no one of this plan which had been fermenting quietly for years. His sister’s wedding, his brother’s whereabouts, these things had increasingly become less important to Jacob. If he noticed his family at all these days, it was from a great distance, their chatter muffled by the sound of the ocean, that heartbeat of all his hopes. So Jacob, the sharpest of them all, the one who noticed everything, failed to notice that Thornton was often absent. Which left Thornton free to do just about whatever he wanted. At last that wonderful smile was paying off. These days, his dark curly hair shone glossily and his large eyes were limpid pools of iridescent light. Such was his laughter when he was home, planting a kiss on his mother’s head, tweaking his sister’s hair, deferential towards his father, that nobody really registered those times when he was not. Except Jasper that is. Jasper was always saying crossly, ‘You’re late!’
‘I know,’ laughed Thornton, coming in with great energy, sitting down at the piano, playing the snatch of jazz he had heard only moments before as he walked up to the house. ‘I’ve been looking for a new mynah bird, old thing!’
‘Oh Thornton!’ exclaimed Alicia, rushing in. Being in love made her rush. ‘You are so clever. I wish I could play by ear.’
Thornton laughed, delighted. The piano under his fingers took on the swagger of the dance floor. He would be playing at his sister’s wedding.
‘Will you play “Maybe” and “An American in Paris” at the reception?’ begged Alicia, her arms around his neck, hugging him.
‘Yes,’ said Thornton. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’
And he laughed again with the sheer joy of it all, pushing his hat down over his eyes, sticking a cigarette in the side of his mouth Bogart-style, foot pressed down on the loud pedal, until he deafened them all with the vibrations. Alicia, because she was happy, assumed naturally that his happiness was due to her. Naturally, being in love, what else could she assume? But Thornton was filled with an exuberance, a secret glow that was nothing whatsoever to do with the sunshine outside, or his sister. It was a tingling feeling that made him belt out ‘As Time Goes By’ one minute, and ‘Maple Leaf Rag’ the next.
The house was almost continuously filled with activity, music pouring out of its every window. Love was in the air. Even the stifling heat of the dry season could not dispel it. Everyone was completely wrapped up with this, the first marriage in the family. The visitors’ list grew daily. Relatives from across the island, from Australia, and from as far away as Canada were coming.
‘We mustn’t forget Anslem, you know,’ said Aloysius. ‘Oh, and that fellow, what’s his name, darl, you know, the chap from the hill station?’
‘Harrison?’ asked Grace. ‘Yes. He’s on my list. What about Dr Davidson and his wife?’
‘Don’t forget the Fernandos,’ Frieda reminded her. ‘And is Mabel coming?’
‘What about Anton?’ asked Thornton. ‘I hope he’s coming.’
‘He is,’ said Grace frowning, looking at her list again, harassed. ‘Alicia, is Ranjith Pieris definitely Sunil’s best man? I need to know.’
‘Yes,’ shouted Alicia from another part of the house.
‘Oh good!’ said Thornton. ‘Hey, Jacob, Anton’s coming!’
‘Good,’ said Jacob, hurrying out. He was late for work.
Having sold off a piece of her land Grace prepared to throw open their doors for a party bigger and grander than anything in living memory. Bigger than Grace’s own wedding and grander than the party thrown by her father at the birth of Jacob. Grace was orchestrating the whole event, and Aloysius… Aloysius could hardly wait for the celebrations. A huge wedding cake was being made. As rationing was still in operation this was no easy task, but in this, at least, the bridegroom was able to help. The list of ingredients was frightening.
‘Rulang, sugar, raisins,’ said Frieda importantly, ‘sultanas, currants, candied peel, cherries, ginger preserve, chow-chow preserve, pumpkin preserve, almonds, Australian butter, brandy, rose water, bee’s honey, vanilla essence, almond essence, nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, one hundred and fifty eggs.’
Even Myrtle was drawn in and for once joined forces with the cook to weigh, chop and mix the ingredients, while Sunil was consulted on the little matter of the eggs. His mother in Dondra was instructed to round up all the hens she could find. Sunil volunteered to fetch the eggs, returning with all one hundred and fifty, travelling on the overnight steam train that hugged the coconut-fringed coastline, lit by the light of the phosphorescent moon.
It was hot and airless in the train and several times during the night Sunil went out into the corridor where the breeze from the open window made it cooler. A huge moon stretched a path across the water. From where he stood it shone like crumpled cloth. Sunil stood watching the catamarans on the motionless sea and the men silhouetted on their stilts, delicate nets fanning like coral around them. It was the landscape of his birth, the place he loved and had grown up with. It was part and parcel of his childhood. Now, with this sudden momentous turn of events he was leaving it all behind to begin his married life in Colombo. Soon, very soon, he would have a wife to support. And then, he thought with wonder, then, there would be children! In the darkness his face softened at the thought. He had been an only child. He could not imagine children. His and Alicia’s. He knew his mother worried about this unexpected match to a Tamil girl. She had said nothing, but he knew what was on her mind. Sunil, however, was certain. He had given his heart, and his certainty was such that nothing would go wrong, he promised her. If the United Ethnic Party came into power, as he fervently hoped, then his political ambitions and all his wishes for unity on the island would be fulfilled at last, and the vague and reckless talk of civil war would be averted. It will be averted, thought Sunil determinedly. One day, he had promised his mother, brushing aside her anxieties, climbing aboard the train, with his parcel of eggs, they would build a house in Dondra, at the furthest tip of land by the lighthouse, overlooking the sea. So that she might live at last surrounded by her memories, so that he and Alicia, and all their children could be frequent visitors. Peering out of the carriage window, with the sea rushing past, his thoughts ran on in this way, planning, dreaming, hoping, as the Capital Express sped along the coast, hissing and hooting plaintively into the night. The ships on the horizon looked out from the darkened sea at the delicate necklace of lights on this small blessed island, as Sunil, gazing at the moon, carried one hundred and fifty eggs back for his beloved’s wedding cake.
