Читать книгу Bone China - Roma Tearne - Страница 8

4

BY LATE OCTOBER THE HEAT IN Colombo had become impossible. There had been no rain for months and the garden that had thrived under Grace’s care began to wilt. The air was thick and clammy and humid but still there was no sign of any rain. Every day the sky appeared a cloudless, gemstone blue, joined seamlessly to the sea. One morning, when the preparations for the wedding were fully under way, Grace decided to leave early for Colombo. These days she was always shopping in Colombo. There was Alicia’s entire trousseau to buy; there were clothes for the other children. And there were her own saris, too.

‘Start lunch without me,’ she told Frieda, as she waited for the taxi.

‘I won’t be in either, darl,’ Aloysius warned her.

He had joined a new club where he could play poker undisturbed. Grace nodded. She had seen to it that Aloysius had only a limited amount of money each month and she was happy for him to spend it as he pleased. Once this allowance was gone, she told him, firmly, there would be nothing more until the next month. Sitting in her taxi, driving across the heat-soaked city, she dismissed him from her mind. It was Vijay who filled her thoughts. She was on her way to visit him. It had become increasingly difficult for Grace to escape, harder to find suitable excuses to leave the house. But although she was aware of an increased risk, she saw Vijay as often as she dared, seldom leaving it longer than a week. After two months of unemployment Vijay had finally got a new job as a cook in a restaurant. It meant he worked late and was only free during the mornings and although in some ways this made things easier for Grace, she missed seeing him in the evenings.

‘I’ve been longing to see you,’ she cried breathlessly, coming in quietly, noticing how cool his tiny room was. Noticing the white sheet on his makeshift bed and the spray of jasmine in water on the table. She loved this room with its pristine cleanliness and its sparse austerity. Vijay was looking at her with a tender expression that made her heart turn over.

‘I have all morning,’ she said, sounding like a young girl, feeling the luxury of her words. They had no need to rush.

Afterwards, lying side by side, she saw there were hours left. Vijay lay with one arm around her staring at a patch of light flickering on the ceiling. Grace could see fragments of them both reflected in the mirror that stood beside the door. A leg entwined with a foot, indistinguishable from a smooth hip. Joined as one. Skin to skin. Turning her face towards his, she pulled him gently away from his private reverie, her eyes dark and very beautiful so that, unable to resist her, unable to remain melancholy in the face of her certainty, he buried his face in her. And began to kiss her, slowly and methodically, inch by inch, with an urgency he had not shown before. Outside the morning sun rose higher in the sapphire sky, shortening the shadows, increasing the heat, unnoticed by them. When finally she could speak again Grace told him about a party she had been invited to. She liked to tell him about her days and what the family did. She wanted him to know everything about her life.

‘It’s being held in the old Governor’s House,’ she said. ‘Next Saturday.’

They washed each other in water Vijay brought up from the well. The water smelt of damp moss. Vijay began preparing a little lunch. He would have to go to work soon.

‘You know the place?’ Grace said, pinning up her hair. She leaned over and he fed her some rice. Then he kissed her. ‘It overlooks Mount Lavinia Bay. You can see this part of town from their garden. I’ll stand on the veranda and think of you,’ she said tenderly.

‘You’re going there?’ Vijay asked her in alarm. ‘On the night before the eclipse?’

‘What difference does the eclipse make?’ Grace asked him, laughing. She was aware that for Vijay, as for most other Sri Lankans, the eclipse brought insurmountable fears with it. Superstition threaded darkly across the lives of the Buddhists and the Hindus. But Grace had grown up untouched by all these complicated rituals and she found it hard to take him seriously on this subject.

There had not been a total eclipse for eighty-eight years. The island was feverish with excitement. It prepared itself for the event in different ways. The British (those who remained) brought out their telescopes and their encyclopedias. They were interested in the life cycle of the universe. The Roman Catholics ignored all talk of it. The Buddhists, ruled as they were by the light of the moon, were understandably nervous. Unable to move away from the cycle of their own karma, they, like the Hindus, were trapped in darkness, hoping the vibrations of their prayers would protect them. Only Grace remained fearless.

‘Oh, you mustn’t give in to the ignorance of this place!’ she told him, knowing he wasn’t listening, hoping to tease him out of this nonsense. She stole up behind him as he prepared the food and put her arms around his waist. ‘You of all people shouldn’t let these old wives’ tales rule your life. Vijay, you know it’s all rubbish!’

Vijay shook his head stubbornly. The old traditions were ingrained in him and he was not prepared to listen. He would have to go to work in an hour; he would not see Grace for another week, perhaps longer. There was no time for arguments.

‘Tell me about the wedding,’ he said, changing the subject.

‘Well, the cake is made,’ Grace said, smiling, not wanting to argue either. ‘Frieda and Myrtle made it together. With the cook’s help.’

She hesitated. There was something else, something she could not put her finger on. It was nothing much, but her suspicions about Myrtle were growing. This morning Grace had had a strong sensation of being followed. Could it be possible that her cousin knew?

‘What about Alicia?’ asked Vijay. He was boiling some water. Grace had given him one of her mother’s old teapots and he was making tea in it.

‘She’s blissfully happy, of course, but…’ Again Grace hesitated. Alicia’s future made her uneasy. Out of loyalty to her daughter she had not discussed it, but what would happen when Alicia had children? As a family the de Silvas had their own strong Tamil identity. What would happen to that?

‘What will it be like for Alicia’s children?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Their father will be a Sinhalese. What problems will this cause?’

Vijay handed her a cup of tea and smiled broadly. It was his turn to tease her.

‘Aiyo! So you have fears too,’ he said. ‘Are you worrying about becoming a grandmother? Even before the wedding?’

‘No, no, I –’

‘It’s a good thing,’ Vijay said earnestly. ‘Don’t you see? You should be glad! The only hope this country has is through intermarriage.’ He paused. ‘It’s too late for us, but for Alicia there is hope.’

He smiled and the ever-present sadness lifted from his eyes making her wish her life back, to live it all over again, differently. But then, just before she left him, he brought up the subject of the eclipse again.

‘It’s not a very good time, you know,’ he fretted. ‘Do you have to go to this party?’

‘Vijay?’ she said.

She had never seen him so worried. She could feel his heart beating. Vijay took her face in his hands, kissing her luminescent eyes. He should have felt dirty beside her, he told her. A scavenger straying out of his domain. But he felt none of these things, such was the healing strength of her love, pouring over the poor soil that was his life, overwhelming him.

‘You and your superstitious country ways!’ she teased him, hiding an unaccountable heaviness in her heart. She knew he went to watch the many demonstrations springing up in the heart of the city. She knew there was no stopping him, and she, too, was afraid. ‘I can come back next Saturday morning,’ was all she said before leaving him. ‘I shall say I’m visiting the nuns. Will you be here? Will I see you?’

Vijay nodded. He did not want her to leave. A terrible foreboding had overtaken him. Next Saturday was more than a week away.

Sitting in the taxi, going home, she felt the heat spread like an infectious disease. It carried with it an ugly undercurrent of destruction that hovered wherever one went in the capital. It was not good. The British, sidelined by choice, watched silently. Waiting. Those who loved this island, and there were many who did, were saddened by what they saw. But most of them, Grace knew, had predicted the elephants would soon be out of the jungles.

Having finished her chores, having eaten her lunch alone, Frieda decided to go shopping. There was no one to go with her into Colombo. No one was at home, no one cared, but the fact was, she told herself with a trace of resentment, she felt very lonely. She needed to buy a present for the bride. Today was as good a day as any. Alicia’s wedding, just two months away, was threatening to give her a permanent headache. Myrtle’s constant questions didn’t help. Her mother was preoccupied. They were all busy with their own things. I might as well go out, thought Frieda, her eyes filling with tears. The sunlight was a blinding curtain, a bright ache of unhappiness thumping against her heart as she walked. Unhappiness shadowed her as she crossed the dusty streets. I am only a year younger, she thought dully, frowning with concentration, but look at the difference in our lives.

Before her sister had gone to the Conservatoire they had been inseparable, sharing bedrooms, clothes, secrets. She had known this would change when Alicia left home but Frieda had been looking forward so much to her return. And then, unexpectedly, hardly had she completed her diploma than she found Sunil. Frieda had not anticipated this. She had certainly not expected such a quick marriage. The last few months had been terrible. Her headache worsened as she walked. A pair of cymbals clashed together in her head. Nothing will ever be the same, she thought, mournfully. Everything has changed. Once I was her only friend but now Alicia belongs to another. The words went round and round, beating into her head, competing with the boiling sun. Alicia has Sunil and she has her music. Thornton has his poetry. What do I have? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So thought Frieda with a drum roll going on in her head as she hurried down the road to Pettah.

On the way, much to her astonishment, she saw various members of her family. First she saw Thornton. He hurried past furtively and jumped onto a number 16 bus heading towards the east side of town. The Jewish Quarter, thought Frieda, puzzled. Who does he know there? Her favourite brother looked harassed. It wasn’t like Thornton to scowl. What was the matter with him? Next she saw Myrtle walking towards Mr Basher’s house. Frieda paused, wondering whether to call out to her. Mr Basher was a palmist. Myrtle avoided the main door. She rang the bell at the side entrance and went in, hurriedly. Why was Myrtle seeing a palmist? Then she saw Christopher. He rushed past on the other side of the street looking hot and fierce.

‘Goodness,’ muttered Frieda, startled, ‘we’re all out and we’re all in a bad mood!’

She felt a little cheered, without quite knowing why. There was nothing very unusual about Christopher’s presence in town. Since the age of thirteen he was more out than in. What was more worrying was that he had two large cardboard boxes tucked under his arm.

‘Oh no,’ Frieda exclaimed aloud, suddenly alert, forgetting her woes. ‘He’s stolen some wedding cake!’

Why would he do a thing like that? Making a mental note to count the cake boxes when she got back she continued on her way. A slight breeze had sprung up. She was nearing the waterfront. Frieda entered Harrison’s music shop intent on finding a particular gramophone recording for Alicia. She was uncertain of the name. Lost in thought, she wandered around looking at the recordings, humming to herself, unaware of the fair-haired young man who watched her quizzically.

‘Can’t you find what you want?’ the young man asked, eventually.

Frieda, puzzling over the problem, replied unthinkingly, ‘No, but I can sort of sing it. I think it’s a Beethoven piece.’

She hummed loudly, marking time with her hands. She did not look up, mistaking him for a sales assistant. The boy laughed, amused.

‘At any rate, you can sing,’ he said. ‘Although I doubt it’s Beethoven.’

‘Why?’ demanded Frieda, without thinking. ‘What makes you so sure?’

The boy grinned and Frieda looked at him for the first time. But he’s English, she thought, confusedly. And he’s got golden hair!

‘Well,’ said the boy, ‘does it sound like this?’

He sang the opening bars, conducting it with both hands and accidentally knocking a record off the counter. The assistant hurried towards them. The boy was right; it was not Beethoven at all but Smetana with his river. How foolish she felt. And how strange was the quality of the light, she thought faintly, noticing it as it caught the sharp blueness of his eyes. They were dazzling, like the sea at noon. Something constricted in her heart.

‘Robert Grant, at your service,’ the boy said, bowing over her hand as if he was acting in a play.

Suddenly it felt as though a whole orchestra was playing in Frieda’s head.

‘I’m Frieda de Silva,’ she said, wondering why it was so hot. ‘My sister is getting married soon and this is a present for her.’

The boy’s eyes were hypnotic. Frieda was unable to look away. Never had she seen such eyes.

‘She’s a concert pianist too,’ she said, her voice faint.

‘Oh? What’s her name?’

‘Alicia. Alicia de Silva.’ Then, with a boldness that was to astonish her, afterwards, she added, ‘Why don’t you come to the concert she’s playing in, next week?’

Robert Grant grinned again. He had been bored, but now he was less so.

‘I’d love to,’ he said with alacrity. ‘Where’s it on and at what time?’

The assistant, who knew the de Silva family, handed Frieda her gramophone record and smiled.

‘Hello, Miss Frieda, I read a very good review about your sister in The Times last week.’

Frieda nodded. The orchestra in her head was playing a coda.

‘Is she famous?’ Robert asked as they walked out, and again Frieda nodded.

‘Yes. Yes, well, I mean, she’s getting famous,’ she stammered. ‘Come and meet her, meet my whole family.’

Outside, the heat was solid and impenetrable. Robert wrote down the time of the concert and shook hands with her. There was a small flash of startling blue as he glanced at her, then he was gone. It was as though the sea, ultramarine and wonderful, had seeped into her day. Opening her mouth to call after him, watching his receding back, Frieda stopped abruptly, for what on earth did she think she was doing? Turning, quickly, she began to walk home and entirely missed seeing her mother slipping out of a dark unfamiliar alleyway beside the station, into the afternoon sunshine. As she opened her umbrella and lifted her sari off the ground, Grace had the look of a softly bruised and ripened fruit, with a bloom, not usually found on the face of a woman who had borne five children and lived with a man such as Aloysius. She looked like a woman ten years her junior. But Frieda hurrying home in the scorching heat, with her heart on fire, and a set of wings attached to the soles of her feet, her sari sweeping up the dust of all Asia, saw none of this. Her mother’s dazed and secret look was entirely lost on her. For now at last, finally, Frieda had a secret all of her own.

‘Yes?’ asked Jasper as she entered the house stealthily, adding to himself, when she did not reply, ‘Up to no good.’

Frieda, pouring herself a long, cool glass of water, adding many ice cubes to it, ignored him, certain, even as the liquid slipped down her throat, that her world had changed forever since lunchtime.

Myrtle switched on her ceiling fan. Then she unlocked the drawer in her desk and took out her diary. Refilling her fountain pen she began to write.

October 28. A profitable morning. Followed G as far as the Elephant Hotel but then lost her. The taxi driver was exceedingly stupid and did not seem to understand what following a car meant. However, Mr B was very helpful. I gave him the information about the wedding and he agreed with me that the marriage is not a good one. Time will tell, he kept saying, shaking his head, gloomily. When I asked him how much time, he spread the cards. He is a very thoughtful and clever man and I am inclined to believe him. By the looks of things this marriage is going to be in serious trouble. Mr B asked me why I wanted to know so badly. There was no point in going into the details, no point in telling him about G and my suspicions about her activities with the British. I simply told him I wanted to save the rest of the family from further harm. Mr B nodded his head and told me I would not have long to wait. Months, perhaps, he said. But I had the distinct feeling he meant weeks. Then he gave me something else to stop the marriage. He told me what to do. I daren’t write the instructions down. All this has cost me a hell of a lot of money.

Myrtle paused. She could hear someone moving about in the hall. Jasper was saying something. She opened her door gently.

‘Up to no good,’ Jasper was saying morosely. ‘Up to no good!’

Robert Grant could not believe his luck. Having finished his degree at Oxford earlier that summer, he had arrived in Colombo to visit his parents. Sir John Grant had only a few more months as High Commissioner, after which he would return to England. Robert’s mother had decided it was a good thing for him to travel across the empire, before following his father into the Foreign Office. To begin with Robert had been bored. The embassy was filled with stuffy old people and the only locals he met were shopkeepers or servants. Then, just as he began to wish he were back in England again, quite by chance he had met Frieda de Silva. On her invitation he had gone to Alicia’s concert the following Monday and met the rest of her family. Mrs de Silva invited him to have dinner with them afterwards.

‘I know your father!’ Grace exclaimed when she had discovered who he was. They had finished eating and were now in the drawing room. ‘We’re very old friends. How lovely to meet you at last. I knew you were coming over here, but not when.’ Grace was delighted. ‘We used to play together as children, you know. He used to visit us at the House of Many Balconies. Your grandfather and my father were good friends. How funny! We’ve just had an invitation to your father’s farewell party at Mount Lavinia House.’

Robert was pleased.

‘How long will you be in Colombo?’ asked Grace.

‘I’m sailing back just before the New Year.’

‘Oh what a pity. You’ll miss Alicia’s wedding!’

Robert was startled. And then dismayed. So the girl Alicia was engaged to be married? Gosh! he thought, not knowing what to say. Suddenly Sunil’s presence made sense. He felt a sharp sense of something having passed him by. Something irretrievable and very important.

‘I forgot,’ he mumbled. ‘What a pity.’

‘Never mind,’ Grace told him cheerfully, ‘we’ll see you at the party on Saturday.’

‘Do you have a telescope?’ Aloysius asked suddenly. ‘You know we’re having an eclipse soon?’

In spite of herself Grace shivered. Perhaps, she thought, confused, there will be rain soon. Briefly her eyes met Myrtle’s.

‘I expect my father has,’ Robert said, distractedly.

He was unable to take his eyes off Alicia who was laughing with Thornton. Catching sight of him looking at her, Alicia called him over to join them.

‘You know, darl,’ Aloysius said, turning to Grace, ‘hundreds of staff on the railways walked out today. The factory workers from the rubber plantations are joining them tomorrow. The copra workers will strike next. The Sinhalese are blaming the Tamils for taking their jobs. I heard on the news yesterday, the government expect things to explode around the time of the eclipse.’

‘I know,’ said Grace softly. She looked at Sunil.

‘Come on, sis,’ Thornton was saying, ‘don’t be so boring! Let’s play a duet. Tell her, will you, Sunil?’

Sunil smiled. They were both such children! He turned to Grace.

‘The government told the factory workers to go back to work or lose their jobs,’ he said, his face serious. He shook his head. It was utterly unbelievable. ‘Trade in rubber and copra had fallen, you know. There’s not much demand for these materials any more. That’s the reason the factories are closing. It’s nothing to do with the Tamils.’

‘Of course, men,’ Aloysius agreed, joining in and beginning to get agitated. ‘This is nothing new, we all know this. Of course, of course. The Tamils haven’t taken the jobs. There are no jobs. It’s the fault of the war! Why don’t the Sinhalese blame it on the war instead?’ he asked belligerently.

Thornton and Alicia had begun to play a duet, laughing and stumbling over the notes, pushing each other off the piano stool. Sunil hesitated, his eyes on Alicia. She was so much younger than him. More than anything else in the world he wanted her life to be trouble-free. He wanted her to live a life of peace.

‘I was out on the streets all of last week,’ he said. ‘Canvassing for the United Ethnic Party.’ Robert had gone over to the piano and was watching Alicia. Sunil lowered his voice. ‘It wasn’t too good.’ He shook his head, gesturing helplessly. ‘There’s a lot of ignorance, a lot of aggression.’

He stopped, seeing Grace’s face. He could not tell her; what he feared the most was a bloodbath.

Christopher scowled at Robert. White fool, he was thinking. Go back to where you belong. You’ve done enough damage with your empire-building. Christopher edged nearer to the door. He had hoped to visit Kamala tonight but now it didn’t look possible. Thornton’s laughter drifted towards him. ‘Oh why don’t you shut up!’ muttered Christopher, distracted. Looking around at her family, aware of certain tensions, Grace sighed. There was a guest present; she could not let Aloysius start an argument. She could see that Christopher was unhappy about something; she could hear Jasper making barking noises, he was probably thirsty. It was not the time for discussions; she would talk to Sunil later, when they were alone and she would find out what he really thought. But for now she needed to change the subject.

‘Christopher,’ she said, raising her voice, ‘could you make sure the servant has given Jasper enough water to drink? It’s very hot at the moment and he seems restless.’

She smiled at him, but Christopher continued to scowl, ignoring his mother.

‘Idiot!’ screeched Jasper suddenly, breaking a longer than usual silence. ‘Imbeciles!’

He fluttered somewhere in the darkness above them. Myrtle could hear his unclipped claws scratch, on heaven knows what antique piece of furniture. Myrtle hated the bird most of all.

‘Idiot! Bastards!’

‘Jasper!’ said Grace sharply. ‘That’s enough. Don’t be so rude.’ She smiled at Robert, a smile as sweet as Alicia’s, adding somewhat unnecessarily, ‘Jasper is our mynah bird, Robert. Unfortunately he has no manners. We’re really not sure what to do about it, but we do think he’s a bit of an oracle!’

Everyone laughed except Myrtle and Aloysius who looked meaningfully at his wife. Who knows what Jasper might say at the wedding? his look warned. But Robert, like many before him, was entranced. A talking bird, he thought. How exotic! The household, the whole family, everything about the de Silvas, was delightfully eccentric. Why had he ever thought this country boring? England suddenly seemed a very long way away.

On the day of the Prime Minister’s party for the High Commissioner Grace brought Vijay a mango freshly picked from a tree in Jaffna. It had been given to her by a servant. No other mango tasted as sweet as those from the north, Vijay told her. But he did not look happy. Carefully he cut into it with his penknife, the juice running down his arm, and all the fragrance of his childhood, all the yearnings of his youth, gathered and fell to the floor. This morning, during their lovemaking, he had hardly looked at her. Sensing some desperation, she tried questioning him afterwards, but he avoided her eye.

‘What is it, Vijay?’ she asked, frightened suddenly. ‘Has something happened?’ She knew he did not want her to go to the party tonight and meet the Prime Minister. He hated this figurehead in a puppet government. She wondered if this was the problem.

‘I had a letter this morning,’ Vijay said slowly. And then, in a rush of unaccustomed bitterness, he told her about his niece, his brother’s daughter. He had often talked about the girl. ‘You know she was five last month.’

Grace nodded. Vijay looked terrible.

‘She became ill with diphtheria a few weeks ago. My brother was very worried. He took his bullock cart into the town where the doctor lived. He walked in the burning heat, the road was covered in red dust. My brother took two pots of curd, hoping to find a doctor he could afford. One that would treat a Tamil child.’ He stopped talking.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Grace.

Vijay was staring at the floor. ‘They sent me the news, today,’ he said barely audibly. ‘They could not find such a doctor. Now they want me to make a puja for her.’

The child had died. His brother was inconsolable.

‘One more Tamil death is not important,’ he said quietly.

‘Oh my God! What kind of people have we become? Where will it end?’

‘There is something wrong with a country that will not unite. There is something wrong with a nation that hates its own people.’

Grace could see that things were breaking inside him, and would not be easily mended. The night before there had been a police attack on a crowd of Tamil office workers and tonight there was a large demonstration taking place near Galle Face. Vijay would go to it, Grace was certain. What could she do? He was stubborn and angry, he had been hurt for so long, Grace could not stop him. She stayed as late as she dared. Then she left to get ready for the party.

Towards six o’clock, in the sudden darkness that descended, Vijay went out into the city. The talk was that there would be another march followed by anti-government speeches. He felt a desperate need to be part of it. Just now the darkness lent a little substance to the city. There was no twilight in this part of the tropics. The heat had brought out the local families. Small children played on the beach, lovers strolled, young men loitered, buying sweep tickets, hoping to win the money to purchase a dream. All along the roadside were small shanty kadés glowing with green and white lights, selling everything from cheap plastic toys and brooches and bangles, to multicoloured drinks and string hoppers, hot sambals and sweetmeats. The betel seller rolled his leaves, red and white goo dribbling from his toothless mouth. He waved at Vijay. But Vijay did not stop to talk tonight. His niece’s death had been in his thoughts all day. He was certain: two more deaths would follow. He walked on through the meat market, with its stench of rancid fat and congealed blood. The heat of the day had penetrated even here, even into this subterranean part. There were flies on every surface, on the vaulted ceilings, clinging to the carcasses, their blue wings hanging like drops of moisture. Vijay walked on seeing none of this, his feet picking their way swiftly and fastidiously through the filth. Unseeing, towards the clock tower, a lone figure in a white sarong, trembling into the distance, silhouetted against the darkened sky.

At some point during the evening, out of a sense of nostalgia and probably because he was bored, Aloysius looked around for his wife.

‘This is entirely your mother’s fault,’ he told Frieda grumpily. ‘Why do we have to be here, wearing all this finery, suffering this silly party?’

Frieda was watching Robert. She too wished they were at home. Percussion instruments jarred in her head. One look at Alicia and I no longer exist. No one cares, he has forgotten about me! On and on went Frieda’s thoughts, round and round. She felt dizzy. Aloysius, thinking his younger daughter seemed a little glum this evening, helped himself to his third whisky and wandered off. Grace was standing on a balcony overhanging the private beach. She could see the top of Mount Lavinia Hill, with its whitewashed houses and its funfair. Someone on the beach below was flying a box kite and its tail flickered lazily in the wind. As always, whenever she was alone, Grace’s thoughts strayed back to Vijay. She had told him she would look across the bay and think of him. Tonight the view was hazy and the horizon had become blurred by a storm far out at sea. In the distance, forked lightning speared the water. The sky was heavy and full of menace. Soon the storm would reach the shore.

‘I see Thornton has found all the good-looking women again,’ Aloysius greeted her peevishly, breaking into her thoughts.

Grace laughed lightly and went inside to see for herself.

It was quite true; Thornton was having a wonderful time. He saw no reason to be as morose as his elder brother Jacob, or bad-tempered like his younger brother Christopher. Not, of course, that anyone knew where the devil Christopher was. Gone, no doubt, to some political rally. Thornton could never understand how anyone would deliberately choose a meeting over such a good party. Well, wasn’t that Christopher all over. Always making life difficult for himself. Still, Thornton was not one to try to change the world. No, no, he thought, seriously, shaking his head, frowning a little. He did all of that with his poetry. In the new ‘voice’ he was developing.

‘Can I read some of your poems, Thorn?’ asked the pretty nurse he was chatting to, anxiously seeing his frown. She hoped she wasn’t boring him.

Thornton smiled, and the world tilted. Before righting itself again. The girl’s knees locked heavily together, making her sway towards him. Thornton did not notice. He had begun to recite one of his poems.

‘Oh!’ the girl said breathlessly when he had finished. ‘I think that was wonderful!’ She felt that she might, at any moment, swoon with desire.

‘Oh please,’ asked another girl, joining the group belatedly, looking at Thornton’s glossy hair. ‘Please say it again. I missed the first verse.’

Jacob, deep in conversation with someone very dull, glanced up just as his brother was tilting the world again. There was nothing new here as far as Jacob could see, nothing suspicious, he thought, satisfied. Although, he paused, frowning, it suddenly occurred to him that lately Thornton had been out rather a lot. Feeling his elder brother’s eye on him, Thornton coolly tried tilting the world at him too, with no success. Jacob merely shook his head disapprovingly and went back to his dull conversation. Oh dear, thought Thornton regretfully, no joie de vivre. None whatsoever.

The Prime Minister had asked their sister to play the piano. He had made a little speech about the lovely Miss de Silva. He told them all how proud he was of this home-grown talent. Then he led Alicia to the piano. Everyone fell silent as Alicia began to play. She played as though she was alone. As though she was at home, and the Prime Minister had not held her hand and smiled at her. She played as though there was no one there at all. Life was like that for her, thought Frieda, standing beside Robert with her breaking heart, watching him watch Alicia. Life was so easy for her sister. On and on went Alicia’s fingers, galloping with the notes, crossing boundaries, lifting barriers, drawing everyone in this elegant room together without the slightest effort. Aloysius reached for another drink. No one noticed.

Sunil watched Alicia from the back of the room. Words like ‘majority language’ did not matter to her. Her language was simpler, older, less complicated. If only life could be like Alicia, he wished, filled with tender pride. It had been a useful evening for Sunil, meeting the Prime Minister, being noticed. His hopes for a united country were strengthened in spite of all the talk of civil unrest.

Alicia was playing when a telephone rang for the Prime Minister. She was still playing when he received the news that rioting had broken out all over the city. The police needed the Prime Minister’s authorisation to deal with it. She was still playing as he left the party in his dark-tinted limousine with Sir John and the Chief Constable. No one saw them go. Sunil, suspecting an incident, went in search of more information. He learned that the rioting had got out of hand. What had been a slow protest, a silent march, days of handing out leaflets had turned into crowds of angry people, voices on the end of a megaphone. Someone had been injured. Then the number had risen and there had been some fatalities. A petrol bomb had been thrown. It was a night of the full moon, this night before the eclipse. There was a rumour that a Buddhist monk had been involved. An unknown passer-by had seen a young priest running away, a thin smear of saffron in the night. If a Buddhist monk had really been involved Sunil knew it would be bad for everyone. It would only take one single gesture, he thought, one furious shaven head, for centuries of lotus flowers to be wiped out forever.

Alicia had just finished playing when the intruder broke in. Walking swiftly past the guard, past the doorman who tried and failed to stop him and past the servants who then appeared, he burst in, blood clinging to his shirt. His face was streaked with sweat and dirt. He was no more than a boy, his hands were cut and bruised, one eye was swollen and bleeding. There was glass in his hair and he smelt of smoke and something else. Someone screamed. The servants, having caught up with him, twisted his arms behind his back. The boy did not struggle. He stood perfectly still, searching the faces in the room until he found the face he had been looking for, crying out in anguish,

‘They killed them! They killed them! I saw them burn! Oh Christ! I saw them burn!’

Grace, recognising him before anyone else, stepped forward saying in Sinhalese, in a voice seldom heard in public, coldly, sharply to the servants, ‘Let him go! He’s my son!’ And then in English, ‘Christopher, who has done this to you?’

Outside, the rain they had all longed for began to fall with a thunderous noise, in long beating waves. Drumming on the earth, on the buildings, lashing against the land in great sheets. But no one heard.