Cinnamon Gardens (21 page)

“After you left the flat that day in London,” Richard continued, as if he had not heard him, “your father threatened –”

“Please, Richard.” Balendran began to walk towards the door.

Richard came after him and held his arm. “Did you know that your father threatened to call the police and have me charged?
It was horrible. So I had no choice but to leave. I went to my parents in Bournemouth, where I waited. Waited for some word from you. Something. I thought I knew the person you were. But I was wrong.”

Balendran stepped away from Richard, stung by his words. After a moment, he started to walk back towards his chair, then turned to his friend. “Richard, you must understand, things were difficult for me too.”

“After twenty years of silence, this is all you have to say.”

“I haven’t allowed myself to think about that time for so long.”

“Well, there is nothing to talk about, then,” Richard said.

“After I senselessly ran out of our flat, I was terrified of going back, of facing my father, so I walked the streets, even though it was raining. Eventually, I hailed a taxi to take me home. When I got there, my father was waiting for me. He told me that you had gone. His bags were in your room. I became ill after that. Pneumonia. During the weeks of my illness, even though my father nursed me, he did not say a single word to me. Not a word. I have never felt such despair. By the time I recuperated, I had thought things through, and I realized that my father was right. Our relationship could not continue.” He looked at Richard. “Of course I thought many times of writing to you, but, at the time, I thought it best to leave things as they were since the break had already happened.” He paused. “Over the years … this is something I have felt ashamed for. It is something I will always live with.”

“Had you contacted me, it would have made a difference in both our lives.” Richard sat down. “But one cannot reverse the past.”

He smiled. “Well, here we are after all this time. Finally talking.”

Balendran sat down as well. “You know there is one thing I’ve never been able to find out. How did my father learn of our relationship?”

“F. C. Wijewardena.”

Balendran stared at him, speechless.

“Your father said he had received a note. An anonymous note. After I started going to the Salisbury again – you know the pub on St. Martin’s Lane – I found out that a Ceylonese chap from Oxford had been making inquiries about you and me.”

“F. C.? But are you sure? There must be some mistake.”

“No, there isn’t. The pub owner remembered that tortoiseshell cigarette case your friend carried. And you had only one friend studying at Oxford.”

There was a knock on the door. Richard went to answer it. Balendran leant back in his chair. He felt as if his head were spinning. A waiter wheeled a tea trolley inside and began to pour the tea. This respite gave Balendran a chance to sort through what Richard had told him.

F. C. had come down from Oxford, made inquiries about him, and then actually written to his father. He had deliberately set out to destroy things between him and Richard. F. C. Wijewardena. A man he had considered his closest friend. It was impossible to comprehend. He thought about F. C. this afternoon, the way he had beckoned him to a seat, teased him for staying aloof of the Congress. He was going to dine with him tonight.

The waiter had now left and Richard brought Balendran a cup of tea. “I hope I haven’t shocked you too much. I always knew that man was a snake in the grass.”

Balendran took the cup and placed it on the table in front of him. “And I always trusted him.”

“Snakes in the grass notwithstanding, I’m glad we are here together.”

F. C. Wijewardena’s house, Swansea, was on Ward Place. It had belonged to his parents, but after they had retired to their estate near Kandy, F. C. and Sriyani had taken it over. It was one of the bigger residences of Ward Place, with fifteen bedrooms and many acres of land around it. The house resembled Brighton, as there was a curved front driveway that wound around an oval garden, a colonnaded verandah, and three storeys. In the very centre of the façade, however, a tower with a red tile roof rose high above the house. This tower served no purpose and had been built purely at the whim of the owners. Behind the house there was a stable for horses. F. C. had a passion for horses and owned quite a few that he ran regularly in the Colombo and Nuwara Eliya race seasons.

As Balendran and Sonia were driven to F. C.’s house, Balendran was unsure how he was going to get through the evening. How could he possibly look his friend in the face again? He had now had time to ponder the fact of F. C.’s betrayal and it had taken on more substance, more dimension. It surprised him that he had never considered that F. C., during his visits to them in London, had guessed Richard and he were not merely flatmates. Not understanding the innate nature of inversion, F. C. probably sent a note to the Mudaliyar, thinking he would be rescuing Balendran, that Balendran had fallen under the bad influences of Richard. Perhaps in other circumstances, at another time, Balendran might have been able to forgive him this
interference in his life, but his conversation with Richard had brought back all the agony, the torment that both he and his friend had suffered. He could not bring himself to pardon F. C. for being the perpetrator of that. Now, as he looked out at the darkness, he felt himself burn with anger that F. C. had thought he had the right, the duty, to interfere in his life, his happiness, and thus set his future on the course it had taken from then onwards. Balendran knew that his outrage was impotent. Somehow he would have to make a pretence of cordiality for Sonia’s sake this evening. After that, as far as he was concerned, their friendship was over.

When the car came to a stop in front of the house, F. C. and Sriyani were at the steps to greet them.

“So what’s this I hear, Bala?” Sriyani said gaily, as Balendran and Sonia got out of the car. “Rumour has it you are actually descending from your ivory tower.”

Both she and F. C. laughed.

Balendran forced himself to smile. Sonia was looking at him for clarification, and he said, “I was at the hearings today.”

“Oh, you didn’t mention you were going.”

“Yes, I wanted to see Richard Howland, so I thought I’d drop in at the hearings.” As Balendran mentioned Richard’s name, he glanced inadvertently at F. C. and was sure he saw a flicker of an expression cross his face.

They went in to the house now, Sriyani and Sonia together, F. C. and Balendran following.

F. C. put his arm around Balendran’s shoulders. “I am eager to know what you thought of the hearings today,” he said.

Balendran could barely control the urge to shake off F. C.’s arm. “Mm,” he said in reply.

“Now didn’t you think the Congress deputation did marvellously today?” F. C. said as they entered the drawing room and sat down.

“Actually,” Balendran said, “what I thought marvellous was Dr. Drummond Shiels’ comment to the Congress, when he asked how they could dare demand self-rule and at the same time not recommend universal franchise. How the Congress could have the gall to ask for more power, without responsibility to all the peoples of Ceylon.”

The others looked at him, surprised by the anger in his voice.

“I mean, F. C., how pathetic that a British man is more concerned about the poor of this country than the Congress which purports to be the voice of the people. Listening to the Congress today, I think I would rather us remain as we are, under the thumb of the British.”

“Come, Bala, you don’t really believe that,” Sonia interjected with a warning glance, telling him to keep his tone civil.

“Oh yes, indeed I do. What in God’s name is the point of a free Ceylon when that freedom is only to be enjoyed by an oligarchy of the rich and high born? Congress, British, it’s all the same.”

“Now, Bala, I might take exception to that,” F. C. said with an attempt at joviality.

“You can take exception to whatever you like,” Balendran retorted. “Your Congress is ultimately no different from the British. You want power to do exactly what the British have done. Come in on your high horse, think you know exactly what needs doing, meddle in other people’s lives, make decisions for them, because, after all, aren’t you superior to them, don’t you know what’s best? I have nothing but contempt for people who are like that.”

“Bala,” Sonia said firmly, “you’re clearly overwrought. You might go into the garden for a breath of air. And when you come back, there will be no more talk of politics.”

“You couldn’t be more right, Sonia.” Balendran got up. “If I were you, I’d be ashamed, F. C.” He crossed to open French doors that led out onto the verandah. He turned to Sriyani and Sonia and excused himself.

Despite the coolness of the air in the garden, Balendran was sweating from his tirade. Yet he felt a sense of relief. The burden of his anger had momentarily lifted. Through the window, he could hear voices from the drawing room as the others attempted to make conversation, and he was reminded of his brother and the party he would throw every year before the big cricket match between the Colombo Academy and St. Thomas’ College. It was for the boys in Arul’s class, senior boys. Balendran, still a junior and not interested in cricket anyway, was not included. So he ate his dinner on the verandah in front of the kitchen, listening to the sounds of the boys’ voices drifting across to him. Now Balendran felt as if he were that boy again, alienated from the others. He could hear Sriyani talking of their recent trip to Europe, and he thought to himself, They don’t know me. None of these people have any idea who I really am. Then Balendran was overcome by the loneliness of an outsider who finds himself at a gathering of close friends or family. And, just like a stranger in such a gathering might think with longing of his own home, his wife and children assembled around the dining table, Balendran now thought of Richard’s room and of his friend seated in the chair across from him. He wondered if Richard was in fact the only person who really knew him, truly understood
his nature, for he was hidden to the people around whom he’d woven the fabric of his life. And with this thought, Balendran had an overwhelming desire to be with Richard, to speak with him of their shared past. So strong was this need that he knew the only way he could bear to go back into this party, bear to make pleasant conversation at the dinner table, was to offer himself the promise that, after he and Sonia got home, he would tell her there were some articles from the newspaper about the commission that he had promised Richard.

When Balendran arrived at the Galle Face Hotel, the reception was deserted. He went to the lift and asked the attendant to take him to the third floor.

When he knocked on Richard’s door, his friend called out, “It’s open. You can bring in the coffee.”

Balendran pushed the door open and went in. Richard was sitting at his desk going through some of his notes. He stood up when he saw Balendran. “Hello?” he said. “This is a surprise.”

Balendran shut the door behind him. He walked towards Richard, squeezed his shoulder as he passed him, and sat down. “Have you ever seen Colombo at night?” he asked.

Richard shook his head.

“Well, get your hat. The car is waiting.”

The next morning when Balendran awoke, he lay in bed and thought of the time he had spent with Richard last night, their reminiscences about the past, their shared humane view of the world. He felt a keen gratitude and warmth towards his friend. He had such an overwhelming desire to be in Richard’s company
again that he knew it would be useless to attempt to resist his wish.

When Balendran arrived at the hotel, Richard had already gone to the hearings. Impetuously, he cancelled his appointments and errands and went to the Town Hall.

Richard was sitting at the rear of the public gallery this time, in the very last row. When Balendran walked in, his friend looked at him, smiled and lifted his eyebrows to say that he had been expected. As Balendran made his way down the row, Richard lifted his hat off the chair he had reserved. Once Balendran was seated, they nodded to each other but, as the session was on, they did not speak. After a while, Richard leant forward to jot down notes in his book. Balendran, looking at his friend, had the simple desire to rest his cheek against Richard’s back.