Cinnamon Gardens (36 page)

Kumudini noted her sister looking at her and smiled, patting the bed for Annalukshmi to come and sit beside her. “How are things going with you at the school, akka?” she asked.

“Fine,” Annalukshmi replied as she sat down.

“Chutta tells me that you don’t visit Miss Lawton as much as you used to.”

“What rubbish,” Annalukshmi said. “Of course I do. It’s just that with this play, I don’t have much time.”

At that moment, they heard the sound of a bicycle bell at the gate.

“Akka, it’s the mail, run along like a dear and see if there is anything for me.”

As Annalukshmi went towards the front door, she thought, as she had done so often over the last two weeks, about Miss Lawton. It was not as if she had been unaware of the headmistress’s attitudes. She had chosen not to reflect on them too deeply. Something that had been there all along had now moved into the foreground. It was like walking into one’s bedroom with its familiar bric-à-brac and, because of the passing away of a loved one, being sharply conscious of their photograph that had been for years in the same place on the dresser.

Miss Lawton had often spoken with such fervour of the ameliorated position of women in England since the beginning of this century, how her work here in Ceylon was committed to helping women better themselves. Yet it was clear that for Miss Lawton the right of women to be free to pursue whatever they chose did not truly encompass women of the colonies. Annalukshmi felt saddened. It seemed that something irrevocable now stood between them.

When she came out onto the verandah, Letchumi, who had returned from her holidays last week, was already bringing the post to the front door. Annalukshmi took the letters from her, glanced at the addresses, and saw that there was one from Muttiah. She asked Letchumi to take it to her sister directly. Then she heard the gate open. She looked out and saw Philomena Barnett coming up the front path. “Amma, Aunt Philomena is here,” she called out.

After a moment, Louisa came in, shaking her head. She knew Philomena could not wait to find out what had kept Kumudini in Malaya.

After Louisa had met Kumudini’s ship at the harbour and they were driving home, Kumudini had seemed distant and quiet. When Louisa asked her why she had waited so long to come home, Kumudini had at first seemed annoyed, but then explained that medical standards in Malaya were quite advanced enough and that she felt this habit of women coming home for their confinement was out of date and unnecessary. Louisa knew, however, that Philomena would try to create an intrigue around this.

“Cousin,” Philomena said in an urgent whisper when Louisa came out of the front door to greet her. “So, so, what happened? What took her so long?”

Louisa told her what Kumudini had said, but Philomena immediately dismissed this explanation with a wave of her hand. “You don’t know these Hindus. Very crafty. I am sure that her in-laws have influenced her, no matter what she says.”

“I assure you, cousin, that was not the case.”

“Then why did she not come before?”

“I’ve told you why,” Louisa snapped at her.

“Well, well, let me talk to her.”

Philomena nodded a greeting to Annalukshmi, then went in to look for Kumudini.

Annalukshmi hurried after her aunt. “Let me make sure Kumudini is not asleep.”

Annalukshmi went quietly into the bedroom. Kumudini was propped up in bed. The opened letter was on her lap and there was a pensive expression on her face. Then, when she noticed Annalukshmi, she quickly folded the letter.

Philomena now barged into the room.

“Well, hmmm, it’s very nice to see you, Kumudini,” Philomena said.

Kumudini’s eyes narrowed and she said with hostility, “I hope you haven’t come to tire me out, Aunt Philomena.”

Philomena, not used to being spoken to in this way, looked at her, open-mouthed.

A few days after school had begun, Annalukshmi walked into the staff room one morning to find herself witness to a conversation between Nancy and Mr. Jayaweera. They were in Miss Lawton’s office and did not hear her enter. Mr. Jayaweera’s brother, she overheard, had finally returned from exile in India. He had visited Mr. Jayaweera the previous night at his lodgings in Pettah. Nancy was pleading with Mr. Jayaweera to be careful about seeing his brother openly or too often, as it could lead to trouble again.

Finally, Nancy pushed her chair back. “Well, I can only advise you,” she said. “But you must think of your mother and sisters and the plight they will be in if anything happens to you.” With that, she came out of the office.

Annalukshmi, who was seated at the table by now, hurriedly bent over a student’s exercise book.

Nancy stopped in surprise when she saw her friend, then came up to her. “Oh … I didn’t realize you were here,” she said.

“Yes, the bell rang a little while ago,” Annalukshmi replied without looking up.

In the days that followed, Nancy made no mention of her unhappiness, or of the fact that Mr. Jayaweera’s brother had
returned. Yet Annalukshmi could not help but feel concern for her friend and wonder what the consequences would be for Mr. Jayaweera.

One afternoon, a week later, Annalukshmi was tidying up her classroom after the last bell when Nancy came and stood in the doorway, surveying her with the smile of someone who knew a delicious secret. “Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” Annalukshmi replied. She beckoned for her to enter the classroom, then picked up the duster and began to clean the blackboard.

Nancy walked into the class and sat on the edge of a desk. “You’ll never guess who one of the other boarders is at the house where Vijith is staying. Grace Macintosh’s brother.”

Annalukshmi dropped her duster. It fell to the floor with a clatter. She turned quickly to her friend.

Nancy smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Your Macintosh boy.”

Annalukshmi picked up the duster. “How … how do you know this?” she asked, as she could think of nothing else to say.

“Vijith told me yesterday, when we met in Victoria Park. He happened to mention your name, and Mackie, as they call him, asked if it was you. He even showed Vijith a photograph your family sent him of you.”

The photograph, as yet unreturned, gave a sudden concreteness to what Nancy was saying. Annalukshmi recalled now that Mr. Jayaweera had mentioned that a woman owned the boarding house. It was the Macintosh boy’s lover! She turned to Nancy.

“Her name is Srimani,” Nancy said. “You better sit down and prepare yourself for this.” Annalukshmi leant against her desk. “He didn’t run away to be with her,” Nancy said.

“But we were told that –”

“Your Macintosh boy ran away not for a woman but for a box of paints.”

“Nancy, what are you talking about?”

“He left his parents’ house because he wanted to devote his life to his art. Srimani provided him with a haven to work in. According to Vijith, she’s always offering a hand to various waifs and strays.”

“Isn’t that extraordinary.”

“He wants to see you.”

Annalukshmi stared at her, stunned.

Nancy took out a note from her book and put it on the desk. “Let me know what you want to do,” she said and left the classroom.

Once Nancy had gone, Annalukshmi continued to clean the board. She worked deliberately and meticulously, concentrating on carefully erasing even the chalk marks on the very edges. The task gave her the necessary calmness she needed. When she was finished, she wiped her hands with her handkerchief, then sat down to read the note.

“It seems that we must be destined to meet,” the note began without any salutation. “Could you accompany your friend next Saturday? I would like very much to meet you and show you my paintings.”

She put it down and rubbed her temples with her fingers. In her mind, the Macintosh boy had run away to be with the love of his life. This she had accepted as a fact. She had even imagined
the woman, given her the beauty and the intelligence of a younger version of her Aunt Sonia. Now to discover that the Macintosh boy had run away for a “box of paints.” There arose in her mind the image she had formed of the Macintosh boy – handsome like his father and, because he had stood by his convictions, a man of courage and honesty. A sliver of light opened in her, as if someone had separated the louvres of a blind. “This is foolish,” she said aloud.

She began to busy herself straightening the desks in the classroom, hoping to rid herself of this ludicrous feeling. Yet it danced before her mind, like the streamers of a kite blowing gaily in the breeze. “It seems we are destined to meet,” the note had said. Perhaps he regretted his earlier hastiness, perhaps he realized the irrationality of his fears. For they were irrational. She would never think to interfere with his art. She was not the kind of woman who would cling to her husband. She liked to be alone. Her Sunday reading under the flamboyant tree, she guarded fiercely. Was it possible that the Macintosh boy wanted to open up a chapter that was closed?

Once she agreed to go with Nancy the following Saturday, Annalukshmi passed the week in a state of some nervousness. She decided that she would not dress too well, as this might make it appear that she had certain expectations. Yet she chose one of her favourite saris. A minutely checked red-and-cream Japanese Georgette. With it, she wore a simple cream cotton blouse with a V neckline and elbow-length sleeves.

When Saturday came, Annalukshmi and Nancy took the train to Pettah. It was a short journey from Colpetty, a mere
ten-minute ride. When they got off at the Pettah station, Mr. Jayaweera was waiting for them. Once they had left the station, he led them along a busy street. Halfway down, they stopped in front of a very old house, built in the early nineteenth century. The house was elevated high above the street to prevent flooding during monsoon season. Two flights of stairs rose up from either side to a common landing. From there, a few steps led to a pillared verandah. What was unique and whimsical about the house was that the doors, the lattice-work windows, the fretwork mal lallis were all painted a sky blue, which contrasted sharply with the whitewashed walls.

Mr. Jayaweera went up the steps and they followed him. He took a key out of his pocket, opened the door, and they entered.

Like most of the houses of the period, its exterior was deceptively small. A corridor led to a meda midula, open to the sky, and beyond it there was another corridor that stretched far into the distance. A woman came out of a room and peered inquiringly at them.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said to Mr. Jayaweera. She came towards them.

Annalukshmi stared at her. She wore a man’s sarong and a man’s shirt that was open at the neck. On her feet were a pair of men’s slippers. Her top knot and simple pearl necklace emphasized the long elegance of her neck. She had a cigarette between her fingers.

She had reached them now and she held out her hand. “I’m Srimani,” she said. “You are both most welcome here.” She waved her hand to her surroundings. “We are a relaxed household, so please make yourself at home and do as you like.”

Then she turned away as if she had forgotten them and drifted back towards the room.

Mr. Jayaweera took them down the corridor. He stopped in front of an open door and looked at Annalukshmi meaningfully. She felt a quick coldness travel down her spine.