The Flower Boy (10 page)

Rose-Lizzie was hanging upside down from the nelli tree, her wild brown curls full of dried leaves and passion fruit tendrils, her face liberally streaked with mud, her dress hitched up around her waist and with a thick piece of rope dangling from the back of her knickers like a tail. She was making monkey noises.

Crouched below the nelli tree on all fours was Chandi, with two large leaves sticking out of his ears, a baby purple aubergine stuck up each nostril and a similar rope tail hanging out from behind his shorts. He was pawing the ground and snarling viciously.

“Elizabeth!” Elsie shrieked, before John could stop her.

Rose-Lizzie promptly let go of the branch and landed with a thump on the unsuspecting Chandi below. They fell over together in a tangle of arms, legs and monkey tails, and lay there staring blankly at the five faces looking at them.

Elsie rushed over and pulled Rose-Lizzie up, shaking her violently. “What do you think you're doing, you stupid child?” she demanded, her face an unattractive shade of purple from shock and mortification.

Rose-Lizzie began to cry.

John strode over and pulled Elsie away.

“Leave her alone,” he ordered tersely. “There's no need to scare the child half to death.” He scooped Rose-Lizzie up in his arms, whereupon she buried her face in his snowy-white shirt and began to sob in earnest.

Ayah had been shaken out of her reverie by the voices and the crying and now came running up, her face white and scared. Furious at being embarrassed by Rose-Lizzie and reprimanded by John in front of her guests, Elsie turned on her.

“Have you lost your mind, woman?” she demanded. “How dare you let her come here and play with this—this creature! How long has this been going on?” Not even pausing for a reply, she continued angrily, “Go and pack your bags and leave this house immediately.”

Ayah was silent, only her expression betraying her fear and distress.

John stepped forward. “Now wait a minute,” he said quietly. “There's no harm done and certainly no need for anyone to act hastily.”

Elsie opened her mouth to reply, but John's meaningful nod toward their interested audience made her close it again.

Then she spotted Chandi still sitting under the nelli tree, looking scared and shocked.

“And you,” she hissed malevolently. “You, I will deal with later.”

She turned on her heel and walked back down the passage, almost twisting her ankle in her haste to get away from the scene of what she saw to be her fall from society's upper echelons.

JOHN STOOD IN the dressing room getting ready for dinner. He turned to look at the mutinous figure lying propped up against a pile of lace-trimmed pillows on the bed, a stack of magazines and a cup of tea beside her.

“Elsie,” he said patiently, “shouldn't you be getting dressed for dinner?”

“I'm not going to dinner,” she said shortly.

“They're your guests, dear,” he said with heavy irony. “You were so intent on impressing them, and your not showing up is certainly not going to do that.” He continued fastening his cuff links.

“I'm far too embarrassed to face them,” she said tearfully. “Especially by your attitude toward me. As if I hadn't gone through enough.” She sniffed and delicately wiped her nose on the corner of the bedspread.

John sighed. “You didn't go through anything, and if you feel embarrassed, you've only yourself to blame. Your reaction was shocking, to say the least.”

Elsie sat up, all traces of tears disappearing under a wave of righteous indignation. “
I
was shocking! You were the one who took that terrible woman's side against me,” she said angrily.

“I did not take sides,” John said. “I was only being fair, because you were acting like a hysterical fishwife.”

“So now I'm also unfair.” The tears started once more and flowed copiously down her cheeks, leaving little wet trails in her carefully applied powder.

John finally lost his temper.

“Yes, you were unfair and unkind and if you aren't coming to dinner, then perhaps you should stay here and think about that,” he said and left the room without a backward glance.

At dinner, he apologized for his wife's absence, explaining rather unconvincingly that she had a bad migraine, an excuse they accepted with good grace and some sympathy for him.

Although he loved Glencairn dearly, John felt starved for intelligent conversation, and although he occasionally got down to the Hill Club, work and Rose-Lizzie took up most of his time. Dinners at Glencairn were usually silent affairs because Elsie was invariably in one of her moods.

As the meal progressed he found, to his surprise, that underneath the veneer of assumed snobbishness were two reasonably likeable people, able to converse intelligently on a variety of subjects ranging from the situation back home to the situation right here.

It was 1939, and the solid foothold the British had on the island was starting to slip a little. The educated Sinhalese felt resentful that the better jobs in Colombo were going to the Burghers, that tiny minority of mixed Portuguese, Dutch and British blood, who, by virtue of their lighter skins and English first language, were the automatic choice for senior government positions.

The Burghers dressed, spoke and acted more like the British than the Sinhalese or Tamils did. They mixed freely and married freely and were regarded by the other two ethnic groups with suspicion and jealousy.

On the other hand, while the British had brought relative peace and stability to Ceylon, they had done nothing to improve the situation of the hundreds of peasant farmers. In the north-central dry zone, people starved because of crippling droughts.

Constitutional reforms adopted in 1931 opened up the possibility of at least partial self-government and introduced universal suffrage, which made Ceylon the first British colony in the world where men and women over twenty-one could vote. Irrigation projects were finally under way to help dry-zone cultivations.

But the damage had already been done, and the tiny seeds of discontent had now flowered into full-blown resentment.

For a while, both the Sinhalese and the Tamils had been content to take a backseat. But now they had begun to voice their discontent rather loudly, egged on by the influential Buddhist clergy.

Naturally, the British were being accused of playing favorites.

The rosy future they had envisaged for themselves was looking a bit faded at the edges although they made a valiant effort to carry on regardless.

Many Englishmen were of the opinion that Ceylon had to be handed over to its rightful owners.

Others professed doubts that the Ceylonese had the capability to rule themselves without ethnic problems arising, an opinion that proved insightful many times over in later years.

Still others insisted that it was rather bad form for the Ceylonese to avail themselves of all the perks of civilized life, and then try to throw out the civilizers.

However, they all knew it would have to come to an end, sooner rather than later.

It was rather a grim prospect.

This, then, was the topic of conversation at the Glencairn dinner table that night. Anne, Lizzie and William had eaten early and were sound asleep, which left the three adults free to chat leisurely over brandy and coffee.

Elsie had not made even a late appearance, and was presumably still sulking in her room.

John's annoyance at her absence had long since turned to enjoyment.

chapter 10

AFTER THE EPISODE WITH THE MORTIMERS, LIFE WENT ON UNEASILY. The world was at war although Ceylon was, so far, out of it. It certainly hadn't affected Glencairn, which was dealing with its own battles.

If domestic bliss had been in short supply before, it was practically nonexistent now, with John and Elsie taking great pains to avoid each other. They circled around like prizefighters summing up each other before a knockout, with the same barely contained hostility and tension.

John worked even longer hours and Elsie found solace in more old English magazines. They met at mealtimes, but only to eat.

Anne was too wrapped up in her thoughts and books to notice the animosity between her mother and father. Or perhaps she chose not to notice.

Jonathan was away at school and Rose-Lizzie noticed nothing. She was too busy continuing her education. The one that had begun in the back garden of the bungalow, and the other more formal one.

She now went to the little British School her sister Anne went to, and was bright enough to get bored quite easily by the teachers, the children and the curriculum. She paid scant attention to her lessons and spent her school day gazing out the window, just as a prisoner gazes at freedom through the high barred window of his cell.

She dreamed of laughing water and worm villages and other back-garden things, while the other children struggled with their lessons.

The teachers had given up trying to get her attention, and now tolerated her dreamy manner and just made sure she got good report cards. Glencairn was, after all, one of the largest and most important estates in the hill country.

They whispered to one another that it was a shame that John Buckwater's youngest was, well, a little slow.

When the bell rang at the end of the school day, Rose-Lizzie was the first out of the door.

Ayah was still at Glencairn, much to Elsie's frustration. John had insisted. He said she was good for Rose-Lizzie and that Rose-Lizzie was accustomed to her. He had also heard some rumors in town about Ayah's abusive husband. Elsie had protested, but for once John had remained adamant.

Rose-Lizzie had been expressly forbidden to play with or even speak to Chandi. But since her mother was too busy with her magazines and grievances to check, she still managed to sneak away in the afternoons.

But it was different now. They didn't dare play and romp through the gardens and get dirty like they had before. Now they played quiet games, sitting on the clean cement edge of the drain so Rose-Lizzie's dresses wouldn't get dirty and give her away. Rose-Lizzie wasn't so worried, because after the incident with the Mortimers, she knew she could count on her father to back her up. Chandi, however, was apprehensive of her mother's wrath. Elsie all but wrinkled her nose and shooed him away if she happened to spot him, which wasn't often since he took great pains to avoid her.

Even Ayah couldn't be counted on to help these days. She was too afraid of losing her job.

But she still remembered Chandi's discretion during her indiscretions. So while she didn't actually bring Rose-Lizzie to the back garden anymore, she took her into the front garden and pretended not to notice when Rose-Lizzie wandered off down the passageway.

Chandi and Rose-Lizzie had discovered a new pastime. Talking. They talked incessantly about everything. Although they lived in the same house and slept and ate a few yards apart, their lives were as different as they would have been had Rose-Lizzie been living in England and Chandi here at Glencairn. They found each other's lives fascinating and funny and sad.

They had four years of separate experiences to catch up on, and they set about it with great enthusiasm.

“YOU REMEMBER BORNING?” Chandi asked.

“Borning? Oh, you mean being born?”

“Yes.”

“You mean the exact time?”

“Yes.”

“No. How could I?”

“I remember.”

“When you were born?”

“No, you.”

“How old were you?”

“Pour.” Like most Sinhalese-speaking children, Chandi had a problem with his p's and f's.

“Ffffour. Say ffffour. Not pour.”

“Fffffpour,” he said, spraying her face with saliva. She wiped it on her sleeve.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. But Sudu Nona, she shouted very much. Must have been big hurt,” he said.

“Maybe she was shouting because of something else.”

“I don't think so.”

“Maybe that's why she doesn't like me.”

“She's your mother. She have to like you.”

“Does your mother like you? I mean, all the time?”

“I think so.”

“CHANDI.”

“Mmmm.”

“Appuhamy is so old. Do you think he'll die soon, like Sarah's grandmother?”

“Sarah?”

“She's a girl in my class.”

“Nice girl?”

“I think so. I don't talk to her much.”

“So not nice.”

“I don't know. Will Appuhamy die soon?”

“My mother say only thing sure in this life is die.”

“So he will die soon?”

“Yes, I think so. My mother don't tell lies.”

“Will they bury him like we buried the magpie that the crows attacked and killed?”

“No, Appuhamy Buddhist. They burn him.”

“Burn? That's awful!”

“So what? Already dead, no?”

“What's it like to die?”

“I don't know. Must be like sleep. When go sleep don't know anything until morning, no?”

“Yes, but you'd wake up if someone burned you.”

“Only burn Buddhist and dead people.”

“ROSE-LIZZIE, WHY EYES are red?”

“I cried in school.”

“Why? You fight?”

“No. We're not allowed to fight.”

“Why?”

“It's the rules.”

“Someone hit you, then what?”

“They don't.”

“But if?”

“I don't know. I suppose I'd tell my teacher.”

“That kelang! Telling tales!”

“Well, what else am I to do? They hit me.”

“Hit back.”

“But what about the rules?”

“Stupid rules. Stupid school.”

“I think so too. Do you think they'd let me go to your school? Then if someone hit me, you could hit them back.”

“Why? I teach you to hit.”

“But I'm a girl.”

“Still have hands, no? Still can hit.”

“CHANDI, WHY IS my mother so angry with you?”

“Don't know.”

“I heard her talking to Mrs. Dabrera and she said you were an ill-mannered urchin.”

“What is urchin?”

“I don't know, but I don't think it's anything good.”

“I don't care.”

“Yes you do. Your face is sad and you're throwing stones.”

“Why I be sad? Don't know urchin.”

“DADDY?”

“Yes, Lizzie?”

“What's an urchin?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I just do.”

“An urchin is a street child. Someone who usually has no one to look after him and is dirty and maybe mischievous.”

“Am I an urchin?”

“Sometimes.”

“CHANDI, CHANDI!”

“What? Very late. Sudu Nona find you here, be very angry.”

“It's okay. I just want to tell you something and then I'll go.”

“What?”

“I'm an urchin too.”

“Who said?”

“My father.”

“You told him what your mother tell?”

“No I didn't! I don't tell kelang.”

“CHANDI, WHAT'S THAT noise?”

“What noise?”

“That creak creak noise.”

“Those are palangatiyo, crickets. Come out at nighttime to sing.”

“Why not in the daytime?”

“They say palangatiya doesn't have nice voice like birds, so sing only after birds go sleep.”

“Well, I think their voices are pretty. Much nicer than the birds'.”

“Me also.”

“YESTERDAY WHAT HAPPENED? I wait long time but you not come.”

“I went to Windsor with Mama and Daddy.”

“Nice?”

“I don't know. I like Glencairn better.”

“Glencairn your home, that's why.”

“It's your home too.”

“No. My mother work here.”

“Well, we just live here because my father works here.”

“Yes, but not same.”

“How?”

“Your father Englishman.”

“But he still works here.”

“You not understand, Rose-Lizzie. Your mother tell my mother to go, we all go.”

“But this is your home.”

“No,
your
home. Or maybe not. Your home England.”

“No, this is my real home.”

“But your family, everyone in England. Even Jonathan go school there.”

“I don't care.
This
is my real home.”

“ROSE-LIZZIE.”

“What?”

“You teach me English?”

“But you already know English. You speak so well.”

“Not like you.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“So you teach Chandi?”

“All right.”

“I teach you Sinhalese.”

“You think I could learn?”

“Anyone learn. Sinhalese easy, not like English.”

“LOOK, I BROUGHT my school English book.”

“Nice pictures. Nice colors.”

“Yes, look.”

“Oh, trouser. Like Sudu Mahattaya trouser.”

“A
pair
of trousers.”

“What is fair?”

“Pair, not fair. A
pair
means two things.”

“But only one trouser.”

“Yes, but they call it a pair of trousers.”

“Why? Only one trouser.”

“Look, it's got two legs.”

“Yes, but only one trouser.”

“Yes, so it has. I wonder why they call it that. . . .”

“Don't know English like Chandi?”

“SAY ‘OYA MAGÉ yaluwa.' ”

“What does it mean?”

“You are my friend.”

“Oya magé yaluwa.”

“OYAAA, not oya. Oya is water, like that water.”

“Stream?”

“Yes, istream.”

“It's not istream, Chandi. Say
stream.
”

“That's what I say—istream. What is ruppian, Rose-Lizzie?”

“I don't know. I'll ask Daddy.”

“DADDY, WHAT'S A ruppian?”

“A what?”

“A ruppian.”

“You mean a ruffian?”

“Yes, maybe.”

“It's sort of like an urchin.”

“Oh. Must have been Mrs. Dabrera.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I DON'T LIKE Krishna.”

“Me too.”

“He's always scratching. Like Buster.”

“Yes. Not bathe.”

“And he scratches in his knickers too.”

“Knickers?”

“Yes, here. Inside.”

“Oh, maybe meeyya dirty.”

“What's meeyya?”

“Like small rat.”

“Does he really keep a rat in his knickers?”

“Yes, me also.”

“Can I see it?”

“Here, look.”

“That's not a rat!”

“Ammi say rat. Ammi not tell lies.”

“I haven't got one.”

“Only boys have meeyya. Not girls.”

“Well, I think that's very unfair.”

“YESTERDAY NIGHT, MY Ammi is crying.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. Must be sad.”

“Why?”

“Maybe headache.”

“Maybe stomachache.”

“Maybe backache.”

“Maybe leg ache.”

“Maybe neck ache.”

“Maybe finger ache.”

“Maybe sad.”

“Maybe.”

WHILE CHANDI AND Rose-Lizzie talked, things were deteriorating in the main house. The situation between her father and mother had worsened, and even the servants were aware that there was tension between the Sudu Nona and the Sudu Mahattaya.

Appuhamy was more privy than anyone else to the coldness and the hostility between them, but was too well trained to show it. He went about his duties with his usual impassivity and refused to discuss anything with the rest of the help.

Premawathi was worried, and it showed in the shortness of her temper and her accelerated trips down the corridor. She was worried because changes in the domestic situation might mean changes for her.

She was aware of the Sudu Nona's anger toward Chandi, and went to great pains to keep him out of her way. So far she had been successful, but she knew that another episode like the back-garden one could result in instant dismissal. The strain of keeping house and keeping track of Chandi was wearing her down.

In Colombo, Disneris's situation hadn't improved at all, and that too was beginning to anger her. While part of her loved him for his tolerance and gentleness, another part of her, the tired, angry, frustrated part, hated him for not making more of an effort to improve their situation.