The Flower Boy (28 page)

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow, I'll clean it all up, I'll wash the plates, scrub the tables and put the glasses away. She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer of thanks that all had gone so well.

The fifty or so guests from the workers' compound and from around Glencairn had eaten and drunk their fill and had left over an hour ago. Leela and Jinadasa were on their way to Bandarawela for their honeymoon, and Chandi, Rose-Lizzie and Ayah were fast asleep. She had spotted Robin Cartwright and John going indoors a while ago, probably to have a nightcap together. She wondered if John were asleep and wondered what she would have done without him. He had been the perfect host, and had actually seemed to enjoy mingling with the guests and keeping glasses topped up.

She heard the scrape of a match being lit, and opened her eyes to see the subject of her thoughts standing there.

She looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I don't know what we would have done without you.”

John smiled. “You would have done wonderfully well, but I'm glad I was here.” The end of his cigarette glowed brightly as he drew on it. “You should go to bed. You look exhausted.”

“I think I'm too tired to sleep,” she said, closing her eyes once more. “And too happy.”

“About time,” he said.

She opened her eyes again and regarded him. “What do you mean?”

“You've been unhappy for too long. You deserve to be happy like this all the time.”

She laughed. “I should have had lots of daughters to marry off, then.” She realized what she had said and sobered up abruptly.

John bent over her. “Don't be sad,” he said gently. “She must be so happy for Leela.”

“Yes. But sometimes I miss her so much.”

“I think we all miss someone. That's part of the whole thing, isn't it?”

“Do you miss the Sudu Nona?” she asked curiously.

He shook his head. “No. I think you only miss people who have added something to your life. Elsie only seemed to take away. I don't know if she meant to, or if she even knew.”

“Maybe she missed England,” Premawathi said, feeling an irrational need to defend the absent Elsie.

“Maybe she did,” he said quietly, appreciating it. “Premawathi—”

She rose to her feet. “I think I'll take your advice and go to bed,” she said, and he made no move to stop her as she walked slowly into the house.

LEELA AND JINADASA returned to Glencairn happy and content, and stole adoring looks at each other whenever they had the chance.

Premawathi frequently threw up her hands in exasperation. “You two! How does the house get clean, Jinadasa, when you stand with a broom in your hands and dream of my daughter? And Leela, you forgot to put salt in the food yesterday! What am I going to do with you?”

Chandi and Rose-Lizzie giggled at Leela and Jinadasa, who stood in front of Premawathi like two errant schoolchildren.

“And you two!” she said, turning to the giggling pair. “Go and play or something and stop following these two around the house. I don't know what you're hoping to see!”

When they had all left the kitchen looking shamefaced, Premawathi allowed herself to dissolve into laughter. The last few weeks had been remarkably happy for all of them, all things considered.

Chandi was doing well at school and was almost back to his old self. Rose-Lizzie was not doing so well at school but was happy that Chandi was happy. Ayah was still at Glencairn although Rose-Lizzie hardly needed her anymore. Gunadasa had finally died, and although she was now free to go wherever she wanted and do whatever she wanted, she had decided to remain at Glencairn.

Anne was excelling in her studies and Robin Cartwright had proved to be not only a capable teacher but an invaluable part of Glencairn by now. Jinadasa and Leela, for all their tender looks and stolen kisses, did their share of the work. And the night after their wedding, Premawathi had finally succumbed to the inevitable and given herself to John, this time on a more permanent basis, and with none of the old shame and guilt.

It was almost as if Rangi's death had acted as a catalyst for them all.

Chandi had known. While the rest of the household slept, he followed her down the corridor to the veranda where John sat waiting. He had concealed himself in the long shadows and watched as she walked up to John. She hesitated slightly before taking the hand he held out, and Chandi could see her brief indecision. Then she smiled. He watched them walk quietly to John's room. He slipped away after the door had closed.

It was her smile that finally made him see.

His mother was happy, and if this was what it took, then so be it. He wished it could have been different, but Rangi's death had proved to him that certain things happened, no matter how much a person wished otherwise. Right now, at this moment, his mother was happy and that was all that mattered.

Tomorrow would take care of itself, he told himself hopefully.

The next morning, he looked at her searchingly. Her face seemed smoothed of the lines of care and worry and she hummed softly to herself as she got breakfast ready. This morning, she did everything slower than usual. She forgot to rush.

On an impulse, he went over to her and hugged her fiercely. She hugged him back, laughing, but as he ran out to the well to wash, she looked after him intently, a small frown bringing the worry lines back.

It was almost as if he was tacitly telling her it was okay, she thought. Then she told herself not to be silly. She had gone to John willingly but cautiously, for while she was not ashamed of her decision, she did not want it made public knowledge either. She had seen the sniggers and arch looks, and heard the whispered comments that other women, who were known to warm their white employers' beds, got.

She wouldn't tolerate them, she told herself fiercely. Her situation was not the same. But what was different? a tiny voice in her head asked. She impatiently told it to shut up and went back to her work.

chapter 26

^“
I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD—” CHANDI BROKE OFF, LOOKING CONFUSED.

“Yes, Chandi?” Robin Cartwright said, lowering his own book. “What is it?”

“How can clouds be lonely?” Chandi asked. “I mean, you hardly ever see a single cloud by itself in the sky. There are always lots of them together.”

Anne turned away to hide a smile, and so did John, who was standing by the door. It was always like this with Chandi. Question after question.

“Oh do go on, Chandi! What does it matter if clouds are lonely or not? It's only a poem!” That was Rose-Lizzie, who had grown more impatient with every passing year.

At twelve she already showed signs of great beauty, but not the peaches-and-cream beauty of her mother and Anne. No, Rose-Lizzie was tall and tanned, although her mane of untamed curls had lightened to a shade between light brown and honey. Her dark blue eyes were always alert and snapping, as was her tongue.

John privately despaired of her ever finding herself a husband when the time came. What man would want this wild, outspoken creature who strode rather than walked and found more entertainment in fishing and climbing trees than in gentle pastimes like needlepoint and embroidery?

Anne, now nineteen, was far more marriageable although she had declared, some time ago, that she had no intention of going back to England and marrying “some silly fop,” as she put it. She had expressed a desire to start teaching.

Jonathan was already at Cambridge, although John had no idea what he was doing there. He hardly ever wrote to his father, except to ask for money for school. Since sending money from Ceylon was a difficult and lengthy process, John contacted his solicitors in London and made arrangements for them to send Jonathan a monthly allowance. Now that there was no real need, the letters had stopped altogether.

“But why a cloud? Why not a—a deer or something?” Chandi was demanding.

Rose-Lizzie gave a loud hoot of laughter. “Why not a buffalo? Oh Chandi, you are hopeless! Just read the damn thing!”

John raised an eyebrow at Rose-Lizzie's unladylike language and waited for Robin Cartwright to say something, but that gentleman was too busy hiding a grin of his own.

“But Mr. Cartwright always says if something doesn't make sense, say so. This just doesn't make sense,” Chandi stated firmly.

“Quite right,” Mr. Cartwright had evidently decided it was time he stepped in to avert what promised to become another of Chandi's and Rose-Lizzie's famous arguments. Although the two of them were still inseparable, they could spend hours debating a point. Or laboring it, John thought wryly.

“It's a simile, Chandi, and similes are quite personal. Many similes depend on the writer's current mood and often can seem quite strange to a reader. Just as you think a deer is more lonely, Wordsworth obviously thought a cloud expressed it better for him,” Robin Cartwright said.

“Well, I think it's quite stupid,” Chandi said stubbornly. “Can we read something else?”

Robin Cartwright and John sighed together. It was the third poem this afternoon and the other two had been abandoned for similar reasons. Perhaps it was not a little learning that was a dangerous thing, but too much. Chandi was like a sponge, soaking up everything since he had started taking classes with Mr. Cartwright, but he insisted on questioning everything too.

Now, at sixteen, he spoke English as well as the girls and his accent was as clipped and precise as John's was. And while John delighted in the boy's quick mind, he sometimes longed to hear Chandi's singsong broken English again. He sounds just like one of us now, John thought dispiritedly, as if everything that made him unique is gone.

He straightened up and winced as a muscle pulled painfully in his back. He massaged it with the heel of his palm and then smiled, as another, gentler hand took over from his, rubbing rhythmically.

“You know the exact spot, my dear,” he murmured softly so the others couldn't hear. Not that he needed to bother, for the argument inside the room was flaring up again, with Rose-Lizzie's clear voice ringing over the others.

“Is my son creating trouble again?” Premawathi inquired softly, still massaging. She was quite concealed behind him.

“No, just asking questions again,” John said.

“Creating trouble. Sometimes I don't think that boy is my son. He is so different from any of us.”

John laughed softly. “Oh he's your son all right,” he said. “Just listen to him. My daughter uses volume, but Chandi uses a far more powerful tool.”

“What's that?” she asked.

“Reason,” he replied. “You know, I read all those poets when I was a lad and I never thought to ask some of the questions he does.” He stretched his back gratefully. “Thank you. It was beginning to ache quite badly.”

“Old age,” she murmured demurely, and walked away quickly before he could think of a suitable retort.

He turned to look at her departing back, admiring, as he always did, her slimness and carriage. The years seemed to have passed her by without touching her, and whenever he commented on how young she still looked, she would look at him and say, “It's happiness.”

It was true that they were all so much happier than they had ever been before. It was as if they had all finally discovered one another's rhythm, creating a comfortable harmony at Glencairn.

He cherished it, but perhaps the years had made him pessimistic, for he also feared for it.

“Let's continue after dinner, shall we?” Robin Cartwright said, and breathed a sigh of relief as everyone jumped to their feet.

Rose-Lizzie linked an arm through Chandi's and pulled him along. “Come on, slowcoach!” she cried gaily, all her earlier impatience forgotten.

Chandi resisted. “Why are you always in such a hurry? Do you have a train to catch or something?”

They looked at each other and burst out laughing at the memory of their escapade all those years ago.

John swatted Rose-Lizzie's behind as she passed him. “I'm glad you find it funny, young lady. The two of you gave your mother and me some grief, if I recall.”

They gave him a funny look and walked on, whispering to each other. John stood there for a few moments before he realized what he had said. He smiled.

He couldn't really help it. Although Premawathi was still extremely aware of appearances and sometimes went to annoying lengths to keep them up, almost everyone knew. Nobody seemed to find the situation shocking or uncomfortable: not his children, not her own and certainly not Robin Cartwright, who, John suspected, was more than half in love with her himself. Nobody talked about it either, but John was always aware that he was being watched by Chandi.

Chandi wasn't hostile. He just—watched. Waiting to see if I'll hurt his mother, John thought wryly. Not that he blamed the boy. Premawathi had had a rough deal in life, and although John tried to give her little gifts and slip her some extra spending money, she was adamant in her refusals. One day, when John was trying to persuade her to take twenty rupees to buy some clothes for Leela's baby, who was due soon, she had looked at him and said, “Don't you see? It would spoil everything.”

“Not for me,” he insisted.

“For me,” she said quietly.

After that he hadn't tried anymore, and despite his impatience, he admired her pride tremendously. And her practicality, although that destroyed him sometimes.

“Will you always look after me so well?” he asked her late one night, as she rubbed liniment into his aching back.

“Always is a long time,” she replied, not pausing in her task.

“Well, will you?” he asked, trying to turn his head to look at her.

She pushed him firmly back on the bed. “For as long as you're here,” she said briskly.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he declared.

“That's what Disneris said and where's he now?” she asked wryly.

He pushed himself up and turned to look fully at her. “I'm not Disneris,” he said mildly. “I am the Sudu Mahattaya.”

She laughed at his accent. “Yes, and that's why you too will go one day,” she said lightly, looking away so he wouldn't see the pain in her eyes.

“I'll never leave you willingly,” he said gently, turning her face around to him.

“Ah, but you'll still leave,” she said, a hint of bitterness now creeping into her voice. She stood up and went to the bathroom to wash her hands.

He sat there and stared silently into space, wishing he could find the words to reassure her, but knowing he couldn't. Not honestly, anyway. He had thought many times of writing to Elsie and asking her for a divorce. It was not as if anything held them together. The children were older.

But then what? he asked himself. Even if they did find Disneris, who indeed seemed to have disappeared into thin air, and even if he did agree to a divorce, could he marry her? Uproot her from everything that was dear and familiar to her? Take her away from her beloved mountains and sunshine, to a cold gray world where people hurried and the sun grudgingly doled out its rays like a miser parting with his money?

He couldn't do it. And yet he couldn't face the thought of losing her either. It was truly an intolerable situation, and one he preferred not to dwell on.

CHANDI AND ROSE-LIZZIE went to wash before dinner. As soon as they were sure they were out of earshot of the others, Rose-Lizzie turned to Chandi.

“There!” she said triumphantly. “Did you hear what he said?”

“Who?” Chandi asked innocently.

“There you go again, pretending you don't know! You know who! My father.”

“Well, what did he say?”

She leaned forward. “He said ‘your mother and me'!” she whispered.

“Why are you whispering? There's no one here. And she
is
my mother, you know.”

“Yes I know, but that's not how he meant it. Do you think they'll get married?”

Chandi looked at her in exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you? They
are
married. Both of them. To your mother and my father, remember?” He turned and started walking away.

“Where are you going?” she demanded. “I'm talking to you. It's very rude to walk away when someone's talking to you.”

“When you stop talking like a two-year-old, I'll talk to you,” he said over his shoulder and hurried off.

He made his way to the kitchen, washed quickly at the sink and dished out a plate of food for himself, and sat on the kitchen step.

For a while, he had taken his meals with the family, at John's insistence, but lately he had started eating in the kitchen once again. John had asked him why and he had said, “I should eat with my family, Sudu Mahattaya, like you eat with yours.”

John had nodded understandingly and put his arm around Chandi's shoulder. “You're growing up to be a fine young man, Chandi,” he said. “I wish I had a son like you.”

Chandi smiled back sympathetically, for he knew how disappointed John was with his own son.

“If you change your mind, there's always a place for you at table,” John said.

Chandi nodded. “Thank you, Sudu Mahattaya.”

He ate with his fingers, not with a fork and knife like he did when he used to eat with the family. Presently, Jinadasa came to join him.

“Argued again, I hear,” he said, looking affectionately at Chandi.

Chandi grinned. “They expect me to, so I shouldn't disappoint them, no?”

Jinadasa laughed. “You're smarter than all of us put together.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Jinadasa Aiyya,” Chandi said hesitantly, “when is Leela Akki's baby coming?”

“Soon, I hope. She won't be able to walk if she grows any bigger,” Jinadasa said, smiling at the thought of his wife. Leela was due to give birth in less than a month. “Why?”

“Will it hurt her when the baby comes out?” Chandi asked.

Jinadasa sobered. “Yes, I imagine so. But they say that when a woman sees her baby for the first time, she forgets the pain immediately.”

“I hope there are no landslides or anything like that,” Chandi said worriedly.

“Landslides?” Jinadasa asked, confused.

But Chandi had already finished and gone to wash his plate and hands.

AS IT TURNED out, there wasn't a landslide, or indeed even a drop of rain the day their baby finally made its appearance, five days late.

It was just after sunset and the sky outside was magnificent. Chandi and Rose-Lizzie were walking back to the house from the oya, and although they saw sunsets like this quite often, this one made them stop and gaze.

The sky was untidily streaked with pink and purple and blue, as if a bunch of mischievous angels had kicked over their paint pots. Here and there, it shimmered as if golden dust had been haphazardly tossed around.

It was an artist's sky, and as they finally approached Glencairn, they saw Robin Cartwright painting frantically, trying to capture it on canvas before darkness descended. They went over and watched.