The Flower Boy Read online

  He silently agreed with his mother that the Sudu Mahattaya seemed happier these days. He also sensed her irritation with his father and was disturbed by it. He had been only a year old when Premawathi had come to Glencairn, and so had no recollection of living with his father. To him, Disneris was a nice father who came and played with him and talked with him and then left.

  When he saw Rose-Lizzie riding on her father’s shoulders and being swung round and round by him he felt envious, but when he compared the Sudu Nona and his own mother, the envy dissipated quickly.

  That night he lay awake on his mat, although his eyes were closed. His head was too full of thoughts to allow sleep to slide silently in like she did on other nights. Tonight, like all nights when his father came to stay, the children slept on one side of the curtain while their mother and father slept on the other.

  They had still not come to bed and he could hear the murmur of their voices outside in the kitchen. He hoped they weren’t arguing.

  He wondered if the problem was money, and if he should give them his England fund, which had grown to almost ten rupees now. It was a lot of money even by the Sudu Mahattaya’s standards, and while he didn’t know exactly what it could buy, he knew it was a small fortune.

  He thought of what Father Ross had said last week and wondered if his flower business was a sin. He thought about the fires of hell and immediately felt hot. He threw off the thin sheet covering him.

  He wondered if he ought to go to confession and get clean and pure once more, but then decided not to. There was the risk of five Hail Marys. Or worse still, Father Ross might tell him not to do it again and then he’d have to obey, because he knew that if he didn’t obey a priest, then it was hellfire for sure.

  He turned to look at Leela and Rangi, who were sound asleep, worn out by the day. They slept with their heads in the opposite direction to him, because he kicked in his sleep. Rangi’s feet were cracked and sore, but Leela’s were already horny and hard. They hardly ever wore slippers around the house and garden.

  He heard his parents come in. He heard the rustling noises as they changed, the deep sighs as they finally settled down. He heard fumbling noises and small grunts. He heard his mother saying “shhh.”

  He hoped they weren’t angry anymore.

  chapter 12

  WHEN YOU COME OUT OF THE SMALL WOODEN BACK GATE OF GLENCAIRN, you find yourself on a mountain path, the same path Chandi takes to school each morning.

  It’s not a wide path, not like a road. More like a lane. Taking a car on it would be difficult on account of the uneven surface and sudden boulders. Two cars trying to pass each other is a virtual impossibility unless one of them is prepared to drive through the coffee trees. But since the only cars that come to Glencairn drive up to the front entrance of the house, the problem doesn’t arise.

  The coffee trees are the few straggly survivors of the blight. They grow in clumps here and there and a few industrious people actually pick the ripe red berries, dry them, roast them, grind them, brew them and drink them. The coffee is rich and fragrant although it does leave fine grounds in one’s mouth.

  No one bothered to pick the berries on the trees outside Glencairn except the birds, who ate them, and Chandi and Rose-Lizzie, who made necklaces with them.

  Farther down the path, the coffee trees give way to other trees, and still farther, wildflowers break the brilliant green monotony of the tea slopes.

  If you keep walking, you arrive at a fork in the path. The main path keeps winding downward, sometimes so steeply that if you’re not as surefooted as a goat, you could lose your footing and roll down. But the old gnarled roots that stick out of the red soil of the hillside act as good handholds.

  Ancestors of tea trees, perhaps.

  The path curves suddenly to the left and you find yourself on the main road to Glencairn. If you were walking out of the back garden gate, you would probably continue down the path to the school or to the bus stop where the No. 12 Nuwara Eliya bus chugs by every three hours on a good day.

  On a bad day it doesn’t come at all. Then you have to start walking and hope someone rides by on a bicycle so you can hitch a ride on the center bar.

  Not many people around here have bicycles.

  If, at the fork, you turn right, you find yourself climbing again.

  This path is actually a footpath, and so narrow that a goat and a person cannot pass each other at the same time. Not that there are many goats around, but still.

  It disappears into the grass sometimes, but reappears a little later. There are no ancestral tea roots to hold on to here so if the path gets steep, as it does in many places, you simply drop down onto your hands and knees and crawl.

  The path is flanked by endless stretches of green with a few big gray boulders strewn here and there. Tufts of African wild grass hang out of the mountain like light green ponytails. The path reaches the top of the hill and then starts downward again.

  As you near the top, you hear the sound of laughing. The sound of the oya.

  Oya means “small river” in Sinhalese. Actually this was more of an ala than an oya. An ala is a small stream. But since it was the only body of water for about two miles, the residents of the area preferred to call it an oya. It made them feel more important to have an oya rather than just an ala.

  As you crest the hill you see it just a few feet below. It wends its way sideways down the mountain, not straight down, which would make it a sort of waterfall. If you have seen the sidewinder snake slither, you’ll know how the oya moves. Only the sidewinder hisses and the oya laughs.

  This was where Chandi and Rose-Lizzie often came to sit and talk or sometimes just to watch the water.

  The water rushes past, tripping over small smooth rocks and fallen branches in its haste. It is clean, clear and shallow in this part of the stream, which is about eight feet wide, and you can see the polished pebbles and grainy sand at the bottom.

  But later, it widens into a small lake that is dark and still. Here, its bed is shrouded in lichen and moss which grow on the rocks and branches that litter its depths.

  Here, mosquitoes obey Father Ross and go forth and multiply, and slimy bullfrogs frolic after dark like fat old men playing children’s games. Fish die alone and float on the surface of the water like silvery-white leaves.

  No one fishes or plays or bathes here.

  The water stops running and tripping and tries to limp past the lifelessness to where it can run and trip again. Some water survives. Other water pauses for a rest and then dies and floats to the top like the dead fish.

  From there, the oya continues sluggishly for about twenty yards, trying perhaps to recover. Then, suddenly, it regains its momentum and burbles on once more.

  Chandi and Rose-Lizzie spent hours watching the water, for it held a million things and stories.

  The shoals of slender translucent fish that flickered past like swarms of fireflies on moonless nights.

  The pebbles, polished smooth like rare gemstones.

  The weeds that danced and swayed dreamily, elegant ladies in a watery green ballroom.

  The logs that lay like sleeping policemen, whose orders to halt the mischievous water chose to ignore.

  The water snakes that drifted down the oya like slim, stately barges, only swimming when they sensed danger.

  The pilihuduwa, the fisher bird, who swooped down in a flash of blue lightning and left triumphantly with a surprised fish in her beak.

  Things that adults saw every day and never noticed.

  They sailed leaf boats down the oya and ran alongside, cheering their tumultuous progress through the wild, laughing waters.

  Then the boats arrived at the little dark lake, drifted round and round a few times and stopped.

  The cheers would stop too.

  ONE EVENING, CHANDI and Rose-Lizzie walked slowly back to the house in silence. They were tired and Rose-Lizzie was scratching absently at a mosquito bite on her arm. Chandi was looking up at the sky and
trying to walk in a straight line.

  They were both hungry.

  From the small gate, they saw Rangi looking out. Their steps quickened.

  “Chandi, where have you been?” she asked anxiously.

  “Down at the oya,” he said. “Why?”

  “You mustn’t go into our room now. And tonight, you’ll have to sleep in Appuhamy’s room,” she said.

  He felt afraid. “Why? Has something happened to Ammi?”

  “No. Amma is okay. It’s Leela,” she said.

  Leela. It was strange but he almost never thought about Leela, probably because he hardly ever saw her, but he did love her, almost as much as he loved Rangi, who was so easy to love.

  “What’s wrong with Leela?” he asked worriedly.

  “Nothing. It’s just that she— I don’t know. You’d better ask Amma,” she said vaguely. Chandi scanned her face for information but only saw confusion.

  “Come. I’ll take you back to Ayah,” he said to Rose-Lizzie.

  She hung back. “No, I’ll stay with you.”

  Chandi nodded, secretly glad she was staying.

  They went inside and the first thing that Chandi noticed was that the door leading to their room was shut. It was never shut, because even when Ammi changed her clothes, she just went behind the curtain.

  As they stood there and wondered what to do next, the door opened. Ammi came out and shut it firmly behind her. She looked worried, but she was smiling. Chandi ran to her.

  “Ammi, what’s wrong with Leela?” he asked.

  “Nothing, child. She’s—well, nothing. She’s fine,” she replied.

  “So where is she?”

  Premawathi sat on the step and sat them down on either side of her.

  “Your sister is fine. Something happened to her today and now she’s a big girl,” she said.

  “Is she sick?” asked Rose-Lizzie curiously.

  “Will she die?” asked Chandi fearfully.

  “Goodness no,” Premawathi said, laughing. “Who put these dying thoughts into your head? Must be that crazy Father Ross. Always talking about Heaven and Hell and frightening children. No, child, Leela is not going to die. She is a big girl now.”

  Chandi didn’t understand any of it. The half answers irritated him and he wondered what the big-girl talk was about. They were talking as if Leela had suddenly spurted up a few inches, which even he knew was impossible. The only other things that could grow in Leela were her kukkus, her breasts, but they were already almost the size of Ammi’s, whereas Rangi’s were still only bumps on her chest.

  He’d seen, because none of the females in his family bothered to cover themselves from him. He was only a child, after all. Once he had asked why he didn’t have any, and they had all dissolved into laughter and although he hadn’t got an answer, he had been pleased that he had been so funny.

  So if it wasn’t her legs and it wasn’t her breasts, what was it?

  Why was she in the room and why couldn’t he go in? Rose-Lizzie looked equally perplexed. His mother was smiling in a faraway way that made him irritated too.

  There was obviously no point asking any questions.

  No one seemed capable of giving him a rational answer.

  THE AFTERNOON HAD been just like any other.

  Appuhamy had been taking the short nap he needed these days to keep going. Anne was reading in her room, Leela and Rangi were sitting on the kitchen step doing their homework, Chandi and Rose-Lizzie were down by the oya. Ayah was ironing Rose-Lizzie’s clothes and the Sudu Mahattaya was at the factory.

  Premawathi had been in the Sudu Mahattaya’s room dusting and folding. He was a neat man, but Premawathi still liked to keep his room spotless. She liked him and liked doing these things for him.

  She was folding his pajamas when she heard a commotion in the corridor. She stepped out and saw Leela and Rangi running to her, their faces frozen with fear.

  She ran to them. “What? What is it?” she asked urgently.

  “It’s Leela, Amma, she’s bleeding!” Rangi gasped, tears already starting in her eyes. Premawathi looked at Leela. Other than her white drawn face, she looked fine. There was no blood to be seen.

  “Bleeding from where?” she asked.

  Leela turned around. She began to cry.

  Premawathi looked at the stain on the back of her skirt in shock. She still thought of Leela as a little girl. A child.

  Stupidly, her own eyes filled with tears. She put her arm around Leela’s shoulders and led her gently back to the kitchen.

  “Come child,” she said softly. “This is normal, natural. It’s nothing to be afraid of. Come and I’ll show you what to do.”

  In Ceylon, the passage from girlhood to womanhood is celebrated with rituals as old as the country itself.

  As soon as her first blood shows, a young girl is kept away from the eyes of males for seven days.

  The reason for the seclusion is twofold: having just become a woman, she is considered to be sexually vulnerable, and seeing a man before the appointed time could result in her becoming too interested in men. And being sexually vulnerable, she is considered attractive to men and therefore a temptation of sorts.

  Leela spent her seven days with only her mother, sister and the three female servants for company.

  Rangi had stopped being afraid and was now unbearably curious.

  “Leela,” she asked on the fourth day. “Where did the blood come from?”

  “Down there,” Leela replied, ashamed at her body’s behavior.

  “Where? The susu place?” Rangi asked, wide-eyed.

  “Yes.”

  “Did something get hurt?” she asked in concern.

  Leela grimaced. “In my stomach, I think.”

  “Will it happen to me too?” Rangi asked, a little frightened by the possibility.

  “I don’t know. Maybe later,” Leela said.

  Chandi finally got Rangi to himself.

  “Rangi, please tell me what happened to Leela,” he pleaded.

  “Ask Amma,” Rangi said.

  “But she won’t say anything. Just something about big girls. It doesn’t make any sense,” he complained. “Please tell me. I swear I won’t tell anyone else.” Except Rose-Lizzie, he added silently.

  “I’ll tell you, but don’t tell Amma,” Rangi warned.

  She told him and he listened, wide-eyed.

  Chandi and Rose-Lizzie sat in the drain.

  “From the susu place?” Rose-Lizzie asked in disbelief. “She must have cut herself or something.”

  “No. It happens to all girls. Rangi told me.”

  “So it’s going to happen to me too?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And they’ll lock me in a room for seven days?” She was outraged. “I’m going to tell them that I want you to stay in the room with me.”

  “They will say no.”

  “Then I won’t stay.”

  “Better you don’t say.”

  “You mean keep it a secret? Oh that’s a good idea! I’ll only tell you.”

  ON THE SIXTH day of Leela’s confinement, Disneris arrived in answer to an urgent telegram that said only: Leela Big Girl. Come immediately.

  He too felt the initial shock that Premawathi had felt. He had immediately been given leave by his Muslim mudalali, and he had borrowed ten rupees for expenses.

  He stood at the kitchen door talking with Premawathi. Although he was the girl’s father, he wasn’t allowed to see her either.

  There was so much to do, Premawathi told him. First, the astrologer for the horoscope. Then to make sure the dhobi woman came and brought her own special brand of good luck with her. Then the dress shop where most of the ten rupees would be spent on a new dress for the big girl. And that was just the beginning.

  Disneris opened his umbrella, for it was November and raining fiercely, and set off down the path to catch the bus into Nuwara Eliya town.

  He came back three hours later with Leela’s precious horosco
pe in a plastic bag, tucked into his coat pocket. Having studied her date and time of birth and their relation to the stars, the astrologer had given them the auspicious times necessary for the celebrations the next day.

  Disneris had visited the dhobi woman, paid her two rupees and extracted a firm promise from her to be at the bungalow at the crack of dawn. And he had bought a pretty dress in the lucky blue color the astrologer had decided on.

  He was tired and went to Appuhamy’s room to get some sleep.

  For Premawathi, there was no sleep that night. She had enlisted the help of the three servant girls and they stayed up most of the night making kavum, kokis, athirasa, aluwa and even a butter cake.

  By dawn, the girls were asleep.

  Premawathi sat on the step, sipped plain tea and watched the sun rise over the mountains. She had woken up every morning before five and sat on this step, sipped tea and watched the sun rise a thousand times over.

  This morning, it was different. As the darkness lifted itself wearily and melted away into the shadows, the pale gold sun rose over the hilltops leaving a tinge of hazy pink wherever its gaze fell.

  Premawathi’s body ached with tiredness from bending over the fireplace and her brain felt like a smoke-filled room, but the energy of the new day invigorated her.

  Yesterday’s rain was gone. It was a beautiful Saturday morning.

  THE FAT OLD dhobi woman sat by the well, her white blouse contrasting starkly with the inky blackness of her skin. Her chintz reddha was already hitched up around her vast, dimpled, varicose-veined knees. The old tin bath that the Christmas tree sat in every year had been dragged out, scrubbed and now sat next to the dhobi woman.

  In the little room off the kitchen, Premawathi fussed with Leela’s diya reddha. Rangi was wearing her best dress and Premawathi had on her Christmas reddha from last year.

  In the kitchen, Rose-Lizzie strained at Ayah’s hand in a fever of impatience and excitement.

  The men and Chandi were absent, and would only join them later.

  Finally, Leela was led out by her mother. Her head and shoulders were covered with a white cloth, and her steps were hesitant because she couldn’t see where she was going. Rose-Lizzie stared at the ghostlike figure and vowed once again not to tell anyone but Chandi when she became a big girl. She was having none of this nonsense, she decided firmly.