The girls went back to painting each other’s toenails, which they had been doing before his arrival. Selvi looked a little shamefaced as the sisters sat at either end of Mala’s bed, their feet in each other’s laps.
Looking at them, Amrith felt ragged with envy. It was so unfair that their lives were normal, that nothing stood in the way of their futures. They were free, unshackled by the taint of an awful past. And just by thinking this, a gulf opened up between him and the girls. A gulf that had begun to grow in the last year.
Amrith threw himself down on Selvi’s bed. He lay on his side, his head propped by his elbow. “So-so, Selvi, have you heard of Mala’s latest ambition?”
Mala flushed with dismay. “Amrith!” she cried, “You promised not to tell. It was a secret.”
He could see the hurt flooding her eyes, but he could not stop himself. He wanted to hurt her, as if her pain would bring him relief from his own darkness.
A hideous grin spread across his face. “Guess what our Mala told me?” he said to Selvi.
“What-what?” she asked eagerly.
He paused dramatically. “Our Mala wants to be a nun.”
He waited for his words to have their effect. Selvi’s eyes widened in astonishment, then she fell back on the bed, clutching her sides and hooting with laughter.
“Amrith,” Mala said, close to tears, “I’ll never-ever tell you anything again.”
Amrith tossed his head in contempt. She always confessed her secrets to him and, even though sooner or later he would betray her in this way, it never stopped her from telling him again.
He told Selvi that Sister Dominica, with whom Mala taught English to poor children in their parish, had recently informed Mala that she might have the gift of a vocation bestowed on her by God. Mala, who was always taking up one scheme or another with great fervor, had been thrilled at this new possibility. She now believed that she was destined to be a nun and had told Amrith that she intended to take her vows the moment she finished her A levels.
All this made Selvi laugh even harder. “Chee,” she cried at her sister, “why would you want to do something so ghastly as become a nun? Only dried-up spinsters who can’t get married enter the nunnery.”
“There are lots of nuns who choose to dedicate their life to God, akka,” Mala said, with an attempt at dignity.
“What nonsense — life of unhappiness.” Selvi tossed her head in disdain.
“I think we should tell Uncle Lucky about Mala’s ambition,” Amrith said. “He’ll be so upset, he’s bound to have a talk with that Sister Dominica.”
“Amrith! Are you mad? Do you want me to die of mortification?” Mala cried.
“Yes-yes,” Selvi said, in her older-sister voice, “Sister Dominica needs a good telling off for leading fourteen-year-old girls like you into a path of such misery. If Amrith doesn’t tell Appa, I’m definitely going to inform him.”
Mala looked from one to the other with such desperation that they burst out laughing again.
“If you become a nun,” Amrith said, “you’ll have to cut your hair short and get up at five every morning for the rest of your life.”
“And sleep on a hard bed in a dormitory full of other nuns. Not to mention lining up for the toilet, which will probably be a squatting pan.” Selvi gestured to the Shaun Cassidy album that lay on Mala’s bed. “No pop music. Only dreary hymns.”
“And you can forget about seeing films, or going out to Flower Drum for dinner.” Amrith, like Selvi, honed in on all the things Mala loved. “No chili crab, anymore.”
Mala tried to look superior, but she was beginning to wilt under the reality of what being a nun would mean.
“But most of all,” Selvi said, grinning at Amrith, “you can never-ever have a boyfriend.”
“Yes-yes,” Amrith chimed in, “no Suraj Wanigasekera for you.”
“Chee, but what are you both talking about?” Mala cried in horror. “Suraj is going to be a priest. He told me so.”
They shrieked with laughter. Suraj Wanigasekera was one of the unruliest boys in Amrith’s school, always in detention and seated outside the principal’s office.
“Yes,” Mala cried. “At the last Catholic Students’ Union meeting, Suraj told me this.”
“Oh, Mala,” Selvi said, shaking her head, “you’re so gullible. Suraj just said that so you would like him.”
“He did not, he did not.”
They cackled with derision at the thought of Suraj Wanigasekera as a priest.
And yet Amrith, even as he laughed, was beginning to feel bad about what he had done. Though Mala’s ambition was silly, at the same time she had shared a precious dream with him, a dream she was still too shy to share with anyone else. He should have respected her secrecy.
With Selvi, he knew just how far he could go. Being two years older, she looked down on him with the superiority of the senior sister, the akka, and she tried to boss him around. When he resisted, tempers would flare, but a good quarrel would clear the air. Mala, on the other hand, regarded him as an older brother, even though they were the same age. She worshipped him, and he knew that he had the power to wound her in a way he could never do with Selvi. He frequently took advantage of this power.
Before tea, Amrith gruffly invited Mala up to the terrace to help him feed the birds. She went eagerly, ready as always to forgive him.
That evening, there was a meeting of the Catholic Students’ Union in the courtyard. Boys from Amrith’s school and girls from Mala’s.
As Amrith passed by them on the way to his room, they were making plans for a shramadana at an old folks’ home, which would involve cleaning, gardening, painting, and entertaining the residents. Suraj Wanigasekera was present, of course. He was a few years older than Amrith, stocky and powerfully built. He was popular with the boys for his debonair, don’t-care attitude. As captain of the rugger team, he had scored the winning goal that had garnered for the school the prestigious Sir Hugh Clifford shield.
As Amrith went by the group, Suraj made a suggestion for the shramadana and Mala replied with a little superior laugh, “Oh, Suraj, that is such a silly idea.” She gave him a coy look and he grinned with happiness.
It puzzled Amrith that Mala, who was flat-chested and dark-skinned, had such a popular senior boy interested in her, while Selvi, who was fair-skinned, pretty, and well shaped, had no one. Suraj was not the only admirer. Other boys, particularly bad boys, were drawn to Mala. They jostled for her attention at parties and the right to dance with her; they tried to hold her down in conversation after church and during school society events. These other suitors had withdrawn, now that Suraj had staked his claim.
The flirtation between Mala and Suraj would go no further. Aunty Bundle and Uncle Lucky did not want Amrith or the girls dating until they were eighteen. Their teenage years were a time to experience many things without being tied to the obligation, the narrowness, of a relationship. Amrith and the girls obeyed this rule. It was a great privilege that their parents sanctioned dating at any age. Their friends and classmates envied them this future liberty. Most of them would have arranged marriages. Others might be allowed to date in their twenties, if the partner was first vetted to be of the right caste, class, religion, and race, with good education and prospects.
For some unknown reason, the courtyard was always relatively free of mosquitoes, which were plentiful at this time of year. If it was not raining, the family always sat out here before dinner. Uncle Lucky’s driver, Soma, and Amrith would carry two Planter’s chairs to one end of the courtyard for Aunty Bundle and Uncle Lucky. Then they would place a rattan table and three chairs for Amrith and the girls at the other end. While the adults had their drinks and caught up on their day, Amrith and the girls would play a board game — Chinese Checkers, or Carom, or Scrabble.
Today, however, Amrith helped Soma arrange all the chairs together in a circle. The family was going to meet and discuss the upcoming birthday party. Both Selvi and Mala were born in early Se
ptember, two years and five days apart. They always had a joint party. This year, Selvi was turning sixteen and it was to be an especially grand event, the most looked-forward- to social occasion of the holidays among their friends. The monsoon storm last night, however, had created an obstacle to the upcoming celebrations, causing much anxiety to Selvi and Mala. If the roof was not mended in time, there would be no party.
Once Jane-Nona had lit mosquito coils under the chairs and brought out a metal candelabra, the family took their seats and started to discuss the upcoming party. They had barely begun when they heard a car at their gate and Aunt Wilhelmina calling out in her fluting voice, “Hilloo, hilloo.”
Amrith ran to open the gate.
The old lady was Aunty Bundle’s aunt. She often dropped by the Manuel-Pillais’ for meals. Despite her enormous wealth, she was a lonely woman, being childless and a widow.
When Amrith came out onto the road, Aunt Wilhelmina was still seated in her car, waiting for the driver to come around and open her door. Once he had done so, she stepped out. She had come from an embassy party and was impeccably turned out in a maroon silk dress, her handbag, belt, and shoes in the same material. A finely wrought ruby necklace graced her neck and she had on matching ruby earrings, broach, and bracelet. Her dark blonde hair was done up in a French pleat at the back and her fair European complexion, of which she was so exceedingly proud, was lightly touched up with foundation to make it even whiter.
When she saw Amrith, she beamed. He was her particular favorite. “Child, when are you coming to visit me? All my silver and ornaments are in dire need of a good cleaning. And I refuse to trust anybody with them, but you. Now that you have your holidays, you must come.”
“Yes, Aunt Wilhelmina, I will.”
She patted him on the shoulder and sailed into the courtyard.
“Ah,” she said, as she came up to the family, “this monsoon certainly turns us upside down.” She kissed her niece on her cheeks. “How did you survive yesterday’s storm? All my bougainvilleas are in ruin.”
Aunty Bundle told her what had happened to their roof.
“Gracious,” Aunt Wilhelmina said, taking a seat among them, “how awful.” She glanced at the girls. “And with your party coming up, too. I do hope the hole can be mended in time. Roofers are as rare as hen’s teeth these days. My dear friend, Lady Rajapakse, has been waiting for a month.”
The girls looked panicked.
“Bundle,” Uncle Lucky said, “have you sent for the roofers?”
“This very afternoon I sent a telegram to Gineris and his sons,” Aunty Bundle replied. “Don’t worry, they will come. Gineris has been working for my family since I was a girl. He will not let me down.”
“Perhaps I should make inquiries about other roofers, just in case,” Uncle Lucky said.
“No-no.” Aunty Bundle’s face set in a stubborn line. “I’m not letting any old roof-baas fix the hole.”
They all looked at her doubtfully and Aunt Wilhelmina said, “I would search for other roof-baases. You never know.” She looked around at the children. “And what are you doing for your holidays, my dears?”
Mala told the old lady that she would be spending every morning in the parish hall helping Sister Dominica teach English to slum children. While she did so, she glanced anxiously at Selvi and Amrith, who smirked back at her, but did not bring up her ambition to be a nun.
Selvi, it seemed, had all sorts of plans for her holiday — various spend-the-days at friends’ houses, day trips to a hotel that was owned by a friend’s father, a carnival they wanted to attend. She was a popular girl in school, junior netball star, on the track to house captain and head girl. She was part of a close-knit circle of friends who were also well-liked sporty girls. Suhashini, Nayantara, Otara, and Tanuja — from whose names, Amrith had coined the delicious acronym SNOT. The other students clamored for the attention of Selvi and the SNOTs, and they had received a host of invitations and had been able to choose among them. All her plans, however, would have to be fitted around the private tuition classes she had to attend every morning. Her midyear marks had been terrible, not to mention all the pranks she had pulled.
Aunty Bundle had been summoned twice to the school office by the Mother Superior. The first instance was when Selvi, on a dare, rode a cow that had been brought in to crop the grass on the school playground. The second was when Selvi, following a seminar on menstruation by a Kotex representative, had worn the sample sanitary pad around her neck in lieu of a school tie.
“And Amrith,” Aunt Wilhelmina said, turning to him. “What are your plans, dear?”
“Um … nothing much, Aunty.”
“Well, there is your typing,” Uncle Lucky reminded him.
“And don’t forget your school play,” Mala added.
5
Othello
Every year, schools in Colombo, and a few in Kandy, competed in the much-anticipated Inter-School Shakespeare Competition, in which each school performed a scene from a Shakespearean play. Since none of the schools were coed, the female roles were usually played by juniors in the boys’ schools, and the male roles played by seniors in the girls’ schools. There were separate prizes for each gender. Last year, Amrith had played Juliet and won the cup for Best Female Portrayal from a Boys’ School. Aunty Bundle and the girls had been ecstatic over his success, but no one was prouder than Uncle Lucky at seeing Amrith win the cup for his alma mater.
Usually, rehearsals for the Shakespeare Competition began after the August holidays, with the event being held in the last week of November. This year, however, the competition was to be held earlier. The British Council was bringing over a one-man show by an actor from the Royal Shakespeare Company in England. This actor had graciously agreed to judge the competition. To suit his schedule, the event was going to be held in early October.
There was much excitement over the prospect of having a real professional actor from such a prestigious company as the judge. An added aura of glamor hung over the competition, and each school was even more determined to win all the cups. The drama teacher and students at Amrith’s school had all agreed that they should meet a few times over the August holidays to rehearse; that this sacrifice must be made to try and win honor for the school colors.
Rehearsing in the holidays was no sacrifice at all for Amrith. He was greatly looking forward to it, as a relief from the tedium of the empty days ahead. He was also very excited at the prospect of a real Shakespearean actor judging the competition. After he had won the cup last year, he had begun to secretly entertain the idea of becoming an actor. He often fantasized about being in various shows and the numerous curtain calls he would receive.
He had already got a taste for this applause and what it meant to have a reputation as a successful actor. Before he won the cup last year, he had been the kind of boy that other students ignored. Nobody spoke to him and he was never included in any after-school activities, nor invited to birthday parties. Like all invisible boys, Amrith had kept as indistinguishable as possible. He knew that if he did get attention, it would only be negative. All that had changed with his winning the cup. First, there had been the moment when the cup was presented to him by the principal, at an assembly in front of the whole school. As he went up on the stage, the entire student body had roared its approval at his winning this glory for their school, boys in his class whistling and calling, “Well done, Amrith, well done.” He had been surprised and touched by this tribute. After that, though his classmates still did not include him in their various activities, they always greeted him with respect and often asked his opinion on matters of art and literature. Most of the other boys in the play had been seniors, a few of them prefects. Amrith had worried that his shyness and silence would be made fun of, but these older boys actually liked him for his quietness and saw it as a sign of deference to their higher status. When these senior boys met him in the corridors, they always greeted him warmly, whereas they ignored the other junior boys.
This year, Amrith’s school was doing the last scene from Othello. There had been a meeting of the Drama Society, just before school ended, and the boys had talked about which parts they were going to try out for. From this discussion, Amrith understood that there were three roles that would go automatically to the students who wanted them, since no one else would be auditioning for those parts. Thus Othello belonged to Mala’s admirer, Suraj Wanigasekera; Emilia to a boy named Fernando; and Desdemona, Othello’s wife, to Amrith.
He was thrilled at the prospect of playing such a major role and he was determined to win the cup again. The thought of being declared the best by an English Shakespearean actor would be further confirmation that he was destined to be an actor.
Amrith could not be bothered to struggle through the Elizabethan English of the play to find out the plot. Instead, he went into the library in their home and took down a book that had Shakespearean plays retold in modern prose. He returned to his room with the book and lay on his bed, reading the story of Othello.
It was a tale, so the subtitle to the story declared, “of jealousy and its tragic consequences.” Othello, the main character, was a Moor, a black man. He was a successful warrior and had been promoted to High General of the Venetian forces by the Duke of Venice. His greatest enemy was his ensign, Iago, who was jealous of Othello’s success, but also angry and envious that Othello had chosen one Michael Cassio to be his second-in-command over Iago. Iago set out to destroy Othello. While pretending to be Othello’s closest friend, he preyed on a great weakness the Moor had — his love for his wife, Desdemona. Othello’s love was so powerful that it made him vulnerable. Because he could not imagine a life without Desdemona, the threat of her deceiving him, or leaving him, lay in wait to trap him. Iago began to exploit this weakness. He used Michael Cassio — who was extremely good-looking — to do so. Othello had given Desdemona a handkerchief when they were courting. She had accidentally dropped it and her lady-in-waiting, Emilia, who was also Iago’s wife, had found it. Iago forced Emilia to give it to him. He planted it in Cassio’s room, then told Othello that he had seen the fateful handkerchief in Cassio’s hand. Iago also told Othello that he had shared a bed with Cassio one night, and Cassio had murmured in his sleep of his love for Desdemona and cursed the Moor for having her. Othello demanded the handkerchief from Desdemona, but she could not produce it. He began to believe that his wife was being unfaithful to him with Cassio. Iago, through other tricks, inflamed the Moor’s jealousy until he was finally convinced that his wife had betrayed him.
Swimming in the Monsoon Sea Page 4
