Cinnamon Gardens

by Shyam Selvadurai

  Joseph stopped the car by the ramparts. Richard got down and hurried towards the edge to look down at the sea below. Balendran followed. Richard grinned in delight. He opened his arms and held them there, feeling the wind flap against the underside of his coat. “Ah, this is wonderful, Bala.” He looked down at the bay below. “Let’s go for a swim. I’m dying to get into the water.”

  Balendran nodded and they went back to the car to leave their coats and get their bathing costumes.

  A flight of steps led down to a room in the ramparts that had probably served as a guard room during the time the Dutch occupied the fort. Balendran knew of it, for his family had often come to this very spot for picnics and sea baths. He took Richard to it.

  The room was dark except for the light that came down the steps. There was a fair amount of litter on the ground, but not the obligatory smell of urine that one encountered in any abandoned edifice in Ceylon. As Balendran reached the doorway, he remembered that when he had changed here in the past with his brother or his son, they had taken turns holding each other’s clothes, there being no clean spot to put them down. He realized he would have to do the same for Richard. “I … I’ll hold your clothes. There’s nowhere to set them down,” he said.

  Richard nodded, yet he did not look at Balendran.

  When they were inside, Richard turned away and started to undress, his hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He handed it to Balendran, then paused, as if unsure what to do next. He turned away and began to unbuckle his trousers. Balendran, despite his uneasiness, found himself looking at Richard’s back, the way the muscles around his shoulder blades flexed and relaxed as he moved his arms. Richard pulled his trousers down, revealing the smooth whiteness of his buttocks. He had to turn now to hand his trousers to Balendran and get his bathing costume from him. As he did so, Balendran could not help looking at his nakedness, so familiar even after all these years, the scar below his right hip, the unusual sparseness of hair at his groin, the crinkled tightness of his testicles, the fold of his penis over it. A pocket of warmth formed at the base of Balendran’s spine and spread down his thighs. He looked away quickly at the walls of the room to distract himself.

  When it was Balendran’s turn to change, he undressed quickly, handing Richard his clothes. Once he had put on his bathing costume, he turned to his friend. Richard was looking at him intently. Balendran frowned questioningly. In reply, Richard stepped up to him and kissed him lightly on the lips. He handed Balendran his clothes, turned abruptly, and went out of the room. Balendran was astounded. After a moment he followed.

  His friend was at the bottom of the steps, waiting.

  “Richard …”

  “Yes, I know,” he smiled. “Let the hearings begin.”

  Balendran did not smile. He looked at the ground in front of him, trying to think of what he wanted to say. “What happened in the guard room –”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “What?” Balendran asked in surprise.

  “I’m sorry,” Richard said. “I jumped the gun. I thought you were going to say it was an abberation that should never happen again.”

  Balendran was silent. “I was going to say it was a surprise.”

  Richard looked at the clothes in his hands. Something about his expression made Balendran bend forward and peer at him. “You … you were surprised too, weren’t you?”

  Richard shrugged. “I don’t know. Yes, yes, I suppose I was.”

  Balendran stared at his friend in astonishment.

  “What?” Richard snapped. “Why are you staring at me?” He turned and hurriedly went up the steps.

  Balendran gazed after his friend, a realization before him. In the last week, he had come to enjoy, even covet, his company, the strain of being reunited having lifted. He realized that, with Richard, he could truly be himself. He felt now that Richard had sought, and had been gratified by, his attention for different reasons.

  “Wait,” he called out.

  Richard stood at the top of the steps, a sullen expression on his face.

  Balendran went up the steps to him.

  “I value our friendship too highly to let things pass like this, Richard. Tell me, honestly, what are your feelings.”

  Richard looked at his feet. “Very well,” he said. “In this last week, I have fallen in love with you. All over again.”

  Balendran, now that he had heard it, could no longer hope it was not so.

  “I understand, obviously, that you don’t feel the same. Though I was mistaken in thinking you did.”

  They were both silent. Balendran could think of only one way to respond – to say that he was married, had a son, and a home, that Richard had Mr. Alliston, that they led different lives in different countries – but he knew this would only sound patronizing. The fact was that Richard had fallen in love with him and he did not return that feeling, something he could not bring himself to say. Balendran felt their friendship coming to an end, like the creaking close of an ancient door.

  By the time they left the Galle fort, the sun was setting rapidly and long shadows lay across the ramparts. Some of the narrow streets of the fort were already in darkness because of the shade cast by the buildings on either side. A brisk wind had come in from the sea and it blew pieces of scrap paper and tin cans along in front of the car. As they went out through the fort entrance, Balendran looked back and found it difficult to believe that just an hour ago they had driven in through this very entrance. Days seemed to have passed. As he turned back in his seat, the sight of his friend’s face was a reminder of just how much had changed in this brief time. For now their silence was no longer companionable. It sat between them like the growing darkness outside.

  Balendran sat back in his seat, staring straight ahead. A deep melancholy began to take hold of him.

  When the car pulled up in front of the estate bungalow, Uma was standing by the front steps. She had been waiting for Balendran’s arrival, and her expression told him that she expected him to come and settle her problem right away. He nodded towards her, then led Richard inside.

  The estate bungalow was a simple building, constructed for inspections. Its architecture was closer to a village hut than a colonial-style bungalow. The roof was of thatched coconut palms and the walls of wattle and daub, whitewashed. A verandah ran around the entire house. It was a cool house, the wattle and daub and the roofing kept it so. There were two bedrooms to the right of the living and dining room. Balendran looked in both and, seeing that one room was better made up than the other, he offered it to Richard and took the remaining one. The houseboy was helping Joseph unload the provisions that had been sent along for their meals. Balendran told him to look after Richard’s needs, then he said to Richard, “I have to go and see about this matter,” he gestured towards Uma. “The girl has been waiting for me.”

  Richard looked at him, not sure if he was using it as an excuse to get away, but Uma’s anxious face dispelled his suspicion and he nodded.

  Balendran took his hat and walking-stick and followed Uma as she went down the front steps holding a kerosene lantern in front of her.

  Balendran was usually very careful to placate and humour the kangany while, at the same time, ensuring the welfare of the workers. This time, because of what had happened between him and Richard, he displayed none of his usual diplomacy and was particularly harsh with the kangany. Uma’s future husband, quick to see his stupidity, begged Uma’s forgiveness. By the time the whole affair was settled, Balendran was exhausted. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was already 9:30. Richard was waiting for dinner.

  Uma and her grateful mother accompanied him back, swinging their lanterns in front of him to light his way. Understanding his tiredness, they escorted him in silence. When they were almost at the bungalow, however, Uma’s mother said, “Durai, we would be honoured by your presence at my daughter’s wedding next week.”

  “Next week,” Balendran said and thought immediately about the Donough
more hearings. “I’m afraid I will be –” He stopped himself. Next week, the commission began its tour of the country and Richard went with them. The plan had been that he would accompany Richard. Given their current estrangement, however, this would not be so. Then a realization was before Balendran. This was the last time he and Richard would be together. It was unbearable that they should part this way.

  He had reached the end of the path and he gestured to the women to leave him. He hurried towards the lights of the bungalow.

  When he came in through the front door, Balendran stopped in dismay. Richard was not in the living room and his bedroom door was closed. Only Balendran’s share of the dinner was on the table. The houseboy had placed it under a fly cover and left the bungalow for the night. Balendran stared at Richard’s bedroom door, unsure only for a moment. Then he crossed over, knocked on the door, and, without waiting for a response, went inside.

  Richard had changed into his pyjamas and was in bed.

  “I refuse to let our friendship end as it stands,” Balendran said to a startled Richard. “In silence.”

  He came and sat by him on the edge of the bed. “Our friendship means something important to me. In the time you’ve been here I have come to realize that in some sense you are the only one who truly understands me.” He took Richard’s hand in his. “You’ll be gone in a few weeks and –” Balendran stopped, a swift sadness rising in him. Then, before he quite knew what he was doing, Balendran reached over and kissed Richard on the lips. When he withdrew, Richard, with a quick movement, held Balendran’s face between his hands. They were still, looking at each other.

  “You do love me,” Richard said.

  And this time, Balendran did not protest.

  After a moment, Richard drew him down onto the bed, next to him.

  13

  Swift as one’s hand to slipping clothes

  Is a friend in need.

  – The Tirukkural, verse 778

  Time was running out. Paravathy and Muttiah would be here in two days.

  At the end of the morning session the next day, Annalukshmi asked Miss Lawton and Nancy if she might have a word with them. Standing in the headmistress’s office, Annalukshmi told them of the arrival of Parvathy and Muttiah and the marriage that was being forced upon her.

  “This is terrible,” Miss Lawton cried. “You cannot allow yourself to be married to a man you dislike, Anna. You simply cannot allow it. And a Hindu at that.”

  Nancy looked at her friend. “You have some plan up your sleeve, don’t you?”

  Annalukshmi nodded, then turned to Miss Lawton. “I am thinking,” she said, “of your friend Mary Sisler.”

  She then told them of her notion. Her idea was to run away to Mary Sisler’s and stay there for the two weeks that Muttiah and Parvathy were in Ceylon. Mary Sisler was an old school friend of Miss Lawton. The three of them had often spent time together during their school holidays at the tea plantation in Nanu Oya where she lived with her husband. It would not be as if she were staying with a complete stranger. The month-long Christmas holidays began at the end of the week, so Miss Lawton would only have to arrange a relief teacher for a short while.

  Miss Lawton placed a telephone call to her friend and explained that Annalukshmi was in a “spot of bother” and needed to stay with her for two weeks. Mary Sisler immediately agreed.

  It was decided that Annalukshmi would take the morning train on Wednesday, the day that Parvathy and Muttiah arrived. Now that her escape was more of a reality, Annalukshmi felt a great sense of relief, a lightness within her.

  It was further decided that afternoon that Mr. Jayaweera would chaperon her. At first Annalukshmi was reluctant to put him to such trouble, as he would have to take the train there and then immediately return, a seven-hour journey each way. Mr. Jayaweera was, however, insistent, pointing out that it was not safe for a young woman to travel alone.

  That evening, as Annalukshmi sat in the window-seat watching her mother busy herself around the drawing room, she felt, for the first time, a sinking feeling in her stomach at the thought of having to deceive her. She had decided that she would send a letter to her mother on Wednesday morning, once she was at Miss Lawton’s bungalow. In the letter, she would tell her mother that she had gone away to a safe place and would be back once their relatives had left. The letter would reach Louisa the same evening. Yet there would be those few hours in the afternoon when her mother would have no idea what had happened to her. She tried to tell herself that her mother, once she received that letter, would be secretly relieved she had run away, relieved that this marriage would not go through. Yet she knew her mother would only be troubled about where her daughter was, if she were really in safe hands. Annalukshmi tried to be angry with her mother, silently accusing her of being inept at resisting her husband’s order, of being cowardly for not standing up to her father. But she found it difficult to sustain her wrath when she thought of the terrible embarrassment of her mother when Parvathy and Muttiah arrived all the way from Malaya on a wasted journey. She even contemplated, for a moment, telling her mother of her plan but immediately dismissed the notion.

  The thought of one parent led inevitably to the other. In all her deliberations, Annalukshmi had forgotten that her father would be irate when he found out about her disobedience. She recalled with a shudder the quarrel with her father, her helplessness to prevent him from striking her, her weakness against his strength. Her wariness of him and his understanding of it made the month he spent in Colombo every year truly unbearable for both of them. She was filled with fear now that all the irritation and anger he harboured towards her would find a new outlet. She would suffer the physical effect of it.

  But she would rather face her father’s wrath for a short time than acquiesce to a lifetime of misery as Muttiah’s wife.

  When Annalukshmi arrived at Miss Lawton’s bungalow on Wednesday morning, she found the headmistress, Nancy, and Mr. Jayaweera waiting for her. As already planned, Nancy had packed a bag with some of her clothes for Annalukshmi to take with her. It was by Mr. Jayaweera’s feet.

  “Well, Anna,” Miss Lawton said. “Everything’s in order. I have called for a taxi and it should be here momentarily.” Then, seeing her downcast expression, she added, “Mary is very hospitable, as you well know. You will be in fine hands. And don’t forget, we will be up on the weekend to see you. So you won’t be alone very long.”

  Miss Lawton now handed her the train tickets. The nervousness that had been with Annalukshmi from the time she got up this morning now turned to dread. She excused herself and went to the toilet.

  Once she had shut the door behind her, she quickly splashed her face with water, hoping that this would calm her down. But it did not help. At that moment, she heard the honk of the taxi outside the gate. Annalukshmi stood unable to move.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Hurry up,” Nancy said. “The taxi is here.”

  She was silent.

  “Annalukshmi, are you all right?” Nancy turned the doorknob. Annalukshmi had not locked it and her friend came inside. She stood looking at her, concerned.

  “You know, you don’t have to do this,” Nancy said.

  “No … I’m fine.”

  When they came out of the house, Miss Lawton and Mr. Jayaweera were waiting. The taxi was at the gate and the driver pressed his horn impatiently.

  “Well, come along then,” Miss Lawton said.

  Annalukshmi, feeling slightly disoriented, began to follow Miss Lawton and Mr. Jayaweera.

  The taxi driver was, by now, very angry at being kept waiting, and when he saw them come out of the gate, he started to harangue them about wasting his time.

  “Be quiet, you stupid, stupid man,” Miss Lawton yelled at him, losing her temper.

  At this, the driver got into the taxi and slammed the door.

  Miss Lawton quickly ushered Annalukshmi inside. Mr. Jayaweera got in too.

  Nancy leant in through the windo
w. “I’ll see you in a few days,” she said.

  She had barely spoken when the driver took off, his tires grinding up the dust.

  “Goodbye, goodbye,” Miss Lawton and Nancy cried out.

  Annalukshmi did not wave back. She rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes.

  For a Wednesday afternoon, the train proved to be surprisingly crowded. Once Annalukshmi and Mr. Jayaweera had found their seats in the last car of the train, they sat across from each other by the window. Their compartment was full. There were two older Ceylonese ladies seated next to Mr. Jayaweera. Annalukshmi could tell that one of them was Tamil. Like her, she wore a pottu on her forehead and draped her sari in the Tamil style, the palu wound around the hips and tucked in at the back. Both ladies wore expensive Paris chiffon saris. On Annalukshmi’s left was an older Ceylonese man and, next to him, an European lady.

  They had not been seated long when the door slid open and another Ceylonese gentleman entered. He was in his late forties and, just from the cut of his suit and his fine walking-stick, it was clear that he was wealthy. He stopped in surprise when he saw that the compartment was full. He glanced at his ticket and then at the seat numbers. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to Mr. Jayaweera civilly. “I believe you are in my seat.”

  Annalukshmi and Mr. Jayaweera looked at each other in surprise. All the other passengers were now staring at them.

  They took out their tickets and checked them, wondering if they were in the wrong compartment. But they were not.

  “I am sorry, sir, but you are making mistake,” Mr. Jayaweera said politely.

  The man looked Mr. Jayaweera up and down, noting his threadbare suit. “Sir,” he said and his manner was no longer civil, “I am sure you are the one who is mistaken. This is a first-class carriage.” He looked around at the other passengers and saw that the Ceylonese were in complicity with him. The European woman had her lips pursed to say that, as far as she was concerned, they were all in the wrong compartment.