Cinnamon Gardens

by Shyam Selvadurai

  Against this united opposition, Mr. Jayaweera seemed unsure of himself. He glanced at his ticket again.

  “These are our seats, sir,” Annalukshmi said, “You must be mistaken.”

  The gentleman took in her polished speech and manner, her nice Georgette sari. His face registered his surprise. “Madam,” he said politely, “may I see your tickets.”

  Annalukshmi and Mr. Jayaweera handed him their tickets. He looked at them carefully and then gave them back. “It seems there must have been an overbooking,” he said, addressing himself solely to Annalukshmi. “Perhaps, madam, we could reach a compromise. You can stay here and I can ask the railway guard to find your man a seat in another compartment, though it probably will be second class as first class appears to be full.”

  Annalukshmi bristled at how he had referred to Mr. Jayaweera as “your man,” as if he were a gardener or a labourer. She straightened her back. “I am afraid it is you who will have to find yourself another seat, sir.”

  The gentleman recoiled from her words as if he had been slapped. The other passengers murmured in disapproval. The European lady stood up and left the compartment.

  “Madam, I have tried to be polite but –”

  “Please, Miss Annalukshmi, don’t concern –”

  “Sir, your politeness is neither here nor there. These are our seats. We were here first. If there is an overbooking, since you arrived later, you must pay the consequence of it.”

  The gentleman’s face became red, and the other Ceylonese passengers now began to add their bit.

  “Why don’t you behave like a lady,” the Tamil woman said to Annalukshmi.

  “Yes, shouting and screaming like a street vendor,” her companion added.

  “It is terrible what the younger generation has come to,” said the older man.

  “And what exactly are your relations to this man?” the gentleman demanded. “Are you married to him?”

  Annalukshmi flushed in anger and mortification at what the man was implying.

  “I thought so,” he said, nodding knowingly.

  Mr. Jayaweera now stood up. “Sir,” he said, “there is no reason to speak like that.” He turned to Annalukshmi. “I will settle this and go to second class.” And, with that, he walked out of the compartment.

  “No,” Annalukshmi said, and she stood up. “Since you have forced this man to give up his seat for you, then I will have to leave with him and you will be guilty of denying a lady her seat.”

  For the first time, she saw the gentleman become unsure of himself. She pressed her advantage. “You have also insulted my honour by implying that my relations are improper with this man who has been sent along to chaperon me.”

  “Madam, I did not mean to say that there was anything improper –”

  “Sir, you implied it.” She allowed a tremulous note to enter her voice. “You have insulted my honour in front of all these people, dragged me down from my position as a lady.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Tamil lady said, now switching sides in that way interested bystanders often did. “It was disgraceful to say that.”

  “You are not wanted in here, sir,” her companion added. “We are ladies and God knows who you will insult next.”

  The gentleman saw that he had been worsted. He turned and left without a word.

  Annalukshmi went to look for Mr. Jayaweera. She saw him at the end of the carriage, standing in the open doorway, smoking a cigarette.

  She walked over to him. “I’m sorry about all that. Please come back, that dreadful man has gone.”

  “Why don’t you go back,” he replied after a moment. “I’ll follow you once I have finished my cigarette.”

  14

  Duty is not for reward:

  Does the world recompense the rain-cloud?

  – The Tirukkural, verse 211

  Balendran and Richard had extended their stay at the estate by a few days. Balendran had sent word to Sonia.

  On their return to Colombo, Balendran left Richard at the hotel. When the car turned down Seaside Place, Balendran was aware of how much had changed in his life. He found himself observing Sevena keenly, as if he expected it to have altered.

  When he approached the verandah, Sonia did not come out to greet him. He went up the front steps into the drawing room. It was empty. He felt a strange foreboding take hold of him. “Sonia,” he called out.

  “Here,” Sonia replied from his study.

  He walked quickly to the door and went inside. She was in front of the flower bowl making an arrangement. She looked up at him briefly. “Oh, hello,” she said, then returned to her work.

  A momentary panic took hold of him. Sonia knew, she had somehow found out about him and Richard. He shook himself, aware that he was being foolish. She was just resentful that she had been left behind. He placed his hat and walking-stick on a chair. Then he turned to her and waited, willing to deal with her disaffection, so much preferable was it to the alternative he had just considered.

  She continued to busy herself with the flower arrangement. “Did Richard find the estate interesting?” she finally asked.

  “Yes,” he replied, “I think he was impressed by my work.”

  “Good.”

  There was a silence between them.

  “Well,” Balendran said, “perhaps I should go and wash up before dinner.”

  Sonia nodded imperceptibly.

  Balendran walked away from her. He was almost at the door when she said, “By the way, there is a note from Appa on the desk for you.”

  She spoke casually, yet Balendran felt the air was charged with peril. He went quickly to the desk, picked up the note, and opened it.

  I have been to the temple again and the tills are still not cleared. I came looking for you today to find you were at the estate. I must travel to Jaffna by the night train and be there when the commission arrives. In my absence, attend to my affairs at Brighton.

  Balendran put the piece of paper down. “What … what did you tell Appa?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

  “That you had been to the estate.”

  “You know how Appa feels about Richard. I hope you didn’t mention that he accompanied me.”

  “Yes, when your father came by and asked where you were, I told him that you had gone to the estate, that Mr. Howland went with you.”

  Balendran felt a quick anger rise in him. “What on earth possessed you to say that?” he demanded.

  “Why should I have to lie?” Sonia replied. She stood back, looked at her arrangement, nodded in satisfaction, then walked towards the door. “Dinner will be in half an hour,” she added as she went out.

  The moment she had left, Balendran sat down and placed his head in his hands. He stared at the note in front of him and wondered how much his father knew, what he suspected. The very fact that his father had made no mention of Richard going with him was extremely ominous. Despite his efforts to reassure himself about what conclusions his father had drawn, Balendran felt as if he were playing a mental game of blind man’s bluff. He was possessed by an overwhelming desire to be in his father’s presence, to read for himself, in his father’s eyes and manner, what his thoughts were. Balendran quickly stood and picked up his hat and walking-stick from the chair. His father would not have left yet.

  Sonia was in the drawing room and she looked up at him in surprise as he walked towards the front door. “I am going to see Appa,” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows questioningly, but he felt he owed her no explanation.

  When Balendran arrived at Brighton, there was a flurry of activity going on around his father’s car. As he came through the front door, his mother was walking up the stairs, Pillai’s wife, Rajini, following her with a pile of laundered sheets. She saw her son and came quickly downstairs again. She took his face between her hands, kissed him on both cheeks, and said, “We are preparing your old room. Just the way it used to be.”

  He looked at her, not comprehending, an
d she frowned, puzzled. “Don’t you know?” she asked. “Appa has asked you to come and keep me company during his absence.”

  Balendran stared at her in shock.

  “I told him it was unnecessary. But, you know, I have been a little sick recently and he was concerned about leaving me alone.”

  Even before he saw his father, Balendran had the answer he sought. He felt light-headed.

  The study door opened. His father came out, followed by Miss Adamson.

  When the Mudaliyar saw Balendran, he stopped in surprise. Balendran glanced quickly at his father and then away, afraid to meet his gaze.

  “What is this?” Nalamma demanded of the Mudaliyar. “Thambi-boy doesn’t know he is to stay with me?”

  “Come,” the Mudaliyar said to Balendran and went back into his study.

  Balendran followed. As soon as he was in front of his father’s desk, he sat down in a chair, afraid his legs would give way under him. He put his walking-stick and hat on the chair next to him.

  “I’m glad I was able to see you,” the Mudaliyar said. Then he busied himself at his table, searching through his documents.

  The Mudaliyar took a long time, and Balendran, after a moment, glanced up at his father, perplexed. Then he saw that his father was finding it difficult to look at him.

  “I made up this list of things I need you to do.” The Mudaliyar held out a sheet of paper to Balendran.

  Balendran took it, his hand trembling.

  “Also, I would like you and Sonia to come and stay with your mother. She has not been too well of late and I am worried about leaving her alone at night. How does this suit you?”

  Balendran looked up and their eyes met for the first time. Then an expression flickered across the Mudaliyar’s face, an anxious, almost pleading look. His father was begging for confirmation that his fears were unfounded.

  “Yes, Appa,” Balendran said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You don’t have to worry. All will be fine in your absence.”

  The relief flooded his father’s face.

  “I knew I could count on you,” the Mudaliyar said.

  At that moment, Miss Adamson came in to announce that everything was ready. As the Mudaliyar came around the side of his desk, he placed his hand on Balendran’s shoulder and squeezed it, then he went out. This gesture of affection, so rare from the Mudaliyar, filled Balendran with love for his father. Yet, simultaneous with this love, he felt a burning shame. There was a photograph of his son, Lukshman, prominently displayed on his father’s desk. Balendran picked it up. The photograph had been taken in Nuwara Eliya during the racing season. Lukshman stood with the Mudaliyar’s favourite horse, Nellie. It was a lovely photograph, Lukshman leaning his head against the horse’s neck, a contented smile on his face, the sun in his hair. As Balendran stared at the photograph, he had a sudden vision of that smile leaving his son’s face replaced by horror and revulsion at his father’s crime. He thought of his wife. Sonia was so dependent for her happiness, her existence, on the life they had created together. Their house, Sevena, was all the world she had. How such a revelation would shatter her he could not even allow himself to imagine. Just then he heard his father’s car starting up. He went to the window and stood watching as it began to inch forward, past the study window and along the driveway. As he gazed at its disappearing lights, he felt his illusions leaving him. Balendran picked up his hat and walking-stick and went to find his own car.

  At the Galle Face Hotel, the receptionist was busy with visitors. Rather than waiting for a message to be sent, Balendran went quickly to the lift and had the attendant take him to Richard’s floor.

  As the lift started to rise, Balendran felt fear in the pit of his stomach. Yet he reminded himself of his son, his father, his wife, his life here in Ceylon, and this steadied him for the encounter with Richard.

  He knocked on the door, and, after a moment, Richard opened it. He was in his dressing gown and was drying his hair with a towel. “Well, what a pleasant surprise.” He opened his arms and Balendran started to move past him. Richard held his wrist and looked at his friend’s face searchingly. “What have we here?”

  Balendran did not reply. Then he said, “My father knows … at least suspects what’s happened between us.”

  Richard swallowed hard and sat down on the bed. “How?” he asked softly.

  Balendran waved his hand to say that it was not important. “Anyway, I allayed his suspicions.” He crossed to the window.

  Richard waited, watching him.

  “At a price, however.” Balendran paused. “My father is going to Jaffna for the hearings. I am to stay at Brighton with my mother. Attend to my father’s business.”

  “Well, that’s not too bad, is it?” Richard said with relief. “I’ll just stay behind. Being together is more important than the wretched hearings.”

  The relief on Richard’s face pained Balendran. He found it difficult to go on. He knew when he next spoke he would shatter his friend. Yet he had to get this done with for the sake of his son, his family. Then, gazing out the window, he took a deep breath and said, “I think you should go.”

  He heard Richard exhale and he turned to him. Richard was staring at him in astonishment. Then Balendran saw the apprehension enter his friend’s eyes. “What … what are you saying to me, Bala?” Richard asked, his voice shaking.

  Balendran felt an aching sorrow, an overwhelming urge to take Richard in his arms. Instead, he looked away at the sea, gripping the windowsill until this urge passed and he recovered his resolve.

  Richard got up and came to him. He took him by the shoulders and forced him to turn around. Balendran kept his head down, but Richard grabbed his face in his hands. “Do you love me?” he demanded.

  Balendran did not reply.

  “Well?”

  “No … I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know,” Richard shouted. “That’s not good enough. Not good enough at all.”

  Balendran moved his head, trying to break away from Richard’s hands, but his friend tightened his grip. Richard then bent over and kissed him roughly, biting down hard on his lower lip. Balendran cried out in pain and broke from his hold. He touched his lip and saw that it was bleeding. He took his handkerchief out and dabbed at his wound. Then he glared at Richard. “What did you expect?” he cried. “Where did you think all this would go? Did you actually expect me to leave my life here for … for what?”

  “I would willingly leave my life with Alli for you.”

  “I am married with a child. How can you compare what I have with what you have.”

  Richard drew himself together. “Get out,” he said. “Just get out of my room.”

  Balendran started towards the door, but, as he passed him, Richard grabbed his arm and tried to twist it behind his back. Balendran broke away from him. “Stop it, Richard,” he said, “just stop it.”

  Richard hit out, but Balendran grabbed his hand and pulled Richard to him. “Just stop it,” he said softly as he held him. “It’s over, don’t you see? It’s all over.”

  After a moment, he pushed Richard away gently and hurried to the door.

  “Bala,” Richard called out. “Please wait.”

  Balendran opened the door and went out into the corridor. He began to walk quickly towards the lift, finally breaking into a run when he heard Richard call out to him again. Rather than wait for the lift, he went down the stairs. On the first landing, he leant against the wall and breathed in deeply, trying to gain control of himself. Then he walked down the last few steps to the Galle Face Hotel foyer.

  As Balendran’s car began to pull away, he looked back at the hotel and felt a terrible emptiness. He wanted to put his head in his hands and rub at his face in an attempt to erase that last image of Richard, the entreaty in his eyes as he had begged him to wait. He wanted to weep. Yet he was the Mudaliyar Navaratnam’s son and such things were not permitted in the presence of the driver. Decorum compelled him to sit up straight like a gentle
man, his hands clasped uselessly in his lap.

  That very night, Balendran and Sonia went to stay with his mother at Brighton. As the car took them through the darkened streets of Colombo, they were both silent, lost in their own worlds, looking out at the looming, great trees on either side of the road, the occasional streetlamp that cast a pool of light on the deserted pavements. After a while, Balendran became aware that his wife was looking at him, and he turned to her.

  “I’ve been thinking about something,” Sonia said. “It’s been a shamefully long time since I’ve seen Aunt Ethel and she is getting old. I’d like to go to England for a little while. Spend some time with her and Lukshman.”

  Balendran felt a foreboding in the pit of his stomach. He tried to see the expression on Sonia’s face, but she was half hidden in the darkness of the car. “When … when you say a little while, what do you mean?”

  “Oh, I was thinking that perhaps I would go right after Christmas and return by April.”

  “Well,” he said, “of course. If that’s what you want.”

  “I had even thought of going for Christmas,” Sonia said. “To spend it with Lukshman, but I would not feel good about leaving you alone.”

  They were silent again.

  When the car turned into Brighton, Balendran felt along the seat for his wife’s hand, took it, and squeezed it. Sonia did not return his pressure.

  In the days that followed, Balendran silently thanked his father for having asked him to stay at Brighton. In his childhood home, in the very room in which he had grown up, with its pictures on the walls, the creaking of the old fan that lulled him to sleep at night, Balendran found a constant reminder of the life he had in Ceylon, the life that, he told himself, ultimately mattered. His mother, so happy to have her child back in her home, re-created the food of his childhood: uppuma in the morning, ravva ladu spiced with cardamom in the way he liked them. He took comfort in these foods, as if he were an invalid slowly recovering from a long illness.