He had hoped that this outing would help relax her a little, but now he doubted it. He spotted a hill ahead and changed gears again, smiling wryly to himself as she flinched.
IN THE BACK, Leela was bounced up and down, sometimes so violently that her head hit the canvas roof above, but she didn’t feel anything.
Since they had set off, she had sat silently cursing herself for not going in the other truck. She had stayed awake the previous night, imagining being in the confines of a vehicle with Jinadasa. When her mother had urged her to go with Chandi, she had refused because she was suddenly stricken by terror. Now, with all her heart, she wished she had agreed.
She remembered his disappointment and wanted to weep. Stupid fool, she berated herself silently. Stupid. Stupid.
Even though she had matured into a beautiful young woman with the body of a goddess, Leela was as inexperienced as a child when it came to men. Jinadasa was the first young man she had come across (Krishna didn’t count because he was an animal), and she felt things for him that she had never felt before. Frightening, confusing things.
If Premawathi hadn’t been so wrapped up in her own unhappiness, she might have noticed her daughter’s confusion, read the telltale signs and advised her as a mother should.
As things were, she didn’t.
It was left to Leela to deal with her first love.
RANGI SAT OPPOSITE Leela and tried to ignore the tension around her. She was perceptive, and that was her problem. Now, the unhappiness swirled and crashed around her like an angry sea, and although she tried to shut her mind to it, it kept intruding.
Her mother’s tension. The Sudu Mahattaya’s exasperation. Leela’s silence. Ayah’s despair.
She too was relieved that their father had chosen not to come, for if it was like this without him, what might it have been like with him? One more set of intrusive, unhappy thoughts to absorb like a helpless, unwilling sponge.
She ached with unhappiness, none of it her own.
She reached out and took Leela’s hand. Leela looked surprised and slightly uncomfortable. They were not a demonstrative family.
She looked hard at Rangi and saw that her face was white and her lips were trembling. Rangi’s hand gripped hers hard, the knuckles showing white.
“Are you okay?” Leela whispered.
Rangi gazed sightlessly at the rubber-matted floor of the truck. She showed no sign of having heard her sister.
“Rangi?” Leela leaned closer. She saw that Rangi was close to tears. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” she asked worriedly. “Shall I ask the Sudu Mahattaya to stop the car?”
Rangi shook her head violently. She wanted to get this trip over with, not prolong it in any way. She made an effort to compose herself and turned to look out the window.
WITHOUT WARNING, THEY broke out of the forest and onto the plain itself. The change in scenery was dramatic, for after the close, secretive forest, the plain was like a soul laid bare. A stricken soul at that, for although the vastness was exhilarating, the grasses were a strange greenish yellow, punctuated here and there by twisted, stunted trees.
They looked like tied-up people straining to break free, Chandi thought, looking at them with disquiet.
They saw winding streams full of silver trout, and far away in the distance, the home of Thomas Farr, the British explorer and naturalist. It was the only building on the plains. John didn’t know him but had heard he was somewhat eccentric and preferred his own company to that of others. Apparently he spent his days exploring the plains, documenting the wildlife, and only came down to Nuwara Eliya about once a month for supplies.
John envied him.
After about half an hour of driving, they stopped because the track stopped. From here, they would walk.
Chandi would never forget that walk as long as he lived. They walked up and down the rolling plains, stopping to look at strange clumps of flowers and sudden streams that cut the long grasses like silver knives. It was like another world. Rose-Lizzie and he ran ahead of the others and then threw themselves down on the grass and waited for them to catch up. The sky was cloudless and the wind whistled softly as it blew past their ears.
They finally reached the belt of trees at the edge of the plain.
They entered the forest again, and although all they saw were exotic butterflies and birds, the animals were there. The girls giggled nervously and the men looked about uneasily as the chirping of birds ceased abruptly. After a minute or two, they heard the roar of a leopard quite close by. They heard bear monkeys too, large numbers of them calling out at the same time.
“They won’t come close. There are too many of us,” John said reassuringly, but their steps quickened nonetheless.
John told them that people usually brought pots and pans and banged them all the way down the track to scare off wild animals. Premawathi wished someone had told her before. But as it was, the children’s chatter was enough.
They emerged out of the trees and into rolling grass-covered hills once more. They were heading for World’s End, a sheer drop of several thousand feet. Clouds of mist hung low, sometimes skimming the tops of the hills. The sea was several thousand feet somewhere below.
World’s End was also locally known as Lover’s Leap, because at least twice a year a star-crossed couple threw themselves over the edge into another life where the stars were more in their favor. Often, they wouldn’t even make it to the bottom and their broken bodies would be found hanging off a tree or lying in a deceptive embrace on a rocky ledge.
No one knew why nature made places like World’s End.
For picnickers to picnic at.
For lovers to leap off.
Or perhaps it was made for this very day.
John called a halt and they sat down under the shade of a huge, unfamiliar tree. The walk had made them all tired and hungry, so the girls, led by Ayah, began to unpack the picnic baskets. Premawathi, uncharacteristically, sat and watched.
She wished she could relax and enjoy the day but she had been conscious of a vague feeling of unease, which she had initially put down to Disneris’s absence, then to John’s nearness. It was one or the other, she thought wryly, closing her eyes against the sunshine.
John and Mr. Cartwright lay down and chatted idly, and Chandi and Rose-Lizzie ran off to explore, with stern cautions about World’s End and wild animals ringing in their ears. They gathered stones for the collection at home, and flowers for Premawathi.
At eleven, when the sun was up and the mist had cleared, they walked to World’s End, and came upon it suddenly. Only a few large, flat stones marked it.
One moment there was grass underfoot and grass ahead.
The next moment there was rock underfoot and nothing ahead.
John warned them all to approach slowly, because people were known to get dizzy from the thin air. The children were made to creep forward on their bellies, with their feet held firmly by John. Rangi went first and wriggled back looking vaguely depressed. Premawathi asked her if she felt sick but she didn’t reply. They wriggled forward one by one, and when Chandi’s turn came, he didn’t know what all the fuss was about because all he could see was a sea of misty clouds below. No tiny villages, no sparkling ocean and no broken bodies.
He wriggled back and waited patiently for Rose-Lizzie to have a look and when she wriggled back, equally disappointed, they ran off to play, not at all impressed with World’s End.
Lunch was devoured no sooner than it was laid out, the cake was cut and eaten, and afterward everyone stretched out on the grass, some sleeping, some talking, some just enjoying the cool breeze and birdsong.
CHANDI MUST HAVE fallen asleep, for a bee buzzing irritatingly around his nose woke him up. He looked around. Robin Cartwright was sketching, Ayah, Anne and Rose-Lizzie were still sleeping, Jinadasa and Leela were talking quietly together, without arguing he hoped, Rangi had disappeared and so had his mother and John. He got to his feet and started walking.
Bey
ond the stone slabs that marked World’s End were more trees and a rough path leading to a tiny hamlet. He wondered if they had gone to explore it, Ammi, John and Rangi. Somehow, he didn’t think so.
Part of him didn’t want to find them, and part of him wanted to.
The trees grew close, and his footsteps were muffled by the bed of dry leaves and wet ferns that carpeted the forest floor. The silence was eerie and he almost turned back, but by now curiosity had a hold of him. He yielded to its insidious pull.
He remembered a conversation between Jinadasa and John at lunchtime.
“There used to be lots of deer in these parts, but now most of them have moved on, so the leopards are always hungry,” Jinadasa had said.
“But will they attack for no reason?” John asked.
“Hunger is reason enough,” Jinadasa had said soberly.
His steps quickened.
He heard voices and went forward slowly, slipping from tree to tree. Then he saw them. His mother was standing with her back to a tree and John was facing her. Although they were speaking softly, he heard everything.
“Why did you follow me here?”
“I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t get lost or—”
“Or jump off?”
“No, I didn’t think you were going to jump off. I was more worried about the animals.”
“I’m not afraid of them. I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, you can, can’t you?”
“So go now. You can see I’m fine.”
“Not unless you come back with me.”
She shook her head stubbornly. John moved closer and she shrank against the tree trunk. “Why do you keep doing that? Do you think I’m going to pounce on you like some, some—Krishna? I know you’re married, for God’s sake!” he said savagely.
She lifted her eyes to him. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” she said dispiritedly.
“What do you mean?”
“Disneris is going soon,” she said, looking away. “He doesn’t know it yet, but it’s only a matter of time. One of these days, he’ll come to me and say, ‘Haminé, there are better jobs in Colombo and we’re not really saving anything here,’ and pack his bags and go. He won’t have the courage to tell me the real reason and that this time he won’t be back.” She sagged against the tree.
“What is it? The real reason?”
“Me,” she said baldly, then buried her face in her hands and wept as if her heart was breaking.
“Don’t cry,” he said urgently. “I’ll talk to him. Perhaps he’ll change his mind and stay.”
She took her hands away from her tear-streaked face and looked despairingly at him. “But don’t you understand? That’s just it. I don’t want him to stay.”
Chandi’s heart pounded as John enfolded his mother in his arms and held her gently as she cried. He smoothed her hair and murmured things Chandi couldn’t hear.
As he stood there dumbly, he saw a movement among the trees. He stiffened, thinking it was a deer or, worse still, someone from their party come to find them.
Then he saw Rangi.
Even from this distance, he could see her white, dazed face and her trembling mouth. He was filled with fear. Rangi was not strong and he shuddered to think of what this would do to her.
He made to go to her and then stopped. If he moved, they would see him and he didn’t want to be seen. He wouldn’t know what to say. What to do. As he stood there furiously trying to organize his thoughts, he saw Rangi move away jerkily, like an automaton, and disappear into the trees.
The wheels of fate, already in full motion, turned triumphantly in their preplanned course, creaking with glee.
SHE WALKED STEADILY. Tears blurred her vision, making her stumble over fallen branches and hidden roots. The pain in her head almost paralyzed her, fogging her mind over as if the low-lying mist had somehow managed to penetrate it. Through it, she saw her mother’s face. Heard her mother’s words. The futility. The impossibility of it all. A sob escaped her and her breath came in huge, painful gasps. Then suddenly, thankfully, the fog in her head thickened, the pain dulled and her steps slowed. Her bare feet felt cold and she looked down. Stone slabs. Like the slabs of a tomb. As she stood there, the stone grew warmer, more welcoming. She tentatively stepped forward.
At the very edge she paused.
At the very last moment, a shaft of reasoning struggled to make its way through the blanket in her head, but it hurt too much, so she let go of it and watched it drift dreamily downward. The wind caught it and it soared and tipped like a bird.
Free at last.
chapter 24
IN THE AFTERMATH OF RANGI’S SUICIDE, THE GENERAL STATE WAS ONE of chaos. The general feeling, one of incomprehension.
People cupped their chins in their hands, shook their heads and asked “Why?” through their tears. Why would a lovely girl like Rangi have wanted to take her own life? A life that hadn’t begun properly yet?
A dozen different theories were aired. Some said maybe she had slipped and fallen, some said maybe she had experienced a mental breakdown after hearing stories of lovers jumping to their deaths. Some even said that the tormented spirits of the unhappy lovers had reached up and pulled her down to them, a virgin sacrifice, which would free their trapped souls. Others said that perhaps she had been a little soft in the head to start with. People nodded wisely. She had been different. Sort of—fey.
Disneris wore his grief like a shroud and wielded his anger like a weapon. He blamed Premawathi for everything, saying that if she hadn’t agreed to go, then perhaps none of them would have gone and their beloved daughter would still be with them. Not lying dead in a coffin.
Premawathi didn’t defend herself, for she had yet to speak after that first long lingering wail of discovery.
Neither of them had any answers for the questioning mourners.
Only Chandi knew why.
He never told anyone.
Not immediately.
Not afterward.
Not during the long, long night that followed.
Not during the three days and nights when he sat by her coffin.
Not during the funeral, when broken Rangi was smothered by flowers and covered by earth.
Not even now.
Chandi roamed the gardens until late at night and no one asked him to go inside or go to bed. Everyone was grieving in his or her own way and people thought that roaming the garden was his way. After all, who had slept these last few days?
The reason was quite different. For three days after Rangi’s death, he sat dry-eyed and awake, next to the polished coffin that had been placed in the living room. He watched the long white candles flickering and listened to Rangi’s voice as she talked to him. She told him the story of the ambitious milkmaid, the one he loved to hear. He laughed aloud, as he always had, when she came to the part where the milkmaid trips over the stone and spills her milk and watches her dreams flow into the ground. And Rangi chided him gently, as she always had, for laughing over spilled milk. She said you were supposed to cry over it. Not laugh.
On the fourth day, she was lowered into the ground, accompanied by flowers and people weeping and Father Ross praying, and the stories came to an abrupt end.
That night he went to sleep, and that night, the nightmares began.
IT WAS THE same dream every night.
He was running frantically through the trees. Skidding to a halt at the stone slabs. The sudden clutch of fear that made his heart stop. His mother emerging from the trees, pausing guiltily when she saw him. Her sharp questions—What are you doing here? Are you alone? Where’s Lizzie Baby? Where are the others? His hand lifting all by itself and pointing in the general direction of the picnic scene. Him following her, willing Rangi to be there with the others. People noticing Rangi’s absence. Looking for her, calling her name through the trees. Beating through the bushes with sticks. His mother’s mounting panic. John crawling forward on his belly to look over the edge
and looking back with horror in his eyes. His mother’s scream echoing through the trees and hills and plains, scattering birds, monkeys and butterflies. Even hungry leopards.
In his dream, he turned around and saw Rangi standing there behind a tree, looking at the people looking down at her. He rushed toward her, with a smile of relief and arms outstretched, but just as he reached her, she disappeared.
He woke up immediately and could never fall asleep afterward.
THE STEEP DROP had made it very difficult to pull Rangi’s body up. Although John had tried to make Premawathi leave, she had insisted on staying. He had looked at her stony face and let her. It had been nearly dark when the men from the village had tied ropes around their waists and lowered themselves down to pick Rangi up from where she lay on a little ledge, with one leg dangling down.
Most of her body was bloody from being thrown against the cliff wall by the strong winds, but her face was not hurt, except for two tiny trickles of blood that ran out of the corner of her mouth and out of one of her nostrils. They said the back of her head had been smashed in like a ripe jak fruit that had fallen to the ground, but Chandi hadn’t seen it. All he had seen was her face, now cleaned of the blood, for the rest of her was covered in flowers from Glencairn’s garden. Too many of them. As if that would make up for everything.
She was buried in flowers before she was buried in earth.
John had taken care of everything, which was just as well because both Premawathi and Disneris were in another world. In other separate worlds.
During the three days and nights they kept vigil, but at opposite ends of the coffin, a mother and father divided by their dead daughter. At the funeral, they stood together but they might as well have stood at opposite ends of the grave.
The grave itself had presented a bit of a problem because Father Ross had expressed concern about burying Rangi in consecrated ground, her being a suicide case and all. But John had firmly overridden his doubts by saying that although everyone assumed she had thrown herself over, no one had actually seen her do it. Father Ross had accepted the argument because he, like everyone else, had loved Rangi.
The Flower Boy Page 26
