Leela smiled back. “So do you, Amma,” she said, looking at her mother’s still-slim figure in its mint sari. She even had a few jasmine blossoms in her hair and their smell hung in the room like a fragrant cloud.
Premawathi laughed. “I’m an old woman and these clothes don’t change that.” She sobered up and looked gravely at her daughter. “But you, you are the future, Leela,” she said. “Be careful, both of you. Don’t make the same mistakes we have made.”
“Like what, Amma?” Leela asked worriedly.
“Don’t bow your head or your back to anyone, child. If you do it often enough, it becomes a habit.”
“You don’t bow your head. Not really, anyway,” Leela said quietly.
“Ah, but I pretend to, and isn’t that the same thing?”
Leela sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and looked curiously at her mother. “Amma, what did you want to be? Before you got married, I mean?”
Premawathi laughed. “A nun, would you believe it?”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I suppose because you can’t pretend with God, like you can with people.”
“Do you regret it, Amma?”
Premawathi sighed. “Not really. I wouldn’t have been a very good nun. I took the easier path, and look what a lot of good I’ve done with that!”
Leela frowned. “You’re a good wife and a good mother!” she declared. “What are you talking about?”
Premawathi had paused to talk, and now started fixing Leela’s veil again. “Nothing, nothing. Just the foolish ramblings of a mother on her daughter’s wedding day.” Seeing Leela’s face, she laughed lightly. “Don’t look so worried, child. Mothers are entitled to behave oddly on days like this. Now hurry up. You don’t want to keep Jinadasa waiting.”
“Do him good to sweat a little,” Leela said carelessly, and they both laughed because they both knew she wouldn’t be a moment late.
CHANDI RAN HIS finger inside his collar and grimaced. It wasn’t tight, but it felt like a noose around his neck. That might have been on account of the tie that Premawathi had insisted he wear. He felt uncomfortable and stupid and hoped none of the boys from school spotted him. It would take him weeks to live down the tie.
He stood in the veranda and wondered how long it took for a bride to get dressed. He had been banished from the room ages ago.
It was hot and he was starting to sweat. He moved into the shade, hoping he wouldn’t have damp patches at his armpits.
The car looked splendid. He had polished it until it shone and he and Rose-Lizzie had spent the better part of the morning decorating it with flowers which were already starting to look a little limp. They’d be dead if his mother and Leela didn’t hurry up, he thought in alarm.
Rose-Lizzie had also disappeared, and was presumably getting ready too.
John strolled out, smoking a cigarette. He too was wearing a suit with a tie and he looked a little nervous.
“Hello, Chandi,” he said. “The ladies not out yet?”
“No. I don’t know what they’re doing. They’ve been so long.”
John ran a finger around the inside of his collar. “Well now, that’s something we men will never understand, old chap. Why women take infernal amounts of time to get ready when we do it in fifteen minutes.”
“Must be makeup, Sudu Mahattaya,” Chandi said.
“Yes, yes. I’d forgotten about the makeup.” He paced the veranda slowly. “Beats me why they bother with the stuff. Makes them look—”
“Funny?”
John laughed. “Yes, funny. But we’d better not tell them that. Not after all the time they spend with it. Not to mention the money.”
Chandi stuck a finger in his collar and tried to scratch his neck.
“Collar giving you trouble?” John asked sympathetically, unconsciously doing the same thing with his collar. “Bloody nuisance, these things,” he muttered.
Chandi nodded sympathetically.
“What’s this then? No ladies?” Robin Cartwright said, emerging from the house.
“Dressing,” John said laconically.
“Oh.” Robin nodded understandingly. “Be a few more hours, then. That’s why I never married, you know. Strange creatures.”
“That’s what Chandi and I were just discussing,” John said.
“Oh, you’ve discovered it too, Chandi?” Robin said with a laugh. “Never too early to stay away. Well, I’d better be off and find young Jinadasa. Wouldn’t be good to have the best man arrive after the bride.”
Although Jinadasa’s family had arrived from Maskeliya the previous morning, he had no brothers, and none of his close male relatives had been willing to make the trip for the wedding. Robin Cartwright had volunteered to be Jinadasa’s best man, an offer Jinadasa had taken up with alacrity. After all, how many houseboys had British private tutors as best men?
He went off whistling, and John and Chandi resumed their companionable pacing.
Five minutes later, Leela and Premawathi emerged. Both John and Chandi stopped in their tracks and stared, their mouths falling open in surprise, for never had they seen the two look quite so beautiful.
Leela looked like a vision, and for a moment Chandi wondered if they had hidden away the real Leela and brought someone else out. Through the gauzy veil that covered her face, he saw her grin at him and relaxed.
He looked at John, who was still staring, and nudged him. John shook himself out of his shock.
“Worth waiting for, eh, old chap?” he said to Chandi, who grinned and nodded.
“What?” Premawathi said, looking from one to the other.
“Nothing, nothing,” John said airily. “Just man talk.” He held his arm out to Leela, who blushed and took it. He helped her into the car and then Premawathi, who blushed just as hard as her daughter had, drawing a grin from her daughter and a disapproving frown from her son.
Once veils and sari ends were safely tucked away, Chandi got in the front seat and John drove to the church.
They passed a few people, who stopped to stare and wave. Few brides and bridal cars were seen around Glencairn.
PREMAWATHI KICKED OFF her slippers, tucked the end of her sari into her waist and leaned back thankfully into the chair. The garden was empty except for a few crickets, who chirruped sleepily. The lawn was a sea of discarded paper serviettes, streamers and confetti.
Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow, I’ll clean it all up, I’ll wash the plates, scrub the tables and put the glasses away. She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer of thanks that all had gone so well.
The fifty or so guests from the workers’ compound and from around Glencairn had eaten and drunk their fill and had left over an hour ago. Leela and Jinadasa were on their way to Bandarawela for their honeymoon, and Chandi, Rose-Lizzie and Ayah were fast asleep. She had spotted Robin Cartwright and John going indoors a while ago, probably to have a nightcap together. She wondered if John were asleep and wondered what she would have done without him. He had been the perfect host, and had actually seemed to enjoy mingling with the guests and keeping glasses topped up.
She heard the scrape of a match being lit, and opened her eyes to see the subject of her thoughts standing there.
She looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
John smiled. “You would have done wonderfully well, but I’m glad I was here.” The end of his cigarette glowed brightly as he drew on it. “You should go to bed. You look exhausted.”
“I think I’m too tired to sleep,” she said, closing her eyes once more. “And too happy.”
“About time,” he said.
She opened her eyes again and regarded him. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been unhappy for too long. You deserve to be happy like this all the time.”
She laughed. “I should have had lots of daughters to marry off, then.” She realized what she had said and sobered up abruptly.
John bent over her
. “Don’t be sad,” he said gently. “She must be so happy for Leela.”
“Yes. But sometimes I miss her so much.”
“I think we all miss someone. That’s part of the whole thing, isn’t it?”
“Do you miss the Sudu Nona?” she asked curiously.
He shook his head. “No. I think you only miss people who have added something to your life. Elsie only seemed to take away. I don’t know if she meant to, or if she even knew.”
“Maybe she missed England,” Premawathi said, feeling an irrational need to defend the absent Elsie.
“Maybe she did,” he said quietly, appreciating it. “Premawathi—”
She rose to her feet. “I think I’ll take your advice and go to bed,” she said, and he made no move to stop her as she walked slowly into the house.
LEELA AND JINADASA returned to Glencairn happy and content, and stole adoring looks at each other whenever they had the chance.
Premawathi frequently threw up her hands in exasperation. “You two! How does the house get clean, Jinadasa, when you stand with a broom in your hands and dream of my daughter? And Leela, you forgot to put salt in the food yesterday! What am I going to do with you?”
Chandi and Rose-Lizzie giggled at Leela and Jinadasa, who stood in front of Premawathi like two errant schoolchildren.
“And you two!” she said, turning to the giggling pair. “Go and play or something and stop following these two around the house. I don’t know what you’re hoping to see!”
When they had all left the kitchen looking shamefaced, Premawathi allowed herself to dissolve into laughter. The last few weeks had been remarkably happy for all of them, all things considered.
Chandi was doing well at school and was almost back to his old self. Rose-Lizzie was not doing so well at school but was happy that Chandi was happy. Ayah was still at Glencairn although Rose-Lizzie hardly needed her anymore. Gunadasa had finally died, and although she was now free to go wherever she wanted and do whatever she wanted, she had decided to remain at Glencairn.
Anne was excelling in her studies and Robin Cartwright had proved to be not only a capable teacher but an invaluable part of Glencairn by now. Jinadasa and Leela, for all their tender looks and stolen kisses, did their share of the work. And the night after their wedding, Premawathi had finally succumbed to the inevitable and given herself to John, this time on a more permanent basis, and with none of the old shame and guilt.
It was almost as if Rangi’s death had acted as a catalyst for them all.
Chandi had known. While the rest of the household slept, he followed her down the corridor to the veranda where John sat waiting. He had concealed himself in the long shadows and watched as she walked up to John. She hesitated slightly before taking the hand he held out, and Chandi could see her brief indecision. Then she smiled. He watched them walk quietly to John’s room. He slipped away after the door had closed.
It was her smile that finally made him see.
His mother was happy, and if this was what it took, then so be it. He wished it could have been different, but Rangi’s death had proved to him that certain things happened, no matter how much a person wished otherwise. Right now, at this moment, his mother was happy and that was all that mattered.
Tomorrow would take care of itself, he told himself hopefully.
The next morning, he looked at her searchingly. Her face seemed smoothed of the lines of care and worry and she hummed softly to herself as she got breakfast ready. This morning, she did everything slower than usual. She forgot to rush.
On an impulse, he went over to her and hugged her fiercely. She hugged him back, laughing, but as he ran out to the well to wash, she looked after him intently, a small frown bringing the worry lines back.
It was almost as if he was tacitly telling her it was okay, she thought. Then she told herself not to be silly. She had gone to John willingly but cautiously, for while she was not ashamed of her decision, she did not want it made public knowledge either. She had seen the sniggers and arch looks, and heard the whispered comments that other women, who were known to warm their white employers’ beds, got.
She wouldn’t tolerate them, she told herself fiercely. Her situation was not the same. But what was different? a tiny voice in her head asked. She impatiently told it to shut up and went back to her work.
chapter 26
“I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD—” CHANDI BROKE OFF, LOOKING CONFUSED.
“Yes, Chandi?” Robin Cartwright said, lowering his own book. “What is it?”
“How can clouds be lonely?” Chandi asked. “I mean, you hardly ever see a single cloud by itself in the sky. There are always lots of them together.”
Anne turned away to hide a smile, and so did John, who was standing by the door. It was always like this with Chandi. Question after question.
“Oh do go on, Chandi! What does it matter if clouds are lonely or not? It’s only a poem!” That was Rose-Lizzie, who had grown more impatient with every passing year.
At twelve she already showed signs of great beauty, but not the peaches-and-cream beauty of her mother and Anne. No, Rose-Lizzie was tall and tanned, although her mane of untamed curls had lightened to a shade between light brown and honey. Her dark blue eyes were always alert and snapping, as was her tongue.
John privately despaired of her ever finding herself a husband when the time came. What man would want this wild, outspoken creature who strode rather than walked and found more entertainment in fishing and climbing trees than in gentle pastimes like needlepoint and embroidery?
Anne, now nineteen, was far more marriageable although she had declared, some time ago, that she had no intention of going back to England and marrying “some silly fop,” as she put it. She had expressed a desire to start teaching.
Jonathan was already at Cambridge, although John had no idea what he was doing there. He hardly ever wrote to his father, except to ask for money for school. Since sending money from Ceylon was a difficult and lengthy process, John contacted his solicitors in London and made arrangements for them to send Jonathan a monthly allowance. Now that there was no real need, the letters had stopped altogether.
“But why a cloud? Why not a—a deer or something?” Chandi was demanding.
Rose-Lizzie gave a loud hoot of laughter. “Why not a buffalo? Oh Chandi, you are hopeless! Just read the damn thing!”
John raised an eyebrow at Rose-Lizzie’s unladylike language and waited for Robin Cartwright to say something, but that gentleman was too busy hiding a grin of his own.
“But Mr. Cartwright always says if something doesn’t make sense, say so. This just doesn’t make sense,” Chandi stated firmly.
“Quite right,” Mr. Cartwright had evidently decided it was time he stepped in to avert what promised to become another of Chandi’s and Rose-Lizzie’s famous arguments. Although the two of them were still inseparable, they could spend hours debating a point. Or laboring it, John thought wryly.
“It’s a simile, Chandi, and similes are quite personal. Many similes depend on the writer’s current mood and often can seem quite strange to a reader. Just as you think a deer is more lonely, Wordsworth obviously thought a cloud expressed it better for him,” Robin Cartwright said.
“Well, I think it’s quite stupid,” Chandi said stubbornly. “Can we read something else?”
Robin Cartwright and John sighed together. It was the third poem this afternoon and the other two had been abandoned for similar reasons. Perhaps it was not a little learning that was a dangerous thing, but too much. Chandi was like a sponge, soaking up everything since he had started taking classes with Mr. Cartwright, but he insisted on questioning everything too.
Now, at sixteen, he spoke English as well as the girls and his accent was as clipped and precise as John’s was. And while John delighted in the boy’s quick mind, he sometimes longed to hear Chandi’s singsong broken English again. He sounds just like one of us now, John thought dispiritedly, as if everything that made him unique
is gone.
He straightened up and winced as a muscle pulled painfully in his back. He massaged it with the heel of his palm and then smiled, as another, gentler hand took over from his, rubbing rhythmically.
“You know the exact spot, my dear,” he murmured softly so the others couldn’t hear. Not that he needed to bother, for the argument inside the room was flaring up again, with Rose-Lizzie’s clear voice ringing over the others.
“Is my son creating trouble again?” Premawathi inquired softly, still massaging. She was quite concealed behind him.
“No, just asking questions again,” John said.
“Creating trouble. Sometimes I don’t think that boy is my son. He is so different from any of us.”
John laughed softly. “Oh he’s your son all right,” he said. “Just listen to him. My daughter uses volume, but Chandi uses a far more powerful tool.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Reason,” he replied. “You know, I read all those poets when I was a lad and I never thought to ask some of the questions he does.” He stretched his back gratefully. “Thank you. It was beginning to ache quite badly.”
“Old age,” she murmured demurely, and walked away quickly before he could think of a suitable retort.
He turned to look at her departing back, admiring, as he always did, her slimness and carriage. The years seemed to have passed her by without touching her, and whenever he commented on how young she still looked, she would look at him and say, “It’s happiness.”
It was true that they were all so much happier than they had ever been before. It was as if they had all finally discovered one another’s rhythm, creating a comfortable harmony at Glencairn.
He cherished it, but perhaps the years had made him pessimistic, for he also feared for it.
“Let’s continue after dinner, shall we?” Robin Cartwright said, and breathed a sigh of relief as everyone jumped to their feet.
Rose-Lizzie linked an arm through Chandi’s and pulled him along. “Come on, slowcoach!” she cried gaily, all her earlier impatience forgotten.
Chandi resisted. “Why are you always in such a hurry? Do you have a train to catch or something?”
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