The Jam Fruit Tree

by Carl Muller

  And so she died and the shrieks and wailings and the broken sobs of the men were terrible to hear. And only Sonnaboy, dry-eyed but with an ache in his heart that could not be eased, said: ‘Viva never came. Never forgive him for this. Papa, Viva never came.’

  Cecilprins looked at his youngest with unseeing eyes.

  ‘Viva never came,’ Sonnaboy grated, ‘He killed our mama and he never came.’

  Part Two

  The Berrying

  Such a crowd there was . . .

  The chronicler finds it difficult in the extreme to paint in mere words the many details of Maudiegirl’s funeral. Satisfied beyond all doubt that Maudiegirl had died in a state of grace and that her soul was now travelling first-class to Paradise, Father Romiel gave ready consent for Barney Raymond, morticians, to transport the body in its handsome coffin, with the ornate brass carrying grips and the specially-inscribed brass plate bearing the name of the deceased, to St. Mary’s where a catafalque was set up in the middle of the main aisle, towards the arched doors. Sonnaboy worked all morning, placing a few potted palms around the catafalque and with the help of friends and neighbours, hanging a large black flag on which were the white letters RIP and a cross, and lining the route from home to church with the little black flags. The motor hearse was a grand-looking vehicle and the wreaths came in to fill the hall were Maudiegirl lay, and overflow to the veranda. Raymond’s men, with quiet efficiency, washed and prepared the corpse and the smell of formalene clung cloyingly in the air even when it was all over and Maudiegirl was arrayed in flowing white with her rosary draped around her hands and her prayerbook also placed, at Cecilprins’ insistence, and which held a mezzotint of the family. She was a perfect picture of repose. Her hair had been carefully, lovingly combed and the bandage around her jaw removed. Stout and marbled in death, she seemed to have shed many years. Even the care lines at the ends of her mouth had disappeared. Lamps burned all the night as she lay with the family keeping vigil. The doors were kept wide open and people came in at every hour to cross themselves, whisper a prayer and embrace the sad-shouldered family and then sit and fidget and ponder on the mystery of it all.

  It is an open-house business, actually, and the girls were kept on their feet, serving innumerable cups of tea and plates of biscuits and wondering why there was scarcely time to weep. Totoboy, weak creature that he was, found solace in the bottle and drank fiercely. He was far in his cups when the hearse took Maudiegirl to church and was unable to even help to carry out the coffin. He watched his mother’s body leave, sat in the dining-room and bawled with a great feeling of helplessness until Sonnaboy came in to shake him angrily, drag him to the bathroom where he was held firmly by the scruff of his neck and pushed, spluttering and crying, under the tap. ‘Clean up and get dressed,’ Sonnaboy snarled, ‘You are coming to the cemetery even if I have to drag you.’

  The service was a melancholy one. With Maudiegirl under a special black drape and the tall candles casting yellow glances at the tented structure, with altarboys in black cassocks swinging their thurifiers and puffs of incense rising like smoke-signals to the domed roof, Dunnyboy began a low howl that could not be stilled. After prayers at the altar, Father Romiel came through the sanctuary gates, led by altar servers carrying cross and candles and followed by a little rascal bearing the brass urn of holy water. Old De Niese banged away at the Hammond organ and Pinky Markwick opened her mouth and bellowed ‘Nearer my God to Thee’ with such spirit that everybody turned their heads to look.

  The prayers and blessing around the catafalque over, it was time to deliver a few words on Maudiegirl’s earthly stewardship while Leah, Anna and Elsie clung to each other, sobbing, and Iris Holdenbottle, not to be outdone, gave a piercing shriek and fell to her knees and Totoboy in a state of near stupor rolled over her and caused a general confusion in the pew. Finally, with the cross and candles leading, the coffin was carried outside and the long, slow journey to the Kanatte cemetery began. Rickshaws trotted ahead, piled high with wreaths and cars inched behind the hearse and those on bicycles carried their wreaths on their handlebars and Cecilprins wore a black armband and the women wore black hats and veils and some rushed to the bus stop while others accosted Cecilprins with excuses. ‘Cannot come, anney. If leave Doddy alone, you know, no?’ and Cecilprins would nod and say, ‘Enough you did, Lilly, thank you for coming to church. You go and see to Doddy. All have own troubles, no?’

  The cemetery, being all of five miles away and the funeral procession at snail’s pace with many of the young ones walking the distance, took its time. At the graveside a choir had been organised to sing the old traditionals and the sight of all the gravestones sobered Totoboy considerably. He teetered around, peering at monuments and granite angels and stone crosses and shook a bewildered head. ‘Here lies, here lies,’ he muttered, ‘and resting only and sacred to the memory . . . my God, where they putting my mama? Nobody dead here I think,’ he told Iris, ‘All taking rest!’ and rushing ahead he came to the open grave, the ropes in place to lower the coffin and the choir singing furiously. Staggering over the mound of earth he bent over: ‘Mama, you are already in there?’

  Sonnaboy tried to grab at him but it was too late. With a howl, Totoboy vanished. This, naturally, caused great consternation. At the bottom of the grave, covered with sand spitting mouthfuls of earth, Totoboy gave a series of banshee wails. Those on the outskirts who had not been privy to Totoboy’s disappearing act, heard the hollow trumpeting and said, ‘My God, men, what is that?’

  ‘Someone screaming from inside grave.’

  ‘What? Inside grave.’

  ‘That’s what. Must have buried alive, no?’

  ‘What? What? A ghost?’

  ‘Murie, you heard? Ghost inside grave. And screaming!’

  Murie had no answer for such an ungodly situation. She fainted.

  Attempts to pull Totoboy out tumbled more sand on to him and this caused sheer terror. ‘Don’t bury me!’ he shrieked, ‘My God, trying to bury me!’

  Panic rose in a wave and a stampede for the gates began with wreaths flung helter-skelter and young bucks scaling the cemetery wall to get away. By the time Totoboy was hauled out and fiercely dragged away and Maudiegirl lowered, many of the mourners were headed for home,’ convinced that murder had been done. Prayers were said and hymns sung and the earth piled back and the wreaths piled over the mound. Sadly, faces wan and drawn, the family turned for home. Old Simmons asked: ‘How did it go?’

  Cecilprins said: ‘Okay. Totoboy fell into the grave.’

  ‘Totoboy what?’

  ‘Fell in. Into the grave.’

  Simmons stared. Then he gave a whoop of laughter and suddenly it seemed mandatory that everybody laugh too . . . except Totoboy, that is, who didn’t see the humour of it.

  Simmons went ‘hoo, hoo’ and wiped his eyes, ‘Should have buried the bugger also. Hoo, hoo, fell in, how did it happen?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Cecilprins roared, ‘bending over and then phut! went inside.’

  ‘Hoo, hoo, must have been pukka sight, no? Bella, you heard? Totoboy fell into the grave! Hoo, hoo.’

  Laughing, arm in arm, they went indoors for a drink. A month later everyone in Dehiwela agreed that it was a good Burgher funeral and Totoboy was a hero and slapped on the back heartily wherever he went. But he didn’t touch a drop for a week, and that, in itself, was a miracle of sorts.

  Elsie discovered Eric’s weakness a week before they were married. It all began with the rearrangement of the Station Lane home. Aggie’s mauve flower-patterned sofaset had always upset Elsie who declared it to be the stuff of nightmares. ‘But my dear one, that is my mama’s, no? With her own two hands she put lining and stitched and told she broke her back doing it.’

  Elsie said she didn’t care how many backs Aggie broke. ‘Don’t come to dear one me,’ she said, ‘Get tailor fellow to put new covers. Getting sick when I see this.’

  Eric muttering under his breath, went to the almirah.

>   ‘What did you say?’ Elsie demanded, ‘So already you’re scolding me, no? Cursing me to yourself, no?’

  Eric hadn’t a chance. Elsie was upon him seized him by his neck, pushed his head into the almirah and rained a series of blows on his back and shoulders. With his face screwed into a shelf of clothes, Eric could scarcely breathe. He wriggled and squirmed, but was stuffed into the shelf and lay helpless, trying hard to breathe and feeling increasingly sick at the smell of mothballs. When released, he tottered to the bed and slumped gasping. Elsie stood over him, glowering. ‘If you don’t want to marry never mind,’ she said defiantly, ‘I’m going to tell Papa.’

  Eric leaped up with a howl, sprang across to fall at her feet, clutch her ankles. ‘How you must be loving me,’ he croaked, ‘beating me like this. Tomorrow we will put new cloth on chairs. Ah, you always are my dear one. Love you like anything now.’

  So Elsie had her way and they had a quiet wedding and the wedding photograph recorded for posterity the satisfied smirk on her face.

  George de Mello found a house in Wellawatte since he didn’t favour the idea of taking Leah to Kandana. Papa de Mello was displeased. ‘Why she cannot stay here with us,’ he asked, ‘Can help your mama also, no?’

  ‘How to bring Leah here? Whole day walking about without elastic in your pajamas and shouting the whole time. And what is she going to do here? Just sit and listen to you talking about the cows?’

  True as this was, George was anxious that Leah continue to work at the florist’s in Dehiwela and the Wellawatte home was just a few cents bus fare away. Much better, he thought, than a jobless wife and he out in the port all day. The decision pleased Leah no end. She was touched that George could be so considerate. There had been long moments when she had entertained calling it all off but there were those other days when he would call at the florist’s and slyly put his hand up her dress under cover of the counter and she would say: ‘Don’t, anney, suppose someone comes,’ and press a little closer. All things in account, she classified George as some sort of necessary evil and the wedding took place in April and everyone said that Leah made a beautiful bride and Cecilprins, who was now ready to retire from public service, went to great pains to give her as good a wedding as any.

  Things were not so straightforward for Totoboy and Sonnaboy. Indeed, the complications that set in were such that one wonders how such a tangled skein could be ever unravelled. The problem had many sides to it and should be highlighted as follows:

  A Customs Officer, Bertie Carron, saw Elva da Brea and knew at last that this was the answer to the sweet mystery of life. He loved her to distraction.

  Elva, determined to score one over her cocky younger sister, Beryl, was as set on marrying Sonnaboy as Bertie was on marrying her.

  Mama da Brea who was determined to palm off Elva to the first comer, considered that Sonnaboy filled the bill perfectly. ‘You marry Elva if you like,’ she kept saying, ‘My Beryl is too small. She is my Buiya (Florrie da Brea’s pet name for Beryl) no?’

  Sonnaboy, who began to call Beryl ‘Buiya’ (a term Beryl deplored) said it was Beryl or nobody and this led to words. ‘Don’t come here again,’ Florrie screeched.

  Iris Holdenbottle, a seamstress, had sewn several dresses for Elva and casually informed Totoboy that she knew the da Brea girls, which information was relayed to Sonnaboy who decided to cultivate this situation.

  Sonnaboy’s fiancee, Elaine, was determined to hold on to her man.

  Elaine’s beefy brothers declared that nobody plays the fool with their sister and lives to talk of it.

  Everything, happily, was sorted out in the end. Bertie claimed Elva, Sonnaboy married Beryl and Totoboy married Iris, but before this thrice-happy outcome, Iris and Totoboy suffered injury, Elva was forced to run, shrieking along the beach and Elaine’s brothers had to make several visits to the Municipal Outdoor Patients Dispensary. Also, one must not forget Bertie’s black eye which was a glory to behold.

  It is the duty of the chronicler to now add fat and muscle to these bare bones. The visit of Cecilprins and Maudiegirl to the da Brea home—which has been alluded to in part one of this chronicle—was not a happy one. Even Maudiegirl had remarked later: ‘No wonder, child, the poor boy always in a temper. Disappointed, no?’

  Cecilprins did not agree. ‘But hammering people left and right? Bottle man shout on road, going and hitting. You saw that Beryl, no? Child, men, a child. Only fifteen. What he thinking, I don’t know. And what about Elaine? How many months now they are carrying on.’

  ‘Not a small one, that Beryl,’ Maudiegirl observed, ‘Saw the way she was looking at Sonnaboy.’

  Florrie da Brea had been firm. ‘My Buiya is too small and studying also. Every night I think about this and praying to Saint Anthony also. If like he can marry my Elva. Can marry any time he wants and I will give this house and go and live in Maradana with my Juppie. Can send Beryl by rickshaw to school from there or even put in Kotahena Good Shepherd convent to study.’

  Cecilprins had to agree that Florrie had her rights. Beryl was under age and there was nothing that could be done. Sonnaboy was furious. ‘Who wants to marry Elva? I love Beryl.’

  Florrie gave Maudiegirl a pained look. ‘If so let wait for six years.’

  ‘Six years!’ Sonnaboy snorted.

  ‘Yes. When my Buiya is twenty-one can marry if you like. Useless your looking at me like that. If coming here to argue and fight I will go and tell the police. All alone here with my girls and you coming to fight and in my house also.’

  Cecilprins hastened to soothe the old lady. ‘No, no, no need for all that, no? Didn’t come to fight? Only came like decent people to meet you, no? So never mind, we’ll go.’

  Florrie was not mollified. ‘And what about my Elva?’ she asked.

  Sonnaboy rose. ‘Come go,’ he said darkly, ‘Came to ask for Beryl and trying to push Elva on me. Who wants your Elva? Did I come to ask for Elva? You give Elva to anyone. Who cares? Give to the police. Best thing for her. But I’m going to marry Beryl!’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Florrie, the blood of the da Brea’s warming up several degress, ‘You come near my Beryl and I’ll put entry in police station.’

  Cecilprins tugged Sonnaboy away, ‘For goodness sake come go,’ he urged and for goodness and Beryl’s sake, Sonnaboy went.

  Things didn’t go swimmingly at home either. Elaine Werkmeister had soured considerably over the eleven months of being Sonnaboy’s fiancee. They had met, of all places, in the Dehiwela fish market and Sonnaboy had been fascinated by her severely bobbed hair and thin features. She swung her arms as she walked and her narrow shift brought out her boyish figure to good effect. Nothing very feminine about Elaine. Two hulking elder brothers, one in the Municipality Power Station and the other a supervisor in a Kawdana brickyard, had treated her as one of them since she was so high. They weren’t the doting, protective brothers everyone thought they were. Elaine had to be one of the boys or nobody at all. The fact that she was a girl had been a disappointment to the two strapping lads who grew tall and matured fast. At thirteen, older brother Eustace had a few hairs in his armpits. He hadn’t noticed until the younger Merril had remarked: ‘You’re getting hair like Papa.’ It was even more interesting to discover later the soft down that had begun to discolour the skin over his penis. The brothers examined each other and Elaine was also made privy to this marvel of growing up. ‘It’s a secret,’ Eustace told her, ‘Swear you will not tell anybody else you saw.’ Elaine promised and was never tired of this new game and they would creep into the garage to look upon each other. The boys would examine her vagina with deep interest and part her labia and touch the little pink button that throbbed visibly at their touch. ‘Like a tiny birdie,’ Eustace would say and Elaine would run her fingers along their hard little cocks and gently massage their testicles and push their foreskins back to look at what she called their ‘pippie holes’.

  When Sonnaboy came on the scene years later, Elaine was not surprised a
t his advances. And, she thought, Sonnaboy didn’t ask for too much. All he wanted was that she cross her legs and stand still while he pushed his penis between her thighs. His effusion made if rather messy but if this was all her man wished of her, she was happy to oblige. She never dreamed that to Sonnaboy, she was just another boy and he was using her just the way he used the hopper boy and the young cleaner in the railway running shed and so many others. She was a woman, and Sonnaboy said he would marry her, and her father, too, had approved. But old Werkmeister was a surveyor and left nothing to chance. ‘You send me a letter,’ he told Sonnaboy, ‘Write and say that you love my Elaine and want to marry her and promise to love and look after her always and then you can get engaged, right?’

  So Sonnaboy went home and wrote a letter and old Werkmeister grunted in satisfaction. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘this tells me you are a gentleman. You are not just playing about with Elaine, no? You have no ulterior business. Now I will also send you a letter saying that I am giving my consent and always you remember that this is the way gentlemen must be. Now anyone can say anything for when people ask me I can say proudly that you are a gentleman and my Elaine is marrying a gentleman and you have put it all down on paper.’