The Jam Fruit Tree

by Carl Muller

  As has been said, Kadugannawa had never seen such a sight. Even as this is being recorded, well-known Sri Lankan poet and writer, Jean Arasanayagam of Kandy says how, when she was a little girl in Kadugannawa in 1935 she remembers how she saw a pregnant lady being carried along the railway lines in a chair by two men. Well . . . this sort of confirmation is only to be expected. Jean Arasanayagam was, in 1935, Jean Solomons—a sweet-faced tot of four or five years and daughter of railway guard Solomons who lived in a railway bungalow close to the yard. This chronicle, I must remind readers, is ‘faction’—the new word that has been coined to describe a work of fiction that sails very close to fact. Another famous Sri Lankan singer, Lylie Godridge recalls the day, long, long ago, when he was a choirboy and had to sing at a funeral . . . and somebody who was quite drunk, fell into the grave! The hullaballoo, Lylie says, was quite extraordinary . . . and this ‘fact’ became ‘faction’ in Part Two of this chronicle. But, it is maintained, that this is a work of ‘fictional-fact’ or ‘factual-fiction’, or whatever else it could be called. The fact of the fiction must be recorded . . . and the fact suitably fictionalised. I hope the reader understands, because I cannot get the real grasp of it all myself!

  Well . . . Kadugannawa was vastly entertained. The highlight of the morning’s events was the sight of Beryl, big with child, being borne in a chair along the tracks to the station, where she was deposited in the First Class Waiting Room and given iced orange barley water. Jossie Nona tripped alongside, fanning Beryl with an old newspaper and small boys and dogs got into the way of others who formed a motley procession. The fiscal crew, now divested of leeches, stared, fascinated.

  ‘What is that?’ asked one.

  ‘Perahera (a religious procession),’ said another.

  Pith Hat strode the narrow veranda like Shakespeare’s colossus, a picture of frustration and rage. His vocal chords had apparently thrown in the towel, for he kept opening his mouth and the veins of his neck bulged but not a whinny came forth. All manner of people kept coming in from the rear of the house and helping themselves to all manner of wordly possessions and arranging them according to their peculiar fancies, all over the railway yard. Three big louts in khaki shorts had taken the settee and two chairs and a small table to the side of the water column. There, the louts sat and engrossed themselves in some deep scientific discussion. They were obviously enjoying themselves. An almirah was carried off by four men to a clearing near the signals cabin. It was placed there, its polished wood blinking in the sun, while a wash-basin and stand were placed beside it and the basin carefully filled with all manner of household odds and ends. The effect pleased Vere Cook who couldn’t know at the time that he was giving Kadugannawa its first surrealist ‘happening’. He told Sonnaboy: ‘You go and see to your wife. If she is feeling bad, take her to my place and get a doctor. I will look after all this and see that nothing is damaged. Lucky it’s a nice day.’

  The overview, the whole scene, studied from any direction, was something to wonder at. The railway yard had begun to look quite homely. The sidings were festooned with pictures, piles of magazines and copies of Girl’s Own (Beryl’s). A line of empty goods wagons were given an honour guard of kitchen utensils—mortar and pestle, grinding stone, pots and pans, cane bags and boxes holding bottles and tins and all manner of gadgetry plus brushes and chopping knife that was big enough to decapitate a middling elephant. A hat-stand rubbed shoulders with dressing-table near the goods-shed and a glass cabinet, a writing desk and a dinner wagon had been spaced along the main line at ten-yard intervals to the admiration of all and sundry. Nothing remained in the bungalow. Only a small crucifix which everyone forgot about and which hung over the front door and went unnoticed by Pith Hat.

  One of the fiscal crew said: ‘If we go, good. Nothing can take, no? Now in house haven’t anything.’

  Pith Hat seemed to be wrestling with unseen demons. Never, in all his years in service had he encountered such a situation. Just when he was considering retreat there was a small thud and a click and the front door was opened. Vere Cook, with the straightest face he could muster, said: ‘Good morning. You knocked?’

  So, after another tangle with the leeches and a mighty struggle to climb the embankment, the fiscal men reached their lorry where they were surrounded by a bunch of roughnecks who patiently outlined what could be done the next time they were seen, heard or smelt in Kadugannawa. The very air seemed to smoke and grow purple. Solemn pledges were made that Pith Hat’s liver—of all things—would be clawed out of him and duly consumed; that his intestines would be used as skippings ropes; that his mother would be subjected to a series of intimate encounters of the worst kind; that his face—and especially his ears—would be split like squishy oranges; that he would be taken apart, limb by limb and scattered in so methodical a manner that it would take a team of forensic experts a very long time to get him together again after all the kings horses and all the king’s men had failed in their endeavours. The crew, wishing to disassociate themselves from their leader, leaped into the lorry and cowered ingloriously while the driver blanched and fumbled with the ignition and actually rolled in reverse for a full thirty yards until he dazedly clumped on the brake pedal and shouted ‘Sancta Maria! All are mad here! Come go, come go!’

  And they went . . . and Beryl said she was all right and the whiteness had left her lips and she smiled sweetly at everyone who had clustered around to see how she was. Mrs Cook wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and said: ‘Don’t worry about anything. Will put everything back and arrange the house nicely. Can you walk? Then come go home and you rest awhile. Can have some lunch with us today.’

  Cecilprins, who strode the platform like a Nelson on the fo’c’s’le was happy. Jossie Nona said: ‘Boy for sure. See, will you, how the stomach is so low. If girl getting, stomach is high. Sure to get baby boy.’ The old man quivered with pleasure. At last, he felt, one of his children would deliver the goods!

  In Colombo, the court of His Lordship Bryant Ridgeway, J.,K.C., was not in the best of humour. The obvious step was taken. A warrant was issued. Sonnaboy was to be arrested and produced in court where it would make His Lordship graciously pleased to have the miscreant confined for a period that His Lordship would determine. He declared that justice would not be mocked at. Also, with Sonnaboy locked up for his sins, there would be no need to listen any more to the anguished bleatings of Bumpy Juriansz who was getting on His Lordship’s nerves.

  Stationmaster Thilainathan, too, had words with Sonnaboy. ‘What, I say, all you have to do is pay the court. So what’s the problem? Apply for a loan. I’ll tell you what? Take leave and go to head office in Maradana and see the G.M.R. He’s a pukka chap. Tell everything and say you want a loan to pay the court. Don’t ask for the money. Just tell the railway can send the money to court in your name. Railway can make monthly deductions from your salary. All this nonsense you did, brother, when could have got the loan and paid and finished this business long ago.’

  The General Manager of Railways was a stout, fussy man with a ball-of-cheese face . . . you know . . . round, with nothing of real prominence, not even the nose. He wore white and hung a dark blue tie around his neck, and liked to wear flannels and a blazer on Saturdays and whenever he took his swanky rail car to go on a tour of inspection. He was a very important member (so he claimed) of the British Club in Colombo and was (others claimed) a great one for the ladies. He was Lyons—Alexander Lyons Jr. to be exact—and his favourite claim was that he was Lyons by name and a lion by nature, which impressed nobody save himself. Oh, he affected a great shock of yellow hair that curled at the neck and was leonine enough, but he would go home to a perpetually cranky wife and say yes dear, no dear, of course dear, and was strangely subdued when with her in public.

  Sonnaboy was led to his sanctum where large, framed photographs showed Lyons in a running shed, examining the piston rings of a venemously dirty steam locomotive and another with his beefy leg cocked up on a cowcatcher, pith
hat on head, below-the-knee length shorts and dark hose and posing like a big game hunter who has just shot his first railway engine.

  Lyons was in a sunny mood. His wife was sailing for England on the ‘Orcades’ that evening. He had’ just popped into office to ‘show his face’ and then go back home to listen to her litany of admonitions and instructions and the usual interminable things wives go on and on about when they are leaving their hubbies for three months. Lyons would have to go on board and listen to the woman until the klaxon sounded for visitors to proceed ashore, and then, as the Peninsular & Orient royal mail vessel upped anchor, he would board the Mackinnons launch and crane his neck to wave dutifully. He was looking forward to the moment when the ‘Orcades’ would begin its push out of harbour. He’d like to shake the master of the tug ‘Hercules’ by the hand and send a token of his deep appreciation to the Senior Pilot, Captain Edward Tucker. Three months of bliss! And here, before him stood a grey-eyed Sonnaboy looking, for all the world, like a dressed-up Gargantua who had come seeking money!

  Lyons listened and adopted a frown. This would not do. His engine drivers couldn’t be allowed to go around marrying willy-nilly and having fiscal men trampling all over railway property. There were three funds, of course, to which personnel had recourse: the P.S.M.P.A. (Public Servants Mutual Provident Association); the G.O.B.A. (Government Officers Benefit Association) and the Lady Lochore Fund. This Lady Lochore must have been quite a woman. Lyons was hazy about the whole thing but it seemed that the good Lady had instituted a fund to help public servants in distress. ‘Your only hope,’ Lyons said, ‘is the Lady Lochore, but I never heard of such a thing. You think Lady Lochore will pay for breach of promise. What on earth possesses you fellows to get into such scrapes?’

  Sonnaboy shrugged. ‘When meeting Beryl I knew she much better. Elaine all right, sir, but can’t keep the mouth closed. You know, whole time going on do this, must do that, not so young as Beryl also. When I saw Beryl I thinking My God, if get married to Elaine she get old suddenly and just sit and talk talk talk the whole time and I’ll go mad or something.’

  Lyons listened and nodded sympathetically. Great God, he thought, the man could be talking of his own Margaret . . . ‘Yes, I see what you mean. Anyway, I have very little time today. My wife is sailing for England and I have great deal to do. But I will recommend your loan . . . .’ He rang the bell on his desk and asked that the Chief Clerk be summoned. This worthy was instructed to take Sonnaboy away and file a loan application. The C.G.R. would also make official representation to the Courts, accepting to pay and that in these circumstances, the writ on Sonnaboy’s person may be withdrawn. ‘Bring me the forms for my signature and recommendation and get the details sorted out for payment to Courts. Find out how this can be done. Well, my man,’ to Sonnaboy, ‘You’re lucky I was in today. You have to agree on what deductions will have to be made. Settle that with Mr Velu, here. He will check your Pay and Records file.’

  Sonnaboy was fervent in his thanks and Lyons grinned from ear to ear when the door closed behind them. Poor bugger. He’ll be in debt to the Lady Lochore for years. But he liked the man. And that Elaine was too close to home. Brrr. Talk, talk, the whole time. Didn’t he know it? Should have done the same thing, and left his Margaret holding the bag. Thank heavens she would be gone for three months. Three whole months! Great pity these P & O liners did not even indicate a propensity to sink occasionally. Yet, he felt that he had cause to celebrate. He really felt like doing a little jig.

  Chief Clerk Velu looked Sonnaboy up and down and sniffed. ‘Lucky devil, you are. Caught him in the right mood. And case like this! Never in all my service. And how? Personally recommended also.’

  Having signed innumerable papers and after a great and minute checking through files, Velu said morosely: ‘All extra work for me. Now have to call the courts and send forms in triplicate and get the warrant recalled and I don’t know what else. These legal matters are a real bloody nuisance.’

  Eventually, after two forays to the small canteen for tea, Velu came to the all-important question. ‘Now deductions. We have to pay the courts 1200 rupees with two fines also. Let me see . . . that’s 1248 rupees with the interest. Have four percent interest also . . . .’

  ‘Interest,’ Sonnaboy exclaimed, ‘Have to pay Lady Lochore interest also?’

  ‘Then what do you think? You think just giving money to anybody who comes and asks? How do you think the fund can be maintained? If you don’t like then go and ask an Afghan.’

  Sonnaboy sighed.

  ‘Anyway, have to make monthly repayment. How much can you pay back every month?’

  ‘How about five rupees?’

  ‘Five rupees!’ Velu shrieked, ‘You’re mad, men? For how many years are you going to pay? Twenty years? No, even longer than that!’

  ‘But how to pay like that? Buiya is going to have a baby also. Now only two months more.’

  Velu glowered. ‘All this extra work,’ he moaned, pulling Sonnaboy’s file to him, ‘Let’s see . . . when is your next increment due . . . my God, that’s in August next year. By that time you may decide to marry somebody else. I’ll tell you, you sign for fifteen rupees a month deduction. That will be . . . let’s see . . . about seven years.’

  Sonnaboy shook his head. ‘Can do about ten rupees, but even that is very difficult, men. I’ll tell you, I’ll go and tell the G.M.R. and say how hard it is to manage.’

  Velu jerked up. ‘No, no. He will only call and shout and ask why I cannot settle this.’

  Finally it was agreed that a sum of Rs 12.48 per month be deducted for a period of eight years and four months and Sonnaboy said that was more like it. ‘Fine thing,’ Velu said bitterly, ‘Lady Lochore will turn in her grave.’

  So everything was satisfactorily settled and Beryl was delivered of a son, Carloboy Prins von Bloss, on an October full moon night at the Kandy Nursing Home—a lusty, bawling infant whom Beryl hated on sight. Sonnaboy and Cecilprins got very drunk the next evening and weaved up and down the Kadugannawa station platform lighting crackers and shanghaied Vere Cook and his wife to be godparents. The new generation was well on its way and the island of Ceylon surely held its breath. Here was new life in a new time. King Edward VIII abdicated in due course. In 1937 George VI was crowned king of England. A new age beckoned.

  Part Four

  The Ripening

  Now these are the generations of Esau . . .

  Oops! Sorry about that. When the chronicler thinks of the cherry-laden jam fruit tree, the mind strays to the Book of Genesis . . . .

  Before we get on to this new generation of middling Burghers who turned their own trick or two, it would be convenient to record, for all time, the order of their coming into their earthly inheritance:

  A. ERIC HENRY DE MELLO married ELSIE MAUD VON BLOSS.

  They produced:

  NOELLA MARIETTA

  DORCAS MATHILDA

  BEULAH CATHERINE

  IAN STANFORD ERIC

  THELMA MARILYN

  CAROLINE DAISY

  B. DIONYSIUS RICHARD COLONTOTA married ANNA CONSTANCE VON BLOSS.

  They adopted:

  SUNIL HENAGODA, son of SUMANA AKKA, the perfectly foul-looking servant woman who worked in the Colontota household. The boy Sunil’s father was claimed to be a rickshaw man who operated out of Kirillapone slum, but this was open to debate.

  C. TERRY ANDERS VON BLOSS married BERTHA ROSE McHEYZER.

  They produced:

  BUBSYGIRL EMMALINE

  MORRIS GERALD

  D. VIVA RICHARDSON VON BLOSS married OPEL SARAH LUDWICK.

  They produced:

  PATRICIA NAOMI

  CLAUDE PETER.

  WINSTON PAUL

  JOHN JACOB

  A girl who was only known as KUKKU, who was fat, very vicious and most unpleasant. It was assumed that Opel had borne her in a fit of pique while Viva, quite shattered, prayed for weeks for divine patience to endure the shame of it all. It was only when K
UKKU was an ugly young woman and causing a great deal of family concern that Viva is reported to have snapped: ‘How long have I got to put up with this! Not enough I gave that coolie’s daughter my name and my home!’

  E. TOTOBOY DAVIDSON BRENNAN VON BLOSS married IRIS ELIZABETH HOLDENBOTTLE.

  They produced:

  FORTUNE IRA.

  BRENNAN MAURICE ROUNDTABLE

  WINSTON VERNON ALBERT

  CYRIL DAVID VICTOR

  Iris is credited with saying, later, that Totoboy was in no condition to give her any more children which, she added, was a great mercy.

  F. GEORGE GLADSTONE DE MELLO married LEAH BERNADETTE VON BLOSS.

  They produced:

  MARLENE CHRISTINA

  IVOR RUDOLPH WILHELM

  G. SONNABOY DUNCAN CLARENCE VON BLOSS married BERYL HYACINTH DA BREA.

  They produced:

  CARLOBOY PRINS

  DIANA EVELYN

  MARIE ESTHER MAUD

  HEATHER EVADNE MARYSE

  DAVID STEFAN LANCE

  MICHAEL GRANTON DUKE

  BEVERLEY ANNETTE

  A baby girl who died at birth.

  Another baby girl who was born dead. This was the result of some decoction Beryl had taken on the advice of a neighbour, Gwennie Pereira. There was this dire need to get rid of the baby which was certainly not Sonnaboy’s.

  DORIAN PERCIVAL

  SHANE ROGER MEREDITH

  MARY ANN THERESE

  They also adopted:

  BONIFACE HU CHO CHIN, illegitimate child of a Chinese shopkeeper in Wellawatte and Dorinda Ebert who worked as a salesgirl in the shop. After Dorinda had inspected the Chinaman’s etchings, she was kicked out of home by an irate father. The Chinaman then sent her to Mannar in the north of the island, where she gave birth to a male child, promptly abandoned it and sneaked out of the hospital and back to Colombo where the Chinaman welcomed her with glad cries and reinstalled her in his shop. The baby was baptised and named Boniface by the church in Mannar and despatched to Our Lady of Victories convent in Moratuwa. Sonnaboy and Beryl went to the convent to obtain, if possible, a servant girl from among the many orphans the convent cared for. They saw the infant Boniface and decided to formally adopt him.