‘How is your leg?’ Josh asked when we first sat down. It was fine and I didn’t want to talk about it.
‘How are you feeling?’ he then asked. He was slipping back into nurse and patient mode and I didn’t want that either.
‘I don’t know what to say. So much has happened. And you?’
And that’s when he started to talk, unassumingly and quietly. He spoke about his fears of what he would become back in Sweden, of everything closing down again as he slipped once more into living in a neat flat and working in a regular job. He spoke of his loss of purpose and of his sense of loneliness. He spoke with a heartbroken longing that he could find his faith again. He barely looked at me as he spoke, his tone full of hesitation and his voice, with its lilt, singing its soft song quietly into my mind. Filling it with the words he spoke. And I listened in silence but watched him as he spoke, studying his outline, lost in what he was saying.
I was used to hearing people expressing a lack of purpose in the years that I had been at the bar – asking ‘what’s the point? Isn’t it all a game?’ But then the people who said that would usually find a cheque in their cheque drawer or would win a case, or something like that a few days later, and then would once more slip into the stream of economically driven lifestyle. But this was for real. This was someone who meant it.
That is my Josh, my Josh who then went on to say how much he envied me with my clean sheet existence, the life ahead of me, suggesting that I had had the courage to leave everything else behind, to start again. Wipe the slate clean. How I had an opportunity now to do everything that he would like to do, to search for the right way of being, without the litter of western life with its material junk and clutter. How I could find God, if I wanted, because there was nothing to prevent me doing so. How I was free from the bombardment of concepts and self-created demands that flow from western working life.
Then he said to me ‘Don’t waste it, will you?’
‘I don’t know’ I replied, because I didn’t know. I really had not the first clue what I was going to do.
And so Josh went on, suggesting that I had been offered a chance right there, in Unawatuna. With Sunil, who needed to be looked after. With Raja, who was destitute. With the other people here. I had money. I had health. I had been saved. What was I going to do with it? He made me see things differently. He made me see that I was lucky. Josh is not directive but that night he got as near to being directive as I have ever known him to be, leaving me with the sense that he was speaking as much to himself as to me. He kept saying ‘value what you’ve got.’
‘Will you ever come here again?’ I asked after a long silence, half expecting the usual traveller’s response of ‘maybe, sometime.’
‘I would really like to’ Josh replied. ‘I have a lot of things still to sort out now though. I also need to think about where I am going.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you know, having seen so much life and death here, I don’t think that I can carry on as I have been and I really don’t think that I want to.’
‘Maybe it’s just being on holiday. Maybe once you get back to Sweden it won’t seem anything like so bad.’
‘That’s not the point.’
Then it was my turn. I asked him not to throw everything away. Could he not make things better back home? Find another job? Search for a new partner?
He just said ‘maybe’ and then suggested that we should go back to the others.
‘No, please don’t. Because if we do, we will never finish this conversation. If we leave things up in the air like this I will never stop thinking of all the things that I wish that I had asked.’ If I had not said that then, I suspect that we would have gone back and that would have been the end of it. For once I stood my ground and the pendulum swung.
There was a silence and then I said ‘You asked me about suicide. Can I ask you the same question? Is that what you are talking about – whether you want to carry on at all?’ I knew the relief that I had felt when he asked me that question.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied and I knew exactly what he meant. It’s just like that. You don’t make up your mind finally to jump in front of the train until it comes into the station.
I put my arm round him. His shoulder felt bony and his body tense, a bit like Raja’s, but I also felt its warmth and how it fitted into mine. And I looked at him and we both smiled. And I told him that, however useless a friend I might be, I needed him to promise me that he would stay in touch. Really promise. Not the traveller’s promise, not the: ‘I’ve had too many drags on the joint promise’, but a real promise. I felt his shoulders relax under my arm and his head tilted towards mine. I lifted my hand so that it rested against the side of his head, drew it towards mine and it felt good.
‘I would like that, too, Simon.’ Josh said, in a voice that echoes through my head as I type it.
‘Do you know what I would like to do now?’ I asked.
‘Tell me’ Josh said, with a laugh in his voice.
‘No, I am not suggesting we jump on each other’ - that was obviously why he was laughing. ‘Mind you…’
‘Fuck off,’ he joked.
‘Let’s lie down on the beach and look at the stars.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really’
It was a crystal clear night and the sky was magnificent. Teeming with colour. We lay down next to each other on the beach, looking up at the beautiful night sky and passing a joint between us. And we talked a lot more. Much, much more. And when we had finished talking, Josh, I took your hand and I held it. And you didn’t take your hand away, but you held on to mine. And I didn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve it. You know that. And you looked at me and smiled again. And I didn’t deserve that either. Then we both fell asleep next to each other on the beach. You fell asleep first and I lay watching you for a while. Then I fell asleep too. It must have been nearly dawn by then.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
We were roused by the chorus of howling dogs that starts promptly as day breaks here. While we had slept the sand flies had played nip the little bastards with both of us and the result was that my legs looked pox ridden and itched like hell. ‘Bollocks,’ I said when I saw what they had done. ‘Not now,’ Josh said with a huge grin on his face and then ran into the sea to swim in his clothes and, I suppose, drown the bugs. I waded in up to my knees but did not want to get my leg wound wet.
We walked back towards the tent and were greeted by Sunil who dashed across the sand to us straight into my arms. ‘Where were you? I was so worried.’ Josh looked at me and nodded his head, meaning ‘see what I mean?’ after the conversation the night before. I stroked Sunil’s head and looked across at Josh; neither of us had clocked on to the fact that Sunil could not stand anyone just disappearing without explanation.
We had breakfast, that is stewed sweet tea and more baked beans, and then Raja went off leaving Sunil, once again, looking forlorn and lost. It was Josh who picked up on what to do – he took Sunil’s hand and started to walk to the village asking Sunil to show him around.
The state primary school in Unawatuna was situated beside the bay, on the side of the coastal road to Galle that is nearest to the sea. It was seriously damaged in the tsunami and has not been rebuilt in the same location - the senior school, which is further inland, has been extended and all ages are now educated on that site. Sunil showed us around the village and found some of his friends with whom he had animated and emotional conversations in Sinhala which I did not understand although the content was obvious. As we walked around more children joined us, some wanting to hold our hands, others babbling in discussion with friends. Also there was the inevitable football which was being kicked around; kids here either play football or cricket – usually cricket.
‘I bet you guys are rubbish at football,’ I said jokingly and then faced the anticipated outburst of protest with all of them insisting that they were budding professional players and rattling off not jus
t the names of English teams (what is it about Manchester United, Liverpool and Chelsea?) but also a never ending list of the names of football players.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘do you want to show me? I am a professional referee,’ I lied.
So, that’s what we did. We cleared an area on the beach and the new Manchester United played the new Chelsea on Unawatuna beach amongst the debris, with a hop-along referee and Josh joining in to play for whichever team happened to be losing. As we played, more and more children, as well as some adults, joined in and, for the first time, I saw Sunil smile like a nine-year-old should, lost for a moment in the game. After at least an hour it was too hot to continue. Manchester United had won. The score was 16 - 13.
‘Swim!’ Josh shouted and the whole lot of them dashed down the sand and into the sea, all except Sunil who remained with me on the beach. There then followed the most magnificent display of splashing, ducking and diving with the spray of water causing sparkling rainbows above the water’s surface. I can picture the scene now as I write. I can see Josh skimming the surface of the water with the palm of his hand creating a mist that glistened in the sunshine. I can see the children leaping onto his back, trying to push him down in the water forcing him, at times, to use his full strength in order to remain standing. I can see him running out of the sea, chased by loads of kids and then dashing back into the water, diving into the waves. I can hear the shouts of their play and the aeroplane type noise that Josh made as he opened his arms wide and chased the children on the beach pretending to be a fighter plane. I can see him swimming with his strong crawl beyond the depth of some of the children but still chased by others, and the muscles of his back as he glided through the water in the sunshine. I can hear the shrieks of laughter of the children as they yelled their demands for attention, calling his name over and over again.
Eventually the children started to come out of the sea and drifted back to their homes, or what was left of them. Sunil, Josh and I walked back to the tent where we started to get some food together; Raja was not there, no doubt still pursuing his mission of hunting for Tamana or just disappearing down the neck of a bottle somewhere. As we raked the fire and heated up yet further tins of beans I noticed that Sunil was wandering around collecting things from the area around the hotel and putting them into a pile.
There had been a drinking area in the hotel that stood on wooden stilts and was surrounded by lattice work; the tsunami had lifted it from the stilts and deposited it against some trees next to the beach. Sunil was searching around it and came back with some bits of cloth (old table cloths?) that he had found by it and then started turning over the brick and block remains of the small home where he and his parents had lived. It had obviously been a very fragile, single block construction that had all been swept away. But Sunil found some pieces of clothing that he recognised as belonging to his parents, including the remains of a sari that his mother must have owned. Trapped under the brickwork were also what appeared to be the remnants of a picture frame, although there was no sign of a picture, and there were also broken pieces of a bed.
After drawing Josh’s attention to what Sunil was doing and both of us watching him for a while Josh asked him: ‘What are you doing?’
‘I think that these may be some of my parents’ belongings,’ Sunil said. ‘Or maybe they belonged to my aunt or cousin.’ The things that he had collected were all broken or ripped.
‘They must be very precious,’ I said. Sunil just shrugged his shoulders.
‘Can we help you collect them?’ Josh asked.
Sunil did that distinctive sway of his head that means ‘yes and no’ here but said nothing. We couldn’t leave him doing all that on his own, and so we helped him collect broken and ripped things from the site, with him giving us instructions about what we should put onto the pile and what we should discard. After a while we could not find any more things to add and so we sat next to the pile, talking about what we had found.
‘Many things, but they are no good,’ Sunil said. ‘Maybe I should just burn them.’ He picked up a handful of them and started walking towards the fire.
‘Wait Sunil,’ Josh said and put his arm around his shoulder. ‘These things are too precious for that even if they are damaged.’
‘But they are no good. They are no good to me, to my parents or anyone else. My parents are dead. I know that. So why should I keep this rubbish.’ He began to fling the stuff towards the fire, in tears.
Josh squatted down next to him. I got up and stood by Sunil, stroking his hair while his body shook as he sobbed his heart out. I kept holding him, while Josh and I said anything we could to give him some sort of comfort. We must have stayed like that for at least five minutes with Josh’s soft and quiet voice calming him, reaching out to him as he cried the cry of an orphan.
Then Josh took hold of Sunil’s hand and, still squatting down in front of him, looked into his eyes and said: ‘Sunil, I am really sorry, but I think we all have to recognise that your mum and dad are not coming back. I am so very sorry.’
Sunil just looked back blankly, his sense of isolation palpable. Who were we to him? Two western tourists who had no idea what life was really like for him, both of whom would leave when it suited them.
There was no way that I was going to leave him like that: ‘Sunil, we both know that Josh has to go back to Sweden soon. But I don’t need to leave. I would like to stay here with you, at least until I know you are OK. Please can I do that?’ Josh looked up at me while I spoke and smiled. Sunil turned his body into mine in the way that I had seen him do with his uncle Raja, and I kept holding him to me.
It was Josh who eventually broke the silence. He suggested that we should make a type of funeral pyre with the things that we had collected and burn them. But it was more than that. He suggested burning them on a raft that we should sail out on the sea, telling Sunil that the light would shine out to his parents, wherever they might be.
‘They really are not coming back, are they?’ Sunil asked.
‘No, Sunil, they are not. I am sorry to tell you that they must have died in that terrible tragedy,’ Josh said. It was as though Sunil needed to hear the certainty and finality of an adult pronouncing that his parents had died.
‘Thank you for telling me,’ he replied, once again reverting to his customary politeness. With that he stopped crying, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and just walked away on his own. He sat down on the edge of the concrete base of what had been the eating area of the hotel, rested his elbows on his knees and cupped his chin with his hands, looking down at the sand. Josh went over and sat next to him. They then moved to stand by the fire, pushing the unburnt wood into its centre.
We did not press the point with Sunil, but when I asked ‘Would you like to do what Josh said?’ he nodded.
‘Why not? Let’s do that then.’
So, that is what we did. There was no shortage of wood or rope and it took less than a couple of hours to build the raft and tie the remaining possessions of Sunil’s parents to it.
‘When it is dark we can light it on the water then,’ Josh said. We all sat down on the concrete base of the old eating area, waiting until night fell. Sunil was plainly exhausted. I suggested that he lay down with his head on my lap and, very quickly and much to my surprise, he fell straight off to sleep.
While he slept I spoke to Josh. ‘I imagine you will be leaving tomorrow for Colombo’ - I had to break the ice on that subject sometime, I knew.
‘Yes,’ replied Josh. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Can I come with you to Colombo, please?’ I asked. ‘At least for tomorrow. I would like to come with you to the airport, if I may. I am not ready to say goodbye.’
‘That would be nice. Really nice. Thank you,’ Josh replied. ‘But you will have to promise me that you will look after this guy when I have left.’
‘I couldn’t do otherwise,’ I replied and felt the barrier of loneliness fall again, that same margin being reinforced as I strok
ed Sunil’s head while he slept.
Sunil eventually woke up after about an hour. What was left of the afternoon was spent finding some petrol with which we could douse the things on top of the raft and some brushwood to help it all burn. Most of it had dried out by then. We found a dugout and some planks of wood for makeshift paddles. We then pulled the raft down to the water’s edge and tied some rope to the end of it, so that it could be tugged by Josh out onto the sea.
By nightfall, at the regular time of 6 p.m., there was no sign of Raja; he came back much later, reeking of drink and red eyed as before. So, the solemn gathering of the three of us went down to the water. The sea was calm and empty, the night sky bright. Josh got into the dugout, holding the rope. I poured the petrol over the mound, pushed the raft off the sand into the sea and then Sunil, holding my hand, stood with me in the shallows and put a burning stick from the fire towards it. It leapt into flame and Josh paddled into the deeper water, pulling the burning raft on the rope behind him.
Sunil and I stood on the beach watching the flames. ‘Would you like to say a prayer to your mum and dad?’ I asked. He looked at me with an empty look on his face.
Then he said ‘I don’t know how to.’
He looked at me and I said: ‘Nor do I. I’m sorry.’
I put my arm around his shoulder and we just watched in silence, it was the best that I could do. When I looked down at him he turned his head into my body. So, I held him to me and we stood watching the pitiful remnants of his parents’ possessions burning on the water. After paddling out into the middle of the bay, Josh cast away the rope that had been holding the raft and paddled back to the shore. He pulled the dugout onto the sand and we sat down, watching the raft as it burnt down to the water and then sank out of sight.
The Water Is Warm Page 19
