by Roma Tearne
Jasper, of course, was a nightmare. Aloysius had had mesh put up on Myrtle’s window to keep him out because, for some unfathomable reason, Jasper was fascinated with her room. Neither Grace nor Thornton nor any of the younger children could get within striking distance of him. Somehow he evaded all attempts at capture.
‘He always manages to slither out of trouble,’ complained Aloysius, loudly, after a particularly difficult chase around the garden. ‘I always said Jasper possessed native cunning,’ he added, making Auntie Angel-Face hoot with laughter. ‘Now you fellows can detect it for yourselves!’
The relatives found all this hugely entertaining. They were here to have a good time and would have been easily pleased no matter what, so Jasper was merely an added bonus.
‘I say, Jasper,’ said Uncle Innocent, ‘come here, men, I want to tell you a secret.’
‘No!’ said Jasper from the middle of the plantain tree.
‘Come on, men!’ said Anthony. ‘Come on, let’s take some arrack together, hah?’
Jasper only narrowed his eyes, making his favourite saw-drill sound from the branch above their heads.
‘He’s a clever fellow, you know,’ said Uncle Innocent. ‘A bit like a terrorist. Cunning too.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Auntie Angel-Face, ‘perhaps he is a bird card reader!’ And they all dissolved into hysterical laughter.
‘Hello, Shiny,’ said Jasper solemnly, and Grace wondered if perhaps he was in fact disturbed by all the unusual activity.
Aloysius, seeing her smile, was heartened. Grace, though still suffering from frequent headaches, appeared much improved. The headaches, he informed everyone, were merely the aftermath of the dreadful fever she had contracted. Grace did not disagree. She was determined that Alicia’s wedding should not be spoiled and whenever her migraines became overwhelming she simply slipped away to her darkened bedroom and waited until they passed. Aloysius made sure she was undisturbed whenever this happened. Everyone noticed with approval how Aloysius ministered to her needs. So that outwardly, at least, Grace was becoming her old self again.
Meanwhile Frieda struggled. It was no good; she would have to go to confession again. Her thoughts were treacherous, her heart was breaking, and nobody cared. She knew it was hopeless, she was wasting her time, but somehow her uncontrollable heart kept on longing. On Christmas Eve, before they went to midnight Mass, Robert had come over for the last time.
‘To see you all,’ he beamed, but Frieda, watching him stealthily, knew it was really Alicia he wanted to see. It was Alicia he wanted to kiss goodbye.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, in his soft English voice, making Frieda want to weep. ‘I’m so sorry not to be here for the wedding.’ He looked mournfully at Alicia. ‘We’ll be setting sail for England before the New Year, I’m afraid.’
Frieda was afraid too. She was afraid of her dark stormy thoughts. Was she turning into a monster? she wondered fearfully. Robert said his goodbyes. He wanted to say goodbye to Frieda too, although having arrived at the house and having met the relatives he was enchanted all over again by the others and did not notice Frieda’s heart, lying broken and bleeding, at his feet. So Robert left, kissing the bride, wishing her luck, asking after Christopher who was nowhere to be seen, hurrying into the rain and out through the old part of the city where all the Christmas lights glittered in the trees.
Later, when the rain had stopped, the wedding party walked back from Mass. Everyone was unusually silent.
I will never see him again, thought Frieda sadly.
In a week I will be back here for my wedding, thought Alicia wonderingly.
In the New Year I will at last leave on a ship to England, thought Jacob with a small thrill of delight.
Grace, staring up at the sky, felt the darkness like a tight band around her; Thornton smiled in the darkness, his secret smile, thinking his own thoughts. Above them, huge tropical stars shone unblinking in the wide, night sky and, as they strolled slowly back in the balmy air, not one of them paused to question whether there would ever be another Christmas like this again.
8
WHEN IT DAWNED, THE DAY HELD ALL their expectations in its clear unclouded sky. It was Alicia’s day really, hers and Sunil’s. The others merely had walk-on parts. Frieda awoke and as usual went into her sister’s room. Only now it was for the last time.
‘Come on,’ said Alicia, pulling back the mosquito net. ‘I haven’t slept all night, I’ve been so excited.’
Frieda burst into tears. The smell of milk rice drifted across the house. Grace had ordered this most traditional of dishes to begin the day. The aunts, having woken early, were bringing in the flowers from the garden and the smell of jasmine filled the air. Alicia hugged her sister. Suddenly long-forgotten childhood memories came rushing back to her.
‘Oh, Frieda,’ she said, ‘do you remember when we climbed in through the window, when we were late for Mass? The day Sister Joan caught us and told Mummy how bad we were!’
But Frieda, ignoring Alicia, was crying in earnest now. For of course she remembered the things they had shared. And now she was crying for other, more complicated reasons, for which there was no name.
Grace, coming in to wake Alicia, stood looking at them, her face unreadable. The recent past trembled before her. Last night she had lain awake looking at the evening star from her bedroom window. The year was nearly over, tomorrow night Alicia would be gone, life would move on. Since her despairing flight into Aloysius’s arms Grace had not cried. The secret place within her had closed up, so that the shadows that had once been hidden, appeared now as faint lines across her life. She had known it would be so, she had expected it to happen, but the customs and unwritten laws of this place, the reality of living on this island, had at last been brought home to her. Since Vijay’s death she saw that almost anything might be possible. Now that the lovely hope of youth had been disturbed, she understood that the dark shadows in her life could only increase. She was ready for anything, she told herself. But all night, in spite of these last two months, perhaps because of it, Grace had looked up at the sky and seen the stars. It was their light she had noticed. I still have my children, she thought. And she turned towards Aloysius, sleeping silently beside her. He had surprised her by his solicitude and his concern, watching over her with a long-forgotten tenderness, never questioning, never intruding. She had forgotten his generosity of spirit. She had been angry for so long that it had slipped her notice. But last night, when they had returned from midnight Mass, he had sat down at the piano.
‘No, you fellows,’ he had said, laughing at the others, ‘it’s my turn for a change. I’m tired of listening to Schubert and Gershwin. This one’s for your mother.’ And he had played ‘When the Sun Says Goodbye to the Mountains’, and sung it for her in his still beautiful tenor voice, in a way she had not heard for many years. Startled, Grace had laughed and applauded along with the others, but something, some particle of pain had shifted in her heart.
In the morning light standing beside Alicia’s bed, watching her daughters, she felt a small ray of gladness touch her. The air was fragrant with frangipani and the sounds of preparation filled the air. Somewhere in the distance she heard the sigh of the sea. Sitting down on Alicia’s bed, moving aside the mosquito net, Grace hugged both her daughters. Then, in order to distract Frieda, she told them about her own wedding day when, motherless, she had found her father picking her flowers early in the morning.
‘He tied them with a piece of string, can you imagine! Auntie Angel-Face was so cross with us both. She had organised a magnificent bouquet and there we were collecting what she considered to be rubbish.’
‘What did you do then?’
It was an old story but she told it again.
‘Well, I couldn’t hurt her feelings so I carried Angel-Face’s bouquet all the way to the church in the valley.’ Grace sighed. ‘It weighed a ton!’ she laughed.
They had heard it all before but now it had a new meaning. Grace talked
on in this way until all three were laughing and then, hearing their voices, with a little flurry of feathers through the window, Jasper arrived.
‘Hello, chaps!’ he said.
Grace groaned. ‘Oh, Jasper, you’re not going to cause trouble today, are you?’ she pleaded. ‘I’m far too busy. I’m going to have you caught if you do. And caged!’
But Jasper, looking as though he had a new lease of life, was not listening. ‘Hello, Shiny,’ he said.
‘What does he mean?’ asked Grace. ‘He keeps saying that. What d’you mean, Jasper?’
‘Hello,’ said Jasper, staring at Grace unblinkingly.
The girls laughed.
‘Oh Jasper, Jasper, will you marry me?’ begged Alicia. ‘And tell me who Shiny is?’
‘Maybe Shiny is his girlfriend,’ giggled Frieda.
‘Hello, Shiny,’ said Jasper. ‘Hindu bastards,’ he added, sending them into peals of laughter.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Mabel, coming in with Auntie Angel-Face. ‘Is the bride awake? Hello, my darling Jasper.’
‘Where’s the witch?’ asked Prayma, who did not like Myrtle.
When she had quietened them all down and sent them off to get ready, Grace went in search of Aloysius. He, like everyone else, needed close watching this morning.
Myrtle was busy writing her diary in her room. She had been up early this morning, before everyone else. With her black umbrella and handbag she had gone stealthily into the oldest part of the city. No one had seen her. No one except Jasper, whose new sleeping patterns remained mysterious. He had called out cheerily to her as she left the house but she had started to run at the sound of his voice. Always interested by her reaction, he flew swiftly from tree to tree whistling. She turned and hissed at him, shaking her umbrella. In any case, she was now beyond his new territory so, losing interest, he went back to his perch on the plantain tree. Myrtle was gone for nearly an hour. On her return, intent on slipping unnoticed into the house, she missed Thornton sliding quickly in through the back door. Jasper swooped down from the branches and gave a low wolf whistle. Thornton chortled joyfully. After the wedding, thought Myrtle, grimly, entering her room, I shall do something about Jasper. The situation was now insufferable. The creature waited constantly outside her room, scratching himself, barking, peering in. Spying on her. Shitting on her windowsill. Tomorrow, she fumed, tomorrow was Jasper’s last day.
Inside, the house was humming with activity. Telegrams were arriving from absent well-wishers. The awning in the garden was opened and a servant began spraying the flowers to keep them cool. The catering staff had managed to soothe the cook’s ruffled feathers and now food began to emerge slowly from the kitchen. Grace, dressed in a pink-and-gold sari, appeared amid cries of appreciation.
‘Oh, just look at your mother,’ said Auntie Angel-Face with pride.
‘Mummy, you look so beautiful!’ said Frieda.
‘The bride! The bride!’ cried Prayma, as Alicia appeared, trembling a little, wearing her mother’s veil with small jasmine flowers in her hair.
Aloysius, about to have one for the road, caught sight of his wife and daughter and gave a shout of delight. But where was Thornton, why was he not ready yet? Ah! thought Grace rashly, here he was, the light of her life, the joy in her heart, devastating in morning dress. Thornton smiled at his mother, a sunbeam of a smile, and bells rang in her heart.
‘Come on,’ said Jacob, impatient, the formality of the clothes suiting his solemn air. ‘We’ll be late, better go now, Mummy.’
They stood all together for a photograph, her boys, Jacob, Thornton and Christopher, unfamiliar and silent in his new clothes, and Frieda the bridesmaid, trying not to cry again.
‘Perfect, my darlings,’ shouted Uncle Innocent. ‘You all look perfect!’
So they left for the church, handing their mother carefully into the car, smiling, joking nervously, for this happy moment was the most perfect of all. The de Silva family. If only, thought Frieda later, if only it had stopped there. Could things have been any better than this moment? But had that happened no one would have seen Alicia smile meltingly as she walked up the aisle on the arm of the handsome, dashing, still debonair Aloysius de Silva. And all those future generations, all that life that shifted continents and changed the course of rivers would never have happened. So it was just as well that the momentarily stilled tableau jerked back into time and the car turned on the gravel and sped through the waiting sunshine, carrying Grace and her children to the church.
It was just as well that Aloysius, leading his elder daughter into the arms of Sunil Pereira, before taking his place beside his wife, had indulged in that drink for the road, for there were many people in the cathedral that day, not all of them expected. There was no time to think. Frieda was suddenly calm.
‘Joined together in holy matrimony,’ intoned Father Giovanni and the altar boys swung the censers high into the air, so that the smell of frankincense rose and hung in veils above them. Aloysius took out his handkerchief and blew noisily into it, indicating this to be a significant moment. Thereupon, everyone who wished to do so followed suit. And then it was over and the organist was playing the Bridal March, and Alicia and Sunil walked back down the aisle together, smiling and waving to them all, the relatives wiping their eyes, the friends, their nearest and dearest.
‘Who’s that woman talking to Thornton?’ asked Grace.
The photographs were taken, the Prime Minister, who had come as he said he would, shook hands with the happy couple, and had his picture taken with them before speeding off in his limousine. The family went back to the house to welcome the guests for the reception.
‘Now,’ said Aloysius with a flourish, ‘it’s time for the champagne toast!’
In the square outside the church, not far from the sacred site of the temple trees and the almshouse, there were no glimpses of saffron robes today. All was quiet. The confetti, the rice and a blue ribbon fluttering in the breeze were all that remained of Alicia de Silva’s wedding.
‘Who’s that person with Thornton?’ asked Grace.
The reception was in full swing. After the food there had been the speeches and the toasts. The cake had been cut and a wish made by the newly-weds.
‘Thornton,’ whispered Alicia, ‘come on, play something, quick. You promised!’ So Thornton went over to the piano, followed by a round of applause and whistles of encouragement. He looked very handsome.
‘This one’s for the bride,’ he announced, grinning. He began to play. It was the signal for everyone to dance. Sunil, unused to the kind of partying the de Silvas went in for, tried and failed to avoid it.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ laughed Alicia, determined there would be no escape.
So Alicia taught her new husband to waltz, and then to foxtrot, and after that to tango, with many encouraging shouts from their audience. But she was laughing so much that it was an impossible task. Grace, not to be outdone, danced with Aloysius, but he soon lost her to all the others waiting for a turn. After that everyone joined in the dancing, and any barriers there might have been between the different groups of guests broke down.
‘Now, let’s get down to the real business,’ said Aloysius, having watched his wife for a while.
The servants set up the card table and whisky and ice were brought out. Aloysius and his cronies retired to the veranda.
Before long it was time for the bride and groom to leave. They would spend the night at a guest house and in the morning would drive up to the tea country, near Alicia’s old home. First, Sunil had promised his mother they would visit the temple where they would give alms to the monks and receive a blessing on their marriage. His mother watched them prepare to leave.
‘You were right, putha,’ she whispered to her son, kissing him goodbye. ‘These people are no different from us.’ She felt as if she had known the de Silva family all her life.
‘You see.’ Sunil beamed triumphantly. ‘I told you, didn’t I? There was nothing to worry about
.’
They waved them off, then, with more laughter and shouts and good advice. Auntie Angel-Face threw a handful of rice and Frieda a shower of shoe-flower petals.
‘It was perfect, you look beautiful, my darlings,’ she said.
‘No more looking at other girls, Sunil!’
‘Don’t forget us,’ called Prayma, hugging Alicia, crying a little, for the moment required it.
‘Give my love to the hills,’ shouted Uncle Innocent, and they all paused for a moment, thinking of the blue-greenness of the slopes, the places where they had played as children, the sounds of the green bee-eater, their youth, especially their youth. Alicia and Sunil smiled at them all.
‘Quick, someone take a photograph,’ shouted Coco.
Standing back, fleetingly, Frieda imagined how it must have been, in the House of Many Balconies, their voices trapped forever in those hills. Alicia and Sunil were smiling. They had smiled all day long, thought Frieda. How happy they must be!
‘We’ll remember you to the hills,’ they promised. And then, they were gone.
The sun was setting low on the horizon. In a moment it would be dark. It had been an auspicious, radiant day, and now the full moon shone down on them. Tomorrow was New Year’s Day.
But the party was not over yet. The fun had only just begun. The air of expectancy that hung over them all day was still present. Like a playful, soft-footed cat it prowled the edges of the day, waiting to pounce. The garden darkened, its murmuring and warnings muffled by the noise of the music. Someone turned up the gramophone and the serious dancing began. Jasper, masquerading as a bird of prey, flew smoothly across the moon.
‘Hello, chaps!’ he greeted the garden cheerily. ‘Anyone for cricket?’
No one noticed him. Myrtle, his favourite, was nowhere to be seen. The night jasmine opened, pouring its scent into the darkness, glowing white against the foliage. There were no drums tonight, no police sirens, no screaming nightbirds. Yet the air trembled with expectation. Rushes of small sounds scurried along in the depths of the garden. No, the party was not over yet. It had a long way to go, unravelling itself, joining all the other events that made up the tapestry of their lives, giving it the colour it would otherwise lack. They would not see any of this just yet, but the soft-footed cat, the leopard in their lives, prowled quietly, closer and closer.
