Swimming in the Monsoon Sea

by Shyam Selvadurai

  Finally the driver stepped aside, Niresh revved the engine to its utmost and, with a war cry, they took off, the trishaw weaving drunkenly from side to side. After a few moments, Niresh managed to straighten the front wheel and they picked up speed, leaving the trishaw men behind. Amrith hung on grimly to the bars that separated the back from the driver’s seat.

  His cousin was beside himself. He kept whooping yee-ha, yee-ha over and over again, as if he were a cowboy riding a horse. He threw back his head and roared in delight, his hair standing up on end in the breeze.

  After some time, Amrith loosened his grip on the bars. He began to enjoy the adventure, to look out at the passing scenery. Then they rounded a corner and, ahead of them, they saw a brood of chickens in the middle of the road. Niresh cried out as the chickens squawked and fluttered into the air. He swerved to avoid the birds and the trishaw tipped madly. It careened off the road and rushed towards a thicket of bushes. Amrith and Niresh yelled in fear and, the next moment, the trishaw plowed right into the foliage and wedged itself between two branches, its wheels growling in the dirt.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Niresh bellowed. He switched the motor off and thumped the steering wheel, as if the vehicle were at fault.

  Amrith got out. His legs were wobbly and he held on to the side of the trishaw for a moment.

  They crept out from under the foliage and stood on the road.

  Amrith could taste grit in his mouth. His cousin’s face was covered in dust and there were leaves and twigs in his hair. Niresh was looking at him too. They began to giggle. Soon they were laughing hysterically, clutching on to each other.

  The owner arrived a few minutes later, driven by a gray-haired trishaw driver. When he saw his vehicle in the bushes, he hopped up and down in anguish, as if he were stepping on hot coals. The older man was more sanguine. He pushed the trishaw out of the thicket, walked around and pointed out that there were just a few scratches on it. He got the young driver to start the vehicle. It worked fine. The older man chided him for being foolish, for jeopardizing his livelihood and the welfare of his family for a few hundred rupees.

  Amrith and Niresh walked back to the hotel. They had their arms around each other’s shoulders and, every so often, they broke apart to recount a moment in their adventure and laugh over it.

  Amrith had never felt so alive.

  9

  Niresh’s “Terrible Influence”

  When Amrith got home that evening and was in his bedroom untying his shoelaces, the girls charged in.

  Selvi threw herself on the bed. “So-so, tell-tell.”

  “Yes, Amrith, how was it?” Mala rested a hand on his shoulder. “Did you like him?”

  “What did he look like?” Selvi demanded.

  “A boy.” He kicked off his shoes.

  Selvi rolled her eyes. “But is he tall or short, fat or thin, fair or dark?”

  “Tall, thin, dark.” He began to remove his socks. Some of his cousin’s wickedness had brushed off on him.

  “Ttttch, don’t be so stubborn, Amrith. Tell, will you?” Selvi had no doubt promised her friends a full account.

  “Why are you so keen to know? Are you looking for a foreign boyfriend?”

  “Huh,” Selvi sniffed. “I see your cousin is already a terrible influence on you.”

  Amrith sauntered into his bathroom, whistling, and shut the door after him.

  Selvi did not give up that easily. When they were at dinner, she asked her father what Niresh looked like.

  “He needs a good haircut.” Uncle Lucky was teasing his daughter.

  “He has long hair!” Mala exclaimed.

  “Looks like a real ragamuffin,” Uncle Lucky continued. “Fringe like a girl’s, hair over his ears, which of course means he can’t hear properly.”

  “You mean,” Selvi gasped, “he has a haircut like Shaun Cassidy?”

  “I have no idea who you are talking about.” Though, of course, Uncle Lucky knew. Like all of them, he had heard “Da Do Ron Ron” a few too many times.

  The sisters looked at each other in awe. “Mala,” Selvi said, in a hushed tone, “Amrith’s cousin has a haircut like Shaun Cassidy.”

  Mala shook her head, impressed.

  Later that evening, Amrith stood in front of his almirah mirror, the closed copy of Othello in his hand. He had intended to go over his part but, with rehearsals still two weeks away, he could not summon the desire to do so. Instead, he was thinking about his cousin’s haircut. The strict dress code at Amrith’s school forced students to wear their hair very short. He was hoping that, by the end of the holidays, his hair would be long enough to blow-dry into a more fashionable style.

  Amrith found himself thinking of the way Niresh had leaned on the balustrade, drawing on his cigarette and exhaling between slightly parted lips, with the panache of those men in the cigarette ads that play before a film. Despite Niresh’s silly jokes, an aura of glamor hung around him.

  A knock on his bedroom door brought him out of his thoughts. It was Jane-Nona. There was a telephone call from a boy with a foreign accent. Amrith ran across the courtyard to take it in the living room.

  “Hey,” Niresh said, when Amrith picked up the receiver, “what are you doing?”

  “Um, nothing much,” Amrith replied, feeling a great happiness take hold. “I was just in my room.” He heard the receiver being lifted in the library, the sound of breathing. The girls were eavesdropping.

  “Hi? You still there?” Niresh asked.

  “Yes … um … someone’s picked up the extension.” He called out, “I’m on the phone.”

  “Oh, Amrith, hello, it’s me, Selvi. I didn’t realize you were on the phone.” But she didn’t put the receiver down.

  “Excuse me, Niresh.” Amrith stormed out of the living room into the library and glared at the girls. They grinned back. He snatched the phone from them, slammed the receiver down, and returned to the living room.

  “Sorry, it’s … um … my sisters,” he said to Niresh.

  “They were listening in?” Niresh had laughter in his voice.

  “Yes, they were.” Amrith smiled.

  “Why? I guess they want to know about your cousin from abroad.”

  “Oh, yes, they’ve been asking all sorts of questions.”

  “Like?”

  “How you looked, whether you were tall or short, fat or thin, fair or dark.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Tall, thin, dark.”

  Niresh chortled. “Hey, get your sisters to write out a list of questions and we’ll go through them. It’ll be a gas.”

  “Sure.”

  “So, uh, what are you doing tomorrow afternoon?” Niresh asked.

  “Nothing,” Amrith replied.

  “Do you want to hang out here?”

  Amrith went to get permission from Aunty Bundle and Uncle Lucky, who were in the courtyard. The girls heard him leave the living room and they came out to discover what had happened. He ignored them and went back to tell Niresh he could come.

  When Amrith entered the foyer of the Mount Lavinia Hotel the next afternoon, his cousin was waiting for him. They stood grinning with goodwill. “I’m glad you could make it,” Niresh said, as they shook hands.

  “Yes, me too. I brought the list.” Amrith had wickedly pretended that he could not remember anything Selvi wanted him to ask and so, in frustration, Selvi, along with Mala, had agreed to make a list.

  Niresh laughed. “Well, let’s have a look,” he said.

  They sat in the lounge.

  His cousin read the first question out loud. “Do you go to a school that has both boys and girls in it?” He frowned, puzzled. “Why would they ask? Of course I go to school with guys and girls. You don’t?”

  Amrith shook his head and explained that the schools were single sex.

  “Wow, so, like, how do guys meet chicks?”

  “Um … you can join an association, and then you get to do things with similar associations from girls’
schools.”

  Niresh continued to read. “Have you seen A Little Romance? Shit, no. I wouldn’t see such mushy crap. What music do you like? You guys heard of Ozzy Osbourne or Motley Crew?”

  Amrith shook his head.

  “Who do you guys listen to?”

  “Olivia Newton-John, the Bee Gees, Sheena Easton, Shaun Cassidy.”

  “Gag! You’re kidding me! Do you have a girlfriend? Not one, many. I like to keep my options open.” Niresh grinned. “Hey, are your sisters home? Let’s call and I can talk to them direct.”

  He took Amrith to his room, which was a mess — clothes strewn everywhere, a suitcase open on the floor.

  Amrith dialed their number. Jane-Nona answered and he told her he wanted to speak to Selvi or Mala.

  “Amrith?” Selvi came on the line, a little out of breath.

  “Oh, hi, someone wants to talk to you.” He handed the phone to Niresh.

  His cousin beckoned him to come close. “Hi, this is Niresh.”

  A silence. “Oh, hello.”

  “So, I got your questions and I thought I’d call in person and answer them.”

  “Just a minute.”

  They heard a hurried conference between the sisters, Mala telling her to put down the phone, not to talk with a strange boy, Selvi saying he was not a stranger. Amrith and Niresh giggled.

  “Hello.” Selvi was back. “Sorry about that.”

  “So do you want to know my answers?”

  “If you’d like to give them.”

  Amrith was surprised by Selvi’s cool.

  “But first, I’d like to ask you a question,” Niresh said.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you tall or short, fat or thin, fair or dark?”

  The boys fell back on the bed, killing themselves with laughter.

  Finally, Niresh sobered down enough to pick up the receiver again. “So are you?”

  “What?”

  “Tall or short, fat or thin, fair or dark?”

  “Can I speak to my brother?”

  “Sure.” He handed the receiver to Amrith.

  “Amrith, I’m going to tell Amma.”

  “Tell her what?” he demanded.

  “That you got your cousin to call and make fun of me.”

  “But you asked the questions and so he is answering now.”

  “You wait and see.” With that, she banged the phone down.

  They laughed and shook their heads.

  “So why do your sisters want to know all this?” Niresh asked.

  “Because … I guess … you’re from abroad.”

  “And?”

  Amrith paused, not sure how to explain the glamor of “abroad.” “And … I suppose you get to see all the newest films and television programs, and we have to wait years for them to come out here. We only saw Saturday Night Fever this year.”

  “You’re kidding me! That film came out in 1977 — three years ago.”

  “And,” Amrith continued, “you get to listen to whatever music you want. I mean, we can’t just go out and buy a record that we read about in the newspapers, because the government here restricts the importing of foreign things. We have to wait until my uncle or aunt goes abroad to get it, or buy it secondhand at an embassy sale.”

  “So, Canada is really cool to you guys?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is cool.”

  Niresh nodded, taking this in. Then he stood up. “Hey, how about a walk on the beach?”

  They went out into the hotel corridor and headed towards the terrace.

  “Yeah,” Niresh said, “Canada is great. As long as you’re not some freak or nerd in school.” He glanced quickly at Amrith, then his chest expanded slightly. “My close buddies — I’ve got three, Tommy, Dave, and Matt — we’re on the football team and we’re really tight.”

  He told Amrith about all the things he did with his buddies — going to movies and making out with chicks, hanging out at the mall, trying to get into clubs with fake IDs. The four of them often cruised around Markham, the suburb in which they lived, in Dave’s car, causing havoc. Niresh thought this was the coolest thing. They would steal people’s flowers in the summer, smash pumpkins at Halloween, remove the bulbs from outdoor Christmas lights. He told Amrith that he was having such a good time that he had not even wanted to visit Sri Lanka. He had planned to attend football camp with his buddies, but his father had forced him to come here instead.

  Stories like Niresh’s would have usually intimidated Amrith, but all the while his cousin talked, he had his arm around Amrith’s shoulder, and he felt curiously included in Niresh’s gang of friends.

  Soon they were out on the terrace. As they started to cross it, a voice cried out, “Niresh, Niresh, come here, you bugger.”

  Amrith turned to see his uncle sitting in the shade of an awning with a group of Sri Lankan men.

  “Fuck,” Niresh muttered, under his breath. “Why?” he called back, not moving.

  “Just get over here when I call you,” his uncle bellowed.

  Niresh began to walk over and Amrith followed reluctantly. Despite an appearance of civility, Amrith was aware that his uncle did not like him. His uncle’s dislike was so strong, it blotted out Amrith’s own emotions and, besides an awkwardness, he could not tell what he felt towards his uncle.

  As they drew near, Amrith saw that there were two bottles of arrack on the table. One of them was already empty and it was barely four o’clock in the afternoon. His uncle’s eyes were red. The other men looked drunk, too.

  Niresh stopped a few yards away. “What do you want?”

  “How dare you talk to me like that,” his uncle snarled. His glance slid to Amrith and then away.

  Niresh muttered, “Fucking loser,” under his breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t back-talk me, you bugger.” Niresh’s father turned to his friends and said in Sinhalese, “Look at the tongue on him. Ever since his balls dropped, he thinks he’s a big shot.”

  The men roared with laughter.

  Amrith was appalled by his uncle’s crudeness towards his own son.

  Niresh, who did not know Sinhalese, said, “Yeah, yeah.” He turned and sauntered off.

  Amrith followed.

  As they left, Amrith heard his uncle telling his friends, in Sinhalese, that Niresh was a stone around his neck. He had wanted to pack him off to camp, but Niresh had begged to come here.

  Amrith glanced at his cousin, puzzled. What his uncle said contradicted Niresh’s story of wanting to attend football camp with his buddies.

  They went down to the beach. Most of the sand had been eaten up by the encroaching monsoon sea, and so they walked in the Goat’s-Foot that spread its greenery beyond the sand. They got to a flat boulder that jutted out into the sea and Niresh scrambled over it, leaving Amrith to follow him. The waves threw themselves against the boulder with such force, there was a mist in the air. Niresh sat down as close to the edge as he dared. Amrith settled near him.

  “So, if you knew I existed, why didn’t you get in touch?” Niresh picked up a stone and flung it at the waves.

  Amrith took a piece of coral in his hand and examined it, hoping his cousin would not pursue this. But Niresh had turned to him, waiting for a reply.

  “How?” Amrith said, without looking at him.

  “But you had to know my address. I’m guessing your aunt or uncle wrote and told my dad that your mum had died and they had adopted you. I mean, my dad seemed to already know this when we met your uncle in Fort.”

  Amrith put the coral back on the rock.

  “Come on, Amrith.”

  “Um … I … I don’t want to talk about it.”

  His cousin stared at him. “Sure, no problem.” Niresh threw another stone out to sea.

  A kingfisher circled and dipped, circled and dipped over the stormy monsoon waves. Clouds were gathering on the horizon.

  Amrith, glancing at Niresh, saw that a gulf had opened u
p between them.

  Once Amrith had been picked up from the hotel that evening and they were driving home, Uncle Lucky stared out of the window for a while, lost in thought. He turned to Amrith. “Remember the story I told you about my father and his brother? And how, years after my father’s death, I went to Jaffna to look at that useless piece of land?”

  Amrith nodded.

  “Well,” Uncle Lucky said, clearing his throat. “The story does not end there. You see, my uncle, like my father, had ruined himself in court cases. He had left his widow with very little money. In small towns, the arrival of any stranger is a source of interest. Before I had even left the railway depot, the stationmaster found out who I was. He told me that my aunt had cataracts in both eyes and desperately needed an operation.

  “By the time I arrived at her house, she knew I was coming. A neighbor was posted at the gate and he informed me that my aunt would like to invite me in for a cup of tea. I could guess why she was doing so; she was hoping I would help her out of her poverty.” He glanced at Amrith. “But I refused to go in.” He sighed. “Later, after I married your Aunty Bundle, she convinced me to make amends. But, by then, the widow had died. For a long time, it plagued me that I did not go in and offer her help. I always wondered how her life had ended, what terrible misery she must have sunk into.

  “Then, a few years later, when I started my office and was hiring staff, a young woman from Jaffna came to be interviewed. She was from the same village as my father. I felt a curious excitement take hold of me when I found this out. I told her who my father was and she did not recognize his name, but when I mentioned my uncle’s name, she was very surprised. It turned out that she was related to my aunt, the widow. Her young niece.” He looked at Amrith significantly. He was speaking of Miss Rani. “I not only hired her, but also paid for her to take courses to improve herself and help me run the office. And, you know, the funny thing is, from the moment Miss Rani came to work for me, my business really took off. By accepting my past and making amends, I had become a better businessman. I was more clearheaded and able to see around problems, to spot trickery.”