He took his glasses off and wiped them with his handkerchief. “Yes-yes, the past is really helpful, if we can come to accept it.” He put his glasses back on and regarded Amrith. “And sometimes the past does offer us a gift — a way to come to terms with what has happened to us.”
Amrith knew what Uncle Lucky meant by “a gift.” His cousin, Niresh.
Rain had started to pock the car windows. Amrith gazed out at the grayness, feeling depressed. The gulf that had come between him and Niresh had stayed for the rest of his visit.
That evening, Aunt Wilhelmina dropped in for dinner. Her face was shining with triumph. She had barely seated herself before she declared, “Yes, I was right all along. Mervin’s return is connected to money.” She narrowed her eyes in anger. “Do you know what that blackguard is planning to do? Sell Sanasuma.”
Amrith became very still. Sanasuma was the holiday home that had meant so much to his mother. In that time when Aunty Bundle had visited them at the estate, they actually made a trip to see it. He lowered his fork and pressed his hands together under the table.
“Do you remember it, Bundle?” Aunt Wilhelmina continued, unaware of his distress, “You and Asha spent many vacations there.”
Aunty Bundle did not reply. She was watching Amrith closely.
Aunt Wilhelmina became aware of his discomfort. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry, child.”
Amrith pushed back his chair. “Um … could I be excused?”
“Yes, son.” Uncle Lucky looked at him, concerned.
As Amrith left the living room, he heard Aunt Wilhelmina say, “Bundle, something must be done. Sanasuma should be Amrith’s.”
“But what can we do, Aunt Wilhelmina? You know the old man left everything to Mervin in his will.”
“It is not right.” Aunt Wilhelmina’s voice had risen to a birdlike trill. “It was Asha who loved Sanasuma. It meant nothing to Mervin. Amrith should not be robbed of his inheritance. Sanasuma belongs to him.”
When Amrith reached his room, he lay on his bed, curled up on his side. Sana-suma. As he spoke the word in his mind, the memory of that visit swept over him.
Even though the holiday home was just an hour from their tea estate, his mother had never been able to take him there because she had no car. Aunty Bundle’s visit had allowed them to make the trip.
The road to Sanasuma had not been mended in a long time and it was full of potholes. Finally their car could go no further and Amrith, Aunty Bundle, and his mother had walked the last stretch. There had been a smell in the air of eucalyptus, pine, and the dried ancient mud of the path. Amrith had picked off a eucalyptus leaf and pressed its cool sting to his nose. The jungle was all around and the trees closed in, towering above. Through their leaves, the sunlight laid a shifting filigree on the path. Everything was still down there, but they could hear the wind roaring through the treetops. It felt to Amrith as if they were underwater, at the bottom of a river that thundered high above. Occasionally, there was a sound, as if a branch was about to break, and they looked up to see monkeys jumping from tree to tree, swinging down the branches.
Then, in the distance, he heard the chatter of water. The light began to increase ahead. The forest soon fell away to bushes and patches of grass, with brilliant magenta flowers on waving stalks. The underbrush was noisy with the trilling of cicadas, a bird that made a low, mournful hoop-hoop-hoop.
The road finally came to an end at a clearing.
The old family home was perched on a shelf of land that jutted out from a mountainside. Above them, around them, were towering mountains, their peaks lost in the clouds. From the shelf, there was a precipitous descent to a densely wooded gorge miles below, flashes of silver from a river that ran through it. The rocky slope of the mountain came down to the back garden of the bungalow and, a little way up the slope, a stream tinkled as it skipped downwards. At one point, there was a drop and the stream tumbled over in a waterfall, then loitered in a rock pool before continuing its journey past the bungalow and over the shelf of land to join the river far below. The sun embroidered sequins into the falling water; the rock pool shimmered like green silk.
As his mother and Aunty Bundle approached the little bungalow, Amrith hurried to keep up with them. It was made completely of wood and was in a terrible state. The pillars of the front veranda had lost most of their paint and the floorboards were broken in places. His mother and Aunty Bundle had to struggle with the door before they got it open.
The moment they entered, they heard the scurry of some animal among the furniture. For fear it might be a snake, they did not go in any further. There were giant cobwebs everywhere and the floor was littered with leaves that had blown in through a shattered windowpane. The upholstery of the sofa and armchairs had great patches of mildew growing on it. As Aunty Bundle and his mother looked around, their faces were sad and angry. Finally, his mother sighed. “Let’s leave. We should not have come back.”
And yet, once they were walking away from the house, his mother changed her mind. She wanted them to go swimming in the rock pool, as they had planned. They were wearing their bathing suits under their clothes and they stripped down. His mother was the first to go in. She shivered at the coldness, then cried out, “Come, Amrith, come, this is heaven!”
Aunty Bundle lowered Amrith into the water and his mother took him. He gasped from the cold and kicked out frantically, fastening his arms around her neck, his legs around her waist.
“Now relax, Amrith, relax.” She drifted away on her back, loosening Amrith’s legs, which trailed up in the water. “Are you okay?”
He nodded and clung to her. His mother’s arms were strong around him. They warmed his back, his hips. “Amrith,” she whispered in his ear, “when you think of this place, I want you to remember what fun we had swimming together.”
Before they left that day, his mother took Amrith to the back garden and showed him a eucalyptus tree. On its trunk was carved Asha and Bundle, Best Friends.
10
Aunty Bundle Accepts the “Gift”
The next morning, Amrith found it impossible to concentrate on his typing exercises. He kept glancing towards the door every few minutes, losing his place, and having to start the line over again. Niresh had said he would try and visit today, but Amrith wondered if he would, given the way they had parted yesterday. He watched the time pass on the wall-clock. By eleven, he had given up hope. Miss Rani, whom he found himself looking at differently now, came by to mark his exercises. She circled numerous errors with her red pencil, but he did not care.
Amrith started a new exercise. He had just finished the first line, when the door opened and Niresh rushed in. He was panting from having run up the stairs and his hair was disheveled. He waved as he came across the office.
“What happens when you cross a centipede and a parrot?”
“I don’t know.” Amrith stood up, grinning.
“You get a walkie-talkie.” Niresh snorted. Everyone in the office turned and stared.
He thumped Amrith on the back. Everything had returned to normal between them. “Hey, my dad’s got some errands to do. Do you want to hang out for a bit, maybe have some lunch?”
Amrith went to ask Uncle Lucky. He gave his permission, then took out his wallet and handed Amrith a hundred-rupee note. “Go to Pagoda for lunch. But don’t let that boy pay. You have enjoyed their hospitality and we need to return it, as best as we can.” He looked at Amrith from under his hooded eyelids.
They could not invite Niresh to their home because of Aunty Bundle’s refusal to meet these Canadian relatives.
A giddy exhilaration took hold of Amrith and Niresh as they left the office. They ran down the stairs, charging through office workers, and burst out onto Chatham Street.
“Hey,” Niresh cried, “I want to buy a sarong.”
“Sure,” Amrith cried back, in high spirits. “I know where to go.”
Amrith took Niresh to Laksala, the government handicraft store. It was in an old coloni
al building with lofty ceilings. As they entered, Amrith pointed to a part of the store that had knickknacks. “Do you want to get gifts for your three friends?”
Niresh looked at him blankly.
“Your three close buddies,” Amrith prompted.
“Oh … oh, yeah.” Niresh glanced away. “No, it’s okay.”
Amrith led the way to the section that sold clothes. A woman in a Kandyan sari was standing behind a glass counter. When they asked to look at sarongs, she laid out a selection on the counter.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, looking at the sarongs, passing them to each other. Niresh finally picked a green one, with a pattern of dancing peacocks around the border. He wanted to try it on and the woman led them to a curtained dressing room at the back.
Standing outside the dressing room, Amrith could hear Niresh unzipping his shorts, the shuffle of his sandals as he pushed them off to slip into the sarong. He heard the rustle of the sarong being pulled up. There was a moment of stillness and then Niresh said, “Damn … Amrith?”
“Yes?”
Niresh pulled open the curtain. He had tied the sarong all gathered and knotted in a way that made the front a good deal shorter than the back. Amrith smiled.
“I look like a freak, don’t I?”
“No, it’s not too bad.”
Amrith indicated with his hands how Niresh should tie the sarong; how he needed to move his hips from side to side before quickly bringing the two ends of the sarong together, then tie a knot and make a roll around his waist.
Niresh tried again, but his effort was a failure. They looked at his handiwork in the mirror. Their eyes met and they laughed.
Niresh turned to him and lifted his arms away from his body. “Okay, I give up. Show me how it’s done.” He wanted him to step right up, face to face.
Amrith did not look at Niresh as he stood in front of him. His hands were shaking ever so slightly as he began to untie the mess his cousin had made. When he moved the sarong from side to side, before bringing the ends together, he got a glimpse of Niresh’s white underpants, the swirl of dark hairs above the waistband.
Once Amrith was done, Niresh looked in the mirror at the neatly tied sarong. “Wow!”
Amrith, too, looked at his cousin in the mirror. When he had stood close to him, there had been a nice smell to Niresh, of well-matured leather.
Amrith took Niresh to Pagoda for lunch. The restaurant was famous in Colombo. The wizened waiters, in their white sarongs and white coats with epaulets and brass buttons, were an institution themselves. For as long as the Manuel-Pillais had been coming here, they were always served by the same waiter — a plump man with a white walrus mustache named Albert. They were his clients and no other waiter dared serve them. The moment they would enter, Albert would come hurrying towards them, waving the white cloth he carried over his arms, crying, “Sir, Madam, this way.” A table would always be found for them. They never waited.
When Amrith and Niresh came into the restaurant, however, Albert sailed right past them to another client, who had actually come in after them. Amrith was mortified. He had hoped to impress his cousin by the way Albert would heartily greet him and deferentially wave them to a table. But the waiter did not even recognize him. Finally, after many more people had been taken ahead of them, a junior waiter led them to a small table at the back in a dark corner. He gave them a suspicious glare as they sat down. Young boys did not dine alone; they did not have the money to do so. He plonked two menus on the table and left.
“What’s up?” Niresh asked.
“Nothing.”
Yet, Niresh had caught on to the waiter’s hostility. He grimaced in commiseration. “Let’s just have a good time.”
Amrith and the girls usually ordered a selection of cakes and short-eats, which were brought to them on tiered serving plates. They would eat what they wanted and then the waiter, who knew just how many items there had been on the plates, would add up the bill. Amrith suggested that they do the same thing now.
After the waiter had grudgingly slammed down the plates and left, Niresh squinted at the assortment before them. “So they count how many are left and add up the bill that way?”
Amrith nodded.
Niresh grinned wickedly. “I see.” He pointed to a breaded capsicum stuffed with fish. “Are you going to eat that one?”
Amrith shook his head.
“No, me neither.” Niresh picked up the capsicum and winked at Amrith. He gave it a long lick before putting it back on the plate.
Amrith was shocked, but then he grinned. He pointed to an egg cutlet. “Do you want this one?”
Niresh shook his head.
Amrith licked it.
They snorted and giggled. Each of them took the short-eats and cakes they wanted and licked every other one, careful not to leave the trail of their tongues on the icing of cakes.
When the waiter came by to add up the bill, Amrith and Niresh took one look at his sour expression and snuffled with laughter. The waiter glared at them, ripped off the bill, and slammed it down on the table. Usually one paid up at the cash register, but the waiter, knowing something was up, stood by with his arms folded.
Niresh and Amrith reached for the bill at the same time.
“No, Niresh, I have to pay.”
Niresh pulled at the bill. “Don’t be an ass, Amrith. I asked you out.”
“No, I … I have to pay. Uncle Lucky will be very upset if I don’t.”
The seriousness of Amrith’s tone made Niresh relinquish the bill.
When they were out on the street, Niresh touched Amrith’s arm. “Thanks.” Yet, there was a frown on his face.
They walked a short distance, then Niresh came to a stop in the shade of a shop awning. He had adopted the Sri Lankan habit of carrying a handkerchief, and he took it out and mopped his brow and neck. “So,” he said, turning to Amrith, “why would your uncle be upset if I paid?”
Amrith did not reply. It had slipped out involuntarily.
Niresh was waiting.
Amrith looked at his feet. “It’s … just a way of returning hospitality, for lunch at Mount Lavinia.”
“But why would he be upset?” Niresh squeezed his arm. “Come on, Amrith, I’m your cousin. You can tell me.”
“No, Niresh, no. It’s … it’s just complicated.”
“How?”
Amrith was silent, but then seeing that his cousin would not give up, he said, “It’s … my aunt. She … she doesn’t want to have anything to do with you all. She’s got many feelings about … what happened.”
“What did happen, Amrith?”
He did not say anything.
Niresh regarded him, his head to one side. “You know, it’s my history, too. Your mum was my aunt. Your grandparents were mine as well. I would like to know why my father disowned you. I get the feeling that he hated your mum. But why?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t.” Amrith rounded on his cousin. “Why can’t you respect that and leave me alone?” He stalked away and, after a moment, Niresh followed a few steps behind.
Before they parted company in front of Uncle Lucky’s office building, Niresh touched his shoulder and said, with a tentative smile, “I’ll see you around?”
“Of course.” Amrith forced himself to smile.
His cousin began to walk away.
“Hey, Niresh.”
“Yeah?” He turned.
“How about a parting joke?”
Niresh grinned. “Okay, you asked for it. What do you get when you cross a stripper with a banana?”
Amrith had heard this before, but he dutifully replied, “I don’t know.”
“A self-peeling banana!”
Everything appeared restored between them.
Since their first meeting with Niresh and his father two days ago, Uncle Lucky had been troubled by Aunty Bundle’s stand on Amrith’s relatives. That evening, while Amr
ith was up on the terrace feeding the birds, he heard them arguing in the side garden, their voices drifting up to him.
“No, Lucky, no, I will not have anything to do with them. Especially now, with Mervin robbing Amrith of Sanasuma. Stop asking me all the time. My first loyalty is to the memory of Asha.”
“And what about our boy, Bundle, what is your loyalty to him? Mervin and Niresh are, after all, his family.”
“Lucky! We are his family.”
“But, Bundle, they are his blood relatives. And the boys are getting along so well. Surely you have noticed the change in Amrith.”
Aunty Bundle was silent.
“You have to invite Niresh to our house.”
“Ah, Lucky, don’t ask me to do that.”
“This is Amrith’s home. You say we are his family, but by forcing our boy to meet his cousin in Fort or at Mount Lavinia, you’re actually making him feel a stranger here.”
Aunty Bundle was silent for a long while. “I … I need some time to think about this.”
Amrith was lying down the next afternoon when Aunty Bundle knocked on his door and came into the room.
“Son,” she said, standing by his bed, “I’ve called your cousin and invited him to spend the day. Tomorrow, after I’m driven to work, Mendis will go by the hotel and pick him up.” She tried to smile, but failed. For a while she was silent, her fingers drumming on the bedpost as she looked past the French windows into the side garden.
“Amrith, when I get back from work this evening, we must go to the Mount Lavinia Hotel. Since I have invited your cousin, good form requires that I must pay your uncle a courtesy visit.”
When their car pulled up in front of the hotel that evening, Niresh was waiting for them by the front steps.
Amrith was the first to get out. His cousin hurried forward and shook his hand without a word. He did not smile and glanced anxiously at Aunty Bundle, who was still in the car. Dreading this encounter, she was taking her time, telling Mendis about an errand she needed run.
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