Empire's Children

by Patricia Weerakoon

  ‘Come on, Miss Rasiah – relax. You don’t honestly believe those archaic rules, do you? The girl I remember would have stuck her tongue out at anyone who dared tell her what to do.’

  Shiro chuckled. He was right. She shook her head, sending her hair tumbling around her face, blowing in the breeze. ‘I was incorrigible, wasn’t I? Now I realise that nothing’s quite that simple in the tea plantation.’ She shrugged turning to the path leading up to the house. ‘Some things you can’t fight.’

  ‘We were children, Miss Rasiah. It’s been eight years. Could we start again? Be friends?’

  Shiro stopped. She turned. Their eyes locked. His eyes dared her.

  When could Shiro ever refuse a challenge?

  Chapter 17

  December 1966 Watakälé

  Anthony stood, looking up the path. He felt an overwhelming impulse to run after her, to beg her to stay and talk to him. He put his head in his hands and massaged his temple. She is a child, he told himself, a native child. I am the British plantation owner. It is wrong – forbidden. He should take a leaf out of her book.

  ***

  The light blue cotton blouse, demurely buttoned up to her neck, and blue pleated skirt looked like it could have been part of the uniform of a school girl.

  ‘You came.’ Shiro’s words were a cross between a statement and a question.

  Her black hair lay unbound on her shoulders, curling around her dark, young face. Anthony wanted to reach out and tangle his hands in it. Did it feel as thick and heavy as it looked?

  ‘Are you glad to see me?’ Anthony had agonised over what to do all last night. The look on her face told him that he had been right to keep the appointment.

  ‘Only if you will read with me.’ She leaned forward and smiled, holding the book she was carrying behind her back. The movement stretched the thin material of her blouse.

  ‘What are you reading today?’ Reaching for the book brought her closer to him. The smell of freshly crushed rose petals flooded his senses.

  Shiro placed the palm of her right hand between them. Her fingers touched his chest. Surely she would feel his erratic heartbeat?

  ‘Move away. I hate being manhandled. Here, have the book.’ She thrust the book at him and stepped back.

  Manhandled, what an interesting way to put it. Anthony let her go and accepted the book, bursting into laughter at the title. ‘Romeo and Juliet! You want me to read Shakespeare with you?’

  ‘Why sir, do you think us natives not literate enough for it? What did you expect? Nursery rhymes?’ Shiro mocked. ‘Let me quote for you.’

  She stood straight with hands behind her back, face turned up to the sun. Like a little girl reciting poetry in school, thought Anthony, or an angel about to sing.

  ‘My only love sprung from my only hate!

  Too early seen unknown and known too late!

  Prodigious birth of love it is to me,

  That I must love a loathed enemy.’

  Anthony clapped. ‘Well done, Miss Rasiah.’

  ‘Here, sit down.’ She shook out the purple blanket, dropping down and patting the spot beside her. ‘You can be Juliet and I’ll be Romeo. And stop trying to be all official. You can call me Shiro now. Only friends read Shakespeare together.’

  Anthony lowered himself on the edge of the blanket.

  Shiro groaned and slid across the blanket towards him. ‘Why are you sitting so far away? Are you scared of me or something? You can’t see the book from so far.’

  ‘Here, let me start. I am Romeo.’ Shiro cleared her throat and feigned a serious and deep voice.

  ‘If I profane with my unworthiest hand

  This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

  My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

  To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.’

  ‘Come on,’ Shiro prompted him. ‘Read your part as Juliet.’ Leaning over, she pointed to the words. The touch of her skin on his arm made Anthony catch his breath.

  ‘Why are you Romeo?’ he mumbled. ‘Shouldn’t that be my part?’

  ‘Because I always play the male lead in the school plays, silly. I’m the toughest and the most masculine in the class.’

  ‘Tough and masculine somehow would never cross my mind when I think of you.’ Anthony muffled a laugh. She’s treating me like one of her class friends, he mused. I’d better play along.

  ‘And, you are sweet and fair and golden-haired, like Juliet would have been.’

  This time Anthony laughed out loud. ‘I’ve been called many things Shiro, but never sweet and Juliet-like. But have it your way.’ They bent over the book, their faces close together.

  ‘Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

  Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

  For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,

  And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.’

  ‘Oh dear, you’re such a bad actor. Here, let me show you.’ Sliding even closer to him on the blanket, she looked into his eyes.

  ‘For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,

  And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.’

  Anthony remained silent, surprised at the sudden longing to take her in his arms. Was he falling in love with her? This feisty and lovely young woman was a far cry from the naughty little eight year old he remembered.

  But there was no passion in the black eyes that locked with his. Just innocent trust.

  This was dangerous ground. ‘I don’t think we should continue reading this section.’

  ‘Why not? Don’t you like Romeo and Juliet?’ She pouted, making it even harder for Anthony.

  ‘No, I love it, sweetheart. It’s just that I think Juliet kisses Romeo at this point.’

  ‘No. She does not.’ Turning away she scanned through the page. ‘I know this story, I even acted it. I was Romeo and I was not instructed to kiss Juliet.’ Shutting the book, she looked up at Anthony. Black eyes narrowed. Long lashes dropped, curtain-like, over obsidian pupils. ‘You’re teasing me, aren’t you? And by the way, I am not your sweetheart.’

  ‘Are you someone else’s sweetheart?’

  ‘Really, Mr Ashley-Cooper, what an inappropriate question. But for your information, I have no time for sweethearts.’ She giggled. ‘Not that I don’t know what it’s all about. I have a year more in school.’

  Shiro dropped back on her elbows, looking over the mountains. Her eyes filmed with tears. ‘After that, I have a major problem.’

  ‘A problem?’

  ‘Yes, as to my future. My mother wants me to get married, but I want to go to university. Then I’d like to get away from here. To some exciting and wonderful place – Africa or Australia, maybe. Preferably as a doctor.’

  ‘You will have to get yourself an African or Australian sweetheart then.’

  ‘Oh dear, I’ll never be allowed to do that!’ The dismay in her voice would have been amusing if it wasn’t so obviously real. ‘My parents will arrange a marriage for me with a good little Tamil boy. But all the ones I meet are so boring. All they’re interested in is making money and buying a house. Not exciting things like books and poetry.’

  Anthony leaned towards her, looking into her eyes – deep pools of worry. ‘Don’t do it, Shiro.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Don’t agree to an arranged marriage. Follow your heart.’

  Her eyes cleared and sparkled with mischief. ‘Mr Ashley-Cooper, do you realise what you’re doing? You’re encouraging me to rebel against my parents! You’ll be in such trouble if I tell my father!’ Her expression changed as she looked at Anthony through half closed eyes. ‘But then, we can’t tell anyone we met and talked, can we? It’s our secret.’

  The seductive allure in her was as old as the hills around them and as unaffectedly natur
al.

  Shiro glanced at the watch at her wrist and scrambled to her feet. ‘My goodness, I have to run. I promised Mummy I’d help with the cake and the palaharams.’ She picked up the blanket and book. ‘Are you coming to church on Christmas day? Ten-thirty in the morning in the Reform Church in Nuwara-Eliya? Bobsy the minister’s great fun.’

  Anthony grimaced. ‘I’m not exactly a church person.’

  But she was gone, scrambling up the path to the Tea-maker’s quarters.

  Bobsy the minister? Well I never …

  Chapter 18

  December 1966 Nuwara-Eliya

  Grace’s hand nestled in Bob’s. Their heads bowed and eyes closed in prayer.

  The romance that had bloomed at Bambalawatte Methodist School, fired by late night hot chocolate between school principal and assistant minister, was consummated in their loving marriage partnership. Today Grace’s face glowed with the special bloom that comes to a woman who has just learnt that she is pregnant by the love of her life.

  ‘Thank you, Father, for this wonderful season of Christmas when we celebrate the baby in the manger, the gift of your son. Bless this food to our bodies.’

  Stuffed roast chicken lent a festive note to the curried fish and vegetable rice lunch. Handmade bonbons lay by the plates. It was a simple meal. Anthony felt a knot of envy in his chest. They had so little in their church manse, yet they were so content – so in love.

  Bob opened his eyes. ‘Why the distant look of distress, Anthony? Missing the festivities in the manor? Afraid we can’t compete with that, old chap.’

  ‘Gracious no. You know how I always hated the extravagance. It’s the plantation, I just don’t seem to be able to fit into my role as superintendent.’

  Grace reached over to fill his glass with freshly squeezed pineapple juice. ‘You’re lonely, Anthony. Appu and a dog aren’t enough company for you. Do you have any friends on the estate?’

  ‘Friends? Only a girl I met a few weeks ago, the Tea-maker’s daughter, Shiro.’

  ‘I see.’ Bob chuckled. ‘That explains the impish glances she directed at you from the choir stalls. And I thought you were in church because I invited you.’

  Grace’s eyes continued the appraisal of his face. Anthony reddened under her questioning gaze.

  ‘I watched Shiro grow up in the boarding school, Anthony,’ she said. ‘She’s different from the run of the mill kids we saw there. She’s deep and intelligent. She was bullied.’ She glanced at Bob. ‘We tried to protect her.’

  Bob nodded. ‘She’s an intense kid, charming, witty and brilliant, capable of deep affection. Shiro fought a group of girls who teased her best friend, Lalitha. And I mean a real rough and tumble eye gouging battle.’

  Shiro in a fight. Yes, he could believe her capable of it. A smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

  ‘She’s not a child, Anthony.’ Grace’s soft words were tinged with concern.

  Bob’s eyes met Grace’s. Frowning, he reached over the dining table and grasped Anthony’s forearm. ‘Be careful, Anthony. You don’t need any complications in the plantation. I counselled young Shiro when I was assistant minister in Colombo. She’s impulsive, but capable of deep emotions.’ His eyes clouded with concern. ‘She’s also a very attractive young girl.’

  ‘Why would there be complications in the plantation? Shiro’s a naive little girl. She treats me as a friend and confidante.’ Anthony chuckled. ‘Come on Bob. Or Bobsy, as Shiro calls you. Be direct with me. What you truly mean is don’t get involved with a native.’

  ‘Anthony, it won’t work, man. It can’t. I know your father. He’ll never tolerate your alliance with a Sri Lankan.’

  Anthony’s eyes flashed with deep blue fire. ‘Alliance. What an interesting turn of phrase. Shiro and I just talk, chum. She’s lonely too. Apparently, she lost her best friend recently.’

  Anthony frowned as he intercepted another glance between Bob and Grace.

  ‘Damn it, Bob, what the hell am I supposed to do? Maybe you’d rather I go in for some plantation hospitality like William and his cronies do? Like our father did?’

  ‘You are a British planter, Anthony. You cannot have a relationship with a native Sri Lankan or Indian.’

  ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this in this house – from you! Whatever happened to your catch cry of all men one before God? We sang about it, remember? “In Christ there is no East or West – one great fellowship of love throughout the whole wide earth”. How do you advise me to live that out?’

  Anthony dropped his gaze at the compassion in Bob’s eyes.

  ‘Be a friend to Shiro Rasiah and her family and to the rest of your staff.’

  ‘A friend? That’s a joke! How am I supposed to do that? The coolies turned down my savings plan.’

  ‘We heard about the near riot,’ Grace reached over to serve Bob a slice of roast chicken.

  ‘But your plan for the staff provident fund was taken to the London board by your father.’

  Anthony stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. He looked from Bob to Grace, his eyes slitted. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘William,’ Bob responded with a dry chuckle. ‘He was here last week. Furious at what he sees as your father pandering to your preposterous plans to wreck the plantations. His words, not mine. He wanted me to talk you out of doing something that would destroy all his good work. Rein you in was what he said.’

  Grace looked at Anthony, her grey eyes clouded with worry. ‘He also accused us of spreading rumours about him.’

  ‘Damn him. He had no right to talk to you that way.’

  Grace continued her appraisal of Anthony. ‘Maybe you should put back your plans. Take it slow?’

  Anthony choked, coughed, then chewed and swallowed. He took a gulp of water. ‘I can’t just let it go, Grace. My family raped and pillaged the plantations. William is of the same ilk. I have to do something to atone. Whatever the consequences, I have to act.’ He swung to face Bob. ‘Surely you can understand that?’

  Bob tucked into his rice and chicken. He didn’t look at Anthony. ‘Stop punishing yourself.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re punishing yourself for what your father and your brother have done. And for all of us – the British.’

  Bob put down his fork and knife. He leaned across the table.

  ‘Anthony, you can’t bear the sins of your people. Only one person can do that.’

  Chapter 19

  January 1967 Watakälé

  ‘I was really sad when you didn’t come here after Christmas,’ Shiro grumbled. ‘I thought you were annoyed that I giggled when Daddy introduced us. Maybe you didn’t want to see me ever again.’ She imitated her father’s deep drawl, ‘Mr Ashley-Cooper, I believe you have not met my daughter, Shiromi.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He doesn’t remember that we met when you came to visit with the Irvines!’

  She sat curled on her blanket, bits of coloured wrapping paper spread around her. Her eyes were half closed, intent, as she flipped through the slim leather bound book of Lord Byron’s poems.

  Anthony sat with his back to the rock, his hands clasped around his knees.

  ‘I was not mad at you and you were not heartbroken.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I watched you every day through the binoculars. You had heaps of fun with your brothers. Scrambling up the mango tree and riding your brother’s bicycle hands-free across the factory lawn does not indicate deep distress.’

  ‘You spied on me!’ She fisted her fingers and punched Anthony on his arm. ‘That’s awful of you. Anyway, they’re just brothers. They’re gone back to Colombo now. It’s you I want to be with. You’re my special friend – the only one on the estate now.’ She stopped and bit her lip.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Anthony caught her hand and straightened out her fingers. ‘I also happen to know
that you were at the bungalow speaking with Appu. What are you up to, princess?’ He held tight to her hand when she tried to pull it away.

  Shiro watched as he skimmed his thumb over her palm. ‘How did you know? I asked Appu not to tell you. He promised.’

  Anthony held on to her hand as she tried to pull away. ‘I hung him up by his thumbs in the bungalow dungeon and burned the soles of his feet with my cigarette as we British do when we want information.’ He reached out with his other hand and touched the tip of her nose. ‘Out with it. What are you up to?’

  Shiro pouted and held his hand in both of hers. ‘Would you believe me if I said I wanted to know what you eat for dinner?’

  Anthony smiled and tweaked her nose. ‘Watch it, Pinocchio. Your nose is growing longer.’

  ‘Okay, the truth. My parents sent away my best friend. They did it because they don’t want me to have an Indian coolie best friend. They want me to have high class Tamil Vellalar friends, as fitting for a young girl ready to enter society and the marriage market.’ Shiro stopped and shuddered. ‘I was asking Appu to tell me where she is. He knows everything there is to know about the coolies in Watakälé. So there.’

  ‘Did you find out?’

  ‘Are you kidding? He would die rather than go against my parents’ orders. But I got one concession.’

  ‘Meaning …’

  ‘I send one letter a month to him and he will send it to her.’

  ‘You could ask her where she is.’

  Shiro groaned. ‘You don’t know your Appu very well, do you? He will censor her letters before he sends them to me. And my letters in the boarding school are checked by the teachers anyway. No matter. I’ll deal with that later.’ Shiro drew her hands away from Anthony. ‘Let me look at your present. Hmm, what shall I read – Here we are.’

  She sat up, crossed her legs and looked down at the book. Anthony clenched his hands by his side. He should have taken Bob’s advice – stayed away. This was too risky. He had tried to keep away. But he had been drawn to this place – to her.