Snowy Summer

by Patricia Weerakoon

  ‘No, Annie, you are our guest.’

  ‘Guest, Aunty, me?’ Annie laughed and turned to Uncle Raja. ‘A few years ago you used to chase Sunil and me out of the kitchen and call me a pest—not a guest.’

  Uncle Raja guffawed. ‘See. I told you, Sirima. Annie is family.’

  Annie turned to the sink to wash and clean the rice. ‘Aunty, how about you make pol sambol. Nothing like kiribath and coconut sambol to get the back-home feeling.’

  ‘Good Idea,’ Uncle Raja picked up a coconut and cracked it in half over the kitchen sink. Aunty Sirima relaxed and hurried off to rummage in the pantry for red onions.

  Soon the aroma of frying onions filled the kitchen.

  ‘Where’s Sunil?’ Annie asked, looking up from washing the rice.

  ‘Aiyoo, he left for the office. Told me to tell you, but I forgot.’ Aunty Sirima struck her forehead with her palm. ‘He will come for breakfast at nine o’clock.’

  ‘Goodness, he had an early start to the day.’ Annie laughed. ‘Not like when we were teenagers and I had to drag him out of bed for an early morning walk. No problem, I’ll walk over and meet him half way after I put this on the stove.’

  The banging at the back door leading from the kitchen to the garden interrupted their conversation. ‘Aiyoo, now what.’ Aunty Sirima wiped her oil covered hands on her skirt and strode over to fling open the door.

  ‘Mahattaya, Nona. Sir, Madam.’ A man stood at the door. The checked sarong and white shirt were old but clean and hung on his stooped frame. His lined face and greying hair aged him at around fifty or even sixty years old.

  ‘Nona, Madam, Siriwardene Cook-Appu sent me to help you,’ the man stammered in Sinhalese. He shivered, whether due to the cold wind blowing through the valley or the angry expression on Aunty Sirima’s face—it was hard to say.

  Hands cupped together, he held out a tattered envelope. ‘I have letters. I am good cook, can do Sri Lankan and English foods also. Worked here as a boy, during English Periadorai, Sir time—’ he blabbered on.

  Uncle Raja took the envelope from the man’s hands. ‘Siri Cook-Appu sent you?’

  ‘Yes, Mahattaya.’ The man brought his hands together and bowed from his waist in an attitude of humility. ‘His mother is sick and might die also,’ he stammered in English. ‘I am cousin of Siri Appu. My name is Karu,’ He pointed to the papers Uncle Raja had taken out of the envelope.

  Hands on hips, Aunty Sirima looked round the kitchen. She glared at the mess uncle Raja had made while scraping the coconut and saw Annie still stirring the rice on the stove. ‘All right,’ she addressed the man, Karu, ‘stop letting the wind into the kitchen and come in. You can make breakfast, Kiribath, pol sambol, and—’ she glanced at the fridge— ‘chicken curry also. If you are good, then you can stay.’ She wiggled her index finger at him. ‘Only till Siri Appu is back. We can’t afford to pay two people.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you,’ Karu picked up a carry bag and shuffled into the kitchen. He dropped the bag in a corner. ‘I can make all those things and more, Nona.’

  ‘Annie—’ Aunty Sirima pointed to the sitting room— ‘you go and relax. I will make sure this man knows what he is doing.’

  ‘You—’ she poked her finger at uncle Raja— ‘check the papers and make sure he is not going to steal the crockery and things.’

  ‘Yes, Aunty,’ said Annie, glancing at her watch. ‘It’s almost eight o’clock, I’ll go for a walk and then go get Sunil from the office for breakfast.’

  ‘Good. Go. Go.’ Aunty Sirima pushed Annie out of the kitchen.

  ***

  She wandered away from the house, towards the tea factory and office complex. Keeping away from the road, she strolled along the mud path between the tea bushes.

  A large black four wheel drive vehicle swept up the road toward the factory. Shading her eyes from the sun, Annie studied the men in it. At the wheel was the ape-man who had visited with Sunil in Colombo, and on the passenger side was Palitha. A sliver of anxiety slid through her at the thought of what this might mean.

  She picked up her phone. She should alert uncle HJ. He had asked her not to contact him. But, surely, this was an extraordinary circumstance.

  ‘Ape and Palitha here,’ she texted to Uncle HJ.

  Distracted by her phone, she almost collided with a young girl.

  ‘Sorry, miss. Are you also going to office?’ The girl spoke in Sinhalese.

  ‘No problem,’ Annie responded, also in Sinhalese. The girl was dressed in a fresh pink blouse and a knee length batik skirt. She was not an Indian tea plucker. ‘You must be employed in the office.’

  ‘No, miss.’ The girl giggled. ‘I am living in the village.’ She pointed to the wattle and daub huts in the valley surrounded by a mosaic of paddy fields and small patches of assorted vegetable gardens. ‘I have just finished my school.’ She giggled again. ‘Sunil Mahattaya is going to arrange for me to do university in Australia.’

  Annie studied the girl. She was dark skinned, with straight black hair reaching below her waist. Her slight build and height was that of a pubescent girl. ‘How old are you? And what is your name?’ she asked in Sinhalese.

  ‘Soma, miss,’ her face lit up. ‘I am seventeen.’ She glanced at the tea factory, ‘I have to go meet Sunil Mahattaya. He said we must take photographs to send the university. Photo man is coming from Colombo this morning. Also, a man who arranges visas and all that kind of things in Colombo.’

  ‘Soma—’ Annie grasped her arm to restrain her— ‘do you speak English?’

  ‘Little, but Sunil Mahattaya is saying they will teach in university. Also accounting, I am studying in Sydney, he told me,’ the girl stammered in broken English.

  She couldn’t just stand by and let this girl walk into their trap. ‘Soma, do you have your school leaving certificate. I teach in the university in Sydney.’ It was only part false—she was a visiting lecturer.

  Soma pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘Here, miss, I got all four passes, only one in the five children in our family get result like this, miss,’ the pride in her voice was obvious.

  Annie glanced at the paper. Passes in Sinhalese, Literature, Carnatic music and Sri Lankan history.

  ‘Good, no, miss?’

  Annie handed the paper back to her. ‘Soma,’ she said, ‘please listen to me. I am sorry to tell you this, but you will not get into the university with results like this. I don’t know what arrangements Sunil Mahattaya has for you in Australia, but it won’t be in university.’

  Soma stepped back. ‘Aiyoo, you are lying,’ she rasped in Sinhalese. ‘This is why Sunil Mahattaya told me not to tell my amma and thathi, or my sisters and brothers.’ Her voice caught on a sob. ‘He said they will be jealous and try to stop me—just like you are doing.’

  Turning away from Annie, Soma ran down the path towards the factory. Annie watched her go.

  Soma would sign up with Sunil and his cronies. She shuddered to think what future awaited her in Australia. Annie turned and walked back to the house.

  She no longer wanted to save Sunil.

  The innocence and trust in the face of Soma had made up her mind.

  She would do whatever was necessary to stop this evil.

  Chapter 9

  ‘Why did you tell Soma she will not get into university in Australia?’

  Sunil was making an attempt to keep calm, but Annie could sense his anxiety in the pitch of his voice and his dilated pupils. She sniffed, he was also drunk—or drugged—or both.

  ‘Sunil, I am an academic with Sydney University. I know the admission criteria. Soma showed me her school transcript. There is no way she will be accepted to any course in uni—much less an accounting degree, as she expects to.’

  ‘Annie,’ he said, grasped her shoulders, ‘you are my wife. I’ve said it before: keep out of my business affairs.’ His
hands trembled with anger, fear or something else. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead.

  She struggled to hold her own emotions in check. She coaxed his hands off her shoulders and clasped his fingers in hers, ‘Sunil, what you just said is an oxymoron. As your wife, which I am not yet, by the way—I will be a partner with you in all parts of your life.’

  In his eyes she saw a reckless desperation and something else—a flicker of viciousness. It sent a shiver through her.

  She dropped his hands and stepped back. ‘Sunil, I can’t do this anymore.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘I can’t marry you. You are no longer the person I knew and loved. You won’t talk to me. You work with those awful men and you treat me as if I am some—some sort of commodity. I can’t make a commitment to you for life. I don’t know or understand what is happening in your life, but I don’t want to be a part of it.’

  ‘No. No.’ with a cry between a groan and snarl, Sunil dragged her into his arms. His lips bruised hers, and his hands slipped down her body to pull her against him.

  She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. ‘Stop it, Sunil. You’re hurting me.’

  ‘We must make love,’ he spluttered, ‘then you will not leave me. Once we make love, you will have to marry me. I can’t lose you.’ He pulled her back into his arms; his left hand grasped her body to him. ‘I won’t let you leave me,’ he gasped.

  ‘Sunil, what are you doing? Aunty and uncle will come if I scream.’

  ‘They won’t stop me, Annie.’

  Annie froze. ‘They’ll let you do whatever you want, even rape me?’

  ‘My parents have always let me have whatever I want.’

  ‘And this time, you want me.’

  ‘Annie, I love you. Don’t make me force you. Please, let me love you. Come to me willingly. We will be married in a few days. We can build a good life together. Please.’

  She felt the stirrings of his arousal against her body. He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her towards her bedroom. Bracing herself, Annie sidestepped and twisted. Sunil staggered and loosened his hold. She turned and raised her knee to his groin in a sharp move.

  Sunil howled and staggered back. Annie ran into her bedroom. She slammed and locked the door. She leant against the door, panting. Thank God Monica had convinced her to enrol in self-defence classes.

  ‘Annie, open the door,’ Sunil hammered on the door.

  She dragged a chair across and lodged it under the door knob. ‘No, Sunil. Go away. You’re drunk. We can talk when you are calmer.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ he moaned against the door. ‘You know I won’t ever hurt you. I love you. I got carried away. Please open the door.’ He rattled the door knob.

  ‘I’ll come out at lunch. We can talk in the sitting room—with your parents.’

  He continued to rattle the doorknob for a few seconds more. She leant against the door, and listened to his muttered curses interspersed with sobs. She stayed there until she heard the creak of the wooden floorboard as he stumbled down the corridor, away from her room.

  Annie sank into the chair she had propped against the door. She had to get away. She had to leave Watakälé. But, how?

  She pulled out her phone to call Uncle HJ.

  ‘Psst, Piya missy,’ Annie started at the sound at the window.

  She ran across the room to see Karu Appu looking up at her. ‘Piya,’ he spoke just above a whisper.

  He stood straight and tall and there was no stammer in his voice. ‘Give me your handbag with your passport, then get out through the window.’ The corner of his lip lifted. ‘I watched your work on Sunil’s package — so I know you are agile enough to climb through a window.’

  ‘You are uncle HJ’s contact.’

  ‘Yes. Do you know the waterfall by the rock?’

  Annie nodded.

  ‘Go there—now. You will see a small green lorry. It has “Watakälé Estate” painted in black on the side. I’ll be there.’

  She handed her handbag to Karu and turned to pick up a coat. When she looked back, he was gone.

  ***

  The lorry was parked on the grass by the road. Karu and another man dressed in sarong and checked shirt like him helped her into the back.

  ‘Sorry,’ Karu said, ‘not exactly five star accommodation.’

  ‘We put a quilt and a couple of cushions between the tea chests,’ the other man said. ‘Also, there is a bottle of water and sandwiches. We won’t be stopping for anything.’

  She climbed into the back of the lorry and squeezed herself into the space prepared for her between the tea chests. The men positioned a couple more tea chests to conceal her hiding place. ‘There’s a torch, but try not to use it,’ Karu called.

  The men jumped into the drivers cab and started up the lorry. Soon they were bumping along the estate roads.

  She heard the muttered conversation in the drivers cab.

  ‘Machan, Xav, good timing,’ it was Karu’s voice.

  ‘Yes, Ro, HJ contacted me this morning and asked me to get up here quick fast.’

  So, Karu’s real name was Ro.

  ‘Guys, please,’ she called out, ‘where are we going?’

  ‘You’re still awake.’ Ro, or Karu answered. ‘We’ll drive to a sea port, and cadge a boat ride to India. You will fly from Madurai to Sydney. Our people in Australia will pick up from there.’

  ‘I don’t have any clothes.’

  ‘All taken care of, so just try to sleep. We’ll be on the road for about six hours.’ Ro responded.

  Her mother. She shuddered to think what would happen when Sunil and his friends found out she was gone. ‘Guys,’ she called out, ‘what about my mother? Will Sunil or his fellows try to harm her?’

  ‘HJ has it all in hand, Annie.’ Ro spoke through the little aperture between drivers cab and the back of the truck.

  The men continued to chat. Annie drifted in and out of a semi stupor. She heard snippets of conversation.

  ‘HJ thought at the beginning Sunil may be the king-pin.’

  ‘No way, Machan, he’s an idiot. In it for the money. He has huge debts. The tea estate and gem business both mortgaged to the gang. The apartment in Colpetty also. That chariot he drives, probably even the rock he gave Annie.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a pawn. Married to Annie, he would’ve been the Australian link.’

  ‘That guy, Palitha?’

  ‘Too much show.’

  ‘Charlie fellow?’

  ‘Too nerdy, not the leader.’

  ‘Maybe a head honcho in Australia.’

  ‘Fancy a trip down under?’

  ‘Wife will like that.’

  ***

  The back door of the lorry swung open. She woke up with a jerk, taking in the sea breeze, salt and fish smells. She looked around, disoriented. Was this real, or some kind of nightmare?

  Ro opened the door and helped her out of the back of the van. ‘Annie, we have to hurry.’ He handed her a bag. ‘There’s a change of clothes here. I’m sorry, you have to take your bra and things off and put on what’s in the bag.’

  ‘What do I wear?’

  ‘Something,’ he glanced at her chest, ‘to cover your shape. We have to make out you are a boy. You’re our younger brother, Ram.’

  Xav led her into a small thatched hut surrounded by coconut trees. ‘You can change here. There is a toilet outside. It’s pretty basic, but it works.’

  She slipped off her jeans, blouse and bra and slipped on the dark brown skin coloured elastic tube top which did a reasonable job of slimming down her breasts. Pulling the orange life-jacket over her head, she wrapped the faded batik sarong around her waist. She was now Ram the fisherman. She coiled her hair in a knot, and shoving the scruffy straw fishing hat on her head, she stepped out of the hut.

 
Ro and Xav were both bare-chested and dressed in soiled and faded batik-print sarongs. Dirty bandanas covered their hair. They were both chewing on betel and arecanut, their lips red with the stains. Their neck and arms were covered with muck. Ro grabbed her hand, ‘come, we have to rush.’

  Ro hurried her down the mud and gravel path to the beach.

  It was a beautiful tropical sunset on the west coast of Sri Lanka. The sun dipped low into the ocean. The lowering grey clouds picked up the golden hue of the sunset. On the sand, at the sea’s edge, there was an air of controlled chaos. Men, shouting and laughing, hurried around fishing boats painted in shades of blue, green and red. A few boats had set out into the ocean and were sailing into the sunset. A couple of the fishermen yelled out greetings in Tamil to Ro and Xav.

  Ro pointed to a small white and blue fibre-glass boat with a partially rusted outboard motor. Multi-coloured fishing nets and some freshly netted fish lay in the bottom of the boat. He and Xav jumped in and helped Annie climb in after them. ‘I am Sav,’ Xav said as he started the motor and guided the boat away from shore, ‘short for Sanjeev. My brother will stay as Ro, for Roman. And you are our youngest brother, Ram. Short for Ramesh. Our home is in Talaimannar. We are Tamil fishermen. Our parents are dead. We have a sister Sunderi. She is working in the Middle East. Ro and I both speak good Tamil and Sinhalese. If we are stopped, let us do the talking.’

  He looked her up and down. ‘You look terrified enough as is—they will think you are dumbstruck and overawed.’ He reached out and patted her hand. In spite of the dirt, his hand was not the hand of a manual worker or fisherman. ‘Don’t worry Annie. We’ll take care of you. Just think of this as an adventure.’

  Too stunned to speak, she nodded her response.

  They pushed the boat into the water and jumped in. The sun sank into the horizon, replaced by a pale moon. They had a torch in the boat, lying unlit under the seat, but neither of the men switched it on. The wind whipped up, tossing the boat. Heavy dark clouds scudded across the sky. White tipped walls of waves rose in response. Ro guided the rocking boat while Xav sat in the stern, keeping a lookout — Annie wasn’t sure what he was looking for.