The Flower Boy

by Karen Roberts

  Still, they nodded sympathetically and wished her well, privately wondering how John had put up with her for this long.

  For days, the household had been busy pulling down the old trunks from the storeroom and dusting them out. Her clothes, carefully layered with tissue and little sachets of lavender, were placed in them by confused, but slightly relieved, servants.

  On the day of her departure, she kissed her bewildered daughters perfunctorily, said a vague good-bye to the staff and was driven down to Colombo by John, who would put her on the steamer for England. He was to be in Colombo for three days, and left instructions with Appuhamy, Ayah and Premawathi about the house and the girls.

  No one knew what their parting was like, but it couldn’t have been too traumatic for either of them. After all, she was going back to what she loved best and he was staying with what he loved best.

  Everyone agreed that it was all for the best.

  In those first three days, in the absence of both the Sudu Nona and the Sudu Mahattaya, the house ran like clockwork, both Appuhamy and Premawathi determined to do their bit for the Sudu Mahattaya and Glencairn.

  Ayah, inexpressibly relieved by the Sudu Nona’s departure and too honest even to pretend sadness, concentrated on her Lizzie Baby.

  Rose-Lizzie, with no risk of punishment, spent most of those three days in the back garden, but Chandi was still being watched by his mother, who had got too used to being afraid of the Sudu Nona’s anger and sharp tongue to realize that there wasn’t reason to be afraid anymore.

  A falcon tethered by a nonexistent chain.

  THE MOST INTERESTING result of the Sudu Nona’s abrupt exit was Anne’s gradual emergence.

  After her father’s car had driven her mother off, she stood in the veranda for a long, long time, saying and doing nothing.

  The servants made clucking noises of sympathy and shook their heads sadly. So sad, they said sadly. Poor girl, no mother and all, they murmured.

  About an hour later, she was seen in the garden, sitting with her back to the smooth trunk of the jacaranda tree and reading. They watched her from the windows, shaking their heads and making clucking noises with their sympathetic tongues.

  But when she wandered into the kitchen at about eleven o’clock and asked what was for lunch, they were shocked. Many of the servants had been at Glencairn ever since the Sudu Mahattaya had arrived, and most had never even been spoken to by Anne. In fact, some had never even seen her properly.

  Premawathi recovered first.

  “Grilled fish and vegetables, Sudu Baby,” she said respectfully. It was what they had every Monday.

  “Can we have ham and salad instead?” Anne asked hesitantly. “I don’t like grilled fish very much.”

  Premawathi smiled. “Yes, Sudu Baby. I’ll make it now,” she said, glad that the poor motherless mite was hungry.

  Anne still stood there. “With garlic?” she said.

  The kitchen staff had instructions not to use garlic. The Sudu Nona had always complained about the smell.

  Premawathi’s smile grew. “Certainly.”

  “Thank you.” Anne smiled and wandered off down the corridor.

  When Appuhamy went to set the table for lunch, he found Anne in the dining room, looking around.

  “Appuhamy,” she said tentatively.

  “Yes, Sudu Baby?” he said respectfully.

  “It seems such a waste to set the dining table when only Lizzie and I are having lunch. Could we have it on the little table in the garden instead?” she asked.

  Appuhamy was thrown into confusion. Every day, for seven years, he had set the big dining table for lunch, except when the family was in Colombo, of course. This kind of alteration in his daily routine was almost too much for him.

  “If it’s too much of a problem, it’s all right. We can eat here,” she said quietly, sensing his confusion and feeling guilty for having caused it.

  But Appuhamy was too well trained to let confusion last for more than a few seconds and gamely rose to the occasion, if it was an occasion.

  “No, no, Sudu Baby. It’s quite all right,” he said. “I’ll get Krishna to bring the table out.”

  That afternoon at twelve-thirty, Anne and Rose-Lizzie had lunch under the jacaranda tree.

  The servants talked for days afterward about how happy they seemed. How, long after the plates had been cleared away, girlish laughter could be heard echoing through trees and bushes and grass, stirring flowers into nodding approval.

  THREE DAYS LATER, John returned to Glencairn. He was quiet and slightly withdrawn, but since he had never been particularly garrulous, no one really noticed. Besides, the war was making everyone slightly anxious, although it seemed far away.

  In the days and weeks following Elsie’s departure he made an effort to come back early from the factory and spend his evenings in the company of his daughters. He enjoyed Lizzie’s vivacity and high-spiritedness as much as he enjoyed Anne’s quiet conversation and calming presence. The two girls grew closer to each other and closer to their father.

  To John they were like a soothing balm, for although he had never really loved their mother, he had been committed to her. And although she had never really participated in their lives, she had at least been there physically. Her departure did not wound. It simply left a void in the house that Anne and Lizzie tried to fill.

  In the late afternoons, they went for walks through the gardens and down the hillside, looking for deer in the wooded fringes of the estate and for monkeys in the eucalyptus trees.

  When the evening came they sat on the veranda and watched the hills deepen to dark purple. Then, when the mosquitoes started to arrive in droves, they went indoors and played checkers or Scrabble or read by the fire.

  Anne was now running the house, although it would have run itself. Under her care, some of the rigidity of Elsie’s reign disappeared, replaced by less formal, happier times. There were more lunches under the jacaranda tree, more breakfasts on the veranda and, lately, occasional picnics in the garden.

  IT WAS SUNDAY. John, Anne and Lizzie sat on a gay red-and-green-striped rug under the orange-flowered shade of the jacaranda.

  John was propped up on his elbow, tickling Lizzie with a blade of grass. Anne was busy pouring fresh lemonade into glasses, having already laid out the cucumber sandwiches, salad and fruit.

  Rose-Lizzie ignored her father’s antics and counted the sunspots that danced behind her closed lids. Black furry-edged fishes in a transparent red sea that came together and stuck before separating and shooting off in different directions.

  She felt Chandi’s presence. She sat up and looked around, and immediately spotted him peering out from the passageway.

  “Chandi!” she called. “Chandi, come here.”

  Before Chandi could disappear, John sat up too.

  “Chandi!” he called. “Come on, boy! There’s no need to be so scared.”

  Chandi approached them slowly until he was standing near the rug. He looked down at his feet and twisted his hands.

  John looked at him with amusement. “Come and sit down,” he said.

  Chandi still stood there, looking down.

  He wasn’t afraid of John. He was afraid of Anne, whom he had never spoken to. She looked so much like her mother.

  Perhaps she sensed his apprehension, for she looked up.

  “Chandi,” she said softly. “Sit down and eat with us. There’s plenty of food to go round.”

  Her eyes were warm, not icy. Her mouth was softly curved, not hard and compressed. She didn’t look like the Sudu Nona at all.

  Anne was kind and soft, not angry and hard.

  He sat. She handed him a sandwich. The others started eating.

  “Eat, Chandi,” Rose-Lizzie said happily. “They’re very nice. Your mother made them.”

  He bit into a sandwich. The sound of his teeth biting through the cucumber reverberated in his ears. He chewed and wondered if everyone could hear the crunching sounds he was making.r />
  His mother had once commented on how the English ladies drank their tea without making a single sound, and he had found it hard to believe. Everyone made slurping or gulping noises when they drank.

  He stopped chewing and listened hard. They were all making crunching sounds. That made him feel better.

  He swallowed hastily, choked and had to be thumped on the back by Rose-Lizzie. His first lunch with the family was a disaster, he thought gloomily.

  Around them, the garden provided picnic music. Sparrows singing for crumbs, bees buzzing around nectar-filled flowers, too lazy to feed, the gurgling of the oya which ran beyond the back garden, leaves rustling gently in the cool breeze.

  In the distant belt of trees he heard another sound.

  Hooua hooua hooua.

  John lifted his head and listened. “Must be some koha birds,” he said.

  “Bear monkeys,” Chandi said before he could stop to think.

  Three pairs of blue eyes varying from light bright to dark night turned to look inquiringly at him. He wished he hadn’t spoken.

  “Bear monkeys?” John repeated. “I didn’t think there were any this close. Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Chandi said. “Come down from forests sometimes to look for food.”

  “Are they dangerous?” Rose-Lizzie asked.

  “Yes. But only when many together,” he answered.

  “Yes, they live in packs and I’ve heard they can be quite vicious,” John commented. “Friend of mine from Windsor went up to Horton Plains the other day and they chased the car for quite a bit. Had to fire a round or two to scare them off.”

  “Will they come here, Daddy?” Rose-Lizzie asked, half fearful, half hopeful.

  He laughed. “No darling,” he said. “They avoid populated areas. Don’t like people much, I suppose. Can’t blame them really,” he said.

  Anne, who had been listening quietly, spoke for the first time. “Why not, Daddy?” she asked curiously. “Do people hurt them?”

  John looked contemplative. “Yes, they do. Not directly, but by clearing forests and cutting down trees to build houses, by building roads through their homes . . . yes, people do hurt them. They have nowhere to live, no food, which is why I suppose they’re this far away from the forest.”

  “But Daddy, people have to cut down trees and clear land to build houses, don’t they?” Anne said.

  “Yes they do,” he answered. “I suppose it’s a question of supremacy. Who is stronger.”

  “Like the English and the Ceylonese,” Rose-Lizzie said.

  John looked at her strangely. “Yes,” he said slowly. “It is rather like that.”

  They sat there and talked some more about the foxes that roamed the hill-sides at night and the leopard that had been spotted close to Nuwara Eliya town, until Chandi heard his mother calling him. He jumped up guiltily, mumbled his thanks and made to leave.

  “Chandi.” Anne’s soft voice stopped him. “Come again and eat with us.”

  He smiled shyly and ran off down the passageway.

  John looked after him. “Strange boy,” he said. “Can’t quite figure him out. Seems quite intelligent, though.”

  “He knows everything,” Rose-Lizzie said proudly.

  John laughed. “He does?”

  “Everything,” she declared staunchly.

  “Father Ross must be doing a good job down at the school,” John said.

  RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE CLASS always made Chandi feel slightly uncomfortable. Although he didn’t consciously try to avoid sin, he didn’t think he had committed any big ones. Not according to him, anyway. And although he always paid attention to Father Ross, he didn’t quite understand the concepts of Heaven and Hell.

  So at the back of his mind, he was always worried about the fate of his immortal soul. Although he didn’t quite understand what his immortal soul was either.

  Apparently Father Ross did, because today he was talking about exactly that, and the first sin.

  “Adam and Eve had everything,” he said earnestly to the earnest children hanging on his every word. They liked Father Ross with his jokes and forgiving manner.

  Rumor had it that a person could do just about anything, go to confession and get away with three Hail Marys and a Glory Be. Five Hail Marys if it was really bad, but hardly anyone got five. If they did, they didn’t tell anyone.

  “Adam and Eve had everything,” he repeated.

  Chandi wondered if they had burgundy woollen sweaters.

  “But their biggest sin was disobedience. God told them to eat anything in the garden except the apple. But when the serpent came and told Eve to tempt Adam, she forgot God and, as a result, they were cast out from Paradise.”

  Personally, Chandi couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. After all, it was only an apple. He couldn’t understand why God had put it there if they couldn’t have it. Actually, when he thought hard about it, it was all the serpent’s fault. And what was a serpent doing in Paradise anyway? It didn’t make the slightest sense.

  “So that’s why we are born with the stain of original sin on our souls. Because of the sin of our first father and mother,” Father Ross continued, quite unaware of the waves of confusion that threatened to swamp Chandi’s immortal soul.

  “We are baptized with water to wash away that sin and make us clean and pure again,” he said.

  Chandi wondered if Rose-Lizzie had been born with the stain of original sin on her soul. He didn’t think so, but perhaps she had. That might account for the Sudu Nona’s pain and screams at the time of her being born.

  He wondered if the Sudu Nona had been born with the stain too. Maybe she had and no one had washed it away to make her clean and pure again. That might account for her ill-temper and general unhappiness.

  Such un-Christian thoughts had no place in Father Ross’s Christian classroom, but what Father Ross didn’t know didn’t hurt him.

  “Every time we sin, we hurt God and put our immortal souls in peril,” he said. “If we ask God for forgiveness, we can go on living in the light of His love, but if we don’t and continue to sin against Him, we will burn in the fires of hell for all eternity,” he said benignly.

  CHANDI SAT WITH Rose-Lizzie on the edge of the drain, eating sour nelli dipped in salt and chili powder. The nelli fruits sat in the skirt of Rose-Lizzie’s dress, while the salt and chili powder lay on the side in a torn piece of newspaper, weighted down with four small stones to keep it from flying in the breeze and into their eyes. These days, Ayah let them roam through the gardens at the back of the house on their own.

  “We must no sin, Rose-Lizzie,” he said seriously.

  “Why? Do we usually?” She expertly spat out a nelli stone.

  “I don’t think so, but we must careful from now.”

  “Why from now on?” she asked curiously.

  “Because when die, our immortal souls burn in fires of hell for all eternity,” he quoted gravely.

  She looked hard at him. “I thought you said only Buddhists got burned when they died,” she said suspiciously.

  “I thought too, but Father Ross say we burn also if sin,” he said.

  “But how do we know if we’re sinning or not?” she said.

  “Father Ross say conscience tell us,” he said.

  “What’s conscience?” She was beginning to look bewildered.

  “Don’t know,” he replied. “Must listen.”

  They sat there and listened hard, but if their consciences spoke, they were drowned out by the crunchy nelli and Buster’s distant barking.

  DISNERIS CAME TO visit.

  Chandi saw him coming up the mountain path at the back of the house and ran out to meet him, shrieking, “Thaaththi!” which meant “Daddy” in Sinhalese. Disneris swung him up on his shoulders and continued on to the house.

  Premawathi came to the kitchen door to see what all the noise was about. He greeted her with his gentle smile.

  “Ah, Haminé,” he said. He called her Haminé, whi
ch was a title usually reserved for high-caste Sinhalese housewives who presided over walauwwas, ancestral homes.

  “Kohomada?” she asked.

  “Can’t complain,” he said serenely.

  She felt a flicker of irritation.

  “How’s the mudalali? Still making money and paying you next to nothing?” she asked acidly.

  Disneris only looked amused. “Now, now, Haminé,” he said mildly. “That next to nothing helps to feed us, doesn’t it?”

  You, not us, she thought. My hard work helps to feed us. Then she felt ashamed. He couldn’t help being the way he was. She had known what he was like when she had married him. And he couldn’t really help not having a better job. It was not as though they grew on trees these days. She straightened up.

  “Well come in, come in. You must be hungry, and I have some hot kiribath and katta sambol ready,” she said.

  They didn’t talk again until he was seated on the kitchen step with a plate in his hand. A small sparrow hopped over to the bottom step and stood there hopefully.

  “How are the girls?” he asked. “Doing well at school?”

  “Same as usual,” she replied. “Don’t know about Chandi, though.”

  “Why? Been in trouble?” he said.

  “Not exactly trouble,” she said vaguely.

  “Nona been complaining?” he asked.

  “No, she’s gone back to England. Trouble there too,” she said.

  “Aiyyo! That’s a shame,” he said, genuinely distressed by the news.

  “Yes, well, it’s not like she was the pillar that held the house and family up,” Premawathi commented. “In fact he seems happier now that she’s gone.”

  Disneris looked horrified. “Aiyyo, woman!” he said. “What’s this talk? That’s their business, no? You just do your job and don’t interfere with the white people. That only brings trouble.”

  Premawathi had said enough and heard enough to bring back the irritation she had felt before. She left him eating and went about her business.

  CHANDI WAS IN the kitchen listening to the exchange with avid interest. Like most adults, they talked as though he was not there.