Mosquito

by Roma Tearne

  Even after so long he felt the power of that moment reaching down through the years. Like starlight, he thought, wistfully.

  ‘She was mugged,’ he told them, speaking quietly. ‘It happened quickly. On an empty street in London, robbed for twenty pounds and a credit card. There was one witness, that’s all. She died on a hospital bed, on a white sheet, as a result of a massive brain haemorrhage. They never caught the men. It was an unsolved crime.’

  He had come home to Sri Lanka, he said, because he felt it was better to put his energy into his own country than waste it on foreign soil.

  The cell fell silent. Somehow the telling had shocked those who listened. I can speak of all this now, he thought, detached. As though it happened to someone else, as though I had only read about it. I can say the words. And nothing in the words can convey how I felt, what I still feel. But he did not mention the girl. Her name was an impossibility. He had folded his thoughts of the girl into a secret petition and dropped it at the feet of a god long given up for lost.

  Things changed imperceptibly after that. As the weeks lengthened into months Theo began to invent a routine for himself. There was no paper. He tried asking the jailer but in return narrowly missed a kicking. So he began to construct a story in his head. And after a while he began to tell his stories out loud. The brothers were impressed. Soon it became a daily entertainment that was looked forward to by the whole cell. He talked mostly at night, feeling as though he was following the tradition of Buddhist oral storytelling. It reminded him of his childhood and the servants who had cared for him. Softly, fearful of being overheard, fearful of being thrown into solitary confinement, he told his stories. Then as he became bolder he began to recite poetry as well. He recited long passages of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. The brothers, loving it, joined in with poems they had learned in school. And so the days inched by.

  One morning a boy of about ten was suddenly brought in. He had been captured during an ambush, his cyanide capsule cut off and now he waited questioning. Slumping in a corner of the cell he simply shivered, refusing to speak. There were burn marks along the lengths of his legs and across his chest. He was bleeding from his head. The brothers immediately began to look him over but moments later the door burst open again and they were both ordered out. There was no time for goodbyes.

  Night descended and with it there arose sounds of screaming. The sounds came from a grating that drained the water from the latrine. At first they thought it was chanting until a shift in key, a small inflection of voice made it clear that they were screams. The noise was intermittent but clearly audible. No one spoke as it rose in a lament so pure, so full of pain, that it was obvious; sleep would be impossible. The boy continued to whimper, huddled up in a corner, snarling at anyone who came near him. Whenever there was a pause in the unearthly sounds from below, everyone breathed a sigh. But then, there would be another long cry of such agony, a cry so low and so filled with suffering that they knew it was not over yet. Pity filled the small airless cell, and silently, out of respect for what they were witness to, every man bowed his head. Towards dawn the sounds became feebler. Footsteps could be heard walking away. A light was switched off. Inside the cell the geckos continued to move haphazardly across the walls, and the boy drifted off to sleep.

  In the first few days after Nulani Mendis had left, Giulia and Rohan had been hopeful. They had made enquiries; frantic now, Rohan had gone to see someone he knew vaguely in the Cabinet, but there was no help to be had there. He had tried driving over to Theo’s beach house but the roadblocks made it impossible. Then he had rung an acquaintance who lived in the next bay but the phones were down and there was no response. A journalist they approached refused to run a story about Theo in the daily newspapers. It was more than his job was worth, he told Rohan apologetically, avoiding his eye. Finally, they began to believe the worst.

  ‘We should contact his agent in London,’ said Rohan. ‘He’ll make a fuss.’

  But they had no phone number and in any case they suspected their phone was tapped.

  A month after she left, a letter arrived from the girl. She had written it almost immediately on reaching London. But it had taken a month to arrive.

  ‘Look at this,’ said Rohan, bringing it in to Giulia, pointing at the envelope. It was clear the letter had been opened.

  ‘I want to leave,’ said Giulia, insistent now. ‘Theo’s gone, Nulani’s gone, I want us to go too, before it’s too late.’

  Rohan did not answer. Theo Samarajeeva had been like a brother to him. He could not accept he was dead. He could not bear the thought of leaving without him. He wanted to go over to the beach house but he knew how frightened Giulia was. He had not told Giulia, but their own house was being watched. And a few days ago he was certain he had been followed home. Rohan had not mentioned any of this to Giulia. She was already overwrought, and on edge. He did not like leaving her alone in the house for too long. In his heart, he knew, it was time for them to leave.

  Giulia began reading Nulani’s letter out loud. The words erupted across the page, confused and desperate.

  I don’t know what I’m doing here. I feel I can’t go on living. Everything is finished for me. Yesterday I was eighteen. How many more years of my life must I live? Have you no news for me? Have you nothing at all? I tried ringing you many times but the lines were down. Jim met me at the airport. He took me to the place where I’m now staying and a friend of his said he knows of a job close by. I haven’t gone out much since I got here. It’s so cold and I’m so tired, Giulia. I want to come home. Jim is busy, he is happy with his studies but what is there for me here? All I really want to do is sleep. Waking is terrible. Will my whole life pass as slowly as this?

  The writing meandered on in this way, starting and stopping, repeating itself, full of pain. full of the absence of Theo, understated, desperate. She talked a little about her brother. Giulia was alarmed.

  Yesterday I saw Jim again. He is pale, the same, but paler. He’s my brother but we have nothing left to say to each other. Although he has been good to me we hardly speak. The astrologer was right. Jim talked about Amma. Why didn’t I go to the funeral? What could I say? Jim says I’m selfish. We met in the railway station café because he was in a hurry. Then he went back to Sheffield. He can’t see me until next term he said. I’m staying at the address you gave me. Using the money you gave me. I don’t know what else to say.

  Nulani.

  That was all. When she had finished reading it Giulia sat staring into space.

  ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have sent her,’ she said uneasily. ‘She’s in a bad way.’

  ‘What was the choice?’ asked Rohan.

  Giulia sighed. Why had they thought it would be that simple?

  ‘I know. I thought her brother might have helped her, somehow.’

  Rohan made a sound of disgust. Then he took the letter from Giulia. Yes, he thought, it has been opened. Tomorrow he would make some enquiries about leaving.

  ‘If only they had married before this happened,’ Giulia said, beginning to cry. ‘She would at least have had his name.’

  ‘She would have had the royalties from his books too. Although,’ Rohan stared at his hands, ‘it’s only money. It won’t bring him back. She’d still be alone.’ He stared bleakly at some point above her head.

  ‘One day she’ll make money, you’ll see. That much I believe. She’s a damn good painter, you know. It won’t go to waste. You watch, it will surface. Give it time.’

  He nodded, sounding more certain than he felt. Outside, the curfew had just begun. Thank God I still have a British passport, thought Rohan. And thank God Giulia was an Italian citizen. He wondered if it was possible to buy two tickets to London on the black market. Before it was too late.

  After the disappearance of the Tamil brothers the atmosphere in the prison cell quickly turned to one of despair. The next day the small boy captured during the guerrilla fighting was taken out to the firing squad and shot. No one
in the cell uttered a word. If they said nothing, maybe they could believe nothing had happened. On the afternoon of the following day, the metal door opened and the warden came for Theo. A simple interrogation, he said, just a few minutes. But first, a short journey. The old man shouted his goodbye first.

  ‘May God protect you,’ he said. ‘You’re a good man!’

  Some of the others joined in.

  ‘Maybe we’ll meet in the next life.’

  Before he could answer Theo was pushed outside.

  He had lost track of how many months had passed. Barbed wire stood silhouetted in drums across the sky. It was late afternoon. Long shadows stretched across the ground. A fresh breeze lifted the edges of the heat as they began the drive to the army headquarters. Perhaps because of the happiness he felt from being in the open, Theo experienced a sharp stab of optimism. He did not have the blindfold on this time, the warden was driving him personally instead of some thug. Could it be his release was imminent? Here and there he caught sight of a flash of colour. Birds, he thought excitedly, he hadn’t seen a bird in months. Then he saw glimpses of acid-green paddy fields and guessed they were somewhere in the eastern province. How he had got there was a mystery. He had been certain the first prison camp had been close to Colombo.

  They drove on. Occasionally Theo thought he smelt the sea somewhere in the distance, but again, he could not be sure. Every now and then they passed the burnt remains of a village. They passed a truck overturned by the roadside, pockmarked and riddled with bullet holes. Once, this had been a fertile land with rice and coconut as the economy. Once, this had been a tourist paradise, lined with rest houses. The port had been an important naval base. Now there was not a single person in sight. He was hungry. They had left before the daily ration of food and uncertainty and hope were making him light-headed. After about an hour or so, he sensed rather than saw they were heading away from the coast towards the interior. Hunger gnawed at him and anxiety too began to grow. Where were they going? The warden had said it would be a short journey. Theo judged they had been driving for about two hours.

  Suddenly the truck swerved and braked violently. In front of them was a roadblock. He had just enough time to register this before there was a loud explosion and a volley of gunfire. He ducked and the engine strained into reverse. There was shouting and then more gunshots. The truck swung backwards along the track they had just driven on, swerving and lurching. He tried to stand up, tried to shout to the driver, but the violence of the movement sent him flying towards the door, hitting his head against the handle. He must have passed out.

  It was dark when he came to. A foul chemical smell hung in the air and he could not see clearly. His head seemed to have a tight band holding it together. Slowly as he began to focus in the half-light he saw four lengths of thick rope attached to blocks of wood screwed to the ceiling. On the opposite walls were some metal plates attached to some electric wires. Someone was shining a torch directly into his eyes and his mouth seemed full of foam. He tried to speak but his tongue was unaccountably leaden and stuck to the roof of his mouth. Still the torch continued to be directed at his left eye and he realised that, once more, his hands were tied behind his back. They were talking to him in Tamil. They asked him a question. When he didn’t reply they spoke in English.

  ‘So, you Singhala bastard, so, you dog, what d’you say to us now?’

  ‘You thought you were in safe territory, did you? Oppressor of the Tamil people, why are you silent?’

  ‘Where’s your wonderful army to defend you now?’

  ‘The only good Singhalese is a dead Singhalese!’

  ‘Go on, beg. Beg!’

  Again Theo tried to speak, tried in vain to say his name. He opened his mouth but no words came. In that moment it seemed that all the resistance within him, all that had kept him sane over the last months began to crumble. He could stand it no more. His mind had reached its limits. He saw a pair of hands coming towards him and a black sack was pulled over his head. The stench of foul-smelling chemicals grew stronger and was mixed with another smell, something that he vaguely recognised. Then they hit him. Soon he was suspended from the ceiling. His handcuffs were taken off and he felt something cold being stuck to the palms of his hand and to the back of his neck. He knew, with the part of his mind still functioning, that he had entered a hell like no other. That this tunnel he was being forced down was narrowing to a point where every last glimmer of hope was being extinguished. He knew that the best option for him was that he should die now, here, and instantly. Someone peeled his trousers off amid hoots of laughter, and he hung for a moment while a flash bulb went off in his face. Something wet and putrid was smeared all over his nakedness. Laughter surrounded him like baying dogs, high and inhuman. Although the heat in the room was oppressive he was shivering and although he was crying no sound came from him. They hosed him down and the metal plates began to burn steadily into his hands. He felt the heat rise through him, swiftly reaching a point where he could no longer bear it. In a flash of understanding, moments before his body jerked into the air, he saw in the distance the stone face of a god he had once believed in, turning away. Then, mercifully, he passed out.

  12

  ROHAN WENT TO THE BEACH HOUSE. The doctor had found a man to drive him there. Giulia didn’t want him to go but he went, promising her that if there were signs of trouble he would turn back. The driver was a patient of Dr Peris’s.

  ‘You can trust him,’ the doctor said. ‘He’s helped other people for me. He’ll take you along the side roads. It’s safer than the coast road.’

  The doctor spoke calmly, not wanting to alarm them. Knowing they were incapable of doing anything in their grief, he managed to make the house secure through a local contact. But he did not tell them this. Neither did he tell them that he had received a warning that the house was likely to be looted and probably vandalised. He did not tell them he had paid a man to watch over the place. He saw no point in upsetting them further. The doctor had admired Theo Samarajeeva’s books and he felt it was the least he could do.

  ‘It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to get there. He’ll come for you early. Take everything of value.’

  So Rohan went. In spite of Giulia’s fears he went. In the end it had taken fourteen months for the doctor to think it safe. On the morning before he left, a letter arrived from the girl. It was only her second letter, written months before, and this too, Rohan observed, had been opened. England, she wrote, suited Jim. He did not miss his home, she said. Unlike Nulani herself who thought of nothing else. The letter meandered disjointedly on.

  Jim says home is a place full of foolish superstitions, best forgotten. He wants me to stop being so useless. But useless is what I am. I started to tell him a little about Theo, but I don’t think he really understands.

  ‘Well, that’s a surprise,’ said Rohan, grimly.

  ‘Listen to this, Rohan,’ said Giulia uneasily.

  What use is anything without Theo? How can I say this to my brother? How can I tell Jim that everything I do, even eating, is a betrayal, because I live and he does not? Jim will never understand. How could he, he didn’t know him. I’m glad there’s no sun in this place. I’m glad it’s grey. I’ve never seen so many shades of grey. The sky, like my heart, is full of greyness.

  The worst thing of all is that already, so soon, I have started to forget things. What is happening to me? All our memories, all the things we shared, those last hours, are not clear any more. Things I should not have forgotten are evaporating. And then, at other times, everything reminds me of him. But yesterday I couldn’t remember his face. However hard I thought, my mind stayed a blank. I have left all my notebooks in the beach house. All my drawings of him. My life. Everything.

  ‘Rohan, I’m worried. D’you think she’s…’

  ‘Why doesn’t she draw him from memory?’ murmured Rohan. He couldn’t bring himself to mention Theo’s name.

  Some time later Rohan reached the bea
ch house without a hitch. Bypassing the town the driver went towards the railway station and down a dirt track towards the beach. Nothing stirred. Flat-webbed fronds of fishing nets dried in the sun. Rubber tyres hung like nooses on trees waiting for men to swing for unknown crimes. Rohan looked nervously about. There were bullet holes everywhere.

  ‘I’ll turn the car around,’ the driver said.

  Rohan saw him look sharply up and down the empty road. Something must have caught his eye.

  The house, when Rohan entered it, had changed subtly. The outside had come in. Small plants grew in cracks; fine sand had blown in with the gales, bringing salty smells and scraps of rubbish. The house had an air of haste and sea grass. Three large terracotta urns stood half in shadows growing tired cacti. Nothing moved. The sea-moistened woodwork had small patches of mould. Months of wind and monsoon rain had left telltale marks of destruction everywhere; on the dust that fingered the pages of the many books lying around, in the open record player. A typewriter stood on a small table, one key, the letter ‘E’, stuck down as though in mid-sentence. Rohan passed into another room full of dried-up paint tubes. Stiffened rags, moulded into the shape of the fingers that had once held them, were scattered everywhere. Sunlight poured into an old glass jug. Two sea urchins and a pink conch shell sat on a shelf. There was a photograph of Anna smiling out at eternity. Rohan stared at it. It had been a beautiful day when it had been taken. The house, the place, the day, all seemed insubstantial suddenly. Rohan felt his stomach churn. He felt unutterably depressed. Sitting on a stool he lit a cigarette. He should not have come. Every part of Theo’s life was public property here; stories fell open around him. The girl’s notebooks, the paintings, how many had she done, Rohan wondered with a sense of paralysis. He felt unable to move, the heat seemed to immobilise him. A typewriter ribbon spooled on the table. He felt grief, suppressed for too long swell inside him like seawater. But whatever he had hoped to find was not here. Bastards, he thought, bastards! He took those things he could carry, three paintings of his friend, the photograph of Anna, the girl’s notebooks. He began loading up the car. She must have what little is left of him, he thought grimly. He had not noticed the half-finished portrait of Sugi tucked away behind the mirror. They will be her memories now, he thought. And in that moment, he knew, he would leave for Europe soon.