Brixton Beach (16 page)

Alice,’ he began, eyeing her.

Then he made up his mind.

‘Okay, come in, come in, quickly.’

He pushed her gently into the room and shut and locked the door. She was startled to see his studio so transformed. Bee had closed up his etching press and all his colours and rags had been pushed hastily to one side of the shelf. A small camp bed had been opened up against one of the walls and there was a bowl of water stained dark crimson on the floor beside it. Someone had torn a bed sheet into strips. Her grandfather had turned off the electric light and instead two candles burned on the table. Alice looked around her, astonished. The man had rolled his trousers up and there was a bandage on his leg. She could see blood seeping out through it.

Alice,’ her grandfather said again.

He was watching her.

‘You say you’re not a child. So I’m trusting you with my secret. You must not breathe a word of any of this, you understand?’

He had never spoken to her so seriously before. Not even when he had taught her to mix his precious pigments. Alice nodded. She pushed the hair out of her eyes; all sleep had fled from them. Bee looked grim.

‘This is Kunal,’ he said reluctantly. ‘He’s been shot in the leg by the army and he’s hiding here until morning. I’m going to have to get Dr Mutumuruna to come over and look at his leg, but I can’t leave until the curfew is over. It’s too dangerous.’

He paused.

‘Kunal is staying here for the moment. No one knows about this, Alice.
No one
. Kunal will be taken by the army and killed if they find out. Do you understand?’

Alice nodded. The seriousness of his words had rendered her speechless.

Kunal was sitting on the camp bed. He wasn’t looking at them any more. His head was bent.

‘He’s lost a lot of blood,’ Bee muttered. ‘I’m going to have to get hold of the doctor as soon as it’s light.’

He was talking to himself. Alice looked at him. She was concentrating so hard that her head hurt with the effort. She swallowed quickly.

‘Yes,’ she said clearly. ‘I understand.’

Bee did not seem to hear. He opened the cupboard that held his inks and took out a bottle of whisky. Then he washed a tumbler and poured the whisky into it. Next he held the glass up to the light. It was golden like a wasp’s sting.

‘Kunal used to be one of my staff at the boys’ school,’ he said.

Alice gasped.

‘Were you on a bicycle recently? Near the level crossing,’ she asked.

Kunal finished the whisky in one gulp and shook his head. Alice saw his eyes were bloodshot with weeping.

‘No,’ he said.

He paused, struggling. When he spoke again his chin wobbled in a way Alice fully understood.

‘No. That was my friend. You were probably the last one to see him alive.’

And then he began to weep.

At dawn Bee went out to get the doctor. Alice could not be persuaded to leave Kunal. She sat cross-legged and stubborn on the ground beside him.

‘I’m not sleepy,’ she told Bee, again with quiet certainty. ‘Don’t worry’

Again Bee hesitated.

All right,’ he said finally.

If he were going, he would have to leave now.

‘I won’t wake your grandmother just yet. Lock the door after me. I’ll be gone about twenty minutes.’

Alice nodded, silent with concentration. Kunal seemed to have dozed off, head slumped against the wall. He hadn’t moved since drinking the whisky. The empty bottle stood on the floor. Alice stared at him. The edges of his trousers were frayed and she noticed his shoes were old and broken. She could see his feet peeping out. She sat very still. After what felt like a long time, Kunal opened his eyes blearily and saw her.

‘You’re still here,’ he said faintly.

‘Grandpa won’t be long,’ Alice whispered. ‘I’m looking after you until he gets back. Don’t worry. You’re safe here.’

Kunal smiled vaguely.

‘I know.’

He struggled to sit up and Alice went over and adjusted the cushion behind his head.

‘Bee told me your father has gone to England.’

Yes. But I don’t want to go.’

Kunal nodded, agreeing.

‘To leave your country is terrible, Alice,’ he said. ‘Your country is such a part of you. It’s in your skin, your eyes, your hair, all of you. You
are
Ceylon, you know. And whenever someone from this place leaves, a little bit of it leaves with them and is lost forever. If too many people leave Ceylon, it will become another sort of place entirely.’

Alice narrowed her eyes. Kunal was shaking and she noticed there were beads of perspiration on his forehead. The bandage on his leg had become redder. She wondered what she should do.

‘But some of us don’t have any choices,’ Kunal continued, after a pause. ‘I had another friend who was about to go to the UK when they killed him. So now all that is left of my family is his son Janake and my sister. Maybe he too will go to England one day’

‘Janake?’ Alice asked.

She was astonished.

‘He’s my friend!’ she said. ‘He lives in the next village with his mother. How do you know him?’

Kunal’s face twitched slightly.

‘His father’s brother was married to my sister. One day some thugs came and killed my sister and then went looking for Janake’s father.’

‘Did they kill Janake’s father too?’ Alice asked, breathlessly.

Kunal nodded.

‘Janake won’t talk about his father.’

‘Janake was only about six when it happened. His father was hiding his brother, my sister’s husband, after my sister was killed. But then
they came and found him. They took both of them, Janake’s father and his brother, out on to the beach.’

‘They killed them?’ Alice asked.

Kunal nodded. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you all this. But it’s the way this country has become. One of them or one of us, that’s what it has come to,’ he said.

‘I got caned in my Singhalese lesson,’ Alice said. ‘That’s why I’m not going back to school’

‘I know. Your grandfather told me. He was very upset. I know what happened to your mother too.’

Alice wriggled. She did not want to discuss her mother.

‘When you go to the UK you will have a better chance in life. That’s all any of us want in the end. A chance to breathe the air around us, to live our lives freely, without fear. There are too many dead here to haunt us.’

He appeared to have forgotten Alice, whose velvet dark eyes were fixed steadily on him.

‘I’m coming back,’ Alice said into the silence. ‘When I’m sixteen. After I’ve made some friends and finished my studies, I’m coming back. I’m going to live here and look after my grandparents.’

Kunal nodded. He looked as though he might start crying again.

‘You must return if you can,’ he said finally. ‘If everyone who leaves comes back, there might be some hope. A country needs its young if this madness is to be stopped.’

The candles were almost out and through the papered-up window they saw a little daylight seeping in.

‘For people like me, there is very little hope left. It’s too late, really,’ Kunal whispered.

He stared at his bandaged leg.

‘Alice in Wonderland,’ he said at last. ‘Who gave you this name? I don’t know how much you understand, but your grandfather is a very fine man. He’s a wonderful painter, too. And he tells me you show signs of becoming an artist. Is that right?’

She nodded, frowning. Words spun round in her head. No one believes me, she wanted to say. But I’m coming back.

Kunal had dozed off. The candles blew out, the light outside had become insistent. Alice too closed her eyes. She had no idea how long she sat like this before the door opened very quietly and her grandfather came in. The doctor was behind him. And close behind the doctor, with an expression of annoyance on her face, was a bleary-eyed Kamala.

‘Hello, Putha,’ the doctor said. ‘Have you been looking after my patient?’

Alice smiled faintly. She was tired.

‘Bed,’ Kamala told her firmly, glowering at Bee.

The look said plainly, I’ll talk to you later.

‘I don’t know what your grandfather was thinking about. Come on.’

She took hold of Alice’s hand, ignoring her protests.

‘Could I have some warm water, please, Kamala?’ the doctor asked.

Her grandfather had got another bottle of whisky out of his cupboard and was pouring some into the glass. He was looking very serious again and Alice could not catch his eye.

‘Come back, Alice,’ Kunal called softly. ‘Come back to Wonderland one day.’

The last thing she saw was the doctor, his head bent in concentration, rolling his shirtsleeves up. And then her grandmother hurried her out into the astonishing early-morning sunlight. It was as though the night had not occurred at all, such was the blueness of the air. The sun touched her cheeks warmly and a crumpled tissue-paper moon glided across the sky. She yawned. She was hungry too, but her grandmother’s face told her there was no chance of food at the moment. She knew it would have to be bed first.

After the doctor had removed the bullet from Kunal’s leg, Kamala made up the small room in the annexe and had him moved there. The annexe had been newly whitewashed in readiness for the bride and groom, who were to live in it until their new house was ready. The wedding was still weeks away and the doctor thought it a good idea for Kunal to remain in the annexe for the moment. Everyone who knew the Fonsekas knew Bee had a studio in the garden. If someone wanted to search the house, the studio would be the obvious place to
look first. Bee and the doctor moved Kunal in silence. He was dizzy with the loss of too much blood and protested weakly, saying he did not want to be moved. He was, he told them, ashamed to be the first occupant of the bride’s new home. But there was little choice. The army might decide at any moment to patrol the beach. It was already late, the risks were enormous and the doctor needed to get back to his surgery. He would return later, he promised.

‘No need to phone,’ he said, giving Bee a meaningful look; and then he hurried out into the light through the footpath in the coconut grove.

Bee walked with him for some of the way. A brief storm the night before had shaken the two mango trees that stood at the bottom of the garden. Spoiled fruit lay everywhere. The green sickly scent of their skins filled the air. Battalions of ants were already feasting on the yellow flesh exposed by the fall. The doctor kicked a mango over and stepped on another, flattening it with his shoes as he hurried.

‘What’s the plan?’ he asked.

‘Jaffna?’

The doctor made a face.

‘Tricky.’

They walked on in exhausted silence.

‘He should be fine until tomorrow. Any problem, send for me up at the house. Don’t come to the surgery. I think it’s being watched.’

‘Dias Harris has contacts. As soon as he is recovered enough, I’ll drive him there.’

The doctor shook his head in disgust. He pressed his lips together into a thin line.

‘This place is full of the worst kind of thugs, men. There’s a lot of people hell-bent on destruction.’

He was silent again. A branch crackled underfoot and a small bat flew swiftly past.

‘How’s Sita?’ he asked, after a moment. ‘I noticed she came in when we were cleaning Kunal up.’

‘Everything has gone inwards, Sam,’ Bee mumbled. ‘She won’t talk, not to me, anyway. It all remains, festering. Perhaps it will get better when they go.’

He spoke without conviction, hopelessly.

‘When do they leave?’

‘Three months minus one week.’

The doctor glanced sharply at Bee.

‘What about you? How will you deal with all that?’

‘Same way as you,’ Bee said grimly. ‘Doing what we’re doing now. Helping those poor buggers that we can.’

They walked on. The sky had become a brilliant, parrot blue. Behind them the sea threw up a gentle breeze, cooling the air. At the end of the coconut grove, Bee paused.

‘See you,’ the doctor said. ‘I’ll bring the Anti-Par Kamala wanted for the child. We can’t have her getting worms just as they are leaving! I’ll bring it tomorrow.’

Bee nodded and raised a hand.

Then he turned and slipped through the trees, disappearing the way he had come, hurrying soundlessly down the hill.

When he got back to the house, he went looking for Kamala.

‘I’m going into town this morning,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long. Where is everyone?’

Kamala put her finger to her lips. She was still a little cross with Bee.

Alice is asleep and May has gone to work.’

She looked over her shoulder in the direction of Sita’s room and lowered her voice.

‘I think she’s gone back to bed, too. Honestly,’ she added, ‘why didn’t you tell me there was catch?’

It was the word they used whenever they hid someone. There had been no one to hide for months.

‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Hah! Why do you want to go to town, then? That worries me!’

‘I want to show my face a little. I’ll be back soon.’

In the town Bee found that the army had set up posts everywhere and were carrying out random identity checks. The outdoor fish and
vegetable market was closed and Main Street was subdued. Bee went over to Talliman’s and bought some arrack. The shopkeeper serving him raised his eyebrows. He knew Mr Fonseka as the man who only drank the best whisky.

‘I haven’t been to the Colombo shop for a while,’ Bee explained.

The shopkeeper nodded. He knew all about Sita’s baby. He thought Mr Fonseka looked worn out.

‘With these curfews, it’s become impossible to travel and be back in time for nightfall, sir,’ he agreed.

Life was very difficult these days. The shopkeeper looked with pity at Bee. No doubt Mr Fonseka was still grieving over his daughter’s miscarriage. Did he know about the shooting in the town? Bee shook his head and asked for an ounce of tobacco.

‘Well, the army had a tip-off about some Tamils,’ the shopkeeper told him, leaning confidently over the counter.
‘Anay!
One of them was a ring-leader behind those bombings in Colombo, you know. All those poor innocent people! He was responsible for killing them. There’s a rumour the army caught one of the group and shot him dead close to the railway line. But there’s another dog at large. They wounded him on Wednesday, so hopefully he won’t go far. It won’t be long before he’s caught too. They should all go back to Jaffna,’ he said. ‘Best for everyone, no?’