Brixton Beach (6 page)

Bee laughed.

‘Oh, all right, all right, just one last time, then,’ he agreed. ‘It’s true. You
have
nearly got it. But this time, don’t look behind you, for God’s sake!’

Some of the boys had gathered round to watch. They knew Bee from his daily visits to the beach to buy fresh fish and talk to some of the fishermen. They were used to seeing Alice, too, had watched her learn to swim and now they wanted to see her learn to ride her bicycle. One of the boys whistled encouragingly and wheeled his own bike in the air, showing off. Alice ignored him, wishing Janake hadn’t
gone away. She wasn’t going to admit defeat, not in front of these grinning idiots.

‘Ready? Let’s go!’

Once again the sound of the sea was close to her ear, mixed up with Bee’s footsteps thudding softly in the sand behind her, telling her to pedal faster. And then it was only the sound of the sea, insistent and haunting, that filled her head. She could go on this way forever, she thought, raising her head. Startled, she saw her grandfather was no longer behind her as the horizon righted itself in her sightline. So that finding she was riding the bicycle entirely by herself she laughed so loud and so much that she wobbled and fell off again.

It is evening. Alice can see the sea through the horses as they fly round and round. Gilded hooves, flying sea-spray that disappears to be replaced by the sky. Then they’re back, flying high, dipping low, back and forth. She sees Bee’s face as he chews on his pipe. He is waving at her. Music belts out; its beat riding the sea from side to side, swinging the fairground lights, the pink-and-green paper lanterns strung around the stalls. Round and round. There’s Esther eating candyfloss wearing her polka-dot dress. Even her ponytail swings as she waves at Alice before strolling off. Aunt May holds on to Alice tightly and laughs. Uncle Namil stands on the grass verge watching solemnly. He is still wearing his Colombo office clothes and doesn’t seem part of the fair at all. Maybe, thinks Alice, that’s why Aunty May is laughing so much. Alice throws her head back, feeling the wind running through her hair, the dress her aunt made, cool and lovely against her legs. Above her the stars blink in the vast tropical sky. I will never forget this, she thinks, shouting into the air that rushes by. She wants it to never end. Three kites fly lazily, flicking home-made tails, while the sound of the barrel organ is loud in her ears and the smells of roasting gram and fried fish and burnt sugar seemed to gather together and explode around her like Catherine wheels.

In another part of the island, in Colombo 10, a woman screams. It is an old familiar scream, primeval and ancient, travelling down the
corridors of centuries. In this darkening hour, in the brief southern twilight, the woman screams again, this time more urgently. A child wants to be born. Nothing can stop the need, the desire to exist. Nothing, not the Colombo express rushing past, nor the poya moon gliding tissue-paper-thin across the fine tropical sky can stop it. The child is coming before its time; its clothes, lovingly embroidered, are piled inside a shoe-box in the woman’s house. The clothes are small enough to make this possible. Blue; most of the fine lawn clothes are as blue as the sky, for the woman is hoping for a son. She has already decided on a name. For months now she has been saying the name to herself in a whisper.

‘Ravi,’ she says, ‘Ravi.’

She speaks softly for fear of the evil eye. But now she is in pain, three weeks too early, and here in the government hospital. It is late. Too late to inform her mother. Or her sister. Her husband has been sent home, told to return in the morning. This is women’s business, the nurse tells him.

‘Don’t worry,’ the nurse says. ‘Three weeks is only a little early. And Doctor will be here shortly.’

So the husband goes, the sounds of his wife’s whimpers resounding uneasily in his ears.

The carousel has stopped. Alice and May stagger down the steps with shaky feet, fresh sea air cool in their faces. They are still laughing. The puppet master has begun his show. Beside him is a huge neon-coloured inflatable man who sways in the sea breeze. The monkey screams in terror. Namil buys them all an ice cream, but Alice can hardly eat it she is so excited. She can’t decide what to look at first. The world is a spinning, rocking, top of sparkling lights. Someone has climbed the tallest coconut tree and strung the coloured bulbs amongst the branches. The carousel starts up again. Alice watches as the lights swing across her face. Her grandfather, yawning, has gone home, leaving her with her aunt. May stands close to Namil and watches the carousel begin again slowly at first and then gathering speed. She smiles a secret smile, thinking about her wedding. Not long
now, she thinks. There will be lights threaded across the trees in the garden for the wedding party, just like these at the fair. They will serve iced coffee, May tells her niece. And wedding cake.

‘It will be the height of sophistication,’ May says, laughing.

Esther, strolling by, hears of it and stops, impressed. Esther has won a baby doll at the coconut shy. As she’s too old for dolls, she gives it to Alice, but Alice isn’t really interested.

‘Give it to the new baby, when it’s born,’ Esther suggests.

‘What if it’s a boy?’ Alice asks.

Esther shrugs; she is already bored with the conversation. There is a boy called Anton in the crowd. He is here with his school friends. They are from the boys’ school and Esther thinks he likes her. She would like to borrow Alice to go with her to the lady card-reader’s tent.

‘Don’t be long,’ Aunty May warns. ‘We’ll wait here.’

The lady card-reader’s tent is occupied. Esther takes some money out of her purse. Then she sees the boy called Anton.

‘Here,’ she says, thrusting the money into Alice’s hand. ‘You go in, instead. I’ll stay here. I want to talk to someone. Go on, I’ll wait here for you.’

Alice doesn’t want to go. She can’t comprehend something as vast as the future, but Esther and the fairground atmosphere are too insistent.

‘Go on,’ Esther urges impatiently. ‘You can ask her anything. Ask if you are going to have a brother or sister.’

The customer inside the tent has come out now and there is no excuse. Esther pushes her inside the tent, nodding encouragingly.

‘I’ll wait here,’ she promises.

The tent is dark with a small glow from a red-shaded lamp. The lady card-reader sitting at the table points to the chair beside her.

‘How old are you?’ she asks in Singhalese.

Alice tells her. It is her birthday today, she says and the woman moves her head as though she wants her to stop talking now. Then she begins to lay the cards out on the table. They aren’t the same cards that Alice has seen the servant boy playing with. These cards have pictures. The lady card reader uncovers three sevens.

‘Not so good,’ she observes. ‘Can you swim?’

Alice can swim, although her grandmother doesn’t like her to go into the water here because of the strong currents. And all because once a servant had remarked she could drown if she weren’t careful. The servant had seen how Alice’s hair grew at the back of her head in a whirlpool. Ever since then her grandmother had been frightened of the sea. Nothing her grandfather could say or do could take away this fear. But yes, Alice tells the lady card reader, she can swim. The woman stares at her for a moment. Then she nods, satisfied.

‘I see lots of water,’ she says. ‘Cold water, grey faraway skies. And you have a good memory. Don’t forget anything. One day you will find happiness, so don’t give up.’

She looks at Alice and hesitates. Then she holds out her hand for the money. When Alice gives it to her, she stands up.

‘You are very talented,’ she says. ‘So do the best you can. It won’t be easy’ And then she holds open the curtain.

‘What on earth were you doing in there?’ Esther greets her crossly. ‘You’ve been ages. Your aunty’s going to be worried.’

‘Did you see Anton?’

Esther nods.

‘Well, are you going to have a brother or a sister?’

‘I forgot to ask,’ Alice tells her.

‘Idiot!’ Esther bursts out laughing at her.

In the bright heart of the fair the carousel is still turning and blasting loud music as the two girls walk back, carrying their thoughts with them.

The doctor is drunk. His breath smells as he squints at the notes the nurse gives him.

‘What?’ he asks in high-pitched Singhalese. ‘You called me in just for this Tamil woman?’

‘She isn’t Tamil, sir,’ the nurse tells him. ‘Just the husband.’ ‘Exactly!’ the doctor says, trying not to belch but without success.

‘That’s my point. Why should we help breed more Tamils? As if this country hasn’t enough already!’

Outside, the trees rustle in the slight breeze. Tonight is quiet, no drums, no police sirens, no sudden violence. A perfect night on which to be born.

‘All right,’ the doctor says, bored. ‘Take me to her.’

The woman lies groaning in a pool of sweat. Moonlight falls on the ripeness of her belly. Catching sight of the doctor, she begs him for something to relieve the pain. She speaks in perfect, old-fashioned Singhalese. The nurse bends and wipes her face and offers her a sip of water.

‘Give her some quinine,’ the doctor tells the nurse.

Then he examines the woman. Because he is drunk, because he has driven here in haste, leaving his dinner guests still at the table, he has forgotten his glasses. Roughly he inserts two fingers into her dilating uterus and the woman screams. The doctor tells her sharply to be quiet, and stepping back half loses his balance. The nurse glances at him, alarmed.

‘Sir?’ she asks tentatively.

The doctor does not know that this nurse is still a student. She should not be here alone, but the midwife has been called out on an emergency. The student nurse thinks
this
is an emergency too, but she doesn’t know what she could say. She is frightened. The doctor prods the woman, ignoring her screams, then, having satisfied himself that all is well, leans over the bed.

‘Do you understand English?’ he asks slowly.

It is important he does not slur his speech.

‘Yes,’ the woman says faintly, in Singhalese. ‘I do.’

‘Good. Then you will understand when I tell you these pains are perfectly normal. They are just called Braxton Hicks contractions. The baby will turn soon and then you’ll go into labour. It may take a few hours; you just have to be patient. Nothing to worry about. It’s a perfectly normal process. You Tamil women have been doing this for centuries!’

And he laughs, washing his hands.

‘The nurse will take care of you,’ he says, gesturing to the nurse to give the woman the quinine. ‘This will calm you down. I’ll be back later.’

The woman, feeling another contraction coming towards her in a wave, tries to ride it and begins to cry out again. The nurse holds her head and she drinks the quinine, the bitterness hardly registering on her. The doe-eyed nurse wipes her face again and follows the doctor out.

‘Don’t bother calling me. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. She’ll be fine till then,’ he says.

‘But, sir, I think it’s a breach,’ the nurse says tentatively.

She isn’t sure, of course, and doesn’t want to look foolish in front of this famous consultant.

‘Nonsense,’ the doctor tells her. ‘Do you think I don’t know a breach when I see one!’

Again he laughs in a high-pitched manner, peering at this pretty girl’s anxious face.

‘What’s a nice girl like you doing here?’ he asks.

He has a sudden urge to run his hand across her back and further down. He begins to imagine the places his hand might reach.

‘You should be in my nursing home,’ he says, a little unsteadily.

The nurse, her dark eyes made darker by tiredness, smiles a little.

‘We must see what we can do,’ promises the doctor, thinking how good it would be to have such a lovely face at his private clinic.

And then he goes out into the car park and towards his Mercedes, parked sleekly beside the stephanotis bush, back to his lighted house and his dinner guests.

‘Just one more ride,’ Alice pleads.

She feels as though they have only just got here. The puppet master is beginning another show and the Kathakali Man of Dance can be heard beating his drum. Alice does not want to miss anything. May and Namil hold hands in the darkness, swaying in time to the music as though they were one person and not two. Namil has brought May some bangles that glitter and jangle as she moves. Alice notices her aunt has some jasmine in her hair and her eyes are shining. She thinks May looks even more beautiful than usual. Namil is looking at her solemnly.

All right,’ May says, smiling at them both.

She can hardly keep still; the music makes her want to dance.

‘One more, then we go, no?’

This time Alice goes on the merry-go-round on her own. Slowly her eyes adjust to the faint line of sea and sky as she rides, swaying to the music. Is this what flying is like? Alice wants to move through the night forever, swooping down from the tops of the trees, scooping up the dark water below the cliffs. She can no longer see the faces standing below; all is a blur of rhythm and bright light. Everything reduced to sensation.

The woman screams. She is pleading. The baby inside her struggles, it turns and turns again. In the darkness she sees her stomach heave and rise up in another wave. It turns into a shape too grotesque to be normal. The woman is petrified, she doesn’t recognise her own body. It has become something separate from her, dragging her along into an unknown place. She screams, not wanting to go.

‘Please, please,’ she cries.

Even as she watches, her stomach lurches in a landslide movement to one side of the bed. The nurse who has been holding her is terrified.

‘Wait, I’ll get someone,’ she says. ‘Wait, hold on.’

The young, sweet nurse is crying too in great gasping sobs of panic.

But the woman is past listening. Her cries have changed. They pierce the air, becoming something other than despair, sounding inhuman. They are the cries of an unseen child. The child she once used to be, the child inside her, maybe. In the darkness outside, jasmine flowers open, bursting their pouches of scent. Large spiders move haltingly amongst the leaves of the creepers that grow against the whitewashed wall. This is the tropics; insects and reptilian life flourish. A drum is beating in the distance, its regular beat out of step with the cries of the woman in the hospital bed. The spiders and the snakes move relentlessly through the long grass, deaf to the fact that she is pleading for her life now.