Cinnamon Gardens (12 page)

“No,” Annalukshmi said. “I will not do it. You know how I feel about proposals.”

Kumudini, who had been following the conversation with great interest, now came and joined them. “Who is the boy, Amma?” she asked.

“A Mr. Macintosh. You know,
the
Macintoshes on Ward Place.”

Kumudini drew in her breath, impressed. “Akka,” she said, “this is not one of Aunt Philomena’s usual types, not some thuppai government clerk. Don’t you remember Grace Macintosh? She was in my class. In fact, she was in your house when you were house captain.”

“She was a good sprinter?” Annalukshmi asked, not sure if they were talking about the same girl.

Kumudini nodded. “She was lovely. Fair and pretty. And so vivacious too. A beauty spot in one eye. Like a tea leaf.”

The little detail was what Annalukshmi needed and she promptly remembered Grace Macintosh. “Yes, her,” she said, interested now, despite herself. She had liked Grace and her witty manner.

“The brother probably looks like Grace,” Kumudini said. “My, he must be very handsome. And they’re rich, akka. A big house on Ward Place and everything.”

Annalukshmi recalled that a Rolls-Royce was sent to pick Grace up from school, liveried chauffeur and all. Yet, unlike a lot of rich girls, Grace was unaffected. She had also been an avid reader like herself.

“What do you think, merlay? Shall I ask Aunt Philomena to arrange a meeting?”

Annalukshmi imagined the eyes of the parents and whatever relatives they brought with them surveying her person. She always hated these meetings; thought of them as cattle markets in which a girl was on display like a prize cow.

“No,” she said. “I won’t put myself through something like that. It’s a completely barbaric way to meet someone.”

“But, akka,” Kumudini said, “how else do you plan to meet young men?

She let the question hang in the air for a moment. “It’s not as if we are lucky enough to have brothers and might be introduced to a friend of theirs and then slowly-slowly fall in love. If we don’t agree to these proposals, we can look forward to a life of spinsterhood for sure.”

In Annalukshmi’s mind, she had always imagined meeting her husband in precisely the way Kumudini had described. When she sat in the window-seat daydreaming, she imagined a young man coming up the steps of their verandah, hat in hand. She would be reading and someone (an always unspecified someone) would make the introduction. His hand would be dry and warm in hers, the hairs delicate on his wrist. He would ask her what she was reading and then they would discuss the book. Love would proceed from there.

Her sister was waiting for a response, and Annalukshmi said lamely, “There are other ways.”

“Such as?”

Annalukshmi was silent.

“This is not
Pride and Prejudice
, akka,” Kumudini said, making crushing use of her knowledge of literature. “Your Mr. Darcy isn’t going to ride up on a horse.”

“Why don’t you just give it a try, merlay,” Louisa said. “It’s only a meeting, after all. If you don’t like him, I promise that will be that.”

“The meeting will be pleasant, akka,” Kumudini said. “I am sure Grace will come along, so we can talk about our school days and not have to sit there like deaf and dumb types.”

Annalukshmi was silent considering all this. Her mother had promised not to pursue the matter if she was not interested. The presence of Grace would ease the awkwardness of the situation. Indeed their talk about school would show her in a favourable light as both house captain and later head prefect. Then there was the boy himself. He might, after all, be handsome and charming like Grace. She turned to her sister and mother. “Well, I suppose there is no harm in seeing what he’s like,” she said grudgingly.

The moment her mother and sister had left her alone, however, Annalukshmi sat, thinking. From the time she had been a small child, she had always wanted to be a teacher. When she got older and discovered the world of books, she was single-minded in her desire to inspire a similar love in others for learning; to one day, perhaps, be headmistress in a school of her own. Though she had been made aware by her family all along that a decision to marry would end her teaching, that, unlike certain other professions, women teachers, by regulation, could not continue in their careers once they were married, she had not allowed this to stop her. She had never really contemplated that she would ever have to make this choice.

The headmistress’s bungalow was on Mission Road, the lane that ran by the school. Thick foliage and a hedge screened it from the road. A wicket gate opened onto a narrow front path that led up to the house. Most Ceylonese wives would have been appalled by the garden. It lacked the symmetry, the ordered flowerbeds so dearly loved by them. The lawn was well cut, but, other than that, no attempt had been made to tame or order the vegetation. The bungalow, despite all the years Miss Lawton had lived there, still had a feeling of temporariness to it, like a place used by a succession of travelling officials. The sturdy, extremely plain furniture and the lack of bric-à-brac was what created this effect.

Annalukshmi often spent part of her weekend with Miss Lawton and Nancy. That evening, it being a Friday, she went to their house for dinner. Annalukshmi was to spend the night
there, as early the next day they were planning to go to Kinross Beach for a swim and a picnic breakfast.

The next day, when Annalukshmi awoke, the sky was a dark grey, the sun not having risen yet. As she lay there under the mosquito net, her thoughts returned to that conversation with her mother and sister last afternoon about Grace Macintosh’s brother. From the verandah she could hear the clatter of cups and the low murmur of Miss Lawton’s and her servant, Rosa’s, voices.

When Annalukshmi came outside, Miss Lawton glanced at her, surprised, and said, “You’re up early, Anna.”

Annalukshmi nodded and sat down next to her.

“You look worried. Is anything wrong?”

“I was just lying in bed, thinking.”

Miss Lawton poured Annalukshmi a cup of coffee and passed it to her.

“What my life would become if I got married.”

Miss Lawton looked at her keenly. “And what has prompted these thoughts?”

“Oh, just wondering about it.” She smiled. “Early-morning thoughts.”

Miss Lawton gestured to her to go on.

“I want more than anything else in the world to continue to teach. I’ve always wanted this … to be like you.”

“I’m flattered, Anna, but you must realize my life has its limitations too.”

Annalukshmi stirred her coffee. “And what about love? Where does that fit in to all of this?”

“Aaah,” Miss Lawton said. “That is a tough one, isn’t it?”

“But other people … you … made a choice.”

Miss Lawton stood up. “Yes, I made a choice. But choices are never easy.”

At that moment, the morning newspaper was thrown over the gate and fell onto the front path with a thud. Miss Lawton, rather than waiting for Rosa to get it, went down the verandah steps herself. She picked up the paper and came back, tapping it against the palm of her hand. “You know, Anna,” she said when she reached the verandah steps, “I never tell anyone what to do with their life. I can only explain how it was for me. Then one must decide what one wants to do.” She came up the steps and sat down in her chair again. “I am where I am by choice. And do I regret my decision?” She smiled. “Sometimes. When administrative problems are too bothersome or on the first day of holidays when the school is deserted and forlorn, or at the end of the year when my Senior Cambridge girls, whom I have known as if they were my own, leave, never to return.” She shrugged. “But what life is without its regrets?”

Kinross Beach was a favourite bathing spot because the proximity of the reef to the shore created a peaceful bay where a swimmer was safe from the currents of the open sea. By the time Miss Lawton, Nancy, and Annalukshmi got there, it was busy, as the morning was a popular time for a swim, before the sun got too hot. The sea was a greyish blue, the cream-coloured sand cool beneath their feet. They found a spot underneath a coconut tree and laid out their mat and picnic basket. Nancy had a proper one-piece bathing suit with a sailor collar, but Annalukshmi, whose mother would never consent to a bathing suit, wore an old sari blouse and a long underskirt. As they
hurried down the beach, she was aware that they were the only women about to swim in the sea. The others sat in the shade of the coconut trees, their umbrellas open over them, watching their husbands and sons and brothers frolic in the water and on the beach.

As Annalukshmi went into the sea, she felt the coolness of the water soak through her blouse and slip, touching her skin underneath like gentle hands. She glanced back up the beach at the other women and it came to her that if she did marry she would end up like them, forced to sit in the shade, only a spectator. Nancy was floating on her back and she called to Annalukshmi to come and join her. With an overwhelming gladness that she was not one of those women, Annalukshmi fell back into the water and gave herself up to the flow of the sea, feeling the waves carry her along towards the shore.

Once she felt the scrape of sand underneath her, she sat down on the beach, the waves washing around her. Nancy had joined Miss Lawton. Annalukshmi surveyed the beach, and her gaze came to rest on a young man who was playing an impromptu game of cricket with his friends. He was wearing a style of bathing suit that had just become fashionable in Ceylon, a black singlet joined up to a pair of close-fitting shorts, all in one piece. The young man was the wicket keeper and was squatting, waiting for the ball to come towards him. The batsman missed the next all and it landed in the water near Annalukshmi. The young man sprinted towards her, recovered the ball, grinned, said, “Sorry if I disturbed you,” then ran back. In that instant, Annalukshmi saw all she needed to. His handsome face and nice teeth when he smiled, the straps of his suit slightly awry over his smooth chest, the shape of his crotch clearly outlined in the bathing suit. She felt the heat release itself
from somewhere in her lower back and spread down her legs. She surreptitiously watched the young man. Before he could field another ball, however, a woman called out to him. He ran up the beach, flung himself on the sand next to her, took her hand, kissed it, and then listened attentively to what she was saying, nodding his head. As Annalukshmi looked at the couple, she knew that this was what she would have to give up if she did not marry. Miss Lawton and Nancy were calling to her and she saw that the picnic breakfast was already laid out. She stood up and began to walk towards them, her slip heavy and cumbersome against her legs, her hair bedraggled and messy down her back.

“Oh look, Anna,” Miss Lawton called out gaily, “Rosa has made your favourite. Pol roti.”

The sight of her beloved headmistress reminded Annalukshmi of their conversation early that morning, the fact that no life was without its regrets, that one had to make a choice. She smiled as she sat down next to Nancy and Miss Lawton. She picked up a pol roti and began to munch on it contentedly. Choices had to be made and she was fairly certain now which one was hers.

Once they had finished their picnic breakfast, Annalukshmi and Nancy went for a walk along the beach to search for unusual seashells. They walked some distance in companionable silence, then Annalukshmi turned to her friend and said, “I have some news. My Aunt Philomena is trying to set me up with a boy.”

“I’m all ears,” Nancy said with amusement, aware of just how much her friend abhorred these arrangements.

“His surname is Macintosh.”

“Grace Macintosh’s brother?”

Annalukshmi nodded.

Nancy raised her eyebrows, impressed. “A very good Christian family. Very wealthy as well.” She bent down to pick up a shell. “And is your plan to give up teaching and get married if it works out?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get married. Instead,” Annalukshmi smiled, “I might lead a life of unmitigated spinsterhood.”

“Oh?”

“Like Miss Lawton. She never married, yet you can’t say she isn’t happy. Her life is full of satisfactory things. A school of her own to run, the rewards of girls going on to become doctors and lawyers. Friend, guide, confidante to so many. It seems like a very good life to me.”

She bent down to dig up an interesting shell out of the sand. As such she did not see the slightly worried expression with which her friend regarded her.

Once they were walking again, Nancy said, “Yes, Miss Lawton has a good life, but it’s not the only life.”

“But think of how much one has to give up in marriage,” Annalukshmi said. “Stuck at home all the time. No money of your own. Always having to ask your husband. And what if he is the jealous type, forbids you to leave home or thrashes you?”

“Not all marriages are like that, not all men are cruel and thoughtless.”

“He could be a charmer and a deceiver and then what? One can’t very well get divorced, you know. And don’t forget the children,” Annalukshmi continued. “God help you if you are fertile. Remember that poor Zharia Ismail who used to be in our class. Married at sixteen and already five children. She looks like a wrung-out rag.” Annalukshmi stopped walking. “What about you? You’re a modern woman. Would you give up teaching and get married, knowing all the disadvantages?”