Cinnamon Gardens (16 page)

She began to eat her piece of cake, pretending to ignore the silent exchange – the rolling of eyes and shaking of heads – that passed between the others at the table.

Annalukshmi had arranged with Sonia that she would visit them at Sevena the following Saturday and spend the afternoon. There were some books of her uncle’s that she had finished reading, and she wished to return them. Now the visit would allow her the opportunity to find out more about this Chandran Macintosh, even if she had no intention of marrying him.

On Saturday morning, Balendran’s car came to pick her up at Lotus Cottage.

Annalukshmi loved her uncle’s house for its peaceful surroundings, its view of the sea, the lulling sound of the waves breaking rhythmically on the beach. Of all the houses she knew, this was her favourite. It was big enough, but not too large. Unlike Brighton, it did not have rooms that looked like tombs, the furniture covered in dust sheets that were only removed for special occasions. The ceilings were high, which meant that the
sea breeze circulated constantly through the house and kept it cool, even in April. The furniture, though smart, was comfortable. And, of course, her aunt’s touch was everywhere, from the araliya and jasmine flowers floating in carved, red clay bowls to the arrangement of furniture, with comfortable chairs in corners for curling up and reading in.

As the car pulled in through the gates, Annalukshmi saw Balendran and Sonia standing on the front verandah. She felt that, if there was one couple whose marriage she might wish to emulate, whose relations were equitable, who existed in a companionable sharing of ideas, it was her uncle and aunt.

When the car stopped in front of the house, Annalukshmi got out, came up the verandah steps, and kissed her aunt and uncle on the cheek.

“I hear you’ve become a real fighter for women’s suffrage,” Balendran said, taking her arm.

“Yes, maama,” she said, “and you men would do well to watch your step from now on.”

Once they went inside, Annalukshmi said to them, “There’s something I need to ask you.”

“Sounds mysterious,” Sonia said.

“Chandran Macintosh. Do you know him?”

They stared at her in surprise. Then Balendran groaned and Sonia rolled her eyes.

“Why? What’s wrong with him?”

Sonia smiled and raised her hands as if protecting herself. “I don’t want to hear about that story again. Your maama can tell you. I’m going to see about lunch.”

When she had gone inside, Balendran said, “I’m very curious to know why you asked about him. But first I’ll explain our story.” He indicated for her to follow and he led the way to his study.

Once she was seated across the desk from him, he went to a stack of
Punch
magazines on the floor and, from behind them, drew out a piece of white board. He placed it in front of his niece. Now Annalukshmi knew why the name Chandran Macintosh was familiar. Mounted on the board was a pencil sketch of Sonia, with a signature at the bottom. She had seen it standing behind that stack of magazines many times before. “He’s an artist,” she exclaimed in astonishment.

“Artistic pretensions would be more accurate.”

Annalukshmi looked at the drawing again. The artist had captured a likeness of her aunt’s features, yet the straining upwards of the muscles of the neck, the smile that contrasted oddly with the look of disquiet in the eyes, was not her aunt at all. There was detailed attention given to the beauty of her aunt’s face, to the choker around her neck, to her sari that made it clear the artist had genuinely thought he was capturing her aunt.

“When was this done?” she asked.

Balendran shook his head. “That was the most insulting thing. It was done without us knowing, at the Governor’s Ball in Nuwara Eliya. He secretly sketched it.”

“So you’ve never actually met him?”

“Thankfully not. It was sent to us with the compliments of the artist.”

He took the sketch away from her. “Now it’s my turn,” he said and smiled.

Annalukshmi looked at her hands, finding it hard to begin, given his disapproval of the artist. “Aunt Philomena is trying to set up a meeting,” she said.

“With this boy?” He sat down across from her. “Merlay, why didn’t you say something? I wouldn’t have said what I said.”

“No, maama,” she said. “I’m glad you did.”

“Hmmm, I wish I could tell you more.” Balendran tapped his letter opener on the desk. “I suppose he must be handsome,” he said. “I was in school with the father, and he certainly was.” He frowned. “In fact,” he said. “In fact …” He got up, went to his bookshelf, searched around a bit, and then took down a large, heavy book entitled
Twentieth Century Impressions of Ceylon
.

“It was a book that was done in the early years of this century,” he said. “A lot of the Cinnamon Gardens families are in it.”

He put the book on his desk and opened it. Annalukshmi went around and looked at the photographs over his shoulder. He had turned to the Colombo section and she already recognized some of the families, even though the book was so old. How strange and ridiculous they looked, the women in particular in their cumbersome Edwardian dresses and hats against the tropical landscape. “This was before the dress reform movement,” Balendran said, as if reading her mind. “Ah, here it is,” he pointed at a family portrait. “That is Chandran Macintosh’s father, Reginald.” Annalukshmi bent low and looked at the young man her uncle was pointing to. His dark skin and the monochrome of the picture made his features stand out, almost as if an artist had highlighted in white the smooth expanse of his forehead, his straight nose, the firm curve of his chin. As Annalukshmi looked at him, she was not certain whether it was her wish or her fear that Chandran be as handsome as his father was.

At that moment, the houseboy was at the door announcing that the chief priest from the family temple had arrived for his appointment.

Annalukshmi went to look for her aunt. She found Sonia in her bedroom, writing a letter. When she knocked on the door and came in, Sonia gestured to her to be seated on the bed. She
finished the last words to the letter, pressed a blotter to the paper, and turned to her niece.

“Well? Don’t keep me in suspense, I’m dying to know.”

“It’s Aunt Philomena’s nonsense. Trying to arrange a marriage for me with this Chandran Macintosh.”

Sonia raised her eyebrows. “My goodness, you sound as if you are contemplating a funeral.”

Annalukshmi ran her finger over the design on the counterpane.

“You know, my dear, it’s very easy to tell if you love someone of not. It’s not advanced algebra. You know almost immediately, in fact, so soon that at first you doubt what you’re really feeling is love.”

Sonia paused and peered at her niece. She saw that her words were not addressing what concerned her.

“Suppose I don’t want to give up something I treasure like … well, like, teaching?”

Sonia breathed out slowly. “That is a difficult one, isn’t it?” She leant back in her chair. “Perhaps the best thing I can say is that you’ll just have to wait and see how things unfold.”

Annalukshmi gestured impatiently, as if to say that she rejected the idea of waiting passively.

Sonia played with the bangles on her wrist. “You know, Annalukshmi, we can’t expect our life to be pat, our future to be a decided and fixed thing. The fact is, life simply does not work like that. Especially when you are young and the world lies before you and truly anything is possible. One must be pliant, one must not be afraid to say one doesn’t know where one is going, to simply stand still without moving until the path one must take becomes clear. Otherwise a person is quite liable to
grab on to the first thing that comes along and live to regret it all her life.”

“Yes, maamee.”

“Well, let’s go in to lunch. Do let me know how things progress with this proposal.” Sonia held out her hand to Annalukshmi and they left the room.

Mr. Jayaweera had been at the school six days, but, apart from that first conversation, Annalukshmi had not been able to exchange more than a nod and a smile with him. This Saturday, she had once again been invited to have dinner and spend the night at Miss Lawton’s. Once she had finished a late tea with her aunt and uncle, Balendran’s car took her to the headmistress’s bungalow.

When Joseph dropped her at the gate, she walked up the front path and saw Mr. Jayaweera and Nancy together in the garden. The shadows of the evening were beginning to appear on the lawn. Nancy was seated on a stone bench under an araliya tree, listening intently to Mr. Jayaweera, who was standing with his foot on the bench, bent towards her. Annalukshmi, not altogether certain whether she should interrupt, came towards them. When Nancy saw her, she waved and Mr. Jayaweera straightened up, smiling.

“Miss Lawton has gone to see a friend. She’ll be back soon,” Nancy said as Annalukshmi came up to them. She patted the bench next to her and Annalukshmi sat down. “We were having a fascinating discussion here. Do you believe in evil spirits, that a person can actually be possessed by one?”

Annalukshmi was taken aback by the question. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

Nancy gestured to Mr. Jayaweera. “Why don’t you tell her your story.”

“I’m sure Miss Annalukshmi is not interested in our village superstitions,” he protested. “Besides, it is getting late.”

“Of course I am interested,” Annalukshmi said. “Now that you have baited my curiosity, I will be very upset if you don’t tell me, Mr. Jayaweera.”

“Very well, then,” he said.

“My oldest sister, Dayawathy,” he began, leaning against the trunk of the araliya tree, “was calm and gentle girl, fervent Buddhist, always offering flowers at the temple near our village. One day, she went to make offering. When she did not return, my mother went to look for her. She found my sister on the path. She had fainted. When she revived, she had become a different person. For no reason at all, she would scream and run from our hut, trying to tear off her clothes. Sometimes she would disappear in the evenings only to return in the morning exhausted.”

While Mr. Jayaweera spoke, the shadows, as they did so swiftly in the evening, had lengthened and his face was half in darkness. “Of course, the people in village said that there was only one thing wrong with her. She was possessed by a devil, and from the state of her condition it had to be most feared demon, Maha Sohona. So my mother decided that a sanni yakuma would be held to exorcise the devil.

“I was studying in Galle at the time and was asked to come home for the ceremony. Now, as young man of sixteen who had lived for many years in the Galle Mission School, who had studied science and mathematics, I was suspicious of the whole thing and told my mother it was superstitious old thinking. Still,
she decided to do it. A circle was cleared in front of our home and an altar was made out of coconut leaves. That night the whole village gathered to watch the ceremony. My sister was brought out on her cot and placed in front of circle and then the ceremony began. First there was chanting. Then the exorcist lit a flare, ate the flames, and the ceremony was well under way.”

As Mr. Jayaweera spoke, his voice unconsciously dropped and Annalukshmi found herself leaning forward, drawn into the story. “The air was so full of incense I could hardly see in front of me, and I don’t know whether it was because of the fumes or not, but I began to feel very strange. Giddy, but also as if my mind was detaching from my body.”

Annalukshmi, because they were in shadow, because of his tone, felt a slight shiver go through her. From the far corner of the garden, she could hear the mournful calling of a bird.

“The chanting got louder and louder, drums faster and faster, and I felt as if those drums were in my chest and the chanting was ringing inside my head. Then there was deafening roar and a demon jumped into the centre of the circle. He wore nothing but a garment of burulla leaves and his face was black and hideous. He began to dance, spinning round and round the circle.”

Here Mr. Jayaweera broke off to add that the “demon” was another exorcist into whom the spirit of the demon had entered.

“Of course all the villagers said that it was Maha Sohona’s,” he said, resuming his story. “Now exorcist began to talk to Maha Sohona. First he pleaded with him to leave my sister in peace. When the spirit refused, exorcist threatened him in the name of our Lord Buddha. Then the devil became frightened and promised to do as he was asked. Exorcist commanded him to enter my sister’s body. My sister began to have a fit. After a
little while she became quiet. She began to speak, but it was not her voice at all. The devil speaking through her said that he would only leave if he was given sacrifice of a rooster.” Mr. Jayaweera leant forward towards Annalukshmi and Nancy. “Then the most horrific thing happened. The priest gave my sister the rooster and she, kind and gentle girl that she was and fervent Buddhist, immediately rang its neck and drank the blood.”