Cinnamon Gardens (25 page)

But she would rather face her father’s wrath for a short time than acquiesce to a lifetime of misery as Muttiah’s wife.

When Annalukshmi arrived at Miss Lawton’s bungalow on Wednesday morning, she found the headmistress, Nancy, and Mr. Jayaweera waiting for her. As already planned, Nancy had packed a bag with some of her clothes for Annalukshmi to take with her. It was by Mr. Jayaweera’s feet.

“Well, Anna,” Miss Lawton said. “Everything’s in order. I have called for a taxi and it should be here momentarily.” Then, seeing her downcast expression, she added, “Mary is very hospitable, as you well know. You will be in fine hands. And don’t forget, we will be up on the weekend to see you. So you won’t be alone very long.”

Miss Lawton now handed her the train tickets. The nervousness that had been with Annalukshmi from the time she got up this morning now turned to dread. She excused herself and went to the toilet.

Once she had shut the door behind her, she quickly splashed her face with water, hoping that this would calm her down. But it did not help. At that moment, she heard the honk of the taxi outside the gate. Annalukshmi stood unable to move.

There was a knock at the door.

“Hurry up,” Nancy said. “The taxi is here.”

She was silent.

“Annalukshmi, are you all right?” Nancy turned the doorknob. Annalukshmi had not locked it and her friend came inside. She stood looking at her, concerned.

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” Nancy said.

“No … I’m fine.”

When they came out of the house, Miss Lawton and Mr. Jayaweera were waiting. The taxi was at the gate and the driver pressed his horn impatiently.

“Well, come along then,” Miss Lawton said.

Annalukshmi, feeling slightly disoriented, began to follow Miss Lawton and Mr. Jayaweera.

The taxi driver was, by now, very angry at being kept waiting, and when he saw them come out of the gate, he started to harangue them about wasting his time.

“Be quiet, you stupid, stupid man,” Miss Lawton yelled at him, losing her temper.

At this, the driver got into the taxi and slammed the door.

Miss Lawton quickly ushered Annalukshmi inside. Mr. Jayaweera got in too.

Nancy leant in through the window. “I’ll see you in a few days,” she said.

She had barely spoken when the driver took off, his tires grinding up the dust.

“Goodbye, goodbye,” Miss Lawton and Nancy cried out.

Annalukshmi did not wave back. She rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes.

For a Wednesday afternoon, the train proved to be surprisingly crowded. Once Annalukshmi and Mr. Jayaweera had found their seats in the last car of the train, they sat across from each other by the window. Their compartment was full. There were two older Ceylonese ladies seated next to Mr. Jayaweera. Annalukshmi could tell that one of them was Tamil. Like her, she wore a pottu on her forehead and draped her sari in the Tamil style, the palu wound around the hips and tucked in at the back. Both ladies wore expensive Paris chiffon saris. On Annalukshmi’s left was an older Ceylonese man and, next to him, an European lady.

They had not been seated long when the door slid open and another Ceylonese gentleman entered. He was in his late forties and, just from the cut of his suit and his fine walking-stick, it was clear that he was wealthy. He stopped in surprise when he saw that the compartment was full. He glanced at his ticket
and then at the seat numbers. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to Mr. Jayaweera civilly. “I believe you are in my seat.”

Annalukshmi and Mr. Jayaweera looked at each other in surprise. All the other passengers were now staring at them.

They took out their tickets and checked them, wondering if they were in the wrong compartment. But they were not.

“I am sorry, sir, but you are making mistake,” Mr. Jayaweera said politely.

The man looked Mr. Jayaweera up and down, noting his threadbare suit. “Sir,” he said and his manner was no longer civil, “I am sure you are the one who is mistaken. This is a first-class carriage.” He looked around at the other passengers and saw that the Ceylonese were in complicity with him. The European woman had her lips pursed to say that, as far as she was concerned, they were all in the wrong compartment.

Against this united opposition, Mr. Jayaweera seemed unsure of himself. He glanced at his ticket again.

“These are our seats, sir,” Annalukshmi said, “You must be mistaken.”

The gentleman took in her polished speech and manner, her nice Georgette sari. His face registered his surprise. “Madam,” he said politely, “may I see your tickets.”

Annalukshmi and Mr. Jayaweera handed him their tickets. He looked at them carefully and then gave them back. “It seems there must have been an overbooking,” he said, addressing himself solely to Annalukshmi. “Perhaps, madam, we could reach a compromise. You can stay here and I can ask the railway guard to find your man a seat in another compartment, though it probably will be second class as first class appears to be full.”

Annalukshmi bristled at how he had referred to Mr. Jayaweera as “your man,” as if he were a gardener or a labourer.
She straightened her back. “I am afraid it is you who will have to find yourself another seat, sir.”

The gentleman recoiled from her words as if he had been slapped. The other passengers murmured in disapproval. The European lady stood up and left the compartment.

“Madam, I have tried to be polite but –”

“Please, Miss Annalukshmi, don’t concern –”

“Sir, your politeness is neither here nor there. These are our seats. We were here first. If there is an overbooking, since you arrived later, you must pay the consequence of it.”

The gentleman’s face became red, and the other Ceylonese passengers now began to add their bit.

“Why don’t you behave like a lady,” the Tamil woman said to Annalukshmi.

“Yes, shouting and screaming like a street vendor,” her companion added.

“It is terrible what the younger generation has come to,” said the older man.

“And what exactly are your relations to this man?” the gentleman demanded. “Are you married to him?”

Annalukshmi flushed in anger and mortification at what the man was implying.

“I thought so,” he said, nodding knowingly.

Mr. Jayaweera now stood up. “Sir,” he said, “there is no reason to speak like that.” He turned to Annalukshmi. “I will settle this and go to second class.” And, with that, he walked out of the compartment.

“No,” Annalukshmi said, and she stood up. “Since you have forced this man to give up his seat for you, then I will have to leave with him and you will be guilty of denying a lady her seat.”

For the first time, she saw the gentleman become unsure of himself. She pressed her advantage. “You have also insulted my honour by implying that my relations are improper with this man who has been sent along to chaperon me.”

“Madam, I did not mean to say that there was anything improper –”

“Sir, you implied it.” She allowed a tremulous note to enter her voice. “You have insulted my honour in front of all these people, dragged me down from my position as a lady.”

“Yes, sir,” the Tamil lady said, now switching sides in that way interested bystanders often did. “It was disgraceful to say that.”

“You are not wanted in here, sir,” her companion added. “We are ladies and God knows who you will insult next.”

The gentleman saw that he had been worsted. He turned and left without a word.

Annalukshmi went to look for Mr. Jayaweera. She saw him at the end of the carriage, standing in the open doorway, smoking a cigarette.

She walked over to him. “I’m sorry about all that. Please come back, that dreadful man has gone.”

“Why don’t you go back,” he replied after a moment. “I’ll follow you once I have finished my cigarette.”

B
alendran and Richard had extended their stay at the estate by a few days. Balendran had sent word to Sonia.

On their return to Colombo, Balendran left Richard at the hotel. When the car turned down Seaside Place, Balendran was aware of how much had changed in his life. He found himself observing Sevena keenly, as if he expected it to have altered.

When he approached the verandah, Sonia did not come out to greet him. He went up the front steps into the drawing room. It was empty. He felt a strange foreboding take hold of him. “Sonia,” he called out.

“Here,” Sonia replied from his study.

He walked quickly to the door and went inside. She was in front of the flower bowl making an arrangement. She looked up at him briefly. “Oh, hello,” she said, then returned to her work.

A momentary panic took hold of him. Sonia knew, she had somehow found out about him and Richard. He shook himself, aware that he was being foolish. She was just resentful that she
had been left behind. He placed his hat and walking-stick on a chair. Then he turned to her and waited, willing to deal with her disaffection, so much preferable was it to the alternative he had just considered.

She continued to busy herself with the flower arrangement. “Did Richard find the estate interesting?” she finally asked.

“Yes,” he replied, “I think he was impressed by my work.”

“Good.”

There was a silence between them.

“Well,” Balendran said, “perhaps I should go and wash up before dinner.”

Sonia nodded imperceptibly.

Balendran walked away from her. He was almost at the door when she said, “By the way, there is a note from Appa on the desk for you.”

She spoke casually, yet Balendran felt the air was charged with peril. He went quickly to the desk, picked up the note, and opened it.

Balendran put the piece of paper down. “What … what did you tell Appa?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

“That you had been to the estate.”

“You know how Appa feels about Richard. I hope you didn’t mention that he accompanied me.”

“Yes, when your father came by and asked where you were, I told him that you had gone to the estate, that Mr. Howland went with you.”

Balendran felt a quick anger rise in him. “What on earth possessed you to say that?” he demanded.

“Why should I have to lie?” Sonia replied. She stood back, looked at her arrangement, nodded in satisfaction, then walked towards the door. “Dinner will be in half an hour,” she added as she went out.

The moment she had left, Balendran sat down and placed his head in his hands. He stared at the note in front of him and wondered how much his father knew, what he suspected. The very fact that his father had made no mention of Richard going with him was extremely ominous. Despite his efforts to reassure himself about what conclusions his father had drawn, Balendran felt as if he were playing a mental game of blind man’s bluff. He was possessed by an overwhelming desire to be in his father’s presence, to read for himself, in his father’s eyes and manner, what his thoughts were. Balendran quickly stood and picked up his hat and walking-stick from the chair. His father would not have left yet.