The Flower Boy (9 page)

chapter 9

IT WAS SUNDAY AND CHANDI WAS WALKING NEAR THE WELL. THE FAMILY was at church and his mother and sisters were busy preparing Sunday lunch for when they got back. He heard a chuckle behind him and turned to see who it was. Rose-Lizzie, in pink and white candy stripes, was walking over as fast as her legs would carry her.

Chandi stood there, confused. Rose-Lizzie or anyone else from the main house did not usually come here. He looked around for Ayah and saw her following slowly, but she was looking away.

A small hand was tugging impatiently at his shorts.

“Play?” she said hopefully.

He looked down at her and then over at Ayah. She was still looking away.

“Play?” The tugging was more impatient.

“Okay,” he said.

“I fetch my toys?” she asked hopefully.

“Stones,” he said firmly, and led her to his secret spot where the overhead gutter leaked into the big backyard drain.

Ayah seated herself on the little bench made of an old railway sleeper placed on two large stones and lost herself in uninterrupted firewood-man thoughts.

So began the friendship and Rose-Lizzie's education.

She learned where to find the smoothest, roundest stones.

How to make earthworms come out of their holes and then thread them through bent safety pins to use as bait when fishing in the little oya that ran behind the bungalow.

How to catch mynahs using a long string and overripe bananas.

How to hold a hand next to a leaf so that a ladybird walked sedately onto it.

How to string dang and nelli fruits together to make bright purple and green necklaces and bracelets.

How to make paper boats from old newspapers and sail them down the drain.

How to make flutes with coconut leaves.

How to feed chickens and hunt for eggs.

How to discover birds' nests, and smoke out anthills.

How to play with nothing but imagination.

Days ran into one another, full of new things and new games. It was to have been another secret. Until the last Sunday in Lent.

ROSE-LIZZIE WAS NOW nearly four and Chandi nearly eight. They spent Sunday mornings and some weekday afternoons playing, while Ayah sat and caught up with her sewing or dreaming. She thought Chandi was good company for Rose-Lizzie and she trusted him to take care of her.

Naturally no one knew of the back garden visits, not even Premawathi, who always had too much work anyway. The Sudu Mahattaya was usually at the factory or on his estate rounds and the Sudu Nona didn't know. She spent most afternoons in bed, for she complained that the sun gave her migraines.

Once Krishna saw Rose-Lizzie and Ayah walking near the vegetable garden but, other than giving Ayah a long lewd stare, thought nothing of it.

All went well until the Mortimers arrived unannounced, on that last Sunday in Lent.

The family had been at church as usual. Ayah and Rose-Lizzie had been in the back garden as usual. And usually, even after her father and mother came home after church, they read the newspapers and didn't look for Rose-Lizzie until lunchtime.

This particular Sunday when they arrived home, they saw a gleaming red Rover parked under the front porch, and Alex and Sally Mortimer and their five-year-old son, William, parked in the veranda sipping chilled lemonade.

Elsie Buckwater paled visibly when she saw them. The Mortimers were important people in Colombo. Alex worked at the Governor's office, while Sally Mortimer was one of the city's most prominent hostesses. The Buckwaters had been introduced to them at the Turf Club the last time they had been in Colombo.

And now, here they were. Unexpected, uninvited and unannounced, but the Mortimers didn't need invitations to visit. People were just grateful when they did.

As the car drove slowly past the veranda, Elsie fluttered her fingers in their general direction and tried to still the fluttering in her heart.

“Who is that?” her husband growled, squinting toward the veranda.

“Don't look like that!” Elsie hissed. “It's the Mortimers from Colombo.”

“What the blazes are they doing here?” he demanded. “Did you know they were coming? Did they telephone?”

“No I didn't and no they didn't. It's the Mortimers, John,” she whispered angrily. “They don't need to telephone.”

John scowled. “Bloody cheek if you ask me,” he said. “Turning up like this.”

Elsie glared at him, wishing for the umpteenth time that she had listened to her mother and married Ian Smith from her sleepy village in Dorset and not this scowling stranger.

IT HAD BEEN different when they had first met. He had just returned from his brief spell in India and she had been bowled over by his suntanned good looks and easy manner. She had immediately set out to ensnare him, spurred on by the fact that he seemed more interested in her younger, prettier sister, May.

He was a friend of their neighbors and had come to stay on their farm to “remember the gentle charm of the English countryside,” as he so eloquently put it. In reality, he had come to try and forget India, which he had loved, albeit briefly.

He took long walks, and Elsie and May constantly contrived to be walking in the same direction at the same time. If he knew of their pursuit he gave no sign, always greeting them with friendly courtesy.

Almost a month after he came to Dorset, he came to their home for dinner. Ian Smith had also been invited to round off the numbers.

Elsie's mother and father had watched in bewilderment as their older daughter fobbed off Ian's shy advances with cutting finality and sparkled like a brilliant gemstone every time John addressed her.

They had tried to caution her against “these foreign types,” and told her time and time again that Ian Smith was “from around here and far more suitable,” but Elsie had already decided.

May soon gave up the chase, leaving Elsie a free run, and concentrated on comforting poor Ian, who wore the look of a wounded dog.

And run Elsie did.

She pursued John with the instincts of a bloodhound on the scent of a hapless fox, learning his likes and dislikes, showing a fascinated interest in his travels and hanging on his every word when he spoke of his beloved India.

Elsie had already envisioned life with him. A farm close to her parents' home, a couple of English sheepdogs, perhaps even a couple of children, frequent trips to London and a strong, adoring husband who pampered her and indulged her every whim.

John was flattered by her attentions and her obvious interest. Being the careful man he was, he weighed the pros and cons of a union with her and decided he could do worse. She was beautiful, educated and seemed genuinely interested in his interests.

One day that spring, he proposed and she accepted.

They lived quietly for some years, during which Jonathan and Anne made their arrivals into the world. Elsie was happy in her carefully planned life. John, on the other hand, became more and more restless, the cloying charm of both the English countryside and his wife wearing thinner with every passing year.

And then John had been called up to London and offered this posting in Ceylon. He accepted at once, not even bothering to consult his wife, who, he felt, would be as happy as he was. After all, she had professed to love India as much as he did, even if she had never been there. Ceylon was not much different.

He couldn't have been more wrong. She was furious with him for shattering all her carefully laid plans, but it was too late. John had committed himself and his superiors were holding him to his commitment.

He was distressed by Elsie's initial tantrums and subsequent sullenness, but told himself she would grow to love her new home once she arrived.

She had hated it on sight. And in the last three years, the hatred had mellowed down to indifference, except when she was with people she considered to be of an equal if not better social standing than herself.

It was a trait typical of people from small towns, and one that made John dislike her intensely.

HE WATCHED HER now, mentally calculating the advantages of this unexpected visit, what invitations to which elite circles it would get her.

He saw her running over her wardrobe, through her china and silver, through the linen closet and the bedrooms and through the pantry and larder, as she gazed sightlessly out the car window, her lips pursed in concentration.

He got out and slammed the door shut, startling her. She glared at him.

“John,” she said icily. “Please be polite. For my sake if for nothing else.” She carefully arranged her face into the gracious smiling mask she reserved for important people and swept up to the veranda.

He sighed deeply, and followed her with all the enthusiasm of the Christmas turkey facing the prospect of sharp Sheffield steel.

“Sally! Alex! What a perfectly lovely surprise,” she gushed, holding her hands out to Sally. They dutifully kissed the air near each other's ears as John watched with interest.

“And little William! How you've grown,” she continued, her tinkling laugh setting John's teeth on edge.

Little William looked balefully at her, as if daring her to kiss him. She decided not to risk rejection, and instead turned to John. “Won't Elizabeth be thrilled?” she asked.

John looked at William and decided that no, Lizzie would definitely
not
be thrilled. Little William looked like a perfect little monster.

He shook hands with them and sat down to chat about Colombo and the weather which, according to Mrs. Mortimer, was “perfectly awful and we hope you don't mind our descending on you like this.”

She pronounced
awful
as if it rhymed with
woeful
.

Elsie laughed. “Of course not, my dears, and you must stay as long as you like,” she trilled. John winced.

She looked around. “You must meet Elizabeth. Ayah! Ayah!” she called out. “She is so adorable. Such a friendly, well-behaved child. You'll get on so well together, dear William,” she said.

John felt a little nauseated.

“Ayah, Ayah!” she called out again. “Oh where are they?” she asked, sounding slightly annoyed now.

“Probably in the garden, dear,” John said.

Sally Mortimer looked out with interest. “Oh really?” she said. “Perhaps we could go and look for them. I'd love a stroll around your beautiful gardens. So cramped sitting in the car all that way, you know.” She stood up and started outside. “Come along, Alex, William.”

Alex and William obediently went along, followed by a beaming Elsie and a reluctant John.

The little procession made its way slowly around the large front garden, pausing occasionally so Mrs. Mortimer could admire the flowers and plants.

“So lush, my dear,” she said enviously. “My own gardeners in Colombo never manage to make anything grow beyond a few months. Must be the ohwful weather.”

Must be the ohwful sound of your voice, John thought uncharitably.

They had walked through both the front and side gardens and there was still no sign of Ayah and Lizzie.

Just then, William spotted the narrow passageway leading to the kitchen. For the first time since he had arrived, he perked up.

“Where does that lead to?” he asked.

“Oh, just to the kitchens, dear,” Elsie replied hastily. “You don't really want to go there. There are vegetables and worms and things.”

“Golly!” William exclaimed. “Can we just have a look?”

“Well, I don't see why not,” John said. “Been ages since I went down there myself.”

Elsie still resisted. “There's really nothing there,” she said earnestly, wondering what on earth
was
there, since she'd never been down the passageway herself.

But William had already disappeared.

They followed slowly, chatting now about maintenance and mildew and termites. They arrived at the side veranda to find William with his hand inside one of the ginger beer vats.

“William Mortimer!” Mrs. Mortimer said angrily. “Take your hand out at once!”

“Oh no, it's quite all right,” Elsie said quickly.

William stuffed a handful of raisins into his mouth and ran off again.

Mrs. Mortimer looked embarrassed. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “I don't know where he picks up these ohwful things from. Probably the little native children he plays with.” She stopped, as if realizing she had said too much.

“Native children?” Elsie inquired sweetly. “Oh my dear, you must be careful. No telling what they could do. We are
so
careful with ours, you know.”

They kept walking and were now in the broken bricks and bottles part. The men strode along discussing politics while the women picked their way daintily over the mess. Even Mrs. Mortimer was beginning to wish she hadn't agreed so readily to this little adventure.

They entered the kitchen garden and stopped abruptly, almost bumping into William, who was staring at the little tableau in front of them.