Brixton Beach (20 page)

Alice thought of the dog running on its three legs. Maybe it
could
run as fast as the other dogs. But did it
feel
the same as them?

Time passed; the afternoon wore on and the light changed again. Bee looked at his watch. A man walked by selling freshly cut king coconut and they bought some and drank the cloudy, refreshing liquid straight out of the coconut. Janake’s mother had invited them for rice and curry to save their having to go back up the hill for lunch. Small paper-thin clouds passed swiftly by. Bee watched a man gutting fish beside a catamaran; it must be over, surely, by now, he thought. The man’s knife glinted in the sun. There was blood on it. He was working quickly, throwing out the guts on the rocks and packing the fish into flat circular baskets. Afterwards he balanced the baskets on his shoulders and went off up the beach, heading for the town, his cries of,
‘malu, malu
, getting fainter the higher up Mount Lavinia Hill he climbed.

‘Look,’ Janake told Alice, as they waited for their lunch under the shade of a coconut palm. ‘See this bottle. It’s come from a ship. From out there,’ he pointed at the rim of the sea, which, while they had been talking, had become dark and thunderous.

‘You can send me a message in a bottle from the ship,’ he said. ‘You can throw it into the sea. I’ll stand here and wait for it to come.’

Alice laughed, delighted. She would do that, she promised.

‘And when you get to England,’ Janake told her solemnly, ‘when you send me your address, I’ll write to you. I’ll always write. Until you come back. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

Janake’s mother brought out lunch. She had a plate of rice for Mr Fonseka too, but he shook his head and asked for a glass of
vatura
, water, instead.

‘I’m not hungry,’ he said, re-lighting his pipe. ‘Feed the children.’ He went back to watching the sea. We swim in this sea of time like small plankton, he thought, only occasionally looking beyond the surface and catch a glimpse of how vast the ocean is. Overhead a flock of seagulls stabbed the air with their beaks and swooped down on to the rocks.

They stayed on the beach all day until the blistering heat began to retreat slightly. At four o’clock Bee looked at his watch and began packing up his paints. He folded the large black umbrella and put away his brushes. Then he carefully placed his watercolours between two boards.

‘Let’s go, Alice,’ he said. ‘I think it’s going to rain.’

Alice gathered up her wood. The pile was so enormous that Janake started to laugh.

‘It’s bigger than you,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you leave some of it here and I’ll bring it up later?’

They waved good-bye to Janake and set off up the hill. As they walked, the rain that had threatened on and off all day began to fall in large dusty drops. The house was bathed in an orange glow. They saw the sea reflected in its long French windows and as they walked in through the gate they felt the difference in the air. The tension had drained away and a layer of peace had settled like fine sea sand. There was still two hours to go before curfew. In the kitchen the women were busy cleaning the table. Alice watched the hospital doctor go quickly towards the back door without looking at anyone. She caught a glimpse of the towel he was carrying. It looked red and white and crumpled, and the doctor was trying to shield it from view. He disappeared through the open door and Alice felt a sharp draught of fear rush towards her. She was too startled to speak. When the hospital doctor returned he went over to the sink and began washing his hands. Alice had a brief glimpse of red water swirling and draining away before her grandmother took her by the shoulders and led her gently
away. Alice waited for them to mention Kunal’s leg, but nothing was said. It was as though whatever they had been doing all day was an embarrassment to them.

‘Come, Putha,’ Kamala said, ‘I’ve sewn the sleeves on your bridesmaid dress. Let’s see how it fits.’

She sounded strained and tired. Once again the grown-ups avoided each other’s eyes.

‘Go wash your hands first Alice,’ Sita called quietly after them.

Sita’s hair was dishevelled. She looked completely exhausted. Only her voice, harsh for so long, had changed and was unusually gentle. They heard the gate click shut and each one of them tensed. But it was only May hurrying in. She stood in the doorway where Bee and the doctors were saying good-bye.

‘Aunty May?’ Alice asked.

But May did not answer. She looked as though she had been crying. She began talking to her father in an agitated manner, gesticulating wildly, ignoring the doctors.

‘Wait a minute,’ Kamala said, and she too went out to talk to them.

Curiously, Alice wandered out. The doctors shook hands with everyone. They too looked exhausted. The hospital doctor would not see them again but their own doctor would return in the morning, to check the patient.

‘What’s happening?’ Alice asked, but nobody answered. It was left to Kamala to detach herself from the group and usher Alice back into her sewing room.

May had vanished.

‘Come, I want to shorten your dress a little.’

Alice didn’t want to stand still. There were mysterious things going on she wanted to investigate.

‘Just a minute, darling. Be a good girl, please,’ Kamala pleaded, her mouth full of pins.

And then, as Alice continued to crane her neck in the direction of May, she added:

‘The army have taken a Tamil boy out of Aunty May’s class. It’s upset her a lot. As if we needed any more things to upset us.’

That night Alice heard the story from May herself. Two army men, she told Alice, had taken the Tamil boy. Her aunt, Alice saw, was still very upset. The local policeman had brought the soldiers to the school, she said. They simply took the boy from her class.

‘Anay
, Alice! No one did anything to help him.’

The school disgusted her, May said.

All the pupils kept their eyes down, too scared to protest. Even the staff, although they had come out into the corridor because of the noise, stood there and did absolutely nothing! Can you believe it? Spineless bastards!’

Only May had protested. She had tried to stop the men from taking the boy. He was just a child, she had begged.

‘I told them he had done nothing wrong. He was the cleverest boy in the school; he wasn’t interested in causing any trouble. But you know what, the policeman gave me a look and told me I’d better watch out and not make a fuss. Ayio! I didn’t care, Putha. I hate the bloody man.’

The police told May they wanted the boy’s father for questioning and in his absence they were taking his son. May knew, once they had their hands on him, the boy would never be seen again, so she had tried to hold on to him, pleading with the soldiers, but they had pushed her roughly aside. The boy had gone and later the headmaster had called May into his office to warn her never to behave in this manner again or he would be forced to ask her to leave the school.

‘I’m not without sympathy,’ the head had said. ‘But you must understand, ours is a tricky position. We don’t want this school closed.’

May had begun to cry after that and the head had been nice to her, telling her to think about her wedding and not to dwell on what had happened. May had only cried all the more. Now, she told Alice, she hated the school.

‘They are no different from the morons at your Colombo school,’ she told Alice. ‘I really believed there was a difference here in the south. But I was wrong.’

Alice’s eyes were round as saucers. She had never seen her aunt like this.

‘You know what, darling, I’m actually
glad
you’re going to England. Glad you won’t be subjected to any of the terrible things that are happening in our country. It will be so different where you are going. In England you will learn about justice and truth. When you grow up, you’ll look back on all this and be disgusted.’

There was something Alice wanted to ask. It had been bothering her throughout this strange uneasy day.

‘Is that why Janake doesn’t go to school?’

May paused and shook her head.

‘No, ‘she said abruptly. ‘Since his father was killed, Janake’s mother has no money. But I’ve been giving him private lessons, and one day I hope he will go to a university in India just so he can get out of this hell. Your grandfather has a plan to send him there, you know.’

Alice stared out of the window. Janake would not be waiting for her message in a bottle after all. Once again the feeling of being close to a precipice crept over her. What if everything vanished? What if all of this—her grandparents, her aunty May, the house itself—disappeared and, when the day came, when she had finally grown up and tried to come back, she could never find any of them again?

You needn’t worry,’ Aunty May said, suddenly seeing the look on her face. ‘We’ll still be here. Waiting for you to return!’

Outside, the rain increased to a downpour. Lightning flashed across the sea, revealing the darkened horizon. May kissed Alice goodnight.

‘Grandpa will come to give you a goodnight kiss when he’s finished visiting Kunal,’ she said.

Then she left, turning out the light. Lying beneath the mosquito net, turning towards the window, Alice saw a ship white as a swan against the night sky, carrying its cargo of human lives. From this distance it seemed to be sailing slowly over the edge of the world.

All that night, and the next and the one after that, Kunal lay delirious with fever and heavily sedated. Twice the generator broke down and the power was so low that the lights in his room cast dim shadows on the walls. They took it in turns to sit with him, Bee, Kamala, and Sita. Even the servant woman stayed up, boiling water constantly.

Only May, who had school in the morning, and Alice slept, although the latter felt her dreams disturbed by a steady stream of footsteps. At the end of the first week, when the doctor came through the grove he brought them the news they were waiting for. The army had gone. Removing the road-blocks, lifting the curfew, climbing into their trucks, they left without warning. The people in the little costal town watched surreptitiously from behind shutters. The army drove away in a thundering line, a convoy of green-and-brown camouflage, leaving heavy caterpillar tracks across the beach.

The town had been holding its breath and now it let it out. Outwardly nothing had changed; the bougainvillea still cascaded across the whitewashed houses, the kade beside the Grand Hotel continued to play
byla
music and smell of Old Roses tobacco, while the catamarans put out to a sea full of fish. Only in May Fonseka’s class there remained one empty seat. It would stay empty. None of the other children wanted to sit in it for fear of what might happen to them. May left them to their superstitions. She was one of the things that had changed. No one saw this change. It was too subtle and too deep inside her, but she was no longer the same young woman waiting to be married. The staff, glad she had calmed down, breathed a sigh of relief and began questioning her about the wedding. She answered smilingly, but inwardly it was a different matter. She no longer cared whether her pupils, all from rich neighbouring Singhalese families, passed their entrance examinations or not. Once, on her way home, she caught a glimpse of the Tamil boy’s mother. The woman hesitated, not wanting to approach May, so that May, in her new mood of indifference, careless of any watching eyes, went up to her instead. The family, what was left of it, a family of women now, were packing up and leaving for Jaffna. Of the woman’s son and husband, nothing had been heard. May listened, nodding, promising to try to get some information. The woman could barely speak for crying.

‘I’ll do what I can,’ May told her.

She feared it was hopeless, but the words once released, seemed to bring some small comfort.

Another week passed. In the Sea House, too, all appeared normal. Alice had received a postcard and a letter from Stanley. She placed the
card on her window ledge. Nothing in her life made sense any longer and the postcard added to this sense of unreality. She had not been allowed to see Kunal since his operation. The Sea House no longer smelled of antiseptic. The doctor, who visited daily, had wanted him to rest as much as he could. So most mornings her grandfather took Alice to the beach to play with Janake and by the time they returned Kunal was usually asleep. Since the alms-giving, Alice had seen nothing of Esther Harris. Once or twice on their way back from the beach she had caught a glimpse of her walking up the hill with the boy Anton, but apart from that she too seemed to have vanished. Then one afternoon Dias arrived to talk to Kamala and Sita.

‘Hello, child,’ she said absent-mindedly, squeezing Alice’s cheeks. ‘My goodness, you look well. Not going to school suits you, hey?’

Alice frowned. Who had told Esther’s mother about her school?

‘Why don’t you come over sometime? Esther is back from visiting her aunty now that the curfew had been lifted. Come and see us tomorrow, ah? What d’you think, Kamala?’

Dias was preoccupied and disinclined to talk. Bored, Alice wandered off. She couldn’t even be bothered to eavesdrop. She had been making a box with the old pieces of driftwood. It was a smallish box that could not be opened. Three nails kept it closed, but through a gap in the construction of it you could see a seashell inside. You could see it but not quite reach it. When she had first shown it to Bee he had been surprised. She wanted Janake to see it too. Picking up the box from where it stood beside the picture postcard from her father, she hurried out.

Stanley was disappointed. He was having such a wonderful time here in Athens with the beautiful Marianna that he did not want to leave in the morning. But they had lost three days already and the engine had been fixed. The ship was ready to set sail again.

‘Good!’ Marianna informed him. ‘My fiancé will be waiting for me at Southampton. I shall have to tell him I have found someone else, now!’

‘What?’ Stanley asked, startled. ‘Wait, wait a minute…I say, I’m a married man, you know. It isn’t easy…what I mean is…look
He peered anxiously at Marianna, who was lying face down and naked on the bed. They had taken to coming back to the hotel after lunch with a bottle of vodka, courtesy of Marianna. Stanley had felt it was too cold to do much sightseeing.