Funny Boy (4 page)

“He’s quite good,” Diggy answered halfheartedly.

“If he’s going to be on our team, I’m changing sides,”
Muruges declared, and some of the others murmured in agreement.

“Come on, guys,” Diggy said with desperation in his voice, but they remained stern.

Diggy turned to Meena. “I’ll trade you Arjie for Sanjay.”

Meena spat out the seeds of the guava she was eating. “Do you think I’m mad or something?”

“Ah, come on,” Diggy said in a wheedling tone, “he’s good. We’ve been practising the whole week.”

“If he’s so good, why don’t you keep him yourself. Maybe with him on your team you might actually win.”

“Yeah,” Sanjay cried, insulted that I was considered an equal trade for him. “Why don’t you keep the girlie-boy?”

At the new nickname “girlie-boy,” everyone roared with laughter, and even Diggy grinned.

I should have felt humiliated and dejected that nobody wanted me on their team but instead I felt the joy of relief begin to dance inside of me. The escape I had searched for was offering itself without any effort on my part. If Diggy’s best team members were threatening to abandon him he would have no alternative but to let me go. I looked at my feet so that no one would see the hope in my eyes.

Unfortunately, the nickname “girlie-boy” had an effect which I had not predicted. The joke at my expense seemed to clear the air. After laughing heartily, Muruges withdrew his threat. “What the hell,” he said benevolently. “It can’t hurt to have another fielder. But,” he added, as a warning to Diggy, “he can’t bat.”

Diggy nodded as if he had never even considered letting me bat. Since each side had only fifty overs, it was vital to send the best batsmen in first, and often the younger cousins never got a chance.

I glared at Muruges, and he, thinking that my look was a reaction to the new nickname, said “girlie-boy” again.

Diggy now laughed loudly, but in his laugh I detected a slight note of servility and also relief that the catastrophe of losing his team had been averted. I saw that the balance he was trying to maintain between following Amma’s orders and keeping his team members happy was extremely precarious. All was not lost. Such a fragile balance would be easy to upset.

The opportunity to do this arose almost immediately.

Our team was to go first. In deciding the batting order, there was a certain system that the boys always followed. The captain would mark numbers in the sand with hyphens next to each and then cover the numbers with a bat. The players, who had been asked to turn their backs, would then come over and choose a hyphen. What was strange to me about this exercise was its redundancy, for, when the numbers were uncovered, no matter what the batting order, the older and better players always went first, the younger cousins assenting without a murmur.

When Diggy uncovered the numbers, I was first, Diggy was second. Muruges had one of the highest numbers and would bat towards the end, if at all. “Well,” Muruges said to Diggy in a tone that spoke of promises already made, “I’ll take Arjie’s place.”

Diggy nodded vigorously as if Muruges had read his very thoughts.

Unfortunately for him, I had other plans.

“I want to go first,” I said firmly, and waited for my request to produce the necessary consequences.

Muruges was crouched down, fixing his pads, and he straightened up slowly. The slowness of his action conveyed his anger at my daring to make such a suggestion and at the same time challenged Diggy to change the batting order.

Meena, unexpectedly, came to my defence. “He is the first!” she said. “Fair is fair!” In a game of only fifty overs, a bad opening bat would be ideal for her team.

“Fair is fair,” I echoed Meena. “I picked first place and I should be allowed to play!”

“You can’t,” Diggy said desperately, “Muruges always goes first.”

Meena’s team, encouraged by her, also began to cry out, “Fair is fair!”

Diggy quickly crossed over to Muruges, put his arm around his shoulder, turned him away from the others, and talked earnestly to him. But Muruges shook his head, unconvinced by whatever Diggy was saying. Finally Diggy dropped his hand from Muruges’s shoulder and cried out in exasperation at him, “Come on, men!” In response, Muruges began to unbuckle his pads. Diggy put his hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. Diggy, seeing that Muruges was determined, turned to me.

“Come on, Arjie,” he said, pleading, “you can go later in the game.”

“No,” I said stubbornly, and, just to show how determined I was, I picked up the bat.

Muruges saw my action and threw the pads at my feet.

“I’m on your team now,” he announced to Meena.

“Ah, no! Come on, men!” Diggy shouted in protest.

Muruges began to cross over to where Meena’s team was gathered.

Diggy turned towards me now and grabbed the bat.

“
You
go!” he cried. “We don’t need you.” He pulled the bat out of my hands and started to walk with it towards Muruges.

“You’re a cheater, cheater pumpkin-eater! I chose to bat first!” I yelled.

But I had gone too far. Diggy turned and looked at me. Then he howled as he realized how he had been tricked. Instead of giving Muruges the bat, he lifted it above his head and ran towards me. I turned and fled across the field towards my grandparents’ gate. When I reached it, I lifted the latch, went inside the garden, and quickly put the latch back into place. Diggy stopped when he reached the gate. Safe on my side, I made a face at him through the slats. He came close and I retreated a little. Putting his head through the slats, he hissed at me, “If you ever come near the field again, you’ll be sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” I replied tartly, “I never will.”

And with that, I forever closed any possibility of entering the boys’ world again. But I didn’t care, and just to show how much I didn’t care I made another face, turned my back on Diggy, and walked up the front path to the house. As I went through the narrow passageway between the house and the side wall that led to the back, I could hear the girls’ voices as
they prepared for bride-bride, and especially Her Fatness’s, ordering everyone around. When I reached the back garden, I stopped when I saw the wedding cake. The bottom layer consisted of mud pies moulded from half a coconut shell. They supported the lid of a biscuit tin, which had three mud pies on it. On these rested the cover of a condensed-milk tin with a single mud pie on top. This was the three-tiered design that I had invented. Her Fatness had copied my design exactly. Further, she had taken upon herself the sole honour of decorating it with florets of gandapahana flowers and trails of antigonon, in the same way I had always done.

Sonali was the first to become aware of my presence. “Arjie!” she said, pleased.

The other cousins now noticed me and they also exclaimed in delight. Lakshmi called out to me to come and join them, but before I could do so Her Fatness rose to her feet.

“What do you want?” she said.

I came forward a bit and she immediately stepped towards me, like a female mongoose defending her young against a cobra. “Go away!” she cried, holding up her hand. “Boys are not allowed here.”

I didn’t heed her command.

“Go away,” she cried again. “Otherwise I’m going to tell Ammachi!”

I looked at her for a moment, but fearing that she would see the hatred in my eyes, I glanced down at the ground.

“I want to play bride-bride, please,” I said, trying to sound as pathetic and inoffensive as possible.

“Bride-bride,” Her Fatness repeated mockingly.

“Yes,” I said, in a shy whisper.

Sonali stood up. “Can’t he play?” she said to Her Fatness. “He’ll be very good.”

“Yes, he’ll be very good,” the others murmured in agreement.

Her Fatness considered their request.

“I have something that you don’t have,” I said quickly, hoping to sway her decision.

“Oh, what is that?”

“The sari!”

“The sari?” she echoed. A look of malicious slyness flickered across her face.

“Yes,” I said. “Without the sari you can’t play bride-bride.”

“Why not?” Her Fatness said with indifference.

Her lack of concern about the sari puzzled me. Fearing that it might not have the same importance for her as it did for me, I cried out, “Why not?” and pretended to be amazed that she would ask such a question. “What is the bride going to wear, then? A bedsheet?”

Her Fatness played with a button on her dress. “Where is the sari?” she asked very casually.

“It’s a secret,” I said. I was not going to give it to her until I was firmly entrenched in the girls’ world again. “If you let me play, I will give it to you when it’s time for the bride to get ready.”

A smile crossed her face. “The thing is, Arjie,” she said in a very reasonable tone, “we’ve already decided what everyone is going to be for bride-bride and we don’t need anyone else.”

“But there must be some parts you need people for,” I said and then added, “I’ll play any part.”

“Any part,” Her Fatness repeated. Her eyes narrowed and she looked at me appraisingly.

“Let him play,” Sonali and the others said.

“I’ll play
any
part,” I reiterated.

“You know what?” Her Fatness said suddenly, as if the idea had just dawned on her. “We don’t have a groom.”

That Her Fatness wanted me to swallow the bitter pill of humiliation was clear, and so great was my longing to be part of the girls’ world again that I swallowed it.

“I’ll take it,” I said.

“Okay,” Her Fatness said as if it mattered little to her whether I did or not.

The others cried out in delight and I smiled, happy that my goal had been at least partially achieved. Sonali beckoned to me to come and help them. I went towards where the preparations were being made for the wedding feast, but Her Fatness quickly stepped in front of me.

“The groom cannot help with the cooking.”

“Why not?” I protested.

“Because grooms don’t do that.”

“They do.”

“Have you ever heard of a groom doing that?”

I couldn’t say I had, so I demanded with angry sarcasm, “What do grooms do then?”

“They go to office.”

“Office?” I said.

Her Fatness nodded and pointed to the table on the back porch. The look on her face told me she would not tolerate any argument.

“I can’t go to office,” I said quickly. “It’s Sunday.”

“We’re pretending it’s Monday,” Her Fatness replied glibly.

I glared at her. Not satisfied with the humiliation she had forced me to accept, she was determined to keep my participation in bride-bride to a minimum. For an instant I thought to refuse her, but, seeing the warning look in her eyes, I finally acquiesced and went up the porch steps.

From there, I watched the other cousins getting ready for the wedding. Using a stone, I began to bang on the table as if stamping papers. I noted, with pleasure, that the sound irritated Her Fatness. I pressed an imaginary buzzer and made a loud noise. Getting no response from anyone, I did so again. Finally the other cousins looked up. “Boy,” I called out imperiously to Sonali, “come here, boy.”

Sonali left her cooking and came up the steps with the cringing attitude of the office peons at my father’s bank.

“Yes sir, yes sir,” she said breathlessly. Her performance was so accurate that the cousins stopped to observe her.

“Take this to the bank manager in Bambalapitiya,” I said. Bowing again she took the imaginary letter and hurried down the steps. I pressed my buzzer again. “Miss,” I called to Lakshmi. “Miss, can you come here and take some dictation.”

“Yes, sir, coming sir,” Lakshmi said, fluttering her eyelashes, with the exaggerated coyness of a Sinhala comic actress. She came up the steps, wriggling her hips for the amusement of her audience. Everyone laughed except Her Fatness.

When Lakshmi finished the dictation and went down the steps, the other cousins cried out, “Me! Me!” and clamoured to be the peon I would call next. But, before I could choose one of them, Her Fatness stormed up the steps.

“Stop that!” she shouted at me. “You’re disturbing us.”

“No!” I cried back, now that I had the support of everyone else.

“If you can’t behave, go away.”

“If I go away, you won’t get the sari.”

Her Fatness looked at me a long moment and then smiled.

“What sari?” she said. “I bet you don’t even have the sari.”

“Yes, I do,” I said in an earnest tone.

“Where?”

“It’s a secret.”

“You are lying. I know you don’t have it.”

“I do! I do!”

“Show me.”

“No.”

“You don’t have it and I’m going to tell Janaki you are disturbing us.”

I didn’t move, wanting to see if she would carry out her threat. She crossed behind the table and walked towards the kitchen door. When she got to the door and I was sure she was serious, I jumped up.

“Where is it?” I said urgently to Sonali.

She pointed to Janaki’s room.

I ran to Janaki’s door, opened it, and went inside. Sonali’s bag was lying on the bed, and I picked it up and rushed back out
onto the porch. Her Fatness had come away from the kitchen door.

“Here!” I cried.

Her Fatness folded her arms. “Where?” she said tauntingly. I opened the bag, put my hand inside, and felt around for the sari. I touched a piece of clothing and drew it out. It was only Sonali’s change of clothes. I put my hand inside again and this time brought out an Enid Blyton book. There was nothing else in the bag.

“Where is the sari?” Her Fatness demanded.

I glanced at Sonali and she gave me a puzzled look.

“Liar, liar on the wall, who’s the liarest one of all!” Her Fatness cried.

I turned towards Janaki’s door, wondering if the sari had fallen out. Then I saw a slight smirk on Her Fatness’s face and the truth came to me. She’d known all along about the sari. She must have discovered it earlier and hidden it. I realized I had been duped and felt a sudden rush of anger. Her Fatness saw the comprehension in my eyes and her arms dropped by her sides as if in readiness. She inched back towards the kitchen door for safety. But I was not interested in her for the moment. What I wanted was the sari.