The Hungry Ghosts (34 page)

“Chandralal. Mili?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Please, you have to tell me.”

Our food had arrived and we waited until the server left.

Mili broke off a piece of thosai and dipped it in the sambar. “He is known as the Kotahena mudalali. Very close to the government. If the prime minister requires a crowd at one of his political gatherings, this mudalali provides it.”

“What else?”

“You mean human rights? We have not been able to pin anything on him yet. Shivan,” he nudged my elbow, seeing I was unnerved, “this is not your problem. And, really, look at my pater. You think he doesn’t line the pockets of our politicians? You think he doesn’t have thugs who keep the unions away and
prevent anyone from politicizing his workers? I know he does, because the people at Kantha have had problems when trying to talk with the workers.”

He tapped my plate. I had not touched the thosai. “But the thing is, he is my pater and he does love me a lot. My mater has been trying to make me understand this for a long time, and I think I’m finally ready to accept him. I don’t want his money or his job, but I won’t hate him anymore. And you, too, you must not hate your grandmother. Eat!” he commanded.

Later, when we had finished and were waiting for the dishes to be cleared, Mili said, “There is something I should have told you a long time ago. I used to be involved with a German man named Otto, who worked for the Goethe Institute here. Our relationship ended a year ago, when he was transferred to another country.”

I nodded, then reminded him that I had seen this Otto, a young man with pale skin and hair, when the Kantha workers had picked up Renu for her goodbye party. Mili had been in his car.

He reached over and pressed my hand briefly. “I don’t want things to ever be bad again between us. After all that has happened, I could not bear for us to be parted.”

A few days later, Sriyani called to say she wanted to have a “little chat.” I was to meet her for cocktails at the Galle Face Hotel that evening.

She was seated on the terrace that gave out onto the beach and rose to greet me, pleasant and calm. After we ordered shandies, she told me in a bemused tone that Sri was now being held under the Prevention of Terrorism Act. He was Tamil, so that was enough for them to suspect him of being a terrorist. The lawyer she had hired did not know what to do next. I tried to seem interested, but grew increasingly nervous as I waited for her to broach the real subject of our “chat.”

Finally the drinks arrived. Once the waiter had left, Sriyani spoke. “I have known about you and Mili for a little while now, Shivan.” She shrugged to say it wasn’t so difficult to figure out, then helped herself to some chili cashews. “I am most concerned, to be honest, for Mili. When push comes to shove, you can get on a plane and go back to Canada, or seek the protection of your embassy. Mili doesn’t have those safeguards. And so you must think carefully about what you are doing.” She dusted the salt and chili powder off
her hands. “You know there is still a law here, nah? Ten years in jail, not just for getting caught in the act, but for actually being so inclined.”

I took a gulp of my shandy.

“Of course, we are not some fundamentalist Muslim country. You know our people. Live and let live, most of the time. But the law is still there, and these laws are kept on the statute books because they are very helpful to governments. They can be used most effectively to shut someone up who is being a nuisance. To put them away for a while, or at least give them a jolly good scare.” She peered at me as if my face were in shadows. “And Mili, along with everyone in my office, everyone in human rights really, has become a bloody nuisance to the government. This regime has plans afoot to deal with the JVP situation in a brutal way, which means they don’t want us sniffing around making a fuss about murders and disappearances. Poor old Sri Lanka is heading still further into the Kali Yuga.”

“But Sriyani,” I said, desperate to neutralize her concern, “how would anyone figure out Mili is, you know, gay? We have been discreet,” I continued, clinging to this argument. “Why, his friends think I am just his chum visiting from abroad, nothing else.”

She smiled and held out her hands, examining her nails. “The son of Tudor Jayasinghe befriends a German man, a teacher at the Goethe Institute. They are seen shopping at the market, driving around in his car, going on holidays.” She nodded, seeing my dismay. “Of course his friends at Kantha know. But they don’t acknowledge it, which is what Sri Lankans do. And Mili can’t accept that anyone knows, because, really, the shame and embarrassment of it would be too much for him. He has to be blind out of necessity. In fact,” she added, “I am sure the whole of Cinnamon Gardens knows he is so inclined. With the exception of his parents, who also have to be blind to it. And it is Cinnamon Gardens that runs this country.

“The thing is, Shivan, I can’t talk to Mili about this. You must make the right choice.”

I frowned. Then her meaning came to me. “You want me to give Mili up?”

She leaned forward, chin cupped in hand, and gazed hard at the sea as if she had seen something out there. Then she sat back in her chair. “I cannot make that decision. You must do the right thing.”

“Yes, but really you’re saying I must give him up.”

“I’m not saying anything of—”

“Then why would you tell me all this? What if I can’t give him up, Sriyani? What if I love him? But I suppose, since we are two men, such love could not have much depth.”

Sriyani flinched.

“Did you tell Ranjini and Sri to give each other up?”

“That was different.”

“I know exactly what the difference was.”

She took a long sip of her shandy, then looked out at the sea again with that little smile on her face. “And yes,” she said, changing the subject, “this tapping of my phone is bloody annoying. So clumsily done, really. I can actually hear the clicking when I make or receive a call.” She raised her eyebrows at me. “But I think I’m meant to hear it, don’t you?”

I looked away at the kites wheeling and dipping above Galle Face Green. “I will not give him up. I could not bear it, I simply could not.”

“No,” she cocked her head, “I don’t suppose you could.” She touched my arm. “Just be careful, Shivan, please.”

I nodded, even as I felt that all the happiness in my life was bleeding away.

19
 

I
WAITED UNTIL
I
GOT HOME FROM MY ERRANDS
the next afternoon to talk with my grandmother. I found her at one of the almirahs in her bedroom, looking through a drawer. “Ah, Puthey.” Seeing my determined expression, she became still.

“Aacho, I know you and Chandralal got that Tamil family’s house by offering them protection.”

Her cane, which was against the almirah, clattered to the ground. I picked it up and handed it to her. She hobbled over to the dressing table stool, sat down slowly, then looked at me in the mirror. “Sunil told you.”

“No. Let’s just say I found out.”

“That Jayasinghe boy has been filling your mind with poison against me, hasn’t he? No doubt against Chandralal, too, because of his reputation.” She was scrutinizing me in the mirror, taking in the unyielding look on my face. She was frightened, and her fear gave me further courage.

“Mili is a good person. Much better than either of us. Despite all the avenues open to him, he has chosen to do the work he does. Out of love for this country.”

My grandmother picked up a tin of talcum powder, then put it down. “Do you know what happened to Tamils who could not get to refugee camps before curfew started? That family had three teenage daughters. The mob would have turned those girls into soiled goods, then murdered them.” She gestured to me in appeal. “Chandralal saved them from all that. He put his reputation, his golayas, his own life, at stake. What is that compared to a cheaper house price? They were grateful to him, don’t you see? Now look at that family. They have a new life in Australia, a better life than here. Those three girls are probably all in university and will be prime candidates in the bridal market. They will be able—”

“Stop talking nonsense, Aacho. That family is probably very poor. You have no idea how those people exist in the West, the jobs they do to survive, the cramped apartments they live in, the daily contempt of white people.” I stood by the dressing table. “We have to remedy this. Somehow, we must find out where they are living and compensate them. Offer the balance of what the house is worth.”

My grandmother’s face grew red. “You want me to hand out my hard-earned money to those people?” She laughed in disbelief. “Are you mad? We gave them a fair deal, we gave them their lives.”

“You’re such fine people. You and Chandralal will surely be reborn in Thusitha heaven for your goodness.”

“How dare you mock me.” She picked up a pen and flung it at me, grazing my shoulder.

I reached in my trouser pocket and took out the ring of keys she had given me when I assumed control of her properties. I held it out to her. “I don’t want to be soiled by what you have done. If you won’t compensate that family, you can take over running the properties again.”

“But my work for the temple! I have to build that bana maduwa. Will you send me to my death without enough merit for a good rebirth?”

“No matter how many bana maduwas you build, do you think you’ll even be reborn as a human being?”

“Shivan,” she whispered in shock.

“You’ll be lucky if you’re born as a cat or a dog,” I continued, unable to stop myself. “Most likely you and your Chandralal will be worms or insects for eternity.”

“How could you curse me like this?” Her voice was hoarse with disbelief.

I put the keys down on the dressing table and walked out.

When I got to my room, I sat on the bed, my breath shallow. Yet I was determined to stick by my decision. I had before me Mili’s great goodness. I was humbled he had chosen me to love. I wanted desperately to be worthy of him.

What I had not taken into account was that my grandmother, seated in her bedroom, was terrified she might be losing me. She had lived for so long with the burden of unhappiness, she could not bear to be cast back to her lonely state again.

That evening I was seated on the front verandah alone, trying to read but finding it impossible to concentrate, when a horn sounded at our gate. Rosalind came out the front door and, after giving me a quick look, went down the steps.

I closed my book and waited. As an SUV sped up our front driveway, my grandmother hobbled out onto the verandah. The Pajero stopped under the carport. Chandralal jumped out and came up the steps towards my grandmother. Then, pretending to notice me at the other end of the verandah, he cried, “Ah, but here is our baba!” He opened his arms and grinned with pleasure.

I got up and strolled towards the front door, passing him as if he were invisible. My grandmother was standing in the doorway, and when I brushed past I glared at her for dragging this thug into our quarrel.

“See, Chandralal,” I heard her say querulously. “Look at what has come over him. My beloved grandson. Why would he behave like this?”

Chandralal murmured soothingly in reply.

After dinner, I took my plate to the kitchen. Rosalind was seated on a stool reading a newspaper. She folded it away and followed me as I went to wash my hands at the sink.

“Baba,” she said, handing me a kitchen towel, “it’s time you returned to Canada. Only bad will come from your staying.”

I waited for her to continue, but she looked away, face numb with worry. “You must go, baba, you must.”

I handed her the kitchen towel and muttered, “One can’t just change plane tickets like that, Rosalind.”

Mili and I met the next day for lunch. My grandmother had not spoken to me that morning, and had passed me in the hallway with her face averted. I did not mention our quarrel to Mili, nor how she had tried to draw Chandralal into our dispute. I wanted to prevent ugliness from leaching into the part of my life that was good.

My chaos of emotions made me impatient for Mili’s caress and I could sense he too was frustrated by our limitations. When we had finished our meal and were standing outside the restaurant, I said, “I suppose your mother is at home.”

He nodded and grimaced.

“I don’t know how I can bear another day not being with you.”

Mili examined me curiously. My plea had come out more desperate than I intended.

“There is a place …” He shook his head.

“Yes?”

“No, forget I mentioned it.”

“Mili!”

“This house, for people like us. I’ve never been there, but my friend, Otto, used to point it out when we went swimming at Mount Lavinia. Tourists use it, so he heard through other German expats.”

“Let’s go there, Mili, let’s go.”

“It’s sure to be a real thrada place, Shivan.”

“We can always leave if we don’t like it.”

“It would be unworthy of you, of us. I wish I hadn’t even brought it up.”

“Unworthy? Why? For God’s sake, don’t you want to be with me? Don’t you want to hold me anymore?”

“Ah, Shivan, don’t say that.”

“Let’s go.” Seeing he was still hesitant, I added, “You’re not pulling away from me again, are you? I really couldn’t bear that, Mili, I couldn’t bear it if you hurt me again.”