Swimming in the Monsoon Sea (11 page)

“Yes! And Anne of Green Gables, too.”

But besides the two Annes, they were stumped when it came to Canada.

There was a knock on the door and Aunty Bundle came in. “Amrith, I want to speak to you. Alone.” She had been crying, her eyes red.

“Come, akka, let’s go,” Mala whispered to Selvi, “I told you we should have left Amrith alone.” They got off the bed. Selvi looked guilty, aware she had been insensitive.

Mala smiled at Amrith. “I’m sure your cousin will be very nice.”

“Yes-yes,” Selvi nodded, “I’m sure you’ll really like him.”

They left, closing the door softly behind them.

“Amrith,” Aunty Bundle began, resting her hand on the bedpost. “You must go and meet your cousin tomorrow. But I … I don’t want anything to do with your uncle and his family. Because of your mother. You understand, son, don’t you? I couldn’t stand to see him.”

The return of his uncle had brought back the pain of his mother’s death to Aunty Bundle. Looking at her
tear-streaked face, he felt a bitter anger take hold. He turned away and stood, his hands clenched by his sides.

She was waiting for him to respond, but when he would not do so, she left with a sigh.

The moment she was gone, he breathed out and sat down on the bed. He put his head in his hands. “I hate her,” he whispered between clenched teeth, “I just hate her.”

That night, Amrith dreamt about his mother. It was a dream he often had. He was running along the road that led to the estate bungalow, in a panic He raced through the gate, up the driveway, and around the side of the house. He rushed onto the veranda and then stopped, a terror taking hold. His mother’s chair was empty. He had arrived too late. He had failed to save her from a terrible fate.

Amrith, as he always did, woke at this point with a gasp. A sense of menace was palpable all around him. Even after he had switched on the bedside lamp, his fear did not abate. The threat just withdrew beyond his door and lurked in the courtyard and side garden.

E
ven before he met his relatives the next day, Amrith had already heard news about them. That morning, they were in the middle of breakfast when Aunt Wilhelmina hurried in after her game of tennis, crying, “Bun-dle, Bun-dle.” She was dressed all in white, wearing linen slacks, a long-sleeved shirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat — clothes that were ridiculously warm for sports, but that kept her European skin immaculate.

She saw them at the dining table and came up the steps.

“Bundle.” She gestured towards the library, with a quick glance at Amrith. “Come-come, child, I have something I simply must tell you. I had a game this morning with Lady Rajapakse and you will not believe what I have learnt.”

“We know, Aunt Wilhelmina.” Aunty Bundle sighed. “Lucky met Mervin in Fort.”

“Oh.” She was a bit put out. Then she brightened up. “But, child-child, did you know that he is divorced?” She smiled, gratified by the looks on their faces. “Yes, for a very long time, it seems.”

Amrith was shocked. Divorce was a very shameful thing. There were a few students in his school, like Peries, whose parents were separated and they never spoke of it, often pretending their parents were still married.

Aunt Wilhelmina sat down and, sipping a cup of tea Jane-Nona had placed before her, told them all she knew.

Mervin’s wife, Therese, had left him when Niresh was eight years old. Physical and mental cruelty were the reasons cited for the divorce. Niresh’s mother had remarried. A Canadian man, who ran a cattle farm in a place called Alberta. Evidently, the second marriage was not altogether successful, the man being a crude, bullying type. “Which,” Aunt Wilhelmina said with a sniff, “was to be expected if one went off and married a farmer.”

Aunt Wilhelmina now moved on to gossip about Niresh. He was sixteen years old. Although he currently lived with his father in a Toronto suburb, he had spent most of his youth in boarding schools.

Aunty Bundle shook her head, when she heard this. “That poor-poor boy,” she murmured.

“Evidently, he’s a handful.” Aunt Wilhelmina raised her eyebrows. “Always in some trouble or other. He’s been to three boarding schools and was asked to leave each of them.”

When Aunt Wilhelmina was told that Amrith was to see his cousin this morning, she frowned. “I’d be careful.
Amrith is a very sweet, gentle boy. This Niresh could be a terrible influence on him.”

The news that his cousin was truant like Suraj Wanigasekera only made Amrith more anxious.

“The question that interests me,” Aunt Wilhelmina continued, “is
why
Mervin has returned, after all these years. I have known that blackguard since he was a boy and I am sure money is somehow involved.” She narrowed her eyes. “I have put out some inquiries. Let us see what turns up.”

Soma dropped Uncle Lucky and Amrith in front of the Mount Lavinia Hotel and went to park. Amrith stood looking at the imposing whitewashed facade, with its pillars and domes. All through his typing exercises there had been a cold lump in his stomach. Uncle Lucky took Amrith’s arm and guided him towards the entrance. A guard in a solar-topee and a white coat swung open the brass-studded door and they entered into chaos.

The lobby was packed with German tourists checking out, their bags all over the floor. Deputy managers barked out orders; a dozen porters rushed back and forth from the lobby to the waiting bus in the courtyard. The Germans were loud and enormous, their faces florid, their teeth gleaming as they yelled to each other, threw back their heads and roared with laughter, harangued the
terrified staff behind the reception desk about their bills. Uncle Lucky gripped Amrith’s arm. They plunged into the Germans and wedged their way past the large bodies, avoiding tripping over the bags or being hit in the face by the tourists’ broad gestures.

To the side of the lobby was a lounge area, with chairs and settees around coffee tables. His uncle rose from one of the chairs and held up his hand to get their attention.

As they went across to him, Amrith kept his eyes lowered, even more nervous than before.

When they reached his relative, Uncle Lucky gently pushed him forward. “Amrith, this is your Uncle Mervin.”

He held out his hand and his uncle took it limply. He glanced up and saw a forced smile on his face.

They sat down.

His uncle looked around, worried. “Niresh should be here soon.”

Uncle Lucky cleared his throat. He asked Amrith’s uncle how long they were going to be here, where they planned to go, what they had seen so far. Mervin answered, prolonging his responses to prevent any pauses.

As the adults talked, Amrith began to feel strange, almost surreal, to be seated here in front of a relative of his. He gazed at his uncle, searching his face for any resemblance to his mother. There was none, and he did not know if he was glad of this or not.

The two men finally became silent, having exhausted all topics of conversation.

His uncle looked around again, frowning. He signaled to the Guest Relations Officer, who was by the reception desk. She came over to them.

“You haven’t seen my son, have you?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Fonseka, he’s in the pool.”

“In the pool?” His uncle struggled to hide his surprise. “Thank you.”

She nodded and walked away, an amused smile on her face. His cousin appeared to be notorious here.

“I … I don’t understand what he’s doing in the pool.” His uncle stood up. “I told him you all were coming today. Excuse me.”

“Amrith,” Uncle Lucky said, indicating for him to get up, “why don’t you go with your uncle and meet your cousin?”

His uncle was rather discomfited by this, but he said, “Yes, of course.”

Amrith rose shakily to his feet. His uncle led the way across the foyer and he followed, surreptitiously rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans.

They were silent as they climbed the red-carpeted stairs. Finally his uncle asked gruffly, “And what grade are you in?”

“Um … um
 … grade nine.” Amrith was about to add “Uncle,” like he would have done as a sign of respect to any older man, but the word froze in his mouth.

“So you are doing your O levels next year?”

Amrith nodded, so conscious of being unable to say “Uncle” that he felt awkward speaking at all.

“And what do you plan to study for your A levels? Arts or Sciences?”

“Um … um
 … Arts.”

His uncle glanced at him and Amrith, suddenly afraid that he might be considered rude, blurted out, “Uncle.”

The moment he said it, a mixture of emotions flitted over his uncle’s face. He looked away.

They had come out on an elevated terrace, from which there was a sweeping view of the sea below. A hem of gleaming beach curved for miles along the Colombo bay, ending at the office towers of the Fort area. It had rained this morning and there were puddles of water on the terrace, shimmering in the noonday sun. All the objects on the terrace had devoured their own shadows and their colors were stark, without any grace of shade — the brassy pink of the potted bougainvilleas, the harsh yellow of the patio umbrellas, the bloated whiteness of the plastic lounging chairs.

In the pool, a boy was swimming up and down in an uncoordinated manner, splashing lots of water about as he did the freestyle, his head shooting up to take loud gasps of air.

His uncle went to the edge of the pool. “Niresh, Niresh.” He had to repeat the name a few times more before the boy heard him.

Niresh spun around and stood up, all at the same time, the water pouring down his face, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish.

“Your cousin is here.” His uncle sounded both irritated and embarrassed.

Niresh looked at Amrith. His eyes grew wide. “Fuck!” he cried, his mouth gaping open in dismay. “What time is it?” He glanced over at the clock on the wall and then thrashed through the water to them. He pulled himself out of the pool, scattering a shower of drops like a dog. His cousin was well over six feet, with gangly heavy limbs, dark hairless skin that had a golden undertone, a wide floppy mouth that hung open now as he struggled to catch his breath.

When he was sufficiently composed, he turned to his father, his hands on his hips. “Man, what’s your problem?” he boomed. “You told me they were coming at one o’clock.”

His uncle’s face grew red with wrath. “Don’t call me man. And I did not tell you one o’clock. I said twelve o’clock.”

“The hell you did. Why would I be in the damn pool, if I knew Amrith was coming?”

Niresh used his name as if he already knew him. Amrith, who had been intimidated from the moment his cousin had cried out “fuck,” saw now that there was a theatricality to Niresh’s stance. He had his hands on his hips and his voice was raised louder than necessary. This was for Amrith’s benefit.

“But I told you twelve o’clock, Niresh,” his uncle insisted. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

“You don’t talk nonsense, man. You’re going senile.”

His uncle was enraged. Yet his son was taller and stronger than him and, as if to make this point, Niresh stood close to his father, towering over him.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” his uncle said, stepping back. “Wipe yourself off. Put on a shirt.” He stalked away with as much dignity as he could.

Niresh turned to Amrith, winked, and grinned. “What do you get when you cross a lemon with a cat?” He indicated towards the retreating figure of his father. “A sourpuss.”

Amrith gave a surprised giggle, and his cousin threw his head back and laughed at his own joke.

Niresh held out a wet hand. “It’s really great to meet you.”

Amrith offered his hand and his cousin gave it such a hearty squeeze that he winced.

Niresh took up his towel. “Sorry about the mix-up.” He grinned at him wickedly. “My fault. I got the time wrong.”

Amrith was staggered at how well his cousin had faked outrage and innocence.

Niresh rubbed his head vigorously for a few moments, flung his towel on a lounge chair, and put on a shirt. His hair, which came down to the nape of his neck and covered his ears, stood out at all angles. “Come on, let’s walk around a bit.”

Niresh led the way along the balustrade that bordered the terrace. “So,” he said, after a few moments, “did you even know I existed?”