Swimming in the Monsoon Sea (30 page)

“Um
 … let me think about it, Aunty.”

“Well, you decide and let me know, dear.” She gave him a worried glance.

“Um
 … Aunty?”

“Yes, dear.”

“I … I’ve been thinking about something.” He looked down at his hands. “You know, Ammi always loved roses. She … she so enjoyed growing them on the estate. So I was thinking that I would like to plant some roses around her grave.”

“Amrith,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders, “you
do
remember.”

He held her gaze for a long moment and then nodded. “I never forgot, Aunty.”

Outside, they could hear the gardener banging away at something, Jane-Nona calling for Meenukshi to help her.

“Well, Amrith,” Aunty Bundle said, taking her hands off his shoulders. She looked at him with a little smile, her head to one side. “You do realize that roses need a lot of tending in our tropical climate.”

“Yes, Aunty,” he said, smiling back at her, “I do.”

“Well, that’s settled then. Roses it will be.” Aunty Bundle rubbed her hands together, her eyes sparkling. “I know just the place to get them. Aunt Wilhelmina’s friend Lady Rajapakse is an avid horticulturalist and has, evidently, bred a species of roses that grows well in our Colombo soil. Let’s go tomorrow and see if she will give us some cuttings.”

Uncle Lucky was calling to Aunty Bundle from the courtyard. She turned to leave and then, on impulse, came back and hugged Amrith tightly. “I’m so glad, son, so glad.” When she pulled away, there were tears running down her cheeks. She shook her head, laughing. “Child-child, me and my waterworks.”

He laughed too. She took out a handkerchief that was tucked in her sari blouse and blew her nose.

“Bundle!” Uncle Lucky called, “where are you, men?”

“I’m here, Lucky, I’m here.” She patted Amrith’s arm and bustled towards the door.

Amrith looked after Aunty Bundle and he wondered how he had ever held such resentment against her all these years.

Soon, there was a shriek of female voices in the courtyard, a crying of greetings. Two of the SNOTs had arrived early, evidently to help out. In the living room, someone had put on an Olivia Newton-John record. Amrith knew he could not stay in his room much longer. He stood in front of the mirror, tucked his shirt in, folded up the sleeves, and adjusted the shoulders. He went to his dresser, took out a handkerchief, and dabbed some aftershave on his neck. As he passed the mirror, on his way out, he glanced one last time at his reflection. He thought of his cousin and he let himself imagine that, at this very moment, Niresh was wearing his copy of the shirt, all those miles away in Canada.

There was further shrieking and calling out of greetings as more of the girls’ friends arrived. Amrith, with a small smile to himself in the mirror, went out to join the party.