Brixton Beach Page 13

‘Well, don’t forget about us,’ Mrs Pereira said, her head rocking from side to side. ‘Anay! Remember you’re still a Singhalese, child!’

  The women stood on the pavement under the plantain tree, holding up their umbrellas, waving until the rickshaw turned the corner and Havelock Road was no more.

  ‘Thank God that’s over!’ Sita said in English, sitting back in the comforting darkness. ‘Two-faced bitches! Here, give me that juggery. We’ll give it to a beggar. I don’t want to eat anything that comes from that filthy house.’

  Alice snuggled into the mysterious space within the rickshaw. Their seat smelled of incense and other hot rainy-day smells. The downpour began again in earnest, beating a tattoo on the canvas roof as the rickshaw man ran barefooted across the puddles. Through the slits in the flaps, they saw glimpses of roadside life speeding by. Piles of pink and yellow flowers wrapped in shiny tin-foil shrines flashed past in a dream while mango skins and cow-dung swam in the dirty water that over-flowed the sides of the roads. Sita remained silent all the way to the railway station. May’s homecoming sari was neatly wrapped in her suitcase, along with the silk for the jacket Kamala would make when they reached the Sea House.

  The sea had been disturbed by a storm last night and now there were giant waves, high and foamy. Once on the train, Alice began counting aloud until Sita told her to stop.

  ‘Dada is on this sea, Alice,’ she said. ‘I hope he isn’t being seasick.’

  Silenced, Alice belatedly remembered her father. It was strange to think of him on this very same sea. She felt neither sad nor glad, but she knew she had to be very careful with her mother this morning. Yesterday, returning from the jetty, Sita had not been able to stop crying. Bee had tried to persuade them to come back to the Sea House with him that night, but Sita had been adamant; they would spend one last night in the annexe and leave in the morning by train. In the end, Bee, understanding that Sita needed a night alone, had piled all their belongings into the car and driven reluctantly away. When Alice had woken in the night wanting a drink she had found the house unusually quiet. Already her parents’ quarrels were a thing of the past. She wondered if her mother was lonely without them.

  The train was slowing down. A man on a bicycle sped along the road that ran between the railway line and the beach. Alice could see his face rigid with concentration as he raced the train. His face seemed familiar. They were approaching the level crossing. The barrier was coming down. Alice leaned out of the window and saw a white van speeding behind the bicycle. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.

  ‘Don’t put your head out,’ Sita said automatically.

  Sita was staring straight ahead. The last time I did this journey I still had the baby, she thought, dully.

  The strip of beach that ran along beside the track was completely deserted. The rain had stopped and left behind a curious, ethereal light. It hung over the horizon with mute softness. As the train clanked and creaked to a standstill, in the silence that followed, the roar of the waves was suddenly very loud and close by. Crisp sea-smells filled the carriage and they heard voices, faintly at first but then becoming more insistent. The train lurched slightly and went no further. Alice, ignoring her mother, craned her neck out of the window. Other people had begun to look out too. There were voices were coming from some point beyond their sightline. An argument was taking place. The ticket collector appeared on the track, gesticulating furiously. Then with a sharp squeak of the brakes the train began to move backwards before it stopped again. Everyone in the carriage groaned and looked at their watches. What was the delay?

  ‘I have an appointment in an hour,’ the man opposite them said to no one in particular. He spoke in Singhalese. He wore a smart tropical suit and kept brushing imaginary dust off it. ‘Now I’ll be late.’

  An elderly Tamil woman shuffled into the compartment and sat down. She produced a dirty plantain leaf tied up in a parcel which she proceeded to undo. The parcel was full of rice and the old woman began eating with her fingers, licking them clean after each mouthful. Alice stared at her with interest. The woman cleared her throat of phlegm and belched so loudly that Alice giggled, but Sita turned away in distaste and nudged her to do likewise. Then a few people began complaining loudly about the delay. The man opposite stood up impatiently and climbed down from the train. Alice saw him walking on the gravel towards the ticket collector. The guard joined them and very soon there was a whole group clustered together out on the track.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ asked one of the passengers impatiently.

  The old woman finished her rice and tucked her plantain leaf between the sides of the seats. Some uneaten rice fell to the floor. She stared at it fixedly, then she licked her lips and wiped her nose on the corner of her sari. Everyone in the carriage looked away politely.

  ‘Look, Mama,’ Alice said excitedly. ‘Police!’

  Two police cars had driven up and stopped beside the level crossing, their lights revolving pointlessly. The group around the ticket collector and the guard had grown by now and there was a lot of excited talk.

  ‘What the hell is happening, men?’

  The suited man returned to his seat.

  ‘Body on the line,’ he said shortly, mopping his brow.

  It was getting hot. The carriage gave a collective, weary sigh and resigned itself for the inevitable delay.

  ‘What the devil, men! There’s a body on the line every day. Why can’t they find a more convenient place to do away with themselves? Stop inconveniencing others!’

  ‘Some Tamil, I expect,’ the man in the suit said, opening the window a little more. Ambulance on its way. Won’t be long now before we move. The guard said they’d make up time.’

  ‘Don’t believe a word these guards say. They’re all liars.’

  The suited man opened his newspaper, ignoring everyone. Almost instantly they heard the sound of the ambulance siren and moments later it appeared in view.

  ‘Sit down, Alice,’ Sita said in a low voice. And don’t stare.’

  Most of the passengers had by now moved to a window facing the sea. The Tamil woman belched again and stood up.

  ‘They kill Tamils,’ she said loudly in hesitant Singhalese. Everyone ignored her; Sita moved closer to Alice.

  ‘Have you packed your history book?’ she asked.

  Alice nodded.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she whispered back in English.

  Sita frowned warningly. The suited man was watching them slyly over the top of his newspaper. At last the train appeared to be disengaging itself. It moved backwards a fraction. Then it began to edge slowly, inch by inch, along the line. Alice saw the ambulancemen at either end of a stretcher. A white sheet was draped over it. The train was moving more smoothly now. It passed the giant cacti that grew all along this stretch of coast. It passed a few coconut trees, bent towards the ground. The passengers crowding around the window moved away and suddenly they had a complete view of the sea and the road; clear of the rain, very empty, with the sand, wide and smooth. And as the train gathered speed, moving swiftly onwards, she caught sight of a soldier, his gun cocked and ready, standing beside the mangled wheels of a bicycle. He looked very young, no more than a boy. An army jeep had pulled up beside the police car as the policeman in his white uniform raised his arm and waved them on. The train rattled along and at the same instant Alice saw, with a thrill, in the soft, beautiful light beyond them, the gentle curve of the line that was taking them to the white houses rising steeply above Mount Lavinia Bay.

  Bee was waiting at the station. Because it was Saturday the ticket office was closed and the station was quiet. Such had been the force of the rain that it had swept on to the platform, flooding it completely. The seats in the waiting room, the cinema posters on the platform wall and the plant pots with their mother-in-law’s tongues swam in water. A particularly large squall had even knocked against the overhead light and broken the bulb. The station sweeper was clearing it up. The station master, who had bee
n on the telephone moments earlier, came out when he saw Bee.

  ‘There’s been a delay further up the line,’ he told those waiting on the platform. ‘I’ve been talking to the guard. They’ll be about ten minutes late.’

  ‘What happened, Gihan?’ Bee asked, going towards him.

  He took his pipe out of his pocket and lit it with some difficulty.

  ‘Not sure,’ Gihan said loudly, shrugging.

  Then, because it was Bee, he dropped his defensive air and lowered his voice.

  ‘I believe the army got on the train at Weltham Point. Who knows why!’

  He raised his hands and let them fall to show his helplessness in the matter.

  ‘Did you hear about the incident yesterday at Morotowa?’

  Bee shook his head and looked at the station master sharply. I don’t listen to gossip, his look said. He had known Gihan Ranasingha since they had both been boys. In those days Gihan had been the only child in the school on a scholarship and while the other boys in the school had tended to look down on him, Bee had made a point of becoming his friend. Years later, after they had grown up and Bee had returned to Mount Lavinia with his new bride to take up the post of headmaster, they had met again. By then Gihan Ranasingha was married with four children of his own.

  ‘How are you?’ Gihan asked now. He was looking at his feet and spoke casually. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while. How’s Kamala? I heard the wedding was cancelled.’

  ‘Not cancelled,’ Bee said shortly. ‘We’ve just put it back a bit, to give Sita a chance to recover.’

  Gihan nodded.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I understand. It must be an auspicious time, of course.’

  ‘No,’ Bee frowned. ‘I told you, we’ve simply postponed it until Sita is stronger. A matter of a few weeks.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Gihan said soothingly, smiling at his old friend.

  The whole town knew about May’s wedding and that it was being delayed. Once again, because of Sita.

  Bee continued puffing on his pipe in silence. He did not return the smile. For some time a certain coolness had existed between the two of them. It was not obvious to anyone else. They still spoke whenever they met, Gihan still asked after Kamala and May. Outwardly, nothing had changed since they had been boys playing cricket together against the English. But Gihan never mentioned Sita, and Bee had lost the easy trustful air he once had. These days he never accepted, as he once would have, the invitations to share a glass of arrack while waiting for a train that was delayed.

  Gihan looked thoughtful.

  ‘How long is the little one with you? She won’t be leaving for some time, I hope?’

  He had only a vague idea of Alice’s age.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh good, good,’ Gihan nodded, not really listening, rubbing his hands together.

  All this rain had made him feel cold. Who would want to go to the UK? he thought, shuddering.

  ‘Bring them over if she gets bored,’ he said, unable to stop himself. ‘Indira would like to see the child.’

  Indira was his wife.

  ‘Come for lunch, men,’ he hesitated. ‘With your daughter, too, if she likes.’

  He couldn’t bring himself to say Sita’s name, but he couldn’t stop his affection for Bee, either.

  ‘Indira was saying only the other day she hadn’t seen anything of you for ages, huh.’

  Bee was too tall for Gihan to reach his shoulder, so he patted his arm instead. Bee smiled faintly. They both knew he would not take the offer up, but it didn’t stop Gihan from issuing invitations as easily as tickets or Bee from appearing to accept. Neither of them, thought Bee sadly, were able to put a halt to this futile ritual.

  When Sita had eloped and the news first spread across the community, Gihan had not been able to keep quiet.

  ‘How could this have happened to the poor man!’ he had fumed the day he heard. And after that he had made the mistake of telling Bee what he thought.

  ‘What a disgrace!’ he had said before he could stop himself. ‘Such a terrible thing to do. And she’s the eldest too!’

  At the time, Gihan had advised Bee to disinherit the girl.

  ‘She’s made her bed, men,’ he had shouted, his heart going out to Bee, thinking it would be better if the community knew what his friend’s feelings really were. ‘Better all round,’ he had advised. ‘You should make a stand. For your own sake, men. And for Kamala and the other girl’

  Bee had stared at him disbelievingly.

  ‘You have the younger one to think of,’ Gihan had said, oblivious to the signs. ‘She’ll never find a husband otherwise.’

  Subsequently, having learnt the cost of his tactlessness, Gihan kept silent, but by then the damage had been done. With time, Bee appeared to weather the storm. But he changed, became more withdrawn, less visible, and, after that first moment, although he always listened politely, he took no notice of anything Gihan said. Very soon the whole town saw Bee walking openly on the beach with the girl and her Tamil husband. Gihan had shaken his head at the foolishness of it, but then the child had been born. For a while it seemed everyone would forget Sita’s disgrace. Things might have recovered had Sita not lost the second child.

  ‘Anay, she’s bad news,’ Indira told Gihan, fuelling her husband’s dislike. ‘You shouldn’t see her face first thing in the morning. It will only bring bad luck!’

  Gihan didn’t know what to believe.

  ‘You know what people are saying, don’t you?’ Indira insisted. ‘That Tamil grandmother must have put a spell on the baby. She didn’t want another Singhalese bastard, I suppose.’

  It wasn’t as far-fetched as all that. Everyone knew the Tamils were unnatural, crazy people, Indira told her husband, shaking her head knowingly. Gihan, listening with a slight feeling of revulsion, agreed, but then he had seen Bee in the distance walking on the beach, and the look of him, the loneliness that exuded from him, the slowness of his pace, as opposed to his usual brisk step, had filled Gihan’s heart with pity. How much could the poor man bear? So Gihan had gone out on to the track and shouted to Bee, but the wind had whipped away his voice and the waves had drowned his words. After that, every time he saw Bee waiting for the four o’clock Colombo express and the arrival of his granddaughter, Gihan made a point of talking to him.

  Standing on the platform, waiting for the delayed train, Bee inclined his head by way of thanks for yet another useless invitation.

  ‘We’ll have to see what the women are planning,’ he said lightly.

  ‘Of course, of course. A wedding is women’s business, after all!’ Gihan said, wagging his head understandingly.

  A cream butterfly flew out through the open window of one of the compartments as though it had been waiting to alight from the train. It sailed between the wrought-iron fretwork in the roof and out through the barrier. Five Singhalese solders stepped out of the guard’s carriage and walked briskly towards Gihan Ranasingha. They were followed by a small flock of people. Bee saw Sita walking slowly along the platform and hurried towards her. Her suitcase was feather light but she carried it as though it were a lead weight. Alice leapt out from behind her and the afternoon shifted focus, becoming brighter and full of purpose. The sun came out simultaneously as they went towards the car. Gihan had disappeared into his office with the soldiers and closed the door.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Bee asked, inclining his head towards the train as it slid out of the station. ‘Gihan’s just been giving me the party line.’

  They told him about the accident and the mangled remains of the bicycle.

  ‘That was no accident,’ Bee said quietly, shepherding them out to the car. ‘But I’m glad you’re here, at last.’

  The air was fresh off the sea as the car wound its way up the hill towards the house. Bougainvillea flashed past them again, hibiscus flowers lined walls and arches as Sita leaned back in her seat and half closed her eyes. There was an unusual brilliance today that she remembered from he
r youth. A feeling of sorrow cut the light as though it were butter. She had forgotten how peaceful it was here, how much she loved the place and how soon she would be leaving it behind. Alice’s voice, talking non-stop to her grandfather, came to Sita from a long, bright distance. She heard the waves as they rolled and fell. This stretch of the journey was so much a part of her that she had no need to fully open her eyes. She knew every inch of the road by heart and had lost count of all the times her father had picked her up from the station. Coming back from boarding school in Colombo for the holidays, returning from a visit to her friend Girlie’s house in Cinnamon Gardens. Successful Girlie, making the proverbial good marriage to a member of the newly formed cabinet, and at whose society wedding Sita had stood as bridesmaid, smiling for the photographer. Looking, by all accounts, prettier than the bride. Yes! thought Sita, life held many possibilities once. The car was slowing down. Alice had fallen silent and, opening her eyes, Sita saw Bee bending over her with grave tenderness. She had not seen such a look on him for a long time. How grey he is, she thought fleetingly, her heart reaching out to touch a long-forgotten emotion. Smiling very slightly, she got out of the car.

  ‘Sorry, I must have dozed off,’ she murmured.

  ‘They’ve just announced a curfew on the radio,’ Kamala greeted them. ‘There’s been an incident at Morotowa.’

  ‘We saw it,’ Sita nodded.

  Her mother too, now she was so near to leaving her forever, came into a clearer focus. She was tired, more tired than she could say, but how good it was to come home.

  ‘What sort of incident?’

  ‘Must be the man on the bicycle,’ Alice told them calmly. ‘I saw him racing the train. He looked scared.’

  They turned to look at her.

  ‘You saw the man?’ Sita said. ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘I didn’t know they were going to kill him, did I?’ Alice said, glad to be noticed. ‘I thought he would escape. He was a Tamil.’

  No one spoke.

  ‘How d’you know?’ demanded Sita sharply.

  ‘Ssh! Ssh! Don’t shout at the child,’ Kamala said.