‘He is,’ said Grace frowning, looking at her list again, harassed. ‘Alicia, is Ranjith Pieris definitely Sunil’s best man? I need to know.’
‘Yes,’ shouted Alicia from another part of the house.
‘Oh good!’ said Thornton. ‘Hey, Jacob, Anton’s coming!’
‘Good,’ said Jacob, hurrying out. He was late for work.
Having sold off a piece of her land Grace prepared to throw open their doors for a party bigger and grander than anything in living memory. Bigger than Grace’s own wedding and grander than the party thrown by her father at the birth of Jacob. Grace was orchestrating the whole event, and Aloysius… Aloysius could hardly wait for the celebrations. A huge wedding cake was being made. As rationing was still in operation this was no easy task, but in this, at least, the bridegroom was able to help. The list of ingredients was frightening.
‘Rulang, sugar, raisins,’ said Frieda importantly, ‘sultanas, currants, candied peel, cherries, ginger preserve, chow-chow preserve, pumpkin preserve, almonds, Australian butter, brandy, rose water, bee’s honey, vanilla essence, almond essence, nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, one hundred and fifty eggs.’
Even Myrtle was drawn in and for once joined forces with the cook to weigh, chop and mix the ingredients, while Sunil was consulted on the little matter of the eggs. His mother in Dondra was instructed to round up all the hens she could find. Sunil volunteered to fetch the eggs, returning with all one hundred and fifty, travelling on the overnight steam train that hugged the coconut-fringed coastline, lit by the light of the phosphorescent moon.
It was hot and airless in the train and several times during the night Sunil went out into the corridor where the breeze from the open window made it cooler. A huge moon stretched a path across the water. From where he stood it shone like crumpled cloth. Sunil stood watching the catamarans on the motionless sea and the men silhouetted on their stilts, delicate nets fanning like coral around them. It was the landscape of his birth, the place he loved and had grown up with. It was part and parcel of his childhood. Now, with this sudden momentous turn of events he was leaving it all behind to begin his married life in Colombo. Soon, very soon, he would have a wife to support. And then, he thought with wonder, then, there would be children! In the darkness his face softened at the thought. He had been an only child. He could not imagine children. His and Alicia’s. He knew his mother worried about this unexpected match to a Tamil girl. She had said nothing, but he knew what was on her mind. Sunil, however, was certain. He had given his heart, and his certainty was such that nothing would go wrong, he promised her. If the United Ethnic Party came into power, as he fervently hoped, then his political ambitions and all his wishes for unity on the island would be fulfilled at last, and the vague and reckless talk of civil war would be averted. It will be averted, thought Sunil determinedly. One day, he had promised his mother, brushing aside her anxieties, climbing aboard the train, with his parcel of eggs, they would build a house in Dondra, at the furthest tip of land by the lighthouse, overlooking the sea. So that she might live at last surrounded by her memories, so that he and Alicia, and all their children could be frequent visitors. Peering out of the carriage window, with the sea rushing past, his thoughts ran on in this way, planning, dreaming, hoping, as the Capital Express sped along the coast, hissing and hooting plaintively into the night. The ships on the horizon looked out from the darkened sea at the delicate necklace of lights on this small blessed island, as Sunil, gazing at the moon, carried one hundred and fifty eggs back for his beloved’s wedding cake.
BY LATE OCTOBER THE HEAT IN Colombo had become impossible. There had been no rain for months and the garden that had thrived under Grace’s care began to wilt. The air was thick and clammy and humid but still there was no sign of any rain. Every day the sky appeared a cloudless, gemstone blue, joined seamlessly to the sea. One morning, when the preparations for the wedding were fully under way, Grace decided to leave early for Colombo. These days she was always shopping in Colombo. There was Alicia’s entire trousseau to buy; there were clothes for the other children. And there were her own saris, too.
‘Start lunch without me,’ she told Frieda, as she waited for the taxi.
‘I won’t be in either, darl,’ Aloysius warned her.
He had joined a new club where he could play poker undisturbed. Grace nodded. She had seen to it that Aloysius had only a limited amount of money each month and she was happy for him to spend it as he pleased. Once this allowance was gone, she told him, firmly, there would be nothing more until the next month. Sitting in her taxi, driving across the heat-soaked city, she dismissed him from her mind. It was Vijay who filled her thoughts. She was on her way to visit him. It had become increasingly difficult for Grace to escape, harder to find suitable excuses to leave the house. But although she was aware of an increased risk, she saw Vijay as often as she dared, seldom leaving it longer than a week. After two months of unemployment Vijay had finally got a new job as a cook in a restaurant. It meant he worked late and was only free during the mornings and although in some ways this made things easier for Grace, she missed seeing him in the evenings.
‘I’ve been longing to see you,’ she cried breathlessly, coming in quietly, noticing how cool his tiny room was. Noticing the white sheet on his makeshift bed and the spray of jasmine in water on the table. She loved this room with its pristine cleanliness and its sparse austerity. Vijay was looking at her with a tender expression that made her heart turn over.
‘I have all morning,’ she said, sounding like a young girl, feeling the luxury of her words. They had no need to rush.
Afterwards, lying side by side, she saw there were hours left. Vijay lay with one arm around her staring at a patch of light flickering on the ceiling. Grace could see fragments of them both reflected in the mirror that stood beside the door. A leg entwined with a foot, indistinguishable from a smooth hip. Joined as one. Skin to skin. Turning her face towards his, she pulled him gently away from his private reverie, her eyes dark and very beautiful so that, unable to resist her, unable to remain melancholy in the face of her certainty, he buried his face in her. And began to kiss her, slowly and methodically, inch by inch, with an urgency he had not shown before. Outside the morning sun rose higher in the sapphire sky, shortening the shadows, increasing the heat, unnoticed by them. When finally she could speak again Grace told him about a party she had been invited to. She liked to tell him about her days and what the family did. She wanted him to know everything about her life.
‘It’s being held in the old Governor’s House,’ she said. ‘Next Saturday.’
They washed each other in water Vijay brought up from the well. The water smelt of damp moss. Vijay began preparing a little lunch. He would have to go to work soon.
‘You know the place?’ Grace said, pinning up her hair. She leaned over and he fed her some rice. Then he kissed her. ‘It overlooks Mount Lavinia Bay. You can see this part of town from their garden. I’ll stand on the veranda and think of you,’ she said tenderly.
‘You’re going there?’ Vijay asked her in alarm. ‘On the night before the eclipse?’
‘What difference does the eclipse make?’ Grace asked him, laughing. She was aware that for Vijay, as for most other Sri Lankans, the eclipse brought insurmountable fears with it. Superstition threaded darkly across the lives of the Buddhists and the Hindus. But Grace had grown up untouched by all these complicated rituals and she found it hard to take him seriously on this subject.
There had not been a total eclipse for eighty-eight years. The island was feverish with excitement. It prepared itself for the event in different ways. The British (those who remained) brought out their telescopes and their encyclopedias. They were interested in the life cycle of the universe. The Roman Catholics ignored all talk of it. The Buddhists, ruled as they were by the light of the moon, were understandably nervous. Unable to move away from the cycle of their own karma, they, like the Hindus, were trapped in darkness, hoping the vibrations