‘I was out on the streets all of last week,’ he said. ‘Canvassing for the United Ethnic Party.’ Robert had gone over to the piano and was watching Alicia. Sunil lowered his voice. ‘It wasn’t too good.’ He shook his head, gesturing helplessly. ‘There’s a lot of ignorance, a lot of aggression.’
He stopped, seeing Grace’s face. He could not tell her; what he feared the most was a bloodbath.
Christopher scowled at Robert. White fool, he was thinking. Go back to where you belong. You’ve done enough damage with your empire-building. Christopher edged nearer to the door. He had hoped to visit Kamala tonight but now it didn’t look possible. Thornton’s laughter drifted towards him. ‘Oh why don’t you shut up!’ muttered Christopher, distracted. Looking around at her family, aware of certain tensions, Grace sighed. There was a guest present; she could not let Aloysius start an argument. She could see that Christopher was unhappy about something; she could hear Jasper making barking noises, he was probably thirsty. It was not the time for discussions; she would talk to Sunil later, when they were alone and she would find out what he really thought. But for now she needed to change the subject.
‘Christopher,’ she said, raising her voice, ‘could you make sure the servant has given Jasper enough water to drink? It’s very hot at the moment and he seems restless.’
She smiled at him, but Christopher continued to scowl, ignoring his mother.
‘Idiot!’ screeched Jasper suddenly, breaking a longer than usual silence. ‘Imbeciles!’
He fluttered somewhere in the darkness above them. Myrtle could hear his unclipped claws scratch, on heaven knows what antique piece of furniture. Myrtle hated the bird most of all.
‘Idiot! Bastards!’
‘Jasper!’ said Grace sharply. ‘That’s enough. Don’t be so rude.’ She smiled at Robert, a smile as sweet as Alicia’s, adding somewhat unnecessarily, ‘Jasper is our mynah bird, Robert. Unfortunately he has no manners. We’re really not sure what to do about it, but we do think he’s a bit of an oracle!’
Everyone laughed except Myrtle and Aloysius who looked meaningfully at his wife. Who knows what Jasper might say at the wedding? his look warned. But Robert, like many before him, was entranced. A talking bird, he thought. How exotic! The household, the whole family, everything about the de Silvas, was delightfully eccentric. Why had he ever thought this country boring? England suddenly seemed a very long way away.
On the day of the Prime Minister’s party for the High Commissioner Grace brought Vijay a mango freshly picked from a tree in Jaffna. It had been given to her by a servant. No other mango tasted as sweet as those from the north, Vijay told her. But he did not look happy. Carefully he cut into it with his penknife, the juice running down his arm, and all the fragrance of his childhood, all the yearnings of his youth, gathered and fell to the floor. This morning, during their lovemaking, he had hardly looked at her. Sensing some desperation, she tried questioning him afterwards, but he avoided her eye.
‘What is it, Vijay?’ she asked, frightened suddenly. ‘Has something happened?’ She knew he did not want her to go to the party tonight and meet the Prime Minister. He hated this figurehead in a puppet government. She wondered if this was the problem.
‘I had a letter this morning,’ Vijay said slowly. And then, in a rush of unaccustomed bitterness, he told her about his niece, his brother’s daughter. He had often talked about the girl. ‘You know she was five last month.’
Grace nodded. Vijay looked terrible.
‘She became ill with diphtheria a few weeks ago. My brother was very worried. He took his bullock cart into the town where the doctor lived. He walked in the burning heat, the road was covered in red dust. My brother took two pots of curd, hoping to find a doctor he could afford. One that would treat a Tamil child.’ He stopped talking.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Grace.
Vijay was staring at the floor. ‘They sent me the news, today,’ he said barely audibly. ‘They could not find such a doctor. Now they want me to make a puja for her.’
The child had died. His brother was inconsolable.
‘One more Tamil death is not important,’ he said quietly.
‘Oh my God! What kind of people have we become? Where will it end?’
‘There is something wrong with a country that will not unite. There is something wrong with a nation that hates its own people.’
Grace could see that things were breaking inside him, and would not be easily mended. The night before there had been a police attack on a crowd of Tamil office workers and tonight there was a large demonstration taking place near Galle Face. Vijay would go to it, Grace was certain. What could she do? He was stubborn and angry, he had been hurt for so long, Grace could not stop him. She stayed as late as she dared. Then she left to get ready for the party.
Towards six o’clock, in the sudden darkness that descended, Vijay went out into the city. The talk was that there would be another march followed by anti-government speeches. He felt a desperate need to be part of it. Just now the darkness lent a little substance to the city. There was no twilight in this part of the tropics. The heat had brought out the local families. Small children played on the beach, lovers strolled, young men loitered, buying sweep tickets, hoping to win the money to purchase a dream. All along the roadside were small shanty kadés glowing with green and white lights, selling everything from cheap plastic toys and brooches and bangles, to multicoloured drinks and string hoppers, hot sambals and sweetmeats. The betel seller rolled his leaves, red and white goo dribbling from his toothless mouth. He waved at Vijay. But Vijay did not stop to talk tonight. His niece’s death had been in his thoughts all day. He was certain: two more deaths would follow. He walked on through the meat market, with its stench of rancid fat and congealed blood. The heat of the day had penetrated even here, even into this subterranean part. There were flies on every surface, on the vaulted ceilings, clinging to the carcasses, their blue wings hanging like drops of moisture. Vijay walked on seeing none of this, his feet picking their way swiftly and fastidiously through the filth. Unseeing, towards the clock tower, a lone figure in a white sarong, trembling into the distance, silhouetted against the darkened sky.
At some point during the evening, out of a sense of nostalgia and probably because he was bored, Aloysius looked around for his wife.
‘This is entirely your mother’s fault,’ he told Frieda grumpily. ‘Why do we have to be here, wearing all this finery, suffering this silly party?’
Frieda was watching Robert. She too wished they were at home. Percussion instruments jarred in her head. One look at Alicia and I no longer exist. No one cares, he has forgotten about me! On and on went Frieda’s thoughts, round and round. She felt dizzy. Aloysius, thinking his younger daughter seemed a little glum this evening, helped himself to his third whisky and wandered off. Grace was standing on a balcony overhanging the private beach. She could see the top of Mount Lavinia Hill, with its whitewashed houses and its funfair. Someone on the beach below was flying a box kite and its tail flickered lazily in the wind. As always, whenever she was alone, Grace’s thoughts strayed back to Vijay. She had told him she would look across the bay and think of him. Tonight the view was hazy and the horizon had become blurred by a storm far out at sea. In the distance, forked lightning speared the water. The sky was heavy and full of menace. Soon the storm would reach the shore.
‘I see Thornton has found all the good-looking women again,’ Aloysius greeted her peevishly, breaking into her thoughts.
Grace laughed lightly and went inside to see for herself.
It was quite true; Thornton was having a wonderful time. He saw no reason to be as morose as his elder brother Jacob, or bad-tempered like his younger