she looked up, he appeared to be laughing, with all but his eyes.
‘It won’t be forever. When this trouble stops, you’ll come back, you know that! Just you wait and see. I shall be right here, waiting for you. Now come, Putha, I want to show you what I’ve been saving for you.’
Are we going to England?’
Bee nodded. His lips were pressed firmly together. They crossed to the back of the house where he had spent his life battling with the wind and the monsoons to create his garden. Most of the plants he grew were in containers he had stolen from the kitchen, much to the annoyance of the cook, who was always complaining to Kamala. Bee never took any notice. Going over to the old cupboard that lived outside his studio beside the murunga tree, he searched inside and handed Alice a small box with drawers attached. When she opened it each compartment held all the seeds he had collected from his garden.
‘See, child, there’s a whole garden here, waiting. I’ve been saving all of them for you. See, here’s a forest sleeping in your hand!’
It was obvious he had been preparing for this for some time, that in fact he had always guessed they would leave one day.
‘So you can take my garden with you wherever you go,’ he told her firmly. ‘And you must grow the plants just as I’ve shown you. Hmm?’
She nodded, silenced. The shadows lying in wait on the edge of her bright looking-glass world jostled with each other, inching a little closer. Certainty was seeping into her like sea water from a hole dug on the beach. Alice stared dumbly. A confusion of thoughts swam in her head. The view of the sea, the yellow-spotted gecko now darting across a branch of the murunga tree, and her grandfather, all the well-loved sights of the slowly baking afternoon became as insubstantial as a mirage. Again her heart flexed with sadness and a faint sense of premonition brushed against her. The rush of the sea was faint as though from a shell held to her ear. Blinking, she observed her grandfather in the mottled shade of the tree.
And there’s something else I want to tell you,’ he was saying, ignoring the look on her face, frowning at her. ‘Having certain thoughts about things won’t make them happen. We all have those sorts of thoughts. Sometimes we have to think them in order to see what we feel, d’you understand?’
Alice nodded as the vomity thoughts moved up her throat. And then subsided back into her stomach. She felt like the blocked gully at the back of the garden. Sometimes the servant poked it with a stick and the dirty water went away. But a blocked gully, the servant had said, was always a blocked gully. You never knew when it might overflow. Her grandfather was looking at her closely, so she carefully put her don’t-care face on. Bee wasn’t easily fooled. She needed to be careful.
‘We all have thoughts, Alice,’ he repeated softly. ‘Understand?’
Again she nodded. Luckily her grandfather had turned and was looking far out to sea again.
‘She should have been allowed to see the baby,’ he murmured. ‘What you don’t see stays in your mind longer. It haunts you. D’you understand?’
Alice waited. It occurred to her that this was another way in which she was changing. Because I’m nine, she decided, I don’t get impatient any more. I’ve learned to wait. She knew that her dark secret about the baby was inside the gully. Out of sight for the moment, at least.
‘This will always be here,’ Bee said, pointing to the view and the garden. ‘Waiting for you to return.’
He spoke fiercely.
‘You know that I will never, never leave you.’
Then his face cleared.
‘I’ll take you for the cycle ride later, after I do a bit of work,’ he said in a different voice. ‘And you can look for Janake.’
But later things got worse. Three weeks was not long in the cycle of recovery. Sita was in a terrible state. Her breasts still leaked milk and she had been warned that the tear in her uterus would take months to heal. Walking was painful because of the stitches and despite constant sedation she slept only fitfully. In the end they moved her bed into her sister’s bedroom so May could talk to her whenever she woke. What frightened Alice the most was that her mother could stay silent for only so long before she began her story again. The family doctor came to call. He had been a friend of the Fonsekas for as long as they could remember. He had delivered both Sita and May. Now he came to examine Sita, to check her wound was healing and to change the dressing. He came just when the four o’clock flowers were closing. Alice tried filling her head with the sound of the sea in order to blot out her mother’s cries. After the doctor had left, Bee called Alice and she wheeled her bicycle over the level crossing towards the beach. They walked without speaking, pausing only at the kade for Bee to buy some tobacco. When she had been younger, Alice used to love to stand at the level crossing watching the express as it roared towards Colombo. Tonight they were late and the train had already gone and the beach when they reached it was empty, scribbled all over with small sand worms. Two enormous gulls walked sedately in front of them, managing to keep a fraction of an inch away from the waterline.
‘I’m going to sit on this rock,’ Bee told her, ‘and draw the view and smoke my pipe. Why don’t you see if Janake is around by the huts?’
He had not told Alice, but he had begun to draw her. The drawings were to be his talisman against the coming departure. The sun had not set and the light had a curious candescence. It hung over the sea uncannily as Alice rode in a wobbling line towards the huts. Janake, when he wasn’t out with the fishermen, helped his stepfather to collect coconuts. Today, to her delight, he was still on the beach chopping firewood. She stood watching him for a moment. He was as much a part of this place as she was, so constantly present in her life that she had hardly noticed him until now. The savoury smell of cooking drifted from one of the fishermen’s huts making her mouth water. Janake, stripped to the waist, raised his arm high in the air before bringing it down on to the log. The way the axe struck the wood looked easy, but Janake was sweating. There was a slowly growing pile of wood nearby. Turning, he saw Alice and addressed her in Singhalese.
‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘Why does the tree smell of perfume?’ she asked.
‘It’s a special tree,’ Janake said. ‘It can cure many things.’
He smiled a flash of very white teeth. Then he told Alice the townsmen had finally given his mother permission to chop down the tree. They had needed the permission because of the tree’s medicinal properties. Early this morning the tree men had come and taken the tree down and now his mother wanted him to saw these parts up. Some for firewood and a piece to make a table.
‘I’ve been doing this all day,’ he said. And waiting for you. How is your amma?’
Alice picked up a small chip and smelled it.
‘That’s a medicinal smell,’ Janake told her. ‘The herbal doctors will pound it up and make it into a poultice.’
‘Shall I take some for my mother?’
‘If you like. Ask the cook to grind it for her. Is she bad?’
Alice nodded. She was reluctant to tell Janake how bad her mother was, or that she didn’t want to look at her face. He was a boy who would stop a bus on the road if there were a tortoise crossing. How could she tell him she had caused a death? She frowned. Janake was absorbed
