he behaved as though he did not care, the woman’s look had put him off. He took the girl back to the garages after that.
Then, as Vikram approached his sixteenth birthday, he met Gerard.
Gerard was not his real name, he was really Rajah Buka, but no one knew this. He owned a gem store in the high street, and although there was an intermittent war on, he did good business with the foreigners who occasionally passed through. Gerard had seen Vikram on several occasions, loitering at the junction buying cheap alcohol. He had struck up a conversation with the boy. He appeared interested in everything Vikram had to say. How well he was doing at school, whether he had any friends. He found out that Vikram talked to no one, and so he invited Vikram to his rooms above the shop and he gave him some vadi, a special Tamil sweetmeat. Vikram was pleasantly surprised.
‘Where did you get this from?’ he asked.
Gerard laughed and gave him a Jaffna mango by way of answer. Vikram was amazed.
‘How did you get to Jaffna?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t it impossible to cross Elephant Pass because of the army blocks?’
‘Nothing is impossible,’ said Gerard meaningfully.
He paused and lit a cigarette.
‘How do you feel about being adopted by a Singhala?’ he asked casually. ‘They killed your family, I heard. And they hate the Tamils, don’t they?’
Gerard flicked ash on the floor and waited.
‘How d’you feel about that?’
Vikram said nothing. He had been told by his guardian never to mention the fact he was Tamil. So how did Gerard know? Gerard watched the boy’s face and he laughed, finding it hugely funny.
‘Don’t you want to avenge your family, then?’ he asked softly, easily.
Still Vikram said nothing. He felt as though a large cloven-hoofed animal had clambered on his back. The feeling sent a small shiver running up and down his spine. He felt as though his back might break under the strain. The palms of his hands became moist. An image of a young girl pounding spices flashed past him. Gerard smoked his cigarette and continued watching the boy with interest. There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face. When he had finished his cigarette, he went over to a desk and took out a key.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘I want to show you something. Don’t worry,’ he added, seeing Vikram’s wary look. ‘We’re on the same side.’
Gerard knew he had been right all along. He had told them many times at headquarters, the advantage of boys like Vikram were that they were halfway to being recruited already. Lupus, of course, had been sceptical. He was sceptical of everything Gerard proposed. Naturally he saw Gerard as a threat. Naturally anyone with independent thoughts worried Lupus. Which was precisely why Gerard did not want to operate from the north. There were terrorists and terrorists, Gerard knew. Not all of them were bright. Not all of them had had the kind of university education that Gerard had, or his never-ending passion and capacity for rhetoric. Not everyone had his vision, he decided regretfully. Having declared war on the Singhalese government, Lupus and his guerrilla organisation wanted a separate Tamil state. But they have no plan, thought Gerard, inclined to laugh, no strategy. Except to blow up as many people, and make as many enemies as possible in the international community. No diplomatic skills, sneered Gerard, whose own plans were far more ambitious. His plan was about unity. Of course he wanted a different government, what Tamil didn’t. But the difference was that Gerard wanted the new government to be central, not separate. And he wanted the Singhalese out! He wanted a single, powerful Tamil government for the entire island. He wanted majority rule for the minority. Actually, what he really wanted was to be Prime Minister! But first things first, thought Gerard. He was a patient man and he was prepared to wait. There was a little groundwork to be completed, a government to be destabilised. It was work that needed a certain amount of brute force. Which was where the likes of Lupus came in, Gerard believed.
Long ago, when he had been on one of his recruiting visits to Waterlily House, Gerard had noticed Vikram. The boy had been small then, traumatised, but bright. On his next visit to the orphanage he had seen Vikram’s guardian-to-be. And that was when he had laid his plan. For as he had noticed instantly, most of the spadework had already been done for Gerard on that memorable afternoon when the Palmyra toddy was on the kitchen table and the red dhal was in the clay pot. Later he heard about the day that Vikram had played hide-and-survive while the sunlight mingled with the screams of his mother and his big sister. The day the sky had boiled and the light had fallen, harsh and green and terrible, down through the rattan roof, and Vikram’s sister prepared an offering of pawpaw and king coconut washed with saffron water. On the fateful day when his sister had never made it to the temple, what had to happen, happened. So now, guessing correctly, fully understanding, Gerard earmarked Vikram for greater things. He knew he had picked a winner. Backed by Gerard, Vikram would go far.
Gerard unlocked the drawer and watched Vikram’s face.
‘Well,’ he said very gently. ‘Don’t tell me you’re scared? Don’t tell me you won’t avenge your family, given a chance?’
‘Will you teach me to use it?’ asked Vikram, startled from his usual reverie, staring at the gun.
‘Patience, patience,’ Gerard laughed, closing the drawer, amused by Vikram’s sudden interest, preferring it to the boy’s usual indifference.
‘All things come to those who wait. You must learn to clean it first.’
It was the best way to start; it would keep Vikram’s interest alive. Cleanliness was next to godliness, he told the boy, and God was the gun. Vikram liked the idea of the power of God. He liked the mantras Gerard was always reciting. For a moment he felt as though he had a purpose in life. Most of the time the empty, shut-down feeling in his head made him lethargic. But now, for the first time in ages, he felt a stirring within him. A new energy. Avenge your family, Gerard had said. Vikram looked at him and thought, Gerard likes me. The notion was oddly pleasing.
One morning soon after all this happened, having decided he had no need for school, Vikram was on his way to Gerard’s gem store when he saw the Mendis girl again. He had forgotten all about her. But she stopped and began to speak to him.
‘Don’t you go to school any more?’ she asked.
Vikram was confused. He thought she didn’t speak. And how did she know he was not at school? He stared at her.
‘I’m Jim’s sister, Nulani, remember?’ she said, clearly thinking he did not recognise her. ‘You live at Sumaner House, don’t you?’
Vikram nodded. Nulani Mendis fumbled in her satchel. She took out a small battered notebook.
‘Look,’ she said, showing him a drawing.
She was laughing. He could see her teeth, white and very even. Vikram took the book reluctantly. Then, in spite of himself, he too grinned. It was a picture of a teacher no one liked. Nulani Mendis had drawn a caricature, catching his likeness perfectly. Suddenly, Vikram felt shy. The girl was standing close to him. He could smell a faint perfume.
‘You’re good,’ he ventured at last, hesitantly.
For some reason she scared him. There was an air of determination, a certainty about her that confused him. He felt as though she might ask him for something he could not give. He saw she was still smiling at him and again he felt an urge
