Noontide Toll_Stories by Romesh Gunesekera

Author:Romesh Gunesekera [Gunesekera, Romesh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620970201
Amazon: 1620970201
Publisher: The New Press
Published: 2014-09-16T00:00:00+00:00

SOUTH

Ramparts

The lighthouse is always a surprise. So much smaller than you would expect. A sturdy enough how-do-you-do but very much in keeping with the rest of Galle Fort: neat, tidy and erected on a Lilliput scale. Not overbearing like some of the grand edifices that teeter on this risky coast, vast emblems of human folly on the last piece of land in the ocean. From here, there is nothing but water for thousands of miles until the ice of the Antarctic. And yet, this naughty beacon of the south seemed not much more than a paper lantern on a coconut tree.

I had the night off. My three Russians were safely deposited for the evening at a spanking new spa in a fancy hotel. No doubt being waxed and thwacked and mud-slapped even as the muezzin calls from his tower two blocks away. My trips to Galle are the easiest, especially now with the new highway that nobody knows how to use. I love it. Where else in this country can you stay at sixty for more than two minutes? On the southern expressway, I can do it for half an hour. Not even a cat crosses the road. It must be like the autobahn that Mrs Klein from GTZ talked about. No doubt those loose boys in their Ferraris will tear it up soon enough, but I haven’t had anyone overtake me so far. In fact, I haven’t seen anyone else on it at all except for Simon puttering in his old crock. But once in Galle Fort, when I have parked the van for the night and am taking my stroll down to the ramparts, I feel more like a sailor come home than a driver between runs.

I like to walk from the lighthouse all the way to the very end where the army barracks stand, screened by temple trees with their badly stained blossom. At the end of the day, when the sun is low and melty, the light seeps out in a gold wash and a lovely soft breeze comes in from the sea. Walking along the ramparts, whether it is on the grass bund or the stone walkway, you can leave all the entanglements of daily life behind and slip into a world of your own. Marvel at the luck of being alive in a place so soothing to the soul.

This evening was one of those auspicious ones for young love. Beyond the mosque and the Muslim College, a stretch of stone and sea invites you to go down to a series of small sandy curves that, like inverted oases, are held between the swirling water and the bays of the old wall. In three consecutive coves, young twirling couples were having their wedding photos taken, fastening their hopes to a confetti of red and gold saris, white suits, black suits, muslin dresses, hats and umbrellas and flowers. Each couple reaching for intimacy but pinched and pulled and clucked and clicked by a control-mad photo-zealot. I

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