The Chef by Martin Suter

Author:Martin Suter [Suter, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9780857892928
Publisher: Atlantic Books Ltd

25

Maravan was kneeling before his domestic shrine. His forehead touched the floor. He was praying to Lakshmi for Ulagu.

Today he had received the news that Ulagu had disappeared. In the morning he had been with his brothers and sisters; in the evening he was nowhere to be seen.

Whenever a fourteen-year-old boy disappeared in the north of Sri Lanka, the first worry was that he had died, the second that he had become a soldier, voluntarily or involuntarily joining the Tamil Tigers or the Karuna rebels fighting with the Sri Lankan army.

Maravan prayed this was not the case – that at this very moment, while he was praying for Ulagu, the boy was already back safe and sound with his family.

He could hear the ringtone of his mobile in the kitchen. He ignored it, finished his prayer, and started to sing his mantra in a restrained voice.

Afterwards, he straightened up, folded his hands across his chest, bowed and touched his forehead. He stood and went into the kitchen, back to preparing the dinner in two days’ time that he had interrupted to pray.

Four iron pots were sitting on the cold stove, each with a different-coloured curry: a lamb curry with yoghurt, light brown; a fish curry with coconut milk, yellow; a vegetable curry, green; and a Goan lobster curry, orange.

He wanted to make four jellies from these and pair each one with its main ingredient: a slice of lamb fillet cooked pink on the light brown one; a steamed halibut cheek on the yellow one; okra stuffed with lentils for the green one; and a lobster rosette for the orange one.

He relit the flames under the pans and waited, absentmindedly, until the bubbles started rising again.

He noticed the mobile phone on the work unit. One missed call, it said, and a text message.

Stop. Dinner cancelled. A

Maravan went to the stove and turned off the gas. He did not care.

There was still no trace of Ulagu three days after his disappearance.

On the fourth day the Tigers arrived.

Maravan was experimenting in his kitchen with different jellification dosages when the bell rang. Two of his compatriots were standing at the door. He knew one of them: Thevaram, the LTTE man who had arranged Maravan’s modhakam job at the temple and pocketed 1,000 francs for the favour.

The other man was holding a briefcase. Thevaram introduced him as Rathinam.

‘May we come in?’

Maravan reluctantly let them in.

Thevaram glanced into the kitchen.

‘Well equipped. Business seems to be doing all right.’

‘What can I do for you?’ Maravan asked.

‘They say you’ve set up a catering service.’

Rathinam remained silent, just staring at Maravan.

‘I cook for people sometimes,’ said Maravan. ‘Cooking’s my profession.’

‘And successfully, too. You sent more than 6,000 francs back home in the last few weeks. Congratulations!’

It came as no surprise to Maravan that the Batticaloa Bazaar had passed the details on to these people.

‘My grandmother is very ill,’ was all he said in reply.

‘And you paid back all your loan to Ori. Congratulations again!’

Ori, too, thought Maravan. He waited.

‘Yesterday was Maaveerar,’ Thevaram continued, ‘Heroes’ Day.

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