When Memory Dies by A. Sivanandan

Author:A. Sivanandan [A. Sivanandan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781908129130
Publisher: Arcadia Books Limited
Published: 2011-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

8

‘WHY EVERYTHING HAPPENS all at once, I do not know,’ I ended‚ recounting for Lali my eventful week in Colombo. It was late evening and we were seated on the steps of the back porch, watching Vijay play with a stray kitten.

‘That is how it looks at the time,’ Lali got up to fetch Vijay’s dinner. ‘You had better feed him; he has been off his food while you were away.’

She brought Vijay’s plate to me and called to the boy who, having run out of flowers to feed the kitten, was now tugging at the leaves of a shoeflower bush. ‘Come to eat; appa will feed you.’

That seemed to appeal to him, because he immediately gave up his fight with the bush and waddled towards me.

‘It wasn’t all bad, was it?’ inquired Lali, as I sat Vijay down beside me. But he insisted on being fed correctly, with him in his little wicker chair and me in mine.

‘You mean about my father sticking up for you?’

‘Yes.’ Lali resumed her seat on the step. ‘Your mother I understand, but –’

‘It didn’t surprise me. He is not a prejudiced person, my old man, just correct. Duty and principle and all that sort of thing – how our actions shouldn’t affect other people or go against social custom. It is –’ I broke off as Vijay began to show impatience at my lack of attention to him. ‘Come on, putha, just two mouthfuls more, one for amma and one for appa, all right?’

‘Seeya?’ he put up his little finger to indicate that there was one for grandfather, too.

‘Good boy,’ I commended him as he proudly finished his last mouthful and clambered out of his chair. ‘Now you can go and play.’

‘What was I saying?’ I turned to Lali. ‘Ah yes – the old man, it is the Hindu in him …’ I trailed off, watching the last rays of the sun fall across Lali’s face and light up the ruby earstuds I had brought her from my mother that day. How lovely she looked in that light, all curves and rounds and softnesses, like those women in the Sigiri frescoes, her hands holding the shoeflowers Vijay had thrust into them. And I was grateful just to have her there, to look on her. She healed me, took me out of a jagged world and healed me. I went and sat on the step beside Lali and took her hand in mine; she nestled gently into my arm and somewhere, something opened up within me like a womb and took her in.

We sat there for a while as the evening closed in on us and the fireflies began their dance against the night. My hand lay lightly on Lali’s breast, cupped around the beat of her heart. Vijay, tired out by his playing, stretched himself across our laps and fell asleep. We carried him to bed and lay down beside him.

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