Mosquito. Roma Tearne
cotton and typewriter ribbon had gathered together, bringing her back to him in small concentrated fragments. So he knew about smells, the way they tumbled into the air, falling softly again, here and there, like confetti without the bride. The sunlight seemed suddenly to have lost its brilliance. His old anger returned. He had thought he was over it, but bitterness attacked him in waves. Ugliness remembered. Sugi watched him surreptitiously, serving his meals, bringing a tray of morning tea, cooking a redfish curry in the way he liked it. The fans had stopped working again and the lights often failed at night. Sugi watched him in the light of the coconut-oil lamps. There did not seem to be much evidence of Sir working. Across the garden Theo felt the silence stretch into eternity. The leaves on the pawpaw tree looked large and malevolent.
‘Sir,’ said Sugi finally, ‘Sir, why are you not writing?’
Beyond the light from the veranda the undergrowth rustled vaguely. Two mosquito coils burned into insubstantial columns. A black-spotted moth circled the lamps, mesmerised. Sugi looked at Theo. This is a fine state of affairs, he thought. It was as well he was here.
‘Maybe there is trouble at her house, no?’ he ventured tentatively. ‘Shall I go and find out?’
‘No,’ said Theo quickly.
Such an intrusion was unbearable and he could not allow it. Sugi fell silent again. Maybe he should talk about something else instead. Sir was a grown man after all. He had lived all over the world. Given the things he had been through, his innocence was surprising.
‘There is a shortage of food in the market this week,’ Sugi said. ‘I don’t know why. I could only get river cress, a coconut and a bunch of shrivelled radishes.’
It was true. The rice was appalling too, and there were no fresh vegetables to be had.
‘Of all the places on this island,’ he continued, complaining loudly, hoping to distract Theo, ‘this should be the place for fresh fish. But the day’s catch had vanished by the time I got into the town. There’s been some kind of trouble further along the coast; maybe that’s got something to do with it. Someone told me the army drove their jeeps on to the sands, chasing a group of men. And then they shot them. They were all young, Sir. Nobody knows what they had done.’
He spread his hands helplessly in front of him.
‘The army left the bodies on the beach, and the local people cleared up the mess. There is always someone prepared to clean up after them. Either a Buddhist or a Christian. They will always find someone to do the dirty work.’
Theo shifted uneasily in his chair. Sugi’s anxiety was different from his.
On the fifth evening of Nulani’s absence, in spite of Sugi’s entreaties, Theo decided to walk along the beach again.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘nothing can happen to me. It’s not people like me that interest them. I’m too well known. I’m safe.’
And he went out. A full moon spilled a continuous stream of silver on to the water. An express train hooted its way along the coast, rushing towards Colombo. But there was no sign of the girl on the empty beach. What is the matter with me, he thought, exasperated. Am I going mad? She’s probably busy, helping her mother, sewing, being seventeen. And she never said when she would be back, he reasoned silently. He was puzzled by this disturbance to his equilibrium. Time was passing, in a few months it would be winter in England. His agent would not wait for ever. He had not written much. As he watched, the moon spread its phosphorescent glow into the sea.
‘Look,’ Sugi said when he returned.
He held out a piece of paper. Thick heady blossoms glowed white under the lamplight while Theo unfolded it quickly. It was from the girl. She had drawn a picture of a man. The man was sitting on one of the cane chairs on her veranda. There was a cup of tea on the table beside him; it was placed on a heavily embroidered cloth. The man’s face was in profile, but still, it was possible to see the fine lines of dissatisfaction and anger and suppressed cruelty. It was possible to see all this on the small piece of paper, clearly marked by the stub of a pencil.
‘It’s her uncle, Sir,’ said Sugi when Theo showed him. ‘I know this man. He is a bad man. The talk is he betrayed Mr Mendis. That it was because of him, the thugs came. He never liked his sister’s choice of husband. There are seven brothers in that family, you know, and they like their women to do as they are told.’
Theo felt anger tighten its belt around him. His anxiety for the girl intensified.
‘I think I’ll take a walk over to Mrs Mendis’s house,’ he said.
But Sugi was alarmed. He would not let Theo be so foolish.
‘Are you crazy, Sir? Leave that family alone, for God’s sake. I’m telling you, you don’t understand the people here. You must not meddle with things in this place. Please, Mr Samarajeeva, this isn’t England. The girl will be OK. It’s her family, and she is no fool. She will come here, tomorrow or the next day, you’ll see.’
He sounded like a parent, quietening a restless child. In spite of his anger another part of Theo saw this and felt glad. He was amazed at the easy affection between them. They had slipped into a friendship, Sugi and he, in spite of the rising tide of anxiety around them, perhaps because of it.
‘Sugi,’ he said softly into the darkness, feeling a sudden sharp sense of belonging. ‘You are my good friend, you know. I feel as if I have known you for ever.’
He hesitated. He would have liked to say something more. Moved by their growing affection for each other, he would have liked to speak of it. But he could not think of the right way to express himself. Sugi, too, seemed to hesitate, as though he understood. So Theo said nothing and instead poured them both a beer. But the warmth between them would not go away, settling down quietly, curling up like a contented animal. He looked at the note again. Underneath the drawing Nulani had captioned it with two exclamation marks. What did that mean?
‘I told you, Sir, the girl understands her family better than you. She is probably laughing at her uncle right now. You must not worry so much. She’ll be able to take care of herself. And tomorrow she will be back, you’ll see,’ he added, cheerfully, for he could see that Theo was less worried now. ‘I’ll squeeze some limes and make a redfish curry. Tomorrow.’
‘I would have liked children, Sugi,’ Theo said later on, calmer now than he had been for days.
Sugi nodded, serious. ‘Children are a blessing, Sir, but they are endless trouble as well. In this country we seem to have children only to carry on our suffering. In this country it’s only one endless cycle of pain for us. Some terrible curse has fallen on us since we became greedy.’
Startled, Theo looked sharply at him. He had forgotten the slow and inevitable philosophy of his countrymen. But before he could speak, Sugi put his hand out to silence him. The moon had retreated behind a cloud and a slight breeze moved the leaves. It reminded Theo of other balmy nights long ago with Anna, spent in the fishing ports along the South of France. Something rustled in the undergrowth; Sugi disappeared silently along the side of the house. Thinking he heard the gate creak Theo stood up. A moment later there was a muffled grunt, the sound of a scuffle and Sugi reappeared, emerging through the bushes, pushing a boy of about fourteen in front of him. He had twisted the boy’s arm behind his back and was gripping him hard. In the light of the returning moon a knife glinted in his hand.
‘He was trying to break in, Sir, from the back. With this,’ he added grimly.
And he held up the knife. He pushed the boy roughly towards Theo, speaking to him in Singhalese.
‘He says he was only doing what he was told.’
‘What were you trying to steal?’ Theo asked him, also in Singhalese.
But the boy would not reply. In another moment, with a swift jerk of his elbow he broke free and vaulted over the garden wall, vanishing into the night. And although they ran out into the darkened road there was no sign of him anywhere. Sugi began bolting the windows and checking the side