that actually shocked Madam.
Amrith felt curiously uneasy around Madam. She had a way of looking at him, as if she saw right into his soul and understood something about him that he did not understand about himself. And what she saw made her more kind to him, more gentle. She never joked or teased him, or used her wit against him. And yet her gentleness made him all the more uncomfortable.
The next morning, instead of going to the office to practice typing, Amrith had Uncle Lucky drop him off at his school. He stood for a moment before the gates, looking at the main building at the end of the driveway. It had rained hard in the early hours and there were great puddles in the driveway, steaming in the heat of the sun. The building squatted beyond this haze, its whitewash a sickened yellow in the sunlight. The massive stone arch at the entrance looked like an enormous mouth, the corpulent domes at either end like unblinking eyes. Usually the sight of the building made Amrith feel gloomy, but today he was filled with excitement at the day of rehearsals ahead; filled with anticipation of the success that could be his in a few months. He pushed open the gates and went up the driveway.
When he came into the building, the ghostly silence made him hasten through the foyer, the photographs of former principals glowering down on him. As he made his way down a cavernous corridor, his footsteps echoed andonce or twice he turned, almost sure someone was walking behind him. He was approaching the auditorium and he could hear voices. As he drew nearer, there was a burst of laughter from within, followed by hooting and catcalls.
He entered to find the other boys seated halfway down the auditorium, involved in a conversation that was causing them much merriment.
“Ah
, De Alwis,” they called out, addressing him by his surname, as was the custom in the school.
He went down the central aisle towards them, his face frozen in a shy smile. Madam had not yet arrived.
Mala’s admirer, Suraj Wanigasekera, was amongst the boys and he called to Amrith in a commanding tone, “Now come and sit with us, De Alwis.”
The last time Amrith had seen Suraj, he had been on his best behavior, at his most humble. Now his demeanor was more in tune with his real character. He was lording it over the others, his arms spread out over the two chairs on either side, his feet up on the chair in front of him, the other boys gathered around.
Except for a few boys from the junior forms who were playing the supernumeraries — guards, courtiers, and so forth, who would come in at the end — all the boys were seniors. Besides Suraj, there was a razor-thin debater named Ahmed, who was sure to get the part of Iago. The boy playing Iago’s wife, Emilia, was called Fernando. He was a tubby, good-humored boy who was brilliant in English Literature and the Classics and was destined forOxford when he finished his A levels. He was Madam’s right-hand man and was in charge of the set, costumes, and props. Jayasingha, the assistant head prefect, was seated next to Suraj. They were close friends.
Amrith had almost reached the circle of boys when he noticed, a little away from the others, a boy named Peries, whom he had not seen in quite a while. Amrith stopped in surprise. Peries used to be in the Dramsoc but, after he joined an American evangelical church last year, he had declined to have anything to do with plays, which he considered sinful.
The other boys had no fondness for Peries, whom they often referred to as Penis. It was clear they had been teasing him from the look of sullen petulance on his face, his arms folded to his chest.
As Amrith took his place among them, Suraj said, “Yes-yes, Penis, your soul is going to be damned in hell for wanting to be in our play.”
“I say, Penis, don’t you know that, in the old days, actors were buried outside the graveyard because they were considered sinners?” Jayasingha winked at Suraj. “You’re polluting
Amrith felt curiously uneasy around Madam. She had a way of looking at him, as if she saw right into his soul and understood something about him that he did not understand about himself. And what she saw made her more kind to him, more gentle. She never joked or teased him, or used her wit against him. And yet her gentleness made him all the more uncomfortable.
The next morning, instead of going to the office to practice typing, Amrith had Uncle Lucky drop him off at his school. He stood for a moment before the gates, looking at the main building at the end of the driveway. It had rained hard in the early hours and there were great puddles in the driveway, steaming in the heat of the sun. The building squatted beyond this haze, its whitewash a sickened yellow in the sunlight. The massive stone arch at the entrance looked like an enormous mouth, the corpulent domes at either end like unblinking eyes. Usually the sight of the building made Amrith feel gloomy, but today he was filled with excitement at the day of rehearsals ahead; filled with anticipation of the success that could be his in a few months. He pushed open the gates and went up the driveway.
When he came into the building, the ghostly silence made him hasten through the foyer, the photographs of former principals glowering down on him. As he made his way down a cavernous corridor, his footsteps echoed andonce or twice he turned, almost sure someone was walking behind him. He was approaching the auditorium and he could hear voices. As he drew nearer, there was a burst of laughter from within, followed by hooting and catcalls.
He entered to find the other boys seated halfway down the auditorium, involved in a conversation that was causing them much merriment.
“Ah
, De Alwis,” they called out, addressing him by his surname, as was the custom in the school.
He went down the central aisle towards them, his face frozen in a shy smile. Madam had not yet arrived.
Mala’s admirer, Suraj Wanigasekera, was amongst the boys and he called to Amrith in a commanding tone, “Now come and sit with us, De Alwis.”
The last time Amrith had seen Suraj, he had been on his best behavior, at his most humble. Now his demeanor was more in tune with his real character. He was lording it over the others, his arms spread out over the two chairs on either side, his feet up on the chair in front of him, the other boys gathered around.
Except for a few boys from the junior forms who were playing the supernumeraries — guards, courtiers, and so forth, who would come in at the end — all the boys were seniors. Besides Suraj, there was a razor-thin debater named Ahmed, who was sure to get the part of Iago. The boy playing Iago’s wife, Emilia, was called Fernando. He was a tubby, good-humored boy who was brilliant in English Literature and the Classics and was destined forOxford when he finished his A levels. He was Madam’s right-hand man and was in charge of the set, costumes, and props. Jayasingha, the assistant head prefect, was seated next to Suraj. They were close friends.
Amrith had almost reached the circle of boys when he noticed, a little away from the others, a boy named Peries, whom he had not seen in quite a while. Amrith stopped in surprise. Peries used to be in the Dramsoc but, after he joined an American evangelical church last year, he had declined to have anything to do with plays, which he considered sinful.
The other boys had no fondness for Peries, whom they often referred to as Penis. It was clear they had been teasing him from the look of sullen petulance on his face, his arms folded to his chest.
As Amrith took his place among them, Suraj said, “Yes-yes, Penis, your soul is going to be damned in hell for wanting to be in our play.”
“I say, Penis, don’t you know that, in the old days, actors were buried outside the graveyard because they were considered sinners?” Jayasingha winked at Suraj. “You’re polluting
Similar Books
