Swimming in the Monsoon Sea by Shyam Selvadurai Page B

chance of winning any prize. He would return to being a nonentity in his school.
    Madam asked both Peries and Amrith to go backstage and wait to be called. Even though he had learnt the lines thoroughly, Amrith took his copy of
Othello
with him. Peries, however, left his copy behind. He, too, had memorized the part. He strode down the aisle towards the stage, his head held high, a smirk on his face that said the role was already his. Amrith followed. His hands were slick with sweat and he rubbed them against the sides of his trousers.
    When they were backstage, Peries, who was one year older, looked Amrith up and down with contempt and said, “You shouldn’t waste your time, De Alwis. I have played many more roles than you in the Dramsoc. You might have won for Juliet last year, but I won in both the previous years for Portia and Ophelia.”
    Amrith, already aware of this, felt even more nervous. He licked his lips. “I … I …”
    “You, you, what?” sneered Peries. “Can’t even speak properly and you want to be an actor?” He tossed his head in disdain.
    Before Amrith could respond, Madam called him onto the stage. She instructed him to lie down on the bed and pretend to be asleep. Once he was in place, she signaled for Suraj to start his monologue. Amrith, as he lay there, became aware that his hands were shaking. He pressed them against his sides to try and steady them.
    Suraj came to the end of his monologue. He bent over the bed and pretended to kiss Amrith. It was Amrith’s cue to awaken. He stirred, opened his eyes, and looked up at Suraj. He was waiting for Amrith to say his first line. Amrith stared at him. In the silence, he could hear a crow cawing in the school garden. His mind was blank.
    “Your text, De Alwis,” Suraj said softly, with an inclination of his head to the copy of
Othello
lying by the bed.
    Amrith quickly picked up his book and glanced at the first line.
“Who’s there? Othello?”
His voice was barely audible. That moment of blankness had rattled him and he could not seem to find his equilibrium.
    “Ay, Desdemona,”
Suraj replied.
    Amrith cleared his throat loudly.
“Will you … come to bed, my lord?”
    “Have you prayed tonight, Desdemona?”
    “Ay, my lord.”
Amrith could tell he was doing terribly, his voice colorless and weak.
    “If you bethink yourself of any crime
    Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace
,
    Solicit for it straight,”
Suraj said.
    “Alack, my lord, what may you mean by that?”
Amrith realized that his arms were shaking again, the bookjiggling in his hand. He pressed his elbow against his side to steady himself.
    Suraj continued on with his lines.
    “Well, do it and be brief. I will walk by
,
    I would not kill thy unprepared spirit
.
    No, heaven forfend, I will not
—”
    There was a crash as Amrith’s book slipped between his fingers and fell to the floor. He leapt out of bed and hurriedly searched around for it in the semidarkness of the stage. He finally found his
Othello
and straightened up.
    “Do you want to start again, De Alwis?” Madam called out from the front row.
    He nodded dumbly. He went to take his position again on the bed. As he passed Suraj, the senior patted him on the shoulder and whispered, “We’re all rooting for you, De Alwis. Just relax and you’ll be fine.”
    But Amrith was too upset by now to salvage his performance. He went through the audition, his voice pale and lifeless, his acting wooden.
    Finally it was over.
    “Thank you, De Alwis.” There was a kindness in Madam’s voice that deadened him.
    Amrith stumbled towards the steps that led down into the auditorium. Peries was crossing the stage at the same time and, as he passed Amrith, he smiled triumphantly.
    Peries strutted over to the bed, lay down, and signaled Suraj that he could start his monologue whenever he wanted.
    The moment Peries said his first line, Amrith knew he had lost the part.
    When Peries was finally done, there was silence in the