sunflowers on it, but then she went behind the yakka treeââ He broke off.
âNo!â Sunil breathed.
âYes,â Chandi said, âbut I rescued her and the Sudu Nona was so pleased with me that she asked me to come and play in the house with them.â
âDid you?â asked Sunil in wonder.
âNo. My mother wouldnât let me. She was probably jealous, or maybe she didnât want Leela and Rangi to get jealous. Anyway, I didnât yesterday but maybe I will today.â
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Sunilâs silence was loud with admiration and just a little whisper of envy. Chandiâs was like an empty room where echoes happen.
At the bottom of the hill, near the white-painted wooden arrow-shaped sign that said GLENCAIRN, they went their separate ways, Sunil to his two-roomed home in the workersâ compound, and Chandi to his one-roomed home in the big bungalow.
HE COULDNâT SEE his sisters, behind him or ahead. They had either gone home or stayed back because it was their turn to clean the classroom. Not that it mattered much to him, because he liked walking by himself. It was far better than having to hurry to keep up with them.
They walked fast. He supposed they had got that from Ammi.
He walked slowly, dreamily. He didnât know who he got that from.
He left the mountain road and took the shortcut along the little oya that burbled its way past Glencairn.
Up ahead he could see the bungalow. It looked like a white cake sitting on a green carpet. Although the sun was warm, the air was crisp and cool. Not cool enough for a sweater, though.
His own burgundy woollen one was tied around his waist.
He had to remember to untie it before he reached the house; Ammi had scolded him for tying it, telling him to think of the less fortunate children who didnât have sweaters to wear. He tried to, but he couldnât think of anyone except the Sudu Nonaâs son, who had been the original owner of the sweater, and who was definitely more fortunate than he was. He had scores of sweaters and besides, he was in England while Chandi was only in a sad imitation.
He saw something shiny in the stream and stopped to look, hoping it was a fish. It was only a rusty Heinz tin, probably tossed in there by one of the more fortunate, besweatered children.
He reached the main gate, and was about to turn left toward the kitchen entrance when he saw something that made his heart start to gallop.
A pink baby pram sat under the shady canopy of the jacaranda tree. It was turned away from him so he couldnât see if She was in it. At the far end of the driveway, which was at least thirty feet from where he stood, he could see the ayah engaged in vivacious conversation with the firewood man.
He dropped his bag, opened the gate just enough to slip through and ran across the lawn toward the pram, keeping to the hedge. It briefly occurred to him that heâd been running along a lot of edges and hedges lately.
He reached the pram, inched his way around it and stopped. After more than six months of waiting, the moment was upon him. He was gripped by sudden panic. What if she were ugly and nasty and didnât want to be his best friend?
She was asleep, her hands curled into fists and her eyelashes fanned out on her flushed pink cheeks. She was wearing white, not yellow like in the dream, but he didnât care. He smiled slowlyâshe was beautiful.
Rose, he thought, and as if she heard him, she opened her eyes.
For what seemed like an eternity, they regarded each other solemnly. Then she smiled, displaying two perfect white teeth that looked like pieces of coconut, pursed up her lips and blew a spit bubble at him. He felt encouraged.
âHello,â he said in his best British accent.
He was rewarded with another spit bubble.
âMy name is Chandi,â he said, frantically searching his brain for all the English phrases heâd learned from Mr.
âNo!â Sunil breathed.
âYes,â Chandi said, âbut I rescued her and the Sudu Nona was so pleased with me that she asked me to come and play in the house with them.â
âDid you?â asked Sunil in wonder.
âNo. My mother wouldnât let me. She was probably jealous, or maybe she didnât want Leela and Rangi to get jealous. Anyway, I didnât yesterday but maybe I will today.â
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Sunilâs silence was loud with admiration and just a little whisper of envy. Chandiâs was like an empty room where echoes happen.
At the bottom of the hill, near the white-painted wooden arrow-shaped sign that said GLENCAIRN, they went their separate ways, Sunil to his two-roomed home in the workersâ compound, and Chandi to his one-roomed home in the big bungalow.
HE COULDNâT SEE his sisters, behind him or ahead. They had either gone home or stayed back because it was their turn to clean the classroom. Not that it mattered much to him, because he liked walking by himself. It was far better than having to hurry to keep up with them.
They walked fast. He supposed they had got that from Ammi.
He walked slowly, dreamily. He didnât know who he got that from.
He left the mountain road and took the shortcut along the little oya that burbled its way past Glencairn.
Up ahead he could see the bungalow. It looked like a white cake sitting on a green carpet. Although the sun was warm, the air was crisp and cool. Not cool enough for a sweater, though.
His own burgundy woollen one was tied around his waist.
He had to remember to untie it before he reached the house; Ammi had scolded him for tying it, telling him to think of the less fortunate children who didnât have sweaters to wear. He tried to, but he couldnât think of anyone except the Sudu Nonaâs son, who had been the original owner of the sweater, and who was definitely more fortunate than he was. He had scores of sweaters and besides, he was in England while Chandi was only in a sad imitation.
He saw something shiny in the stream and stopped to look, hoping it was a fish. It was only a rusty Heinz tin, probably tossed in there by one of the more fortunate, besweatered children.
He reached the main gate, and was about to turn left toward the kitchen entrance when he saw something that made his heart start to gallop.
A pink baby pram sat under the shady canopy of the jacaranda tree. It was turned away from him so he couldnât see if She was in it. At the far end of the driveway, which was at least thirty feet from where he stood, he could see the ayah engaged in vivacious conversation with the firewood man.
He dropped his bag, opened the gate just enough to slip through and ran across the lawn toward the pram, keeping to the hedge. It briefly occurred to him that heâd been running along a lot of edges and hedges lately.
He reached the pram, inched his way around it and stopped. After more than six months of waiting, the moment was upon him. He was gripped by sudden panic. What if she were ugly and nasty and didnât want to be his best friend?
She was asleep, her hands curled into fists and her eyelashes fanned out on her flushed pink cheeks. She was wearing white, not yellow like in the dream, but he didnât care. He smiled slowlyâshe was beautiful.
Rose, he thought, and as if she heard him, she opened her eyes.
For what seemed like an eternity, they regarded each other solemnly. Then she smiled, displaying two perfect white teeth that looked like pieces of coconut, pursed up her lips and blew a spit bubble at him. He felt encouraged.
âHello,â he said in his best British accent.
He was rewarded with another spit bubble.
âMy name is Chandi,â he said, frantically searching his brain for all the English phrases heâd learned from Mr.
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