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CARAPACE Romesh Gunesekera
ANURA PERERA IS coming over tonight. Amma -
my mother - says I ought to take him seriously. I
told Vijay about it.
So?
He's coming to see me because he is
interested in me and he has serious intentions. He
lives in Australia!
Vijay grinned and said nothing. That's the way
with Vijay.
Do you know who Anura Perera is?
He shook his head, no. Then he laughed, So he's
looking for a Lankan wife?
Yes! I said. Anura Perera has a dollar job, a
Sydney house, and an Australian ticket.
So what are you saying? Vijay laughed. You are
going to marry this prick with a foreign job? Is that
what you've come to tell me?
That wasn't what I had come to tell him at all. I
first met Vijay at the new disco. It was a birthday
party and there was a crowd of about twenty 20
people in our group. I didn't know many of them.
My friend Lakshmi took me along to it. It was her
friend's birthday but we had all been waiting to go
to this new place. Everyone was talking about it. It
was packed out that night. The dance floor was
fabulous: round, with lights flashing underneath
and all sorts of fantastic gadgets turning around
the room. Vijay was not in our party. He came up
to me and said, How about a dance? I could hardly
hear him, but I could see his mouth in the dark.
And when the lights flashed on him I could see him
looking straight at me like he really wanted to
dance with me. We danced all night. He bought me
rum and coke and smoked lots of cigarettes. In the
end he asked whether we could meet again.
Only the next day I discovered he is the cook at
the Beach Hut. He is older than me; tall and long
and always smiling. He has such a mop of hair and
is so skinny. He never eats! He says he likes to
see his food eaten by other people. To watch his 40
customers, his friends, grow fat and happy. He
says there is nothing he likes better than to stir his
pan of squid in front of the ocean. His face is big
and square like a bony box stretched over with
skin; his lips barely keep his teeth in and he always
seems about to burst into a laugh. And when he
does the whole sea seems to crease up. The
beach is so lovely with him.
When I went to see him today he said hello with
a big grin on his face. Come sit down, I won't be
long. He had a basin full of enormous prawns on
his lap. Loku isso, he said.
A newspaper spread out on the floor under
him was heaped with plucked prawn heads and
shells. Orange whiskers. After peeling each
prawn he carefully pulled out a thin blue vein
that curved around it like a backbone. Look at
that, he held the vein up: sea-poison.
At first I didn't even want to open my mouth
about Anura Perera, but Amma says you must 60
always go for the best you can. And I know
Anura Perera will come in a big Mitsubishi, airconditioned
with tinted glass and a stereo. I
wanted Vijay to know.
When he finished with the prawns he washed
his hands and poured out some coffee for me.
What are we going to do? I asked. I wanted to
know what he really felt for me.
About what?
About us, I said. What are we going to do?
He said, There's an American film at the
Majestic.
It is so easy for him. He doesn't see anything.
There are no problems, no hang-ups. He's not
like the other guys around here, always trying
something on. He comes straight out with what
he thinks. But I must have looked worried; he
leaned forward. What is it you want to know
then? he asked, touching my hand. He has such
a light touch. His fingernails are like sea-shells, 80
slightly pink, with little half-moons peeping out.
When he touches my hand with his fingers I feel
tremendous and I want to go on like this for
ever, just drinking coffee together and looking at
the sea.
I told him we've got to sort things out. Going to
the pictures won't solve anything.
But you like movies, he said.
For months nothing has happened and now
suddenly everything happens: Vijay first, now
Anura Perera. When Amma talks to me I see a
whole new world. I don't think Vijay could even
imagine it. He would just laugh. Amma said we
could go and buy a new saree. Something really
nice. And I saw just the shoes at Tonio's, next to
the supermarket. Imagine flying, stopping in
Singapore! I can't believe it but it is what I've
dreamed of all along; something happening so I
can be someone instead of this crazy feeling
that nothing matters. But then when I go to Vijay 100
I really don't know what I want. . .
He looked at me and clicked his tongue, So
what matters so much? He lit one of his thin
crackly cigarettes and stretched out on his chair.
His head rested on the back of it; he let his mouth
stay open like a fish gulping. Sometimes he can be
so idiotic!
But it isn't that simple. It isn't! We can't just stay
like this, I said. The Beach Hut isn't going to be
here for ever. The bamboo and coconut will split.
The wood on the window-frame is already rising,
turning itself inside out. I looked out of the doorway
and watched the green sandy water of the ocean
swelling and falling. You can't be a beach cook for
the rest of your life, I said. Or is that all you want?
Do you really only want to be a cook all your life? I
didn't want to upset him, I just wanted him to say
something; but he just stared at me. He looked at
me as if I were way out at sea, already floating
across the ocean. But who is the drifter? Not me. 120
A crowd of bathers turned up looking for beer
and his beach roti, so I said I better go; he had
work to do. I asked him to call me as soon as he
could, before evening. It is important. Call me,
please. He smiled sweetly and nodded OK. Then
he screwed up his eyes and sucked the last of his
smoke through his fingers and held it in his chest.
At home everyone was busy. I came to my room
and stayed out of the way. I wanted to be alone.
Nobody seemed to miss me. By five o'clock, when
I looked out, the whole place was dusted and tidied
up; the floor in the front room has been polished
and Auntie Manel has even brought flowers for that
ghastly green vase that sits by the telephone. The
house is filled with a kind of sea musk. Amma has
made sandwiches and patties and roasted cashew
nuts spiced with red chilli to put out in her special
silver bowl. I have never seen the place looking
like this. 140
Amma has been having palpitations; I know she
has been rushing around all over the place
arranging everything, her breasts heaving with
excitement. She is so anxious, but it's no accident
that this first meeting is happening tonight; she
would have consulted her astrologer. She wouldn't
have taken any risks! It must be the most
auspicious day of the month. I suppose I should
make a fuss and ask her: Do I have a choice in all
of this? But I don't want to choose. I hate choosing.
It's all so crazy. What's in Australia anyway?
Everyone wants to go there, especially when
there's any disturbance here. But what for? I like
the beach here. I like our road, our bougainvillaea
slumping over the wall and that sandy walk we go
on across the railway tracks down to the sea. I like
the disco. I like going by putt-putt yellow three
wheelers. Just to live in a large fancy bungalow
with a view of the Opera House or something!
What's so great about that? Vijay would say it's 160
all in the head.
If only he would turn up with something. But
Amma would die if she knew about him. She'd
throw a fit. A cook on the beach! What she
wants to say is . . . Good evening Mr Perera, so
pleased to meet you. Do come and take my
daughter away; transform her world with your
brilliance - and your nice fat bank account. Give
her a modern house, a big car, fancy clothes,
shoes she can afford to throwaway after every
party. Give her expensive things, and by-the-by
your unswerving respect, and all will be well.
She will be an asset to your career, a pearl in
your crown. Just take her Mr Perera, please
take her to Australia away from here, and don't
forget her mother . . . Anura.
I waited and waited for Vijay to call. I didn't
know what I wanted him to say, but I thought he
would find something. He wouldn't let things slip
just for the want of a few words. Then about an 180
hour ago the telephone rang. I let it ring for a bit.
Amma was in the bathroom. Nobody else
answers the telephone in our house. Eventually
I picked it up. I was so nervous I could hardly
speak.
What time can you come out to eat tonight?
Vijay asked. I've made a special dish: fantastic,
with those big prawns!
I could hear the ocean in the telephone. I
could see him with a big grin on his face, pulling
open his white shirt and rubbing his bare bony
chest with his long fingers. He'd have the lamps
lit under the trees.
I said, I can't talk; the iron is on. I was ironing
my jade green saree, the one that Amma
bought for me. I told him, I have to put the
phone down. I put it down. He won't ring again.
He thinks I know his number by heart: Mount
Lavinia 926979, 926979.
© Romesh Gunesekera
Reprinted with kind permission of the author
First published in ‘Monkfish Moon’ by Granta PublicationsCARAPACE Romesh
Gunesekera
ANURA PERERA IS coming over tonight. Amma -
my mother - says I ought to take him seriously. I
told Vijay about it.
So?
He's coming to see me because he is
interested in me and he has serious intentions. He
lives in Australia!
Vijay grinned and said nothing. That's the way
with Vijay.
Do you know who Anura Perera is?
He shook his head, no. Then he laughed, So he's
looking for a Lankan wife?
Yes! I said. Anura Perera has a dollar job, a
Sydney house, and an Australian ticket.
So what are you saying? Vijay laughed. You are
going to marry this prick with a foreign job? Is that
what you've come to tell me?
That wasn't what I had come to tell him at all. I
first met Vijay at the new disco. It was a birthday
party and there was a crowd of about twenty 20
people in our group. I didn't know many of them.
My friend Lakshmi took me along to it. It was her
friend's birthday but we had all been waiting to go
to this new place. Everyone was talking about it. It
was packed out that night. The dance floor was
fabulous: round, with lights flashing underneath
and all sorts of fantastic gadgets turning around
the room. Vijay was not in our party. He came up
to me and said, How about a dance? I could hardly
hear him, but I could see his mouth in the dark.
And when the lights flashed on him I could see him
looking straight at me like he really wanted to
dance with me. We danced all night. He bought me
rum and coke and smoked lots of cigarettes. In the
end he asked whether we could meet again.
Only the next day I discovered he is the cook at
the Beach Hut. He is older than me; tall and long
and always smiling. He has such a mop of hair and
is so skinny. He never eats! He says he likes to
see his food eaten by other people. To watch his 40
customers, his friends, grow fat and happy. He
says there is nothing he likes better than to stir his
pan of squid in front of the ocean. His face is big
and square like a bony box stretched over with
skin; his lips barely keep his teeth in and he always
seems about to burst into a laugh. And when he
does the whole sea seems to crease up. The
beach is so lovely with him.
When I went to see him today he said hello with
a big grin on his face. Come sit down, I won't be
long. He had a basin full of enormous prawns on
his lap. Loku isso, he said.
A newspaper spread out on the floor under
him was heaped with plucked prawn heads and
shells. Orange whiskers. After peeling each
prawn he carefully pulled out a thin blue vein
that curved around it like a backbone. Look at
that, he held the vein up: sea-poison.
At first I didn't even want to open my mouth
about Anura Perera, but Amma says you must 60
always go for the best you can. And I know
Anura Perera will come in a big Mitsubishi, airconditioned
with tinted glass and a stereo. I
wanted Vijay to know.
When he finished with the prawns he washed
his hands and poured out some coffee for me.
What are we going to do? I asked. I wanted to
know what he really felt for me.
About what?
About us, I said. What are we going to do?
He said, There's an American film at the
Majestic.
It is so easy for him. He doesn't see anything.
There are no problems, no hang-ups. He's not
like the other guys around here, always trying
something on. He comes straight out with what
he thinks. But I must have looked worried; he
leaned forward. What is it you want to know
then? he asked, touching my hand. He has such
a light touch. His fingernails are like sea-shells, 80
slightly pink, with little half-moons peeping out.
When he touches my hand with his fingers I feel
tremendous and I want to go on like this for
ever, just drinking coffee together and looking at
the sea.
I told him we've got to sort things out. Going to
the pictures won't solve anything.
But you like movies, he said.
For months nothing has happened and now
suddenly everything happens: Vijay first, now
Anura Perera. When Amma talks to me I see a
whole new world. I don't think Vijay could even
imagine it. He would just laugh. Amma said we
could go and buy a new saree. Something really
nice. And I saw just the shoes at Tonio's, next to
the supermarket. Imagine flying, stopping in
Singapore! I can't believe it but it is what I've
dreamed of all along; something happening so I
can be someone instead of this crazy feeling
that nothing matters. But then when I go to Vijay 100
I really don't know what I want. . .
He looked at me and clicked his tongue, So
what matters so much? He lit one of his thin
crackly cigarettes and stretched out on his chair.
His head rested on the back of it; he let his mouth
stay open like a fish gulping. Sometimes he can be
so idiotic!
But it isn't that simple. It isn't! We can't just stay
like this, I said. The Beach Hut isn't going to be
here for ever. The bamboo and coconut will split.
The wood on the window-frame is already rising,
turning itself inside out. I looked out of the doorway
and watched the green sandy water of the ocean
swelling and falling. You can't be a beach cook for
the rest of your life, I said. Or is that all you want?
Do you really only want to be a cook all your life? I
didn't want to upset him, I just wanted him to say
something; but he just stared at me. He looked at
me as if I were way out at sea, already floating
across the ocean. But who is the drifter? Not me. 120
A crowd of bathers turned up looking for beer
and his beach roti, so I said I better go; he had
work to do. I asked him to call me as soon as he
could, before evening. It is important. Call me,
please. He smiled sweetly and nodded OK. Then
he screwed up his eyes and sucked the last of his
smoke through his fingers and held it in his chest.
At home everyone was busy. I came to my room
and stayed out of the way. I wanted to be alone.
Nobody seemed to miss me. By five o'clock, when
I looked out, the whole place was dusted and tidied
up; the floor in the front room has been polished
and Auntie Manel has even brought flowers for that
ghastly green vase that sits by the telephone. The
house is filled with a kind of sea musk. Amma has
made sandwiches and patties and roasted cashew
nuts spiced with red chilli to put out in her special
silver bowl. I have never seen the place looking
like this. 140
Amma has been having palpitations; I know she
has been rushing around all over the place
arranging everything, her breasts heaving with
excitement. She is so anxious, but it's no accident
that this first meeting is happening tonight; she
would have consulted her astrologer. She wouldn't
have taken any risks! It must be the most
auspicious day of the month. I suppose I should
make a fuss and ask her: Do I have a choice in all
of this? But I don't want to choose. I hate choosing.
It's all so crazy. What's in Australia anyway?
Everyone wants to go there, especially when
there's any disturbance here. But what for? I like
the beach here. I like our road, our bougainvillaea
slumping over the wall and that sandy walk we go
on across the railway tracks down to the sea. I like
the disco. I like going by putt-putt yellow three
wheelers. Just to live in a large fancy bungalow
with a view of the Opera House or something!
What's so great about that? Vijay would say it's 160
all in the head.
If only he would turn up with something. But
Amma would die if she knew about him. She'd
throw a fit. A cook on the beach! What she
wants to say is . . . Good evening Mr Perera, so
pleased to meet you. Do come and take my
daughter away; transform her world with your
brilliance - and your nice fat bank account. Give
her a modern house, a big car, fancy clothes,
shoes she can afford to throwaway after every
party. Give her expensive things, and by-the-by
your unswerving respect, and all will be well.
She will be an asset to your career, a pearl in
your crown. Just take her Mr Perera, please
take her to Australia away from here, and don't
forget her mother . . . Anura.
I waited and waited for Vijay to call. I didn't
know what I wanted him to say, but I thought he
would find something. He wouldn't let things slip
just for the want of a few words. Then about an 180
hour ago the telephone rang. I let it ring for a bit.
Amma was in the bathroom. Nobody else
answers the telephone in our house. Eventually
I picked it up. I was so nervous I could hardly
speak.
What time can you come out to eat tonight?
Vijay asked. I've made a special dish: fantastic,
with those big prawns!
I could hear the ocean in the telephone. I
could see him with a big grin on his face, pulling
open his white shirt and rubbing his bare bony
chest with his long fingers. He'd have the lamps
lit under the trees.
I said, I can't talk; the iron is on. I was ironing
my jade green saree, the one that Amma
bought for me. I told him, I have to put the
phone down. I put it down. He won't ring again.
He thinks I know his number by heart: Mount
Lavinia 926979, 926979.
© Romesh Gunesekera
Reprinted with kind permission of the author
First published in ‘Monkfish Moon’ by Granta Publications
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