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“Did that young man say we were almost there? Lord, I cannot believe that I actually fell asleep in spite of all the rattling and bumping around!” Straightening up, Harriet delved in her reticule for a handkerchief to mop at her face with. “I hope to goodness it’ll be cooler once we get closer to the ocean. Such heat! I’d almost forgotten how hot Colombo can be.”
Alexa had been gritting her teeth so hard that she was surprised to find her jaws were not locked together. She said with syrupy sweetness: “And were you giving me an example of how to rattle on like an empty-headed young thing, Aunt Harriet? Since I’m up on the auction block now I suppose I really must try harder, mustn’t I?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alexa, let us not become dramatic!” The snapped-out reply sounded more like the Aunt Harry she was familiar with, at least. “And shake out your sleeves. They’re looking positively wilted in spite of the lining I had that stupid tailor stitch into them. And put your bonnet on at once! It was not meant to be a fan, you know. I don’t know who else will be staying with the Mackenzies, but I do want everyone who might be there when we arrive to know that even in the hill country we try to keep up with the latest fashions.”
Alexa’s slate-colored eyes, so dark they could look almost black, flashed dangerously even though her voice remained sweetly docile. “The latest fashions? But all the journals we receive from London are at least four or five months old! If I had been consulted I would have begged Mrs. Mackenzie to make it a fancy dress ball tonight; and then I could have attended as a Sinhalese woman and be cool all evening.”
Realizing the girl was riding on a short rein, Harriet was wise enough to shrug and say only, “Well, I’m sure that the ball gown that Sir John means to surprise you with will be truly exquisite and in the very latest style, so that you will outshine every other female there. He has such good taste!”
At the mention of her adopted “uncle,” who was one of her father’s best friends, Alexa could not help but lose some of her earlier feeling of resentment, even if he had been one of the instigators of this birthday ball for her. How could she not continue to love and respect her beloved Uncle John? It had been Sir John who had presented her with her first thoroughbred and had taught her to ride it like a man—Sir John who had taught her about guns and how to shoot and not to flinch even from the kick of a heavy elephant gun. And how she had loved being allowed to listen when Sir John and Papa would begin talking about the wars they had been in and the exciting battles they had fought under Wellington.
“I’ll wager that you wish you’d been there too, don’t you, Alex?” Sir John would tease her sometimes, but he never teased her in the condescending way of grown-ups; and Alexa would nod vigorously, her eyes wide and shining as she imagined how it must have been—the noise of cannons and the smell of powder and the keening sound of a musket ball whistling past your head; the excitement of a charge with your sword drawn, facing a screaming foe, and hand to hand combat; and if you died you died gloriously and with honor, and if you lived you always knew you had been there, so close to death that you had brushed shoulders with it and had still survived.
It was only to Sir John that an older Alexa, only a few months ago, could confide seriously: “I know it’s probably only because I’ve been hearing the stories for most of my life—yours and Papa’s—but sometimes I really feel as if I have lived through wars and battles. It seems so real, as if I know what it’s like. Even to the smell of horses and dust and blood, and the sounds of clashing swords, and how you feel inside in battle…”
He hadn’t laughed—she remembered that. “Well, my dear, I lived in India for quite some time, as you know, when it belonged to the old John Company, and the Hindus there, they believe that souls are born and reborn over and over again. And that it’s possible for some people to remember past lives. Who knows, my dear, who knows? It’s something I’ve often wondered about myself.”
Harriet, of course, could hardly know of the thoughts that had raced across her niece’s brain during the past few seconds. But by mentioning Sir John Travers she had done exactly the right thing, she recognized with relief, seeing the almost imperceptible relaxing of Alexa’s tensely held shoulders. Sighing, Harriet said, “I really hate to admit how weary I am. All those miles and miles of traveling and the change of climate—I’ll be glad of a nice cold bath, I can tell you that!” She noticed with relief that Alexa was actually putting on her hated bonnet, although she did so with a wry face, adjusting it over her decorously pulled back hair and actually tying the wide ribbons in a bow under her chin.
“If either Eric or Basil make any comments when they see me in this…!’ Alexa sounded so fiercely threatening that Harriet had to force back a smile. In spite of the fact that she would be eighteen years of age tomorrow, Alexandra could sometimes sound very much like a hoydenish little girl. But the child must face the fact that she was a woman now and a whole year older than her own mother had been when she had carried her. Poor little Victorine, so helpless, always so pretty…
As she usually did, Harriet closed her mind firmly on unwanted memories of the past. No point thinking back, was there? Victorine was safe and content now. She had a loving, considerate husband, the son she’d always craved, and she had security. The future belonged to Victorine’s daughter, and now, although she was not overly religious, Harriet thought, Pray God I’ve taught her enough and made her strong enough to survive and go forward. To be a victor instead of a loser.
“Well, ladies, here we are at last!”
The carriage had actually come to a stop, and the feeling of not being in motion was almost strange.
“Aunt Harry? Are you unwell? You looked so…”
“Nonsense! I was just thinking, that’s all. And there’s the Governor himself waiting to greet us, and Mrs. Mackenzie. Shake out your skirts, dear. And smile. It lights up your whole face when you do.”
One of the young officers had dismounted quickly enough to open the carriage door for them, and taking a deep breath Harriet squared her shoulders before she accepted the hand he proffered. Behind her Alexa too had drawn in her breath, holding it inside her until she felt calm enough to breathe out again. Yoga. She had learned about that from Sir John. And it was comforting to think that of course he would help see her through the whole ordeal ahead.
There was actually a smile on Alexa’s face that showed off the dimple at one corner of her firm young mouth, Harriet noted relievedly. And the sprigged muslin had held up remarkably well after all with its wide “Mary Stuart” sash that made Alexa’s small waist seem quite tiny.
Lady Mackenzie, who had had her misgivings about this whole idea and had only acceded to her husband’s request to please Sir John Travers, gave a tiny mental sigh of relief. The young woman was quite charming after all and seemed well-mannered too—which only went to prove that one did best not listening to gossip spread by jealous older women with daughters of their own. Why, she could see nothing mannish or forward about this very feminine young creature who actually dropped a small, old-fashioned curtsy while making her thanks for the honor being shown to her. Remembering the days when she had been married to that insufferable bore Sir Samuel Hood and had been gossiped about because she enjoyed smoking a hookah, Mrs. Mackenzie decided immediately that she was going to like Miss Howard, and would, moreover, make her coming-out ball an event that would be long remembered in Colombo.
2
When at last they had been shown to their spacious quarters and the door had closed behind the last obsequious servant, Alexa could relax again. She felt by this time as if her face ached from smiling while she uttered simpering insincerities. Thank goodness they were to be allowed to rest for the remainder of the afternoon and that at last she could take off the constricting muslin gown she already detested, as well as all five petticoats and the corset that seemed to cut off her breath.
“Oh, at last! Did I behave well enough to suit you? But I do not think that I can stand another minute—no not another second—of being smothered in all these layers of hypocrisy! I would like to tear myself free! Thank God it is cooler in here…I was beginning to feel as if I could not breathe any longer. A few more minutes and I would have…”
Used to handling her charge, Harriet faced the challenging glower directed at her with a raised eyebrow. “My dear Alexa, don’t you think that you are by now a trifle past the age for childish tantrums? I was proud of the way in which you conducted yourself just now, and I’m sure you lived up to everything Sir John must have told the Governor and his wife about you. You’re not going to let down the people who believe in you from lack of self-control, I hope?”
For a moment Alexa seemed to stand there poised like a hummingbird caught in mid-flight, and perhaps even she did not know whether she was on the brink of rebelling or running away. But then, to Harriet’s relief, the rigid young shoulders seemed to slump, and the slender fingers that had already began to claw at the neck of the offending gown dropped away.
Not defeat, Harriet warned herself. With Alexa, born under the zodiacal sign of Leo, the lion, there would never be the concession of defeat, only an occasional retreat, perhaps. Putting aside her own weariness, Harriet came forward briskly, commanding a suddenly woebegone-looking Alexa to turn around.
“No need to tear a perfectly good dress, what with the price of fine materials these days. Here, I don’t suppose you want me to send for one of those chattering little maids, do you? So I’ll undo you myself, if you’ll hold still. And do try to remember, my dear, that losing your temper is the same thing as losing your head—or losing the advantage, if you were engaged in some kind of a contest. Do you imagine you’d be any good on a hunting trip if you stopped using your head and gave in to blind panic?”
“I…I suppose I never thought about all this in the same light,” Alexa confessed, with her head bent. And then, throwing it up almost defiantly, she said, “Keeping a cool head…A hunt—is that what I am supposed to be engaged in? But who is the quarry, Aunt Harriet? The eligible man I’m supposed to capture with my false, feminine wiles? Or I myself?”
There had been an edge of cynicism and perhaps even of desperation in Alexa’s voice that forced Harriet to answer with studied brusqueness. “My dear child, I hope I did not make you imagine, with all my sermonizing, that you are being abandoned to the wolves. You must not feel that you must immediately find yourself a husband, or think that this will be your only opportunity to meet eligible men. All I meant to say was that it is more than high time you thought of yourself as a beautiful and feminine young woman to whom men are bound to be attracted and not as a sister or a plucky comrade, as some of the young officers stationed upcountry seem to regard you! Oh, for heaven’s sake! I really can’t seem to recall now what I started out to explain to you in the first place. There, that takes care of your corset. And I’d have you know that I am many years older than you are and just as hot and sticky and tired!”
For once Alexa did not kick aside each garment, as it dropped around her ankles, with a smothered, under-the-breath military oath that Harriet always pretended not to hear. She had been standing as still as a statue, and just as silent except for a slight sigh of relief as the tightly laced corset was loosened. And now, to Harriet’s disquiet, Alexa actually bent down to retrieve each offending article, one by one, something that she, used to doting servants waiting on her from babyhood, had never deigned to do before.
Alexa’s voice sounded rather smothered for a moment until she straightened, still with her back turned to Harriet. “Well, I suppose that you did not want to make this journey any more than I did, Aunt Harry, especially with Freddy being sick and Mama all flustered, and nobody to help Papa out with the ledgers and to see that he eats enough. And I suppose that I have been spoiled and allowed to run wild, and…and have thought only of myself all this time without any sense of responsibility towards other people. While everyone else around me, like you, Aunt Harry…”
Alexa swung around abruptly with her untidy bundle of clothes clutched before her, a naked pagan goddess with the sheen of unshed tears making her widely spaced storm dark eyes appear even more brilliant under uncompromisingly straight dark brows. “We all take you for granted, don’t we? But what of you? Why didn’t you ever marry? Didn’t you want to, ever?”
Harriet had always taught Alexa to be honest, to tell the truth and take the consequences if she had to, no matter what the cost. And now, without making herself too much of a hypocrite, how could she give this child-woman standing before her anything less than a direct answer to a direct question?
Harriet heard herself say in an oddly stiff voice: “The man I imagined myself in love with fell in love with someone else and married her. And I…I could never settle for second best. I think that is enough for one afternoon. Even old memories can bring painful twinges, as you might discover for yourself some day.”
Her back, as she turned to walk through the archway that led to her own connecting room, was as uncompromisingly straight as Alexa’s had been earlier; and it was only after she had pulled the heavy curtain closed to shut her into privacy that Harriet permitted herself the rare luxury of flinging herself onto her bed fully clothed and giving way to tears.
Alexa could turn into a raging termagant at times, with her volatile temper that matched her lion’s mane of gold-threaded auburn hair; but she could never bear to see suffering or pain, much less cause it herself. And she sensed only too late that her thoughtless, prying questions had somehow hurt Aunt Harry. She would have given anything to take back her words if she could, as soon as she noticed how her aunt’s face had whitened and seemed to grow stiff all of a sudden. But Aunt Harry was a trooper, and of course she would feel that she had to answer honestly, even if it hurt.
Alexa kept staring at that firmly drawn curtain that had become a barrier keeping her out, keeping her from trying to comfort her aunt in order to assuage her own feelings of guilt. The tears that she too had stubbornly been holding back had begun sliding down her face in warm, wet rivulets, but Alexa did not try to wipe them away. She almost never shed tears, and then only in private. No telltale sobbing and sniffling to give herself away to other people. Tears were punishment, assuagement, relief from tensions. Let them come now. Tomorrow she would make Aunt Harry happy and proud of her—even if the effort killed her! Yes, she’d even let her hair be tortured into those ugly, fashionable ringlets, and she would flutter her fan and giggle and even bat her eyelashes, if that was what it took to take the stricken look off Aunt Harry’s face that had been put there by her thoughtlessness.
Like the sudden tropical cloudbursts that were so common in Ceylon—never lasting too long—Alexa’s torrential flow of tears soon dried up, leaving her feeling drained and weak, as if her legs could no longer hold her up. Dropping her bundled-up clothes where she had been standing, Alexa stretched like a cat, her arms over her head as far as they could reach and then behind her back and to either side until she heard the tiny cracking sounds along her spine and shoulders that always brought comfort when she was tired or tense. And now that she had made herself relax she had barely enough energy left to slide her body between cool cotton sheets and turn her face against the pillow before sinking into the soft nothingness of sleep.
When Harriet, who had not been able to escape into sleep, came in an hour or two later, she shook her head as she looked down at Alexa’s sleeping profile, still stained by the telltale trace of tears. Automatically she reached down and pulled the covers up over the girl’s nude shoulders while she thought to herself, How resilient the young are! When Alexa woke up she would be smiling and sunny-tempered, eager to make amends for everything. That mood would last for a day or two perhaps, and then who knew what might set her off next? The pity of it was that Alexa had almost begun to think of herself as a young boy, running free. Was she really ready yet to turn into a woman?
Fortunately for her own well-being, Harriet Howard was a woman not often given to introspection. Emotion, as she had often pointed out to Alexa, was all very well sometimes, but reason and practicality had to come uppermost. One did the best one could—without being completely heartless, of course—and one survived, somehow. She had taught herself these things, and had immersed herself in books that had broadened her tiny insular world into a veritable universe, and she had learned, and had survived too, hadn’t she? Obviously, there was no such thing as a broken heart, or she would have died on that incongruously bright summer’s day when her best friend, eyes sparkling, had whispered her “secret” and had kept talking on and on without noticing how still and quiet Harriet had suddenly become. Turned into stone and just as cold by a Medusa with short, shining curls crowned by a filet of pearls and a pointed chin and red, pouting lips that men stared at. Even he. But no one had known her feelings. She had not let anyone see, even when the pain inside her screamed for release. “That’s nice. Of course I’m so happy for you. And of course I’ll be one of the witnesses.” Smiling, sensible Harriet.
Ceylon had seemed a long way from England, thank God, and unlike the other planters’ families they had never felt the urge to go “home” on leave or even to visit. Home to what?
Besides her brother, Martin, and the man whose name Harriet never permitted herself even to think, the only other human being that she had let herself love was Alexa. Alexa had needed a strong influence in her life—someone who would concentrate on her. It had not been difficult to take Alexa away from Victorine, who tended in any case to regard a baby girl as a burden inflicted upon her by fate. Victorine was a silly woman, and a helpless one—the kind of female who would cry and wring her little hands and do nothing at all to help herself even if it was a matter of survival.
Alexa, Harriet had decided a long time ago, would be brought up differently; the way Harriet wished at times that she had been brought up. Strong, self-reliant, not afraid to demand whatever she wanted, or to reach out and take it if she had to. Not above playing a role in the charades imposed by men if she had to, but always letting her head rule her heart. Hearts, they said, broke too easily, and giving way to emotion invariably made matters worse instead of better.
Alexa really must learn to control her temper, Harriet thought fretfully before she managed to regain control of her own emotions. Patience and self-control were the hardest lessons to learn, after all; but Alexa had always been possessed of a very quick mind. And if she could be brought to see tomorrow night as a challenge, it might well turn out to be the proving ground that might transform the young Amazon of the hill country into the sophisticated young lady.
The soft chimes of a clock reminded Harriet that dinnertime (and it would be an early dinner tonight, Mrs. Mackenzie had announced) was less than two hours away. Alexa had not stirred, and indeed seemed to be sleeping so soundly that Harriet could not help thinking it would be almost cruel to wake her now and have her hurry to get ready while she was still in a stupor. In fact, it would be much better to let the poor child sleep tonight and then spring her on the assembled company tomorrow when she would be rested, refreshed, and at her best.
Her mind made up, Harriet pulled briskly at a velvet bell rope that summoned at least three servants within minutes. She was in her element giving orders. A tray with an assortment of fresh fruit and a carafe of cold water that had been boiled and filtered (one couldn’t be too careful here) to be left for her niece in case she woke up, with perhaps a decanter of dry white wine as well. And for herself, she must have bath water immediately. Her authoritative commands resulted in the delivery of everything she had requested, and in less than the time she had allowed herself Harriet was bathed and dressed in a dark purple watered silk that was sedate without being dowdy.
She had already prepared the excuses she would offer on Alexa’s behalf—the strain of a long journey coupled with the excitement and natural anticipation, and a degree of nervousness, of course. The Mackenzies, who had eleven children between them, would surely understand. As Harriet descended the stairs, escorted by no less than two turbaned house servants wearing red cummerbunds over their spotless white camboys, she prepared herself for an evening of pleasant conversation and no doubt a discreet exchange of gossip once the ladies retired after dinner, leaving the men to their port and cigars.
Hearing the subdued sounds of laughter and voices, both male and female, as she descended a second flight of stairs, Harriet was doubly pleased that she had allowed Alexa to remain asleep tonight. Small, private dinner, indeed! There must be at least twenty people here, if not more, and all dying from curiosity, no doubt. Well, they would just have to wait until tomorrow, wouldn’t they, Harriet thought before she composed her features. Tomorrow we’ll show them all, Alexa and I!
3
Alexa had never been able to fall asleep easily, usually not drifting off until she was completely worn out and hardly able to keep her eyes open. But then, once asleep, she slept as heavily and as deeply as a child. There were weeks on end when she would only catnap—an hour or so in the afternoon because it was required of her, and perhaps four or five hours at night after she had finished reading whatever book she had become immersed in. Always active and used to spending as much time as she could outdoors, she seemed to exist during these periods on nervous energy alone. And it was during these times too that she was most reckless—whether she was riding by herself or hunting with the pack of hounds she had trained, or else challenging some of the young officers stationed in the district to a race over the most difficult terrain imaginable or a wager as to which of them could bag the most dangerous animal during a hunting trip. She was like a young, healthy animal herself and seemingly indefatigable, until there came a time when she would become irritable for no apparent reason and snap at everyone around her before retiring, finally, to her own room to “meditate” as she called it.
Harriet, who always recognized the signs, would usually give Alexa an hour or two before she would open the door to find her sound asleep, sometimes with her head down on her desk and sometimes sprawled out on the floor. Her sleep at such times was almost like a trance, and Harriet would have her carried to her bed and order her old ayah to sit with her, and then the girl would usually sleep from twelve to eighteen hours or more at a stretch.
“Oh! I feel reborn!” Alexa would laugh, stretching her arms high above her head. And for a while she would act as if she had in truth been renewed—sunny-tempered, easy to please, and wanting to please everyone around her, even to the extent of reading for hours on end to her brother, who adored her at these times and avoided her at others.
Usually, when Alexa had one of her “deep sleeps” as Harriet called them, she did not dream. Perhaps on this particular occasion it was the doing of the young, barefoot maid, who had drawn apart the heavy drapes that were meant to keep out the sun, and then pushed open the heavy wooden shutters to let in the smell and the sound of the restless surf along with the cool ocean breeze. But in any case, Alexa did not lie in bed as inertly as a toppled marble statue, and the habitual blackness of her sleep was laced through with strange dreams that made her twist and turn uncomfortably even though she did not want to wake up just yet.
Riding into battle, always as a man. And Uncle John asking her, “Well, Alexa, have you made up your mind yet?” About being reborn, he meant of course; and she could hear herself answer: “No, not yet. But I think I should have been born a pagan woman who would delight in nothing more than feeling without having to think; and then perhaps being born a woman would not be so bad without being hedged about with rules and regulations and people who are always telling you that to be happy and enjoy yourself is wicked!”
“Were you ever a pagan woman before? In what countries were you born as a woman?” She did not recognize the voice that had asked her that question. Perhaps it had only floated in on the sea breeze that carried with it the scents and sounds of a myriad different countries touched by the same ocean moving back and forth and back and forth uncaring what names it was given because it knew it was life and beginning and end and always.
Not wanting to dream so deeply even in her fragmented dreams, she almost surfaced as she thought…countries? Spain…why did she think Spain? Papa had fought in Spain… “bitter-sweet,” he had said of the music. Moorish influence… “they call it flamenco”…in her dream she saw herself dancing by herself in a red dress with only the sound of a guitar…then a voice…hers, somehow. Why would she sing when she was so sad? Sad…waiting…never, the words of the song said. Gone…gone…never…It had nothing to do with her!
Alexa almost woke then, but not quite. Floating between sleep and wakefulness, she heard someone playing minor chords on a guitar, a voice singing in Spanish. The almost cloying perfume of night-blooming flowers drifted into the room. Queen of the Night, Jasmine. Temple Flower. Gardenia. Alexa, knowing Spanish (as well as four other languages), understood that the song was a cry of unrequited love—of happiness followed by sadness—until it ended on an ugly, discordant note. “So, enough! There are too many centuries of bitterness embedded in the music of Spain. An English song, perhaps?”
There were more voices and sounds now, drowning out what she had almost felt and almost reached. Turning over on her side, Alexa burrowed her face into a too-soft pillow, still not wanting and not prepared to wake up quite yet. She was drifting as lightly as a lotus blossom on the surface of sleep when she heard Harriet come in, followed by a servant. A tray was to be removed and another with fresh fruit and fresh, cool water and wine brought in to replace it. She felt Harriet bend over her, pulling up the cotton sheet that had slipped down to her waist. Poor Aunt Harry. An uneasy mixture of conservative and liberal. Think free, but do conform on the surface. What had happened to the man she had loved who had married her best friend?
“Have all the young missy’s clothes been pressed before they were hung up?”
“Oh, yes, lady. I look after everything. I sit up all night if young missy want something.”
“Good. Thank you—Menika, was it? I’m sure you’ll see to everything. And I intend to go to sleep myself. No, I don’t need any help. Well, just the buttons at the back, perhaps, and then I shall manage quite well.”
Breathing evenly, Alexa floated in and out of sleep in spite of the fact that the sheet Aunt Harry had pulled up as far as her neck felt scratchy and far too hot. Poor Aunt Harry. Poor dear. She needed her sleep too…. She could hear the faint sounds of the sea from outside, and over that the sounds of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves and voices calling out good-byes. Soon everything would be quiet and the night would belong to the sounds of the sea again. The faint aroma of a cigar made her wrinkle her nostrils, and she thought: Smells like one of Uncle John’s. He always smokes the very best. And he had given her the very best of himself too. His wisdom, his understanding…
How pleasant it was to lie like this and drift along the borders of sleeping and waking. So many thoughts floated in and out of her mind without ceasing, one dream thought melting into the next. She saw herself as a rebellious, questioning child who resented the hampering skirts she was supposed to wear—until Aunt Harry took her side. And then in her next dream picture she was a pirate on a ship that rocked under her bare feet, fighting with a cutlass until the last and then, with a laugh of defiance, turning to plunge into the sea. How cool and pleasant it was, the sea. Like a friend she had always known. Green or blue or grey shading to black. Foam-tipped and salty. Both friend and foe. Nemesis or lover.
What a strange and almost startling thought. It must have been that and the chimes of the clock on top of the mahogany bookcase that made Alexa start upright in bed. Twelve. Somehow, she knew without counting how many times the same note had repeated itself. She was wide awake, all of a sudden, and she was hot and thirsty as well. The unfortunate young maid who started up almost as soon as the “English missy” did had no way of knowing at that moment, of course, that Alexa was also used to having her own way. Or that she had learned to speak both Tamil and Sinhalese, the major languages of the country, and was accustomed to getting into heated arguments with some of the young English officers who grinned and made comments like, “Alex has a way with the natives, all right. Can’t understand it.”
“Natives?” she would say, flaring up. “I suppose that’s how the Romans and the Danes and the Saxons and the French who invaded England referred to our ancestors! This is their country and we’re just visitors here—uninvited, I might add. And the civilization of the ‘natives’ of this island dates back to a time before Christ was born! You—we—all of us should be learning instead of trying to tear down in order to substitute…well look at us! Look at our clothes, look at…Have you ever wondered how primitive we must seem? As primitive, perhaps, as the barbarians who overran Rome, in the end.”
“Can’t stop Alexa when she gets on her soap box!” How it infuriated her when they wouldn’t listen, or did not want to listen perhaps, and would sometimes deliberately incite her into “laying down the law” as they called it.
But on the other hand, when it suited her Alexa could not only act but sound as imperious as any haughty English madam.
“I’m thirsty. I’ll have a very little of the wine, thank you. No fruit—I’m not hungry. And then I’d like a bath.”
“A…a bath now, Missy? With hot water brought up?”
Even in the dim light shed by two candles, Alexa could see the dismay on the girl’s face, making her relent slightly.
‘No, I don’t want hot water by any means; not in this heat. But isn’t there a bathing place here? Where do you go to bathe? In the hill country…”
The Sinhalese people made it a point to bathe at least once every day and sometimes more often if it was exceptionally hot. At a well, or a stream, or under a waterfall. Alexa looked questioningly at the pretty young woman who had to be close to her own age, and repeated her question in Sinhalese.
Understanding, the girl shook her head as she tried to explain. “Not here, Missy. There are only bath tubs and the Governor’s pool. But it has water from the sea, not fresh water. And this Governor and lady never use the Governor’s pool.”
Alexa flung aside the sheet that was supposed to cover her and swung her legs off the bed, stretching as she rose to her feet and pretending not to notice the amazement on the face of the young maid, who had obviously never seen an “English missy” naked before. “It sounds very inviting to me, at least,” she said pleasantly. “And while I drink some wine you must tell me about the pool. Is it quite private? Is it very close to the house? How long would it take for us to get there?”
Menika had been newly promoted from her hitherto lowly position of helping to make beds and fold linens, and her mother, who had served several former governors, had instructed her strictly as to what her duties were. She must obey orders, and she must never let her tongue chatter until she sounded like a mynah bird; also, she must remember that anything she heard or witnessed was never to be repeated. Did she understand? Never!
The girl understood well enough, as she always had. She knew very well too why her skin happened to be a much lighter shade of brown than her mother’s skin was—and why her eyes were hazel instead of being black. And also why her “father” was supposed to be dead. Sometimes she would wonder which Governor was her real father, and then push the thought away. Most likely he had been a guest. This Governor and his lady made sure that Menika attended only their women guests; but before there had been times when she had been obliged to lie with some drunken, bad-smelling Englishman who would use her body without any consideration before sending her away with a slap on her bottom and perhaps a few rupees, if he was sober enough to think of it. For as long as she could remember, Menika had always understood what life was and had accepted both its cruelties and its rewards. In her heart she was a Buddhist, although like her mother and the rest of the servants who served the English Governors who came and went at Queen’s House, she had to pretend she was a Christian convert in order to keep her position. It did not matter—the ritual she had learned to repeat parrot-fashion held no meaning for her. It was what people thought and believed inside themselves and how they lived their lives—never consciously harming any living being—that was all that really counted.
Usually, when she attended the Governor’s guests, Menika merely obeyed orders and answered questions as briefly as she could. She had never encountered a guest before who could speak her own language, or who was not ashamed of standing naked before a servant while she sipped wine and asked to be told more about the Governor’s pool.
“Oh, did you unpack for me? Thank you! I must find something cool to wear…” From one of the sandalwood-scented drawers Alexa took out her most comfortable costume—the camboy and brief, low-cut bodice of the Sinhalese peasant women. She could detect no change of expression in the face of the young servant woman who stood waiting respectfully for her next command. Menika. Yes, that was her name; she had heard Aunt Harry say it. A pretty name that meant “precious gem.” And Menika herself was pretty, and deserved more than a life of waiting on other people. But what other alternatives did she have either? I wish I could talk to her and find out how she feels and what she thinks, Alexa thought; but there was a barrier between them that had been put there by circumstances and a rigorously enforced system of etiquette and convention that bristled with rules and reminders of what was done and “simply not done.”
So instead of saying what she really wanted to say, Alexa walked to the opened windows and looked out, asking over her shoulder, “Is tonight the night of the full moon?”
“It is the night after the Poya, as the Buddhists call the night of a full moon.” Menika corrected herself quickly, hoping her slip had not been noticed. She had stolen a few minutes to visit a temple yesterday—Poya Day to the Buddhists—and even her mother knew nothing about it.
“My ayah is a Buddhist and I’ve gone with her to temple on Poya Day a few times,” Alexa said mildly. “Our temple has a pet cobra who likes milk, of all things! He’s really quite affectionate after you get to know him.” And then, so unexpectedly that she reminded a confused Menika of a striking cobra herself, Alexa went on to say brightly: “But of course an almost-full moon on such a clear night as this means that we should find our way to this bathing pool quite easily, don’t you think?” She added patiently, noticing the look of shock on Menika’s hitherto expressionless face, “The Governor’s pool that you were telling me about.”
“The missy is joking, surely?”
“I most certainly am not! I want to swim in the moonlight without any clothes on, like a pagan! And I can swim—very well indeed—so you need not be afraid that I will drown and they’ll blame you. Also…” Alexa sighed, “do you think as long as we are alone you could stop calling me missy and call me Alex, or Alexa instead? In any event, I must tell you that I am determined to go anyway, with or without your help, now that my mind is made up. Although I promise I’ll be very discreet and not get you into any trouble. Well?” And then: “Please?”
On the verge of offering Menika a bribe of a gold bracelet or several rupees, Alexa thought better of it and instead used the courteous word karunakolla, which also meant please but was for the most part used between equals and implied respect for the other person at the same time.
“You shouldn’t ask such a thing of me. If the other lady wakes up she will be very angry and blame me! And it might not be safe to swim there alone. Colombo is full of thieves and bad men who might think, seeing you dressed like…not like an English lady…”
“We are surely not going to be troubled by any desperate characters in the gardens of Queen’s House? I remember seeing uniformed guards everywhere when we arrived.” Alexa’s voice went from coaxing to teasingly mischievous. “Oh, do unbend for once, Menika! Have you never been tempted to do something forbidden? Isn’t there any special friend that you sometimes slip out to meet? I’m sure you know how we can avoid running into any of the sentries, who are all probably asleep or playing cards at this hour anyway. And I’ll go barefoot, and be very quiet, I promise you. Look, I’ll even take my little pistol just in case we run into a snake—of any species! And I can use it too. I never miss.”
Caught between what Sir John Travers, who was a scholar, would have termed “Scylla and Charybdis,” poor Menika found herself left with no real choice after all. She could hardly let this unusual young Englishwoman try to find the tiny natural inlet known as the Governor’s pool by herself, for if she got lost or something happened to her, she, Menika, would be blamed for everything. But on the other hand, this young Englishwoman wore the costume of the people without a trace of awkwardness, and she had just proved by the swiftness and ease with which she had loaded her pistol that she was quite familiar with such weapons, this one now carefully hidden in the folds of a lace shawl.
If I do as she wishes perhaps it will not turn out badly after all, Menika thought consideringly. After all, she acts as if she can take care of herself as well as any man, and there is no soft fat on her body. Perhaps, once her wish is gratified she will grow bored and want to return. And besides, hadn’t she actually asked her politely instead of ordering?
Sensing surrender, Alexa smiled at Menika, impatiently running fingers through the heavy mass of her hair before twisting it into a knot at the nape of her neck.
“Come, let’s go quickly on this adventure, and I promise not to take too long. And as for my aunt, I know she’ll sleep soundly until morning. She’s probably taken one of her headache powders as she usually does when she is tired and wants to sleep without interruption.”
Resigning herself, Menika bowed her head. “If you are determined, then it would be better, I suppose, if I took you by the easiest and safest way. There is a back staircase that is used only by servants, and it is very narrow—you will have to watch your footing. And there is a secret path. I have never used it myself, but my mother who has worked here for many, many years showed it to me once. There are no guards posted along that path or about the bathing pool either. A previous Governor gave the order…” Menika’s eyes darted to the face of her unlikely companion, and detecting no shock but only a lively curiosity, went on in a soft voice: “He was a man who, like most men, enjoyed women. Others, beside his wife.” Speaking in her native tongue instead of the pidgin English she had acquired, Menika seemed much more at ease. Now she said hastily, “But please, from this moment we must be very quiet. There are guards close by.”
Hurrying along on bare feet over dew-damp grass, feeling and relishing with a mounting sense of exhilaration the freedom from the restriction of layer upon layer of heavy clothing, Alexa wanted to laugh out loud. With Menika leading the way they slipped between tall hedges that shut out most of the moonlight, following a path that was almost completely grassed over so that it was now a mere track. An owl hooted from somewhere close by, and the fragrance of flowers lingered in the air. Some people would have called this a romantic night, but to Alexa it was only another example of the beauty of nature itself. And now, sensing the nearness of the ocean, she began to long for the feel of silky-cool water against her skin…to be floating on her back while she watched the moon float above her, and feeling herself rocked gently by the motion of the never-still sea.
“The…the cry of the owl…it is supposed to be a bad omen!” Menika was obviously nervous.
“Nonsense!” Alexa said as bracingly as Harriet might have done. “The owl is only awake at night. Does the twittering of birds in the daytime alarm you? There is nothing frightening or mysterious about the night; it is merely a time when the sun is shining on the other side of our world…when the sun is resting,” Alexa quickly amended, catching the puzzled look Menika threw over her shoulder.
“I had never thought about it that way,” the girl said with a note of surprise in her low voice. And then she broke off suddenly to point ahead. “That is the place. It was not made by any person, but by the sea itself, slipping through that narrow opening there to form a protected bathing place. But the former Governor I told you about had rough steps cut into the rocks. See? On this side. The pool, however, is quite deep, so I have heard.”
“How beautiful! And especially under the moon! Don’t you want to come in too? I could teach you how to float if you’d trust me.”
“No…no!” Menika stepped backward apprehensively. “I cannot swim, and I would not dare try the water. It frightens me. Please, perhaps we should return to the house? The water looks so black where the moon does not touch it, and it keeps moving as if it was breathing…”
“Well, I’m going in, and this is probably the last opportunity I will have to swim out in the open—under the sky—without all the hampering clothes I shall be expected to wear all the time now, I expect. Oh, how I hate clothes, and everything they represent! Repression—hyprocrisy—sham!” Alexa was talking to herself, almost, as she removed the skimpy bodice and tossed it aside before undoing the carelessly tied knot that held her improvised “skirt” about her hips. She stood there in the moonlight like a naked Greek goddess carved out of marble, stretching her arms out wide over her head with an almost primitive sense of ecstasy she did not quite understand herself as she paid homage to the moon and to the ocean—both female like herself. And then she said carelessly, “Are you sure it’s deep?” and dived in without waiting for a reply, her body cleaving through black and silver with hardly any splash at all—coming up for air with her hair dripping and hanging heavily down her back; the reflected shine of the moon gleaming off her wet skin as well.
“Ohh! It’s wonderful! And actually quite warm too. Do join me, Menika. Be daring just this once! I can swim and I promise to look after you.” But the girl only shook her head, backing off as she glanced nervously behind her.
“Please, if you do not mind I will wait here for you and watch.” There was no budging her for all Alexa’s coaxing; and all she would say, stubbornly, was, “I will wait, and guide you back when you are ready.”
In the end, seeing Alexa begin to swim back and forth—sometimes diving under water like a fish and coming up some moments later to shake back her long, strangely colored hair—Menika decided resignedly that she might as well rest for a while, since she was tired and had hoped to snatch a few hours of sleep tonight. Retreating a short distance into the shadows thrown by the shrubbery that had been allowed to grow wild at this particular place, Menika leaned her back against a tree, tucking her feet under her. Oh, but she was tired! She had been awake since five in the morning and had been working ever since. Perhaps if she could just close her eyes for a few minutes…
