Conversations” a short story from “Rainbows in Braille” – A collection of short stories – By Elmo Jayawardena
“The bus broke down at Dehiwela, that’s why I am late,” he hurriedly explains.
“I even thought I would not be able to come today, luckily they got another bus.”
“It was crowded, filled to the brim, spilling people, but I managed.”
He goes on and on in his monologue, he is used to it.
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“They asked me today whether I would like to get transferred to Kandy. They need someone there to do the store-keeper’s job. I would have gone, I like Kandy, I like the green hills and the constant rain and the mist filled mornings.”
“But then, I will not be able to come and see you or talk to you.”
He knows he will never leave. That would not be too easy to do.
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“Do you remember the time we went to Kandy?” He recalls a well-repeated story. They hadn’t visited many places. Once to Kataragama to fulfill a vow and a few times to the Kelaniya temple and one trip to Kandy to see the Esela Perahera
“The elephants were nice, weren’t they? Remember how you got scared when one stopped in front of us and turned his head?”
“I don’t think it would have harmed you, I would not have allowed that.”
“Anyway I told them I won’t go. Kandy can wait, maybe later, if life gets better.”
“I know what you are thinking. Yes, they are shabby, it’s not that I have no clothes, I just can’t be bothered.”
“I must do some washing; I’m waiting for the week-end, even bought some Sunlight soap. Maybe Monday I’ll wear clean clothes and smell better.”
“I should shave too as I used to do. I know that would please you.”
“Or maybe I will grow a beard, would you like that?”
He pauses awhile and goes back to office tales.
“I still get lunch from that woman who brings parcels to the office,” he describes the noonday meal.
“Nothing much to eat, but it’s all right.”
“A lot of rice and two vegetables with a small piece of fish. She is a bit stingy, sometimes she gives only vegetables but still charges thirty rupees.”
“I pay her weekly, that way it is easy.”
“You know, I can manage everything, but the problem is I miss you.”
The sun dips down and the skies turn into a sad and gloomy shade, cloudy and grey. The place is parched, windless and still. The birds above are heading home, warbling loudly to the world that night is coming and that they had enjoyed a great and wonderful day. A little boy comes to take home his cow, an almost brown one with a white patch on its forehead and a little bell around her neck. She’s been tied to the gatepost and had been grazing on scanty grass.
The watcher is ready to close the gate and pauses as he sees him.
He does not want to disturb, he knows better. He’s seen him before, almost everyday.
The shadows are creeping and the man sits still. The watcher is holding the lock and chain in hand. He sees the man in silhouette, almost like the marble statues that dot the place, small angels with spread-wings and kind faces, blackened with grime, burnt by the sun and washed by the rain.
It is time to go home. He passes the bus-stop. The walk is a mile or more and he trudges along, head bent, like an old man in the rain.
The key needs a bit of maneuvering to unlock the door. The windows have to be opened for the fresh air to come and the lamp has to be lit to make life a little brighter. Then something must be rustled to eat.
Hopefully he will fall sleep.
