December 1966 Watakälé
Anthony stood, looking up the path. He felt an overwhelming impulse to run after her, to beg her to stay and talk to him. He put his head in his hands and massaged his temple. She is a child, he told himself, a native child. I am the British plantation owner. It is wrong – forbidden. He should take a leaf out of her book.
***
The light blue cotton blouse, demurely buttoned up to her neck, and blue pleated skirt looked like it could have been part of the uniform of a school girl.
‘You came.’ Shiro’s words were a cross between a statement and a question.
Her black hair lay unbound on her shoulders, curling around her dark, young face. Anthony wanted to reach out and tangle his hands in it. Did it feel as thick and heavy as it looked?
‘Are you glad to see me?’ Anthony had agonised over what to do all last night. The look on her face told him that he had been right to keep the appointment.
‘Only if you will read with me.’ She leaned forward and smiled, holding the book she was carrying behind her back. The movement stretched the thin material of her blouse.
‘What are you reading today?’ Reaching for the book brought her closer to him. The smell of freshly crushed rose petals flooded his senses.
Shiro placed the palm of her right hand between them. Her fingers touched his chest. Surely she would feel his erratic heartbeat?
‘Move away. I hate being manhandled. Here, have the book.’ She thrust the book at him and stepped back.
Manhandled, what an interesting way to put it. Anthony let her go and accepted the book, bursting into laughter at the title. ‘Romeo and Juliet! You want me to read Shakespeare with you?’
‘Why sir, do you think us natives not literate enough for it? What did you expect? Nursery rhymes?’ Shiro mocked. ‘Let me quote for you.’
She stood straight with hands behind her back, face turned up to the sun. Like a little girl reciting poetry in school, thought Anthony, or an angel about to sing.
‘My only love sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.’
Anthony clapped. ‘Well done, Miss Rasiah.’
‘Here, sit down.’ She shook out the purple blanket, dropping down and patting the spot beside her. ‘You can be Juliet and I’ll be Romeo. And stop trying to be all official. You can call me Shiro now. Only friends read Shakespeare together.’
Anthony lowered himself on the edge of the blanket.
Shiro groaned and slid across the blanket towards him. ‘Why are you sitting so far away? Are you scared of me or something? You can’t see the book from so far.’
‘Here, let me start. I am Romeo.’ Shiro cleared her throat and feigned a serious and deep voice.
‘If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.’
‘Come on,’ Shiro prompted him. ‘Read your part as Juliet.’ Leaning over, she pointed to the words. The touch of her skin on his arm made Anthony catch his breath.
‘Why are you Romeo?’ he mumbled. ‘Shouldn’t that be my part?’
‘Because I always play the male lead in the school plays, silly. I’m the toughest and the most masculine in the class.’
‘Tough and masculine somehow would never cross my mind when I think of you.’ Anthony muffled a laugh. She’s treating me like one of her class friends, he mused. I’d better play along.
‘And, you are sweet and fair and golden-haired, like Juliet would have been.’
This time Anthony laughed out loud. ‘I’ve been called many things Shiro, but never sweet and Juliet-like. But have it your way.’ They bent over the book, their faces close together.
‘Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.’
‘Oh dear, you’re such a bad actor. Here, let me show you.’ Sliding even closer to him on the blanket, she looked into his eyes.
‘For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.’
Anthony remained silent, surprised at the sudden longing to take her in his arms. Was he falling in love with her? This feisty and lovely young woman was a far cry from the naughty little eight year old he remembered.
But there was no passion in the black eyes that locked with his. Just innocent trust.
This was dangerous ground. ‘I don’t think we should continue reading this section.’
‘Why not? Don’t you like Romeo and Juliet?’ She pouted, making it even harder for Anthony.
‘No, I love it, sweetheart. It’s just that I think Juliet kisses Romeo at this point.’
‘No. She does not.’ Turning away she scanned through the page. ‘I know this story, I even acted it. I was Romeo and I was not instructed to kiss Juliet.’ Shutting the book, she looked up at Anthony. Black eyes narrowed. Long lashes dropped, curtain-like, over obsidian pupils. ‘You’re teasing me, aren’t you? And by the way, I am not your sweetheart.’
‘Are you someone else’s sweetheart?’
‘Really, Mr Ashley-Cooper, what an inappropriate question. But for your information, I have no time for sweethearts.’ She giggled. ‘Not that I don’t know what it’s all about. I have a year more in school.’
Shiro dropped back on her elbows, looking over the mountains. Her eyes filmed with tears. ‘After that, I have a major problem.’
‘A problem?’
‘Yes, as to my future. My mother wants me to get married, but I want to go to university. Then I’d like to get away from here. To some exciting and wonderful place – Africa or Australia, maybe. Preferably as a doctor.’
‘You will have to get yourself an African or Australian sweetheart then.’
‘Oh dear, I’ll never be allowed to do that!’ The dismay in her voice would have been amusing if it wasn’t so obviously real. ‘My parents will arrange a marriage for me with a good little Tamil boy. But all the ones I meet are so boring. All they’re interested in is making money and buying a house. Not exciting things like books and poetry.’
Anthony leaned towards her, looking into her eyes – deep pools of worry. ‘Don’t do it, Shiro.’
‘Do what?’
‘Don’t agree to an arranged marriage. Follow your heart.’
Her eyes cleared and sparkled with mischief. ‘Mr Ashley-Cooper, do you realise what you’re doing? You’re encouraging me to rebel against my parents! You’ll be in such trouble if I tell my father!’ Her expression changed as she looked at Anthony through half closed eyes. ‘But then, we can’t tell anyone we met and talked, can we? It’s our secret.’
The seductive allure in her was as old as the hills around them and as unaffectedly natural.
Shiro glanced at the watch at her wrist and scrambled to her feet. ‘My goodness, I have to run. I promised Mummy I’d help with the cake and the palaharams.’ She picked up the blanket and book. ‘Are you coming to church on Christmas day? Ten-thirty in the morning in the Reform Church in Nuwara-Eliya? Bobsy the minister’s great fun.’
Anthony grimaced. ‘I’m not exactly a church person.’
But she was gone, scrambling up the path to the Tea-maker’s quarters.
Bobsy the minister? Well I never …