December 1967 Watakälé
‘No, I will not marry Yogan Chelliah. In fact I will not marry anyone till I finish medical school.’ Shiro stood with her head thrown back, eyes flashing defiance at her mother.
‘Aiyoo, by then you will be too old to find a man,’ her mother wailed.
Shiro felt a deep resentment build up in her soul. ‘So? Why is marriage the be all and end all of everything? I’ll stay unmarried, travel, be a missionary doctor. Mum, you are so pathetic.’
She ran out of the house.
Behind her, Victor spoke to her mother. ‘Let her be, Mum. She’s a complex little thing. You can’t force her. Someday she’ll meet a man who will understand her.’
Shiro part ran, part slid down the damp path. She stood panting by the stream, shivering. It was cold and she hadn’t stopped to pick up her coat. She flung her head back and scanned the familiar landscape, searching for the peace she had always been able to find in this place.
The eagle was there, roosting on a nest high on the tallest eucalyptus tree. Shiro leant back against the rock to wait for Anthony and then slid down to sit crosslegged on the rock ledge.
She thought what marriage to Yogan would be like. He had touched her when they were on the sofa. His touch had been gentle … but awful. She had hated it. She imagined his hands on her body. It made her want to throw up. She giggled, that would be a bad beginning to the honeymoon.
Thoughts of Anthony’s long, slender fingers crossed her mind. His fingers on her shoulder, his hand on her hair. How wonderful it felt when he touched her. But then he was special, her best friend.
Shiro frowned at the growl of the motorbike and the screech of the brakes on the rough gravel. That’s careless. Anthony always parked his bike some distance away and walked to the stream. They had decided that it was safer that way. It wouldn’t draw attention to their meetings.
Shiro looked up as she heard footsteps. ‘Anthony …?’
‘Waiting for my brother are you, sweetheart?’ The voice was a vicious parody of Anthony’s.
Shiro leapt to her feet. ‘Who are you?’ Anxiety and fear raised the pitch of her voice. Even as she spoke, she knew who he was. This was Anthony’s brother, William, the awful man she had seen on the platform of Diyatalāwa station.
The laugh was arrogant and dismissive. ‘I could ask the same of you, my sexy little kitten. But no, I’ll tell you what I think you are.’ He gestured at the stream. ‘You’re the mermaid of the waterfall, sent to seduce hapless sex-starved men like me.’
William reached out a suntanned hand to touch her cheek. Shiro shrank back against the rock wall behind her and turned her face away.
‘Stop it,’ she gasped.
William moved closer and slid his fingers down her cheek. ‘So you had an appointment with my little brother Anthony, did you? Maybe I could stand in for him today?’ She stared back at him. His blue eyes were cesspools of dark desire. Her heart raced. She needed to get away.
William sneered. His eyes slid from her face to her breasts. Shiro gulped and grasped the top of her blouse.
He stepped closer, blocking her path. A strong smell of alcohol emanated from him. She glanced around. The tea fields were empty. There was no one to hear her if she screamed.
Suddenly, a wave of anger replaced her fear. Her father’s voice echoed in her ear. ‘Bastard whites think they can have any native woman.’ Well, she was not just any native woman. She was Shiro Rasiah. She was no pawn and definitely not a white man’s plaything.
William’s right hand slid down from her cheek to her shoulder and her arm. His fingers cut into her flesh. His other hand reached for her. His fingers played with the amethyst pendent of her chain nestled on her neck, then moved lower to rest on her breasts.
Damn him and all his kind to hell. Shiro drew her hand back. She lashed forward with all her strength. Her hand slashed across Williams face. Her fingernails gauged his cheek.
He pulled back. She saw the red stripes on his face where her nails had drawn blood.
‘Get your filthy hands off me,’ she screamed.
‘You little she-devil,’ William growled. His hands held her arms tightly.
Shiro struggled. ‘Don’t you dare touch me you damned white bastard!’ she spat.
‘Fighting words, my lovely.’ He pulled her to him. ‘I’ll show you that I’m a far better lover than my little brother.’ William lowered his mouth to Shiro’s.
‘Take your hands off her, you idiot!’ Anthony was on the path just above them, his body tense and eyes blazing. With two strides, he bridged the gap between them. He gripped William’s shirt and yanked William away from Shiro. William staggered and fell, sprawling in the mud. Anthony stood between William and Shiro, hands clenched into fists by his sides, breathing in sharp gasps. Shiro stepped back against the rock.
William sprang up. ‘How dare –’ He stopped, looked from Anthony to Shiro, and laughed. ‘Come on, little brother,’ he scoffed, smoothing his rumpled shirt. ‘I was just keeping your bit of fluff warm for you.’ He leered at Shiro again. His face reminded her of the demon masks the local sorcerers used for witchcraft.
‘What the hell are you doing here in Watakälé, William?’ Anthony hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Go. Get out of here before I do something we both regret.’ He looked at William’s scratched and bleeding face. ‘Get your face seen to. It looks like you’ve been trying to rape someone in broad daylight. That would be disgusting, even for you.’
William hooted with laughter. ‘Relax, Anthony, she’s all yours. Unlike you, I don’t find the natives tempting. The coolie girls are much more sexy and willing.’ He looked past Anthony at Shiro. He raised a hand in a mock salute. ‘But my compliments. This one’s truly a delectable piece of flesh. What fire, what spirit! Let me know when you tire of playing with her.’ He turned and walked away. They heard his laughter as he revved his motorbike and sped away.
Eyes on fire, Anthony turned to face Shiro. His breath was ragged, his knuckles white in clenched fists. The look in his eyes made her shiver. ‘Are you okay, Shiro?’ Anthony ran a finger over the bruise on her arm where William had seized her.
There was no thrill in his touch. Shiro shrunk further back against the rock. ‘Don’t touch me.’
‘You’re shivering, sweetheart.’ He stripped off his light sweater and wrapped it over her shoulders.
Tears stung Shiro’s eyelids and trickled down her cheeks. ‘He called me your bit of fluff and said you were playing with a native. Is that what you’re doing, Anthony?’
Anthony winced and shut his eyes. ‘The idiot.’ Then he sighed. ‘Shiro, my princess, please sit down. We need to talk.’
Shiro gulped and shook her head. She stood with her back pasted to the rock. ‘No. It’s gone.’
‘What’s gone, Shiro?’ Anthony reached forward and touched her arm. His touch calmed her but it was not enough. She turned her head away from him.
‘The magic – this place. He’s spoiled it all. See?’ She flung her hand to the sky. Even eagle isn’t here anymore.’
Anthony slid his hands down her arms. He picked up her hands and brought them to his face. He kissed her fingertips one by one. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’
‘For how long, Anthony?’ She dragged her hands away. ‘Till you’re bored with being a best friend to me? Get tired of playing with the natives? Till you get me into your bed? The Englishman and the Sri Lankan native girl. This is all just a game for you, isn’t it Anthony?’ Tears flowed down her cheeks, unchecked.
‘Princess, no.’
Ripping off his sweater, she flung it at his feet.
‘Just go back home, you … you British bastard!’