SANDILANDS KNEW how lucky he was and had never felt more humble or grateful or happy than during that sail to the island with Leila. She threw overboard all her cares as politician and lawyer and became an agile and cheerful sailor. As she sat in the stern, holding the rudder, with her hair streaming in the strong but odorous breeze, he just could not believe his luck that this strange woman was his, well, no, not quite his, for if ever a person belonged to herself it was she, but his, in the sense that as his wife she was more his than anyone else’s. Those watchers on the verandah would be thinking and probably saying that they couldn’t understand what she saw in him. He couldn’t understand it himself, but if he was to deserve her he must from now on show all his best qualities. That lightening of his heart, that cleansing of his mind, must have been a religious experience of some kind.
There was no one else on the little island. They were alone with lizards, crabs, and birds. They swam, naked, in water that sparkled and was lukewarm. They climbed to the top of the hill and looked towards Savu Town, two miles away, far enough for the buildings and the derricks of the oil wells to seem like parts of the jungle.
After their picnic, shared by some small red-breasted birds, they lay side by side in the shade.
‘Have you ever noticed, Andrew,’ she said, in a teasing tone, ‘how we dusky ladies like to keep out of the sun? We do not want to become any duskier, you see. Among us it is considered more beautiful to be pale.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ he said, rather weakly.
‘You must have heard Mrs Srinavasan lamenting how black she is.’
‘I’ve heard her lamenting about a lot of things.’
‘She told me, in confidence – but you are my husband and exempt – that Mr Srinavasan got her cheap because she is so black.’
‘He’s pretty black himself.’
‘Ah, but it doesn’t apply to men.’
He was becoming vaguely aware that this conversation, so lightly engaged upon, was serious. Leila must know of, must have divined, his instinctive – she would charitably think of it as that – aversion to dark skin, though she had never mentioned it before. Now in this oblique, humorous, loving way, in this lonely place, she was drawing the poison out of him.
He turned on his side and stared at her. ‘You have the most beautiful colour I have ever seen.’ He was able to say it with conviction for he believed it.
She turned on her side. ‘I hope all our children have blue eyes.’
‘I don’t. I want a little girl with brown eyes like you.’
‘Do you, Andrew?’
‘Yes, I do.’
They both remembered Christina.
Then, still smiling, still speaking lightly, she said something that threatened to revive his worst qualities and destroy his happiness which moments ago had seemed indestructible.
‘There is one available, Andrew, a little girl with brown eyes like mine.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mrs Daya’s daughter. Her father does not want her and her mother cannot have her. I would like her, Andrew.’
He was appalled. Half an hour ago he was swimming joyfully in the clear uncontaminated sea. Now he was plunged into the murky bitter waters of his own inadequacies.
‘She is very intelligent and brave, Andrew.’
‘Are you serious? About adopting her?’
‘Very serious.’
‘Does your father know?’
‘It has nothing to do with my father.’
‘But you think he might not approve?’
‘I hope he would approve.’
‘But, Leila, for God’s sake, have you considered –’
‘That her mother has committed a terrible crime? Yes, Andrew, I have considered it. The child herself is blameless. Is that not so?’
He was silent.
‘Is it not so, Andrew?’
‘Yes, but the world won’t think so.’
‘What matters to me is what you think, not the world.’
‘What’s going to happen to her mother? Won’t she be hanged?’
‘If they are not merciful.’
‘And they won’t be.’ But if they were and the poor wretch was shut away for life would they be expected to take her child to see her regularly? He would never be able to do it.
‘You would have to give your consent, Andrew.’
He was being asked to do something that was beyond him. Even with all his best qualities on display he just wasn’t good enough.
What would those cynics on the verandah say? With guffaws they would say, what a joke, a selfish cunt like Sandilands being asked to face up to something that a saint would turn away from.
But Leila could face up to it, if he did not prevent her.
He felt great shame. It was no consolation or excuse that out there, beyond this ocean and all the other oceans, were millions as selfish and limited as he.
He began to see, vaguely at first, that he might be able to do it, with her help. Was he not looking for a chance to show that he deserved her?
‘What about the child herself?’ he asked. ‘Is she willing?’
‘Yes. Will you come with me to see her?’
‘Where is she?’
‘A friend of mine is looking after her.’
It was a reminder that he did not know her friends. To that extent, yes, she was still a stranger.
‘She has seen you, Andrew, the little girl, I mean. You came to her school to inspect your students. She liked you. She said all the children liked you. You made them laugh. Christina liked you too.’
Tears came into his eyes.
‘You’ll come with me then?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ll think about it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, Andrew.’
Then, taking him by surprise, though it shouldn’t have, she burst into tears.
How grand the sky was, how splendid the sea, how busy these little crabs, how beautiful these flowers fallen from the tree above them, and how necessary Leila’s weeping for her dead daughter.
After a while he consoled her.