LITMIR.BIZ

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the lady card-reader’s tent.

      ‘Don’t be long,’ Aunty May warns. ‘We’ll wait here.’

      The lady card-reader’s tent is occupied. Esther takes some money out of her purse. Then she sees the boy called Anton.

      ‘Here,’ she says, thrusting the money into Alice’s hand. ‘You go in, instead. I’ll stay here. I want to talk to someone. Go on, I’ll wait here for you.’

      Alice doesn’t want to go. She can’t comprehend something as vast as the future, but Esther and the fairground atmosphere are too insistent.

      ‘Go on,’ Esther urges impatiently. ‘You can ask her anything. Ask if you are going to have a brother or sister.’

      The customer inside the tent has come out now and there is no excuse. Esther pushes her inside the tent, nodding encouragingly.

      ‘I’ll wait here,’ she promises.

      The tent is dark with a small glow from a red-shaded lamp. The lady card-reader sitting at the table points to the chair beside her.

      ‘How old are you?’ she asks in Singhalese.

      Alice tells her. It is her birthday today, she says and the woman moves her head as though she wants her to stop talking now. Then she begins to lay the cards out on the table. They aren’t the same cards that Alice has seen the servant boy playing with. These cards have pictures. The lady card reader uncovers three sevens.

      ‘Not so good,’ she observes. ‘Can you swim?’

      Alice can swim, although her grandmother doesn’t like her to go into the water here because of the strong currents. And all because once a servant had remarked she could drown if she weren’t careful. The servant had seen how Alice’s hair grew at the back of her head in a whirlpool. Ever since then her grandmother had been frightened of the sea. Nothing her grandfather could say or do could take away this fear. But yes, Alice tells the lady card reader, she can swim. The woman stares at her for a moment. Then she nods, satisfied.

      ‘I see lots of water,’ she says. ‘Cold water, grey faraway skies. And you have a good memory. Don’t forget anything. One day you will find happiness, so don’t give up.’

      She looks at Alice and hesitates. Then she holds out her hand for the money. When Alice gives it to her, she stands up.

      ‘You are very talented,’ she says. ‘So do the best you can. It won’t be easy’ And then she holds open the curtain.

      ‘What on earth were you doing in there?’ Esther greets her crossly. ‘You’ve been ages. Your aunty’s going to be worried.’

      ‘Did you see Anton?’

      Esther nods.

      ‘Well, are you going to have a brother or a sister?’

      ‘I forgot to ask,’ Alice tells her.

      ‘Idiot!’ Esther bursts out laughing at her.

      In the bright heart of the fair the carousel is still turning and blasting loud music as the two girls walk back, carrying their thoughts with them.

      The doctor is drunk. His breath smells as he squints at the notes the nurse gives him.

      ‘What?’ he asks in high-pitched Singhalese. ‘You called me in just for this Tamil woman?’

      ‘She isn’t Tamil, sir,’ the nurse tells him. ‘Just the husband.’ ‘Exactly!’ the doctor says, trying not to belch but without success.

      ‘That’s my point. Why should we help breed more Tamils? As if this country hasn’t enough already!’

      Outside, the trees rustle in the slight breeze. Tonight is quiet, no drums, no police sirens, no sudden violence. A perfect night on which to be born.

      ‘All right,’ the doctor says, bored. ‘Take me to her.’

      The woman lies groaning in a pool of sweat. Moonlight falls on the ripeness of her belly. Catching sight of the doctor, she begs him for something to relieve the pain. She speaks in perfect, old-fashioned Singhalese. The nurse bends and wipes her face and offers her a sip of water.

      ‘Give her some quinine,’ the doctor tells the nurse.

      Then he examines the woman. Because he is drunk, because he has driven here in haste, leaving his dinner guests still at the table, he has forgotten his glasses. Roughly he inserts two fingers into her dilating uterus and the woman screams. The doctor tells her sharply to be quiet, and stepping back half loses his balance. The nurse glances at him, alarmed.

      ‘Sir?’ she asks tentatively.

      The doctor does not know that this nurse is still a student. She should not be here alone, but the midwife has been called out on an emergency. The student nurse thinks this is an emergency too, but she doesn’t know what she could say. She is frightened. The doctor prods the woman, ignoring her screams, then, having satisfied himself that all is well, leans over the bed.

      ‘Do you understand English?’ he asks slowly.

      It is important he does not slur his speech.

      ‘Yes,’ the woman says faintly, in Singhalese. ‘I do.’

      ‘Good. Then you will understand when I tell you these pains are perfectly normal. They are just called Braxton Hicks contractions. The baby will turn soon and then you’ll go into labour. It may take a few hours; you just have to be patient. Nothing to worry about. It’s a perfectly normal process. You Tamil women have been doing this for centuries!’

      And he laughs, washing his hands.

      ‘The nurse will take care of you,’ he says, gesturing to the nurse to give the woman the quinine. ‘This will calm you down. I’ll be back later.’

      The woman, feeling another contraction coming towards her in a wave, tries to ride it and begins to cry out again. The nurse holds her head and she drinks the quinine, the bitterness hardly registering on her. The doe-eyed nurse wipes her face again and follows the doctor out.

      ‘Don’t bother calling me. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. She’ll be fine till then,’ he says.

      ‘But, sir, I think it’s a breach,’ the nurse says tentatively.

      She isn’t sure, of course, and doesn’t want to look foolish in front of this famous consultant.

      ‘Nonsense,’ the doctor tells her. ‘Do you think I don’t know a breach when I see one!’

      Again he laughs in a high-pitched manner, peering at this pretty girl’s anxious face.

      ‘What’s a nice girl like you doing here?’ he asks.

      He has a sudden urge to run his hand across her back and further down. He begins to imagine the places his hand might reach.

      ‘You should be in my nursing home,’ he says, a little unsteadily.

      The nurse, her dark eyes made darker by tiredness, smiles a little.

      ‘We must see what we can do,’ promises the doctor, thinking how good it would be to have such a lovely face at his private clinic.

      And then he goes out into the car park and towards his Mercedes, parked sleekly beside the stephanotis bush, back to his lighted house and his dinner guests.

      ‘Just one more ride,’ Alice pleads.

      She feels as though they have only just got here. The puppet master is beginning another show and the Kathakali Man of Dance can be heard beating his drum. Alice does not want to miss anything. May and Namil hold hands in the darkness, swaying in time to the music as though they were one person and not two. Namil has brought May some bangles that glitter and jangle as she moves. Alice notices her aunt has some jasmine in her hair and her eyes are shining. She thinks May looks even more beautiful than usual. Namil is looking at her solemnly.

      All

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