Swimming in the Monsoon Sea (7 page)

A large part of the scene was taken up with their exchange. The only other role of any great weight was that of Emilia, who, on hearing noises from her mistress’ room, came in to investigate. When she saw Desdemona killed, she screamed for help. Lodovico, a Venetian nobleman, along with his attendants and other courtiers, came to her assistance. Iago was with them. When Othello told them his reasons for killing Desdemona, mentioning the
handkerchief, Emilia saw what her husband had done. She told Othello the truth. Iago, in order to silence his wife, stabbed her in the side, killing her. He fled the room, but was brought back by guards. Cassio now entered and Othello understood the terrible mistake he had made. Out of remorse, but also to preserve his dignity as a great warrior, he took his life as the play ended.

Once Amrith had finished reading the story of Othello, he carefully went through the last scene of the play, using a dictionary to help with the difficult Elizabethan English. He was delighted by Desdemona’s role. There was lots of room for great acting in this part. He decided that, since the role of Desdemona was already his, he would memorize it, thus getting an early start on his chance of winning the cup. When he felt he had mastered his lines, he went looking for Mala to run through them with her.

She was in her favorite reading spot, on the caned divan in the living room, her legs drawn up to her chest, the book propped on her knees. There was a bowl of nellis by her and, not taking her eye off the page, she was dipping each fruit in a mixture of salt and chili powder before popping it in her mouth, her lips puckering at its tartness. She was deeply absorbed in George Elliot’s
Mill on the Floss
, but she put it away, flushing with pleasure and importance as Amrith held out his copy of
Othello
to her. While she was better at reading the other parts than Selvi, the real reason Amrith asked her was that he enjoyed the admiring way she
looked at him as he declaimed his lines, the note of worship in her eyes.

That evening, the drama teacher called to remind Amrith that there were to be auditions and a preliminary rehearsal the following day. After Amrith put down the telephone, he was lost in thought.

It was a custom in his school to address every female teacher as Madam, and yet when boys, particularly former students, spoke of Madam, they only meant one teacher — Mrs. Algama, who taught English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilization at the A level and who also ran the Drama Society, or Dramsoc as it was commonly known. Mrs. Algama, or Madam, was a plump, short woman with a brisk manner who wore a Kandyan sari, the palu wrapped around her waist in a no-nonsense style. She was adored by her students and held in higher regard than any other teacher in their school. This was because, in a curious way, she was one of the boys. She would joke with them and sometimes tease a boy in a good-natured manner, particularly someone who had given himself airs and graces, for which she had no patience. She was the only teacher the boys dared tell suggestive jokes to and while she pretended to be shocked — waving her handkerchief at them in horror, pressing the edge of her palu to her mouth — they were not fooled. Her husband was a well-known Sinhalese stage actor. They moved in the artistic, bohemian circles of Colombo. There was very little that actually shocked Madam.

Amrith felt curiously uneasy around Madam. She had a way of looking at him, as if she saw right into his soul and understood something about him that he did not understand about himself. And what she saw made her more kind to him, more gentle. She never joked or teased him, or used her wit against him. And yet her gentleness made him all the more uncomfortable.

The next morning, instead of going to the office to practice typing, Amrith had Uncle Lucky drop him off at his school. He stood for a moment before the gates, looking at the main building at the end of the driveway. It had rained hard in the early hours and there were great puddles in the driveway, steaming in the heat of the sun. The building squatted beyond this haze, its whitewash a sickened yellow in the sunlight. The massive stone arch at the entrance looked like an enormous mouth, the corpulent domes at either end like unblinking eyes. Usually the sight of the building made Amrith feel gloomy, but today he was filled with excitement at the day of rehearsals ahead; filled with anticipation of the success that could be his in a few months. He pushed open the gates and went up the driveway.

When he came into the building, the ghostly silence made him hasten through the foyer, the photographs of former principals glowering down on him. As he made his way down a cavernous corridor, his footsteps echoed and
once or twice he turned, almost sure someone was walking behind him. He was approaching the auditorium and he could hear voices. As he drew nearer, there was a burst of laughter from within, followed by hooting and catcalls.

He entered to find the other boys seated halfway down the auditorium, involved in a conversation that was causing them much merriment.
“Ah
, De Alwis,” they called out, addressing him by his surname, as was the custom in the school.

He went down the central aisle towards them, his face frozen in a shy smile. Madam had not yet arrived.

Mala’s admirer, Suraj Wanigasekera, was amongst the boys and he called to Amrith in a commanding tone, “Now come and sit with us, De Alwis.”

The last time Amrith had seen Suraj, he had been on his best behavior, at his most humble. Now his demeanor was more in tune with his real character. He was lording it over the others, his arms spread out over the two chairs on either side, his feet up on the chair in front of him, the other boys gathered around.

Except for a few boys from the junior forms who were playing the supernumeraries — guards, courtiers, and so forth, who would come in at the end — all the boys were seniors. Besides Suraj, there was a razor-thin debater named Ahmed, who was sure to get the part of Iago. The boy playing Iago’s wife, Emilia, was called Fernando. He was a tubby, good-humored boy who was brilliant in English Literature and the Classics and was destined for
Oxford when he finished his A levels. He was Madam’s right-hand man and was in charge of the set, costumes, and props. Jayasingha, the assistant head prefect, was seated next to Suraj. They were close friends.

Amrith had almost reached the circle of boys when he noticed, a little away from the others, a boy named Peries, whom he had not seen in quite a while. Amrith stopped in surprise. Peries used to be in the Dramsoc but, after he joined an American evangelical church last year, he had declined to have anything to do with plays, which he considered sinful.

The other boys had no fondness for Peries, whom they often referred to as Penis. It was clear they had been teasing him from the look of sullen petulance on his face, his arms folded to his chest.

As Amrith took his place among them, Suraj said, “Yes-yes, Penis, your soul is going to be damned in hell for wanting to be in our play.”

“I say, Penis, don’t you know that, in the old days, actors were buried outside the graveyard because they were considered sinners?” Jayasingha winked at Suraj. “You’re polluting your soul, just being around us.”

“And,”
Suraj added, “you want to try for a woman’s role? Surely, you will burn eternally in hell for that.”

The boys laughed uproariously.

Amrith stared at Peries and a cold dismay took hold of him. Peries had always played female roles. In fact, he had been slated to play Juliet last year, but he had left halfway through the rehearsal period because of his new
religious scruples. Which female part was Peries going to try for?

Amrith was distracted from his thoughts by Madam’s arrival. She bustled in, her handbag under her arm, and hurried down the aisle, moping her brow and temples with a handkerchief. “Sorry I’m late, boys. My trishaw man took forever to come and pick me up.
Ah
, we’re all here? Good-good.” Then she saw Peries and stopped in astonishment.

“Well,” she said, and a small smile appeared on her face, “Peries. What a surprise.”

He stood up sheepishly and she crooked her finger at him to come forward. “So, Peries,” she said, looking at him, her head to one side, “are you here to try out for the play?”

He nodded without meeting her eyes.

“I see. And may I ask which role?”

He did not answer for a moment. Amrith leaned forward in his seat, holding his breath.

Peries looked up at Madam. “Desdemona.”

Amrith sat back. A sigh of dismay escaped from him.

“Well.” Madam, who had heard Amrith’s sigh, glanced at him. “I haven’t assigned the parts yet, so any boy is free to try for whatever role he wants.”

She was going to say something further to Peries, but then patted his shoulder. “It’s nice to have you back, Peries. Religion, you know, cannot solve all life’s problems.” There was a look of pity in Madam’s eyes. Peries’ parents had divorced last year.

Madam signaled to Fernando and they went up onstage. Some of the other boys followed and began to help lay out
the bed and additional furniture that would make up Desdemona’s room. Amrith sat where he was, too numb to move. He had imagined himself onstage in front of the audience, giving a wonderful performance; had imagined that moment when the English actor would name him for Best Female Portrayal from a Boys’ School. He glanced over at Peries — who was poring over his copy of
Othello
— and narrowed his eyes at his bent head. It was he, Amrith, who had saved the school’s honor last year. If he had not stepped into the role and given such a fine performance, they would have probably lost the most important cup for Best Play to their arch-rival, St. Stephen’s. Now Peries was planning to return and take up where he had so summarily left off. Amrith could not help feeling angry at Madam. She was being too scrupulously fair. Peries had, after all, left her in the lurch last year. She need not grant him a chance at the part.

Peries, drawn by Amrith’s gaze, looked towards him. He raised his eyebrows challengingly and sneered, as if to say that he did not consider Amrith any challenge at all. Amrith hastily lowered his eyes. He was suddenly nervous.

The scene had been set up. Madam and the boys came down from the stage and the auditions began.

Amrith sat with the others in the auditorium as boys went up onstage and tried out for the various roles. As each minute passed, he could feel his nervousness increase. His mouth felt dry and a coldness ran up and down his spine. As he glanced at his rival, he could not help dwelling on the fact that, in past years, Peries had frequently walked away
with the cup for Best Female Portrayal. He was up against stiff competition. He could end up losing the part.

Finally, there were only two roles left to be cast. Desdemona and Cassio. Madam turned in her seat and regarded Amrith and Peries. “Now, boys, the one who doesn’t get Desdemona will be assigned to Cassio.”

And then Amrith truly understood what was at stake. Cassio was a minor role in this scene, with just a few lines. If he got Cassio, he would have no chance of winning any prize. He would return to being a nonentity in his school.

Madam asked both Peries and Amrith to go backstage and wait to be called. Even though he had learnt the lines thoroughly, Amrith took his copy of
Othello
with him. Peries, however, left his copy behind. He, too, had memorized the part. He strode down the aisle towards the stage, his head held high, a smirk on his face that said the role was already his. Amrith followed. His hands were slick with sweat and he rubbed them against the sides of his trousers.

When they were backstage, Peries, who was one year older, looked Amrith up and down with contempt and said, “You shouldn’t waste your time, De Alwis. I have played many more roles than you in the Dramsoc. You might have won for Juliet last year, but I won in both the previous years for Portia and Ophelia.”

Amrith, already aware of this, felt even more nervous. He licked his lips. “I … I …”

“You, you, what?” sneered Peries. “Can’t even speak properly and you want to be an actor?” He tossed his head in disdain.

Before Amrith could respond, Madam called him onto the stage. She instructed him to lie down on the bed and pretend to be asleep. Once he was in place, she signaled for Suraj to start his monologue. Amrith, as he lay there, became aware that his hands were shaking. He pressed them against his sides to try and steady them.

Suraj came to the end of his monologue. He bent over the bed and pretended to kiss Amrith. It was Amrith’s cue to awaken. He stirred, opened his eyes, and looked up at Suraj. He was waiting for Amrith to say his first line. Amrith stared at him. In the silence, he could hear a crow cawing in the school garden. His mind was blank.

“Your text, De Alwis,” Suraj said softly, with an inclination of his head to the copy of
Othello
lying by the bed.

Amrith quickly picked up his book and glanced at the first line.
“Who’s there? Othello?”
His voice was barely audible. That moment of blankness had rattled him and he could not seem to find his equilibrium.

“Ay, Desdemona,”
Suraj replied.