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Mirror Magazine

Short Story - by Aditha Dissanayake

Shall I tell you...
"Hi!
Are you staying at the Guest House? Did you come up here for the long weekend? Have you been to Nuwara Eliya yet? Are you enjoying the "season"? Did you see the horse races?

Do come sit by me. It is so nice to see someone new around here. I'm Maneesha. Maneesha Fernando. You are....? Nice to meet you. Really really nice.

So, which part of the city do you come from? .... Really? My aunts live there, but we hardly ever visit them. They come here instead whenever they get a long vacation.
What am I doing here? Seated on this stone step?

You have no right to ask! O.K. O.K. Don't smile like that! You look as though you knew all along why I have been here. Do you have sixth sense? How did you guess I have been waiting for someone?

Well... you are right. I AM waiting for SOMEONE. Do you know who he is? Hmmmp.Would you like to know? Would you really? Shall I really, really tell you?
Well here goes.

It all happened last night. No.

I'd better tell you something about myself first. Are you sure you are comfortable? It's not too cold, is it?

Can you see that tea factory over there? My father happens to be the Manager of that factory and all these acres of tea around us, belong to his estate. In a way, like you, I am a stranger to these parts too. I have not lived here for long. Till last year I was living in the school hostel in Kandy. But now I have finished my A/levels, and I am home for good.

Yes. You are right. That makes me nineteen this year. I feel so old and grown-up. Especially after what happened last night.

Oops! Stop smiling like that, cos believe me I have never been so serious all my life. What is his name? I wish I could tell you. I would really like to, but to be honest I don't know myself what he is called. All I know is that it has a "sha" sound to it, like Dushan, Kushan or Kishan. But for the world of me I can't remember what it exactly is. You see I was not listening when he was introduced. I didn't bother to listen because I never thought he'd interest me.

Who is he? How did I get to be introduced to him? Well, he is my father's new Creeper. Do you know who a creeper is? A creeper is a trainee who is sent to a Manager to be trained in running a tea estate. The manager has to keep him in the bungalow and show him all the ropes, so to say. My father has had other creepers before this one. But I had never paid much attention to them. Probably because I came across them only briefly, when I was home during the school vacations, or because they had seemed awfully dim witted and boring.

Can you see those pine trees over there, to your left? And the stone house beyond it? That's where I live. Its called the Honeycomb Bungalow, got fire places and stuff... and my father says an Irishman had built it somewhere in the nineteen thirties. Only my mother and I are at home most of the time. By the way I'm an only child, but don't tell me I must be a spoilt brat, cos I am not. I grew up in school hostels and my parents are not that bothered about me. My mother spends her time in the garden, plucking flowers and arranging them in vases, or reading The Lanka Woman or watching TV... she has got used to this kind of idyllic life.

But not me... Gosh! I'm dying to ransack the world. Ever since I left school I have done nothing but read, read and read. How I would like to do everything my heroes have done... And during the past few months I have taken a keen interest in the tea industry. I have watched how my father runs his estate. He is in charge of thirty staff officers and nine hundred workers! Boy, managing them ain't easy. It requires such a lot of PR. I admire my father for being so patient with the labourers when he loses his temper so easily with me. That's the whole problem with him. He still believes girls should stick to sewing and looking after their husbands. He doesn't believe a girl should earn a living. Don't you think that's silly?

Well, silly or not that's my father for you. When he comes home after work, he tells my mother everything that had happened at work, but never asks for her opinion and he certainly doesn't bother about mine. So, last night, before dinner, when he had sat on the verandah, with his pipe in his hands explaining the intricacies of up-rooting, replanting, pruning etc, etc, to the new creeper, I had listened to them from the sitting room with a frown on my face. I would have loved to join their conversation.

But do you know what the funny thing is? Instead of being angry or jealous with the guy I began to like him. I could see his face from my chair, and at first he didn't know I was looking at him. He listened to my father with such keen interest. Almost smacking his lips and looking like a football player listening to his coach during a break - there was a look of "go-out-there'n-kill" on his face. He seemed so eager to learn everything.
Hmmmmp. That was it. That's when I realized he is.... well, you know... well....., that he is...nottoobad!

Now to the most awkward, awkward and awkward question. Do you think he would like me? You say yes? Do you really think so? Then, stop grinning like that. You look like Garfield in a good mood. But do you know, last night, throughout dinner, he showed scant regard towards me. He treated me as if, I was not there. But he spoke volumes with my mother. Answered all her questions as if she was royalty. His father is a planter too, he said. He had been schooled in Kandy. And no, he wasn't particularly homesick, because he had lived most of his life in hostels. He had two sisters, married and living in Australia.

So, there. I know quite a bit about him even though I don't know his name yet. And I have figured out he must be twenty because he had told my mother he had visited his sisters in Australia after doing his A/levels a year ago. I like him, and I know he hasn't got a girl friend because when he got a call from home and when my father asked him in a mock-gruff tone if that could be from a girl, he blushed furiously and shook his head. No, he really doesn't look like someone who has a girlfriend. Perhaps he'd had one in the past... but not right now.

Hey, that's him walking out of the factory gates. Tell me what to do? Shall I walk up to him and ask him how his day was? I think I'll do that.

Will you be staying at the Guest House till Monday? Then, please drop in at my place whenever you feel like it. I'll introduce you to my mother. Perhaps you'll come this evening? Then I can tell you what happened with... well... you know... Do come. I will be waiting for you.

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