21. The Girl Has Come Forward - Lords of Serendipity

PART THREE

Across the world and down some from the others in their own debt and thirst traps, Devi and her family attended her high school graduation. Madam Principal called out the names of the graduates, beginning with those accepted to overseas universities and then overseas universities with campuses in Colombo. Everyone oohed and applauded. Then Madam Principal called out the names of the graduates accepted to Sri Lankan universities, state-run first, then private, then graduates accepted to vocational colleges. Less and less applause.

Eyes closed, tears squirting, Devi put her head in her lap, covered her ears, and rocked. The girls on either side of her were on their phones and didn’t notice until much later in the ceremony, when Devi’s name was finally called along with those of the other students not going anywhere. They poked her to get up. She walked to the stage to receive her diploma, and Madam Principal warmly wished her the very best in her future studies. Devi swallowed. Not because she was about to cry, but because she was about to spit in that witch’s pleased face. But she didn’t. Instead, she stepped away from Madam Principal and looked for her family, who were in the standing section near the covered pavilion, almost under the shade. After the ceremony, pictures were taken involving every possible combination of family members—no one else in Devi’s family had graduated from anything, ever. No pictures were wanted or asked for with teachers or with other students, who were themselves taking every possible combination of picture with each other (okay, just people going to UK unis now! Now Australia! Now New Zealand!), or with Madam Principal.

Never mind these buggers, said Thathi. Let’s celebrate our Devi.

They went out for fried chicken.

Devi ate little. She had no appetite. She let her brothers take what they wanted from her plate and gave her skin to Achchi, who saved it for her snake.

What, child! You think that graduation had any significance? Not compared to your prospects, darling. We’re still waiting on Oxford and Cambridge. Oxford and Cambridge! God save the queen!

The queen is dead, Thathi.

God save the king! Don’t worry! said Thathi.

I’m not worried, said Devi.

Then what are you? asked Ammi.

Not hungry, she said.

She looked away, feeling Ammi’s eyes on her.

She knew what Oxford and Cambridge had decided, and she kept away from the official notices the way a burn victim knows to stay away from fresh smoke. But not her father, who was scorched past feeling by a life of pyromaniac dreaming. Since that evil American day at the Mount Lavinia Hotel, he had been returning a portion of his wages to the funeral director in exchange for the funeral director writing weekly letters about Devi’s situation to the British high commission on company letterhead. There was an extra fee for a copy of each letter, which Thathi declined. He trusted the funeral director.

Devi, said Ammi.

Yes, Ammi?

She knew the question her mother was going to ask.

She braced herself. Because when she answered the question, she would be slapped. Pulled out of the restaurant by her plaits. Thrown down and kicked. Her mother just joining the rest of the world in treating her like this, but in her case, she had the right to. The only thing Ammi had asked Devi to do was apply to a Sri Lankan university. Just one. And she’d given of her own secret money so Devi could. But Devi didn’t do it. Instead, she gave the money to Johannes. Who had become a ghost.

But seeing the look on her daughter’s face, Ammi never asked the question. She didn’t need to.

Listen! said Thathi. Friday, I only have the overnight shift. Devi, come to Colombo in a trishaw, I’ll give the money, and we’ll march straight to the British High Commission and inform them.

Inform them of what, Thathi?

He sat back, confused. A little disappointed his daughter wasn’t exactly with him.

Inform them that we demand an interview in person, darling.

Thathi, said Devi.

Tone, said Ammi.

Sorry. Sorry, Thathi. But really, please, what does the British High Commission have to do with Oxford and Cambridge?

Why are you asking now, Devi? After all this work your thathi has done to write letters? Are you saying the letters, all the effort, was useless? Why? Because you know something? said Ammi.

I don’t know anything, Ammi.

I think you know something, Devi.

My Devi knows everything! And we’ll go show the bloody British, won’t we, darling?

She sighed and wiped her fingers and brushed back loose strands of her hair.

Okay, Thathi.

The general appointments lineup at the British high commission in Colombo stretched all along the building, with people leaning against the rough stone walls. Vendors walked back and forth offering green plastic bags of rambutan and king coconut in the shell and for extra fee in proper washed glasses. A lottery man sold tickets from the wooden placard on his chest. A club-footed couple, each on a single splint, hopped toward families with small children, offering oversized coloring books and blow-up Spider-Man dolls tethered to wicker sticks. Stray dogs chased around. A small, scruffy brindle-coated dog ran out of a pack and, not looking, fell into the road. The dog got up and didn’t move, whether terrified by all the roaring and metal and smoke suddenly stopped in front of it, or impressed by his power to stop traffic.

Look at that fellow, Devi! said Thathi. Now, that’s the most powerful man in the country! We should be like that fellow when we see the high commissioner.

He’s going to get run over, said Devi.

No. Watch.

They watched.

The others in line called the dog to come back. The drivers honked and shouted and cursed.

The dog wasn’t run over. Taking its time, it hopped off the road back onto the sidewalk, where it was mauled by the other dogs.

Thathi looked back at Devi.

See? I was right! he said.

Devi said nothing.

My god, Thathi observed, philosophically. What has happened to the British Empire? He ran his hand along the rough, irregular stonework of the high commission’s main wall. They can’t even afford smooth bricks anymore!

After several hours, they reached the first sentry box. Thathi presented an accounts book that had his personally compiled list of the letters, with specific dates, that had been written by the funeral director on his behalf and with detailed description of the contents of each. He was asked if he had an appointment. No, he didn’t have an appointment. They were turned away.

On the hot and sleepy bus back to the village, Thathi nudged Devi, who was leaning against the window looking for mauled dogs lying dead in the street.

Devi, why don’t you ask your overseas tutor to make an inquiry? How much would he charge for that?

Okay, Thathi.

She messaged Johannes.

You ruined my life. Why?

That night, Johannes messaged back.

She hadn’t heard from him in months, and the message back explained nothing. She was invited to a WhatsApp call, past midnight.

She didn’t want anyone to hear the call. But just before midnight, she saw there was still a light on in the kitchen. Devi checked. Thathi was there, sleeping on the table beside a bottle and glass. Again.

She snuck out of the sleeping house and waited at the gate, expecting Ammi to follow. She didn’t. Devi was, mostly, relieved.

She went to the church square, found a spot away from the crowd, sat on a low wide ledge, and waited.

The call started.

It took a moment for the image to resolve, but then, there, on the screen, finally, Johannes!

Johannes! What happened? What happened? Why did you leave me like that? Do you know what has happened to me?

Please. Wait. My name is Ashok.

Sorry?

Who is Johannes?

What do you mean, who is Johannes? You are. You are Johannes.

No. I think you mean my brother. My twin brother. He went by Johannes with you?

Devi ended the call.

She squeezed her temples and looked around. She looked up. She saw bats slinging about like webbed slugs in the cloudy night sky.

Her phone started ringing.

She stared at it. It kept ringing. She answered.

Shall we try again? said the young man on-screen.

Devi swallowed something, winced, and nodded.

He looked like Johannes, only healthier and more handsome. He was clean-shaven, with well-cut hair. He was wearing a plain blue T-shirt. His background appeared to be his actual room, and it wasn’t a dormitory but part of a simple apartment, with white walls, a green couch, potted plants, and a window looking onto an American city.

Sorry. Yes. Bit of a shock. You look a lot like Johannes, but you are not, it seems, Johannes, she said.

I’m his brother. Twin brother. My name is Ashok. Can I know your name, please?

I’m Devi.

Hi, Devi.

Hello.

Next.

Next?

Yes. Next. Where are you?

I’m in Sri Lanka. Where are you?

In the States.

Did Johannes, did your brother, not attend school in the UK?

Is that what he told you?

Yes. Was he not telling the truth?

That seems to be the case. Now, I’m trying to not get upset here, so I’m asking that you try, too, okay?

Why do you have reason to be upset?

I have lots of reasons to be upset.

So do I!

You want to go first?

Doesn’t matter now.

No, it doesn’t. So why did you send that message then?

What message?

Why did you say my dead brother ruined your life when I’m pretty sure it was you who ruined his life?

She hung up. She threw up. The old security guard noticed and called to some of the girls in the church square. He pointed, and they came with water and mints. She accepted both and assured them she wasn’t drunk. They made her wave at the security guard. They left, and she washed herself and ate mints.

Devi wanted to go home.

She wanted to call him back.

She wanted Ammi to be there.

She wanted someone just to decide for her, what to do.

Isn’t this when church people prayed and temple people made offerings?

Devi was neither. She was supposed to have become a university person. Could she become one, still?

She called him back.

Please. What happened to your brother?

He killed himself, in December.

What?

Did you really not know that?

No! she sobbed. How could I know that? He stopped replying to my messages!

You mean, he didn’t send you the note?

What note? What are you talking about? He killed himself? My god! Really?

“Until death do us part”?

She put her hand to her mouth. She nodded. She remembered when he’d said that to her, to explain their arrangement, one of the many, many times he’d asked her for more money.

We didn’t even know you were dating, said Ashok.

They weren’t dating. But Devi always thought he was handsome and debonair, and now and then she had imagined meeting him at uni and going for a cool drink and dessert together. Better to date him than marry one of Menaka Aunty’s fat grandsons. And maybe she wasn’t the only one thinking this way, if Johannes was telling people they were dating? And not just people, his brother! But she never had dated him and never would, now.

Sorry. Please go on, she said.

We thought he was just obsessed with school, with writing some exam a second time to raise his marks at Arcadia.

The last time we spoke, he mentioned he had an important exam to write.

And you couldn’t have waited until after that, to break up with him?

I didn’t! I didn’t break up with him! He dropped me! Sorry, what’s Arcadia?

Arcadia Tech? He was a student there when he died.

He went to a school called Arcadia Tech? Not Oxford, not Cambridge? He never met the Nobel Prize winner in philosophy?

Ashok looked away, shaking his head.

I’m pretty sure there’s no Nobel Prize for philosophy, he said.

Devi ignored this. As she had ignored so many things, all the time she’d known Johannes. Because none of it mattered anymore.

But something else might.

Can you tell me again, please, what happened? said Devi.

We don’t know. My parents are still in India and I’m on a work visa here. And they can’t afford flights and don’t speak English, so I’m the one trying to figure out what happened to Adi. And I asked the university—

Arcadia. Which is where, please?

America. I’m sorry he told you he went to Oxford. He was like that.

Yes. I know. Please go on.

We asked the university to investigate why he killed himself. They informed us that based on their findings, it was because of a romantic relationship that had ended badly. But no girl ever came forward. And it’s taken months to access his devices and accounts and he didn’t archive anything, so I had given up. But then you messaged and I was able to open it. Which means that now, well, now someone has come forward. The girl has come forward, it seems. Right?

All those months as a hired mourner: unnecessary. Devi’s eyes, her throat, her heart: dry. Her mind: hard.

Yes, she said. The girl has come forward. What can you tell me about Arcadia?