17. Results! - Lords of Serendipity

Devi was also running. She was running home so fast, tears were slipping from the corners of her eyes. The tears dried quickly in the midday sun and car exhaust coming off the main road. She was sweating, and she was crying, and she was laughing as she ran. She laughed at herself, already crying, even though she didn’t know what had happened. Only she knew that something had happened. Something auspicious had happened. She could have found out right away, but she didn’t. The other girls in her class and her teacher wanted to find out. Her teacher even called the principal to come and see, but Devi wouldn’t do it. She had made a promise, at the beginning of all of this, and she was going to keep it. The promise was to Thathi, and the promise was that when she received the results of her applications to the greatest universities of the world, she wouldn’t look by herself. Devi knew that going to university was never just for her. It was for all of them: Thathi, her brothers, Achchi. Even, as far as Devi was concerned, for Ammi, who, other than defending Devi against Madam Principal, had made it very clear she wanted absolutely nothing to do with all of this university business. Deep down, Ammi wished Devi had a more normal kind of madness, like her brothers did. Their only dreams for life were someday owning Toyota Hi-Lux trucks and having enough money for chrome and audio from the best Colombo motor shops.

There were her schoolmates, too. Devi was doing it for them, even if they laughed at her plans. They had nicknames for her. Devi Einstein. Devi Obama. Elon Devi. Nobel Devi Prize. She ignored it all. Not because she thought she was above them. She just wanted something different. Their only dream was a wedding reception at the Mount Lavinia Hotel with rented jewelry from a top Colombo shop and a father-in-law with a Dubai job. But she believed they would be happy for her after she opened the results at home with her family and went back to school to share the news of where she had been admitted. And then she would message Johannes, and hopefully this time he’d answer. Devi still didn’t know if he was upset with her because she didn’t have the money for him to look at her essay, or if he was just too busy with his other students. Either way, he would want to know her results.

Because at last, after all of her studies, and the tutoring at such expense, Devi had received messages from Harvard and Yale and Princeton and Stanford. She saw the notifications when it was her turn on the computer at school. This was auspicious. Three years before this day, Devi had become a lady exactly when it was her turn on the computer at school. And just as it was when her monthlies finally started, the messages from the American universities would tell her, and the family, and Johannes, and the village, and her classmates and teachers, that she was ready for the real world, the university world.

When she became a lady, Ammi and Achchi drew her a bath with flower petals and rose water. Thathi and her brothers wore pressed shirts and trousers, and the women had ginger beer and the men had Carlsberg with their chicken curry and prawn curry on string hoppers bought from the gourmet boutique that proper Negombo people ordered from for their own grand occasions. As a surprise, Achchi offered rich cake for dessert, the last foil-wrapped, white-ribboned pieces she’d saved from Ammi and Thathi’s wedding, more than twenty years before.

All of that, Devi thought, just for coming of marriageable age. Like every other girl in the village eventually would. Most of the girls in the village. The ones not going to Russia beach every third night.

What would her family do to celebrate her going to Harvard and all? Her doing something that no other girl in the village, maybe on the whole island, had ever done?

She stopped running just before the chicken-wire gate to her house.

This was not about celebration.

She wasn’t Thathi, full of crazy schemes and dreams and always looking to prove something to everyone else. Even if no one cared about her results, after she was admitted she was still going to leave this house and this village and this school and this island and become a university person for the rest of her life.

She wiped her forehead and fixed back the strands that had come loose from her bun and plaits. She pulled her school shirt flat and then walked through the front gate with dignity. But unable to help herself, she skipped up the steps and ran into the house. She stopped suddenly. The house was so, so quiet. Devi could smell cooked lunch. She heard the fans in the bedrooms. She knew what was happening.

Also auspicious: Thathi and her brothers had been working overnight shifts at the hotel but not getting extra daytime hours. Which meant everyone was at home, in the middle of the day. Having had lunch, they were all sleeping.

How rare, to have a moment to herself, in this house. A moment with no complaints and commands from Ammi, no requests from Achchi, no grand questions from Thathi or comments from her brothers, and no studies, either. At least for now, just now, finally, no studies. The decision has already been made. Admission would be granted or not granted. The results were waiting to be read.

Devi closed her eyes. Devi imagined the first time she would come home from university. The sound of her smart university shoes on the family’s cracked tile floor. No. That wasn’t good enough. That wasn’t worthy of everything she’d done, all these years, to get the results. Eyes still closed, she imagined the last time she would come home. That would be the time she told everyone to pack their things and join her on the Tesla jet to America.

What, child? Look at the face. Eyes closed. Smiling. Are you possessed by the devil? Is some yaka rogue romancing you? And why are you home from school so soon? You’re not like your brothers. You’re never sent home. What is this?

Devi opened her eyes and saw Ammi standing in the hallway, arms crossed.

Ammi! she said, full of joy, opening her arms and moving toward her.

Her mother braced herself and leaned and sniffed, eyebrows buckling.

Are you drunk, child? Is that why they sent you home?

Ammi! Results! I received my results!

Devi’s mother’s face became serious.

You mean from the unis?

Yes! From the unis! I received my results!

RESULTS? Thathi said, from inside the bedroom. YOU GOT THE RESULTS?

Thathi rushed to the hallway, shirtless, clutching the bottom half of his sarong around his waist.

Devi nodded.

And? asked Ammi, playing with the worn Poya Day string on her wrist.

And I promised Thathi I would wait.

Thathi stepped forward chest-first and slid a leg to the side, swiveled, leaned, and pointed at Devi. He was a proud father, a proud showman, and all the while staring at his wife.

Do you see what kind of child we have? Do you see? Do you think any child in America who gets her results from the Harvard Yale and all will come home and wait for her mummy and daddy before opening her results? Those children don’t even do the tiny things their parents ask them to do, like play water polo. I know, believe it. I hear them, at the hotel, yelling at their children about not having the Varsity Blues.

What the hell is Varsity Blues? What are we, Varsity Browns?

Never mind. I am only saying that unlike the American university children, Devi isn’t just brilliant. She is a good daughter also, no?

Okay, said Ammi. Fine. Now show the results.

Devi, who had been beaming at Thathi, nodded at Ammi’s flat command. She was no longer beaming. She took out her phone. It was time to find out.

NO! said Thathi.

Devi’s brothers woke up and came into the hallway, stretching and staring at their phones. Achchi emerged from behind the curtained part of the hallway, the bedroom she shared with Devi.

This auspicious event for the history and future of our whole family is not going to take place on a bloody phone, all of us crowded around it like beggars with one bowl.

Then? Ammi asked.

Thathi, Devi said. I don’t think the school will let all of us come to use the computer.

What has that bloody school ever done to help you, Devi? Do you really think I want you to get your results there? They’ll call the principal and the minister and the president and put a plaque on the computer with a chief honored guest and the chairman of the old girls’ association. They’ll take all the credit for what we have done!

Your father’s right about that bloody school, that bloody principal. But he’s wrong about something else, said Ammi.

What am I wrong about?

You say what we have done? What we have done? More like, what she has done, no?

Devi’s eyes filled with tears.

Ammi noticed. So let’s see what she’s done, she said. Or not done.

Devi wiped her eyes and went back to her phone.

Not the phone, child! And not the school, either, Thathi said.

Internet café? suggested one of Devi’s brothers.

Idiot, Thathi said, not even looking at him.

Casino stall? suggested her other brother.

Bloody idiot, Thathi said.

Gaming shed? the brothers said together, making plans of their own.

Go to hell with your gaming shed! Thathi said.

Then what? Where do we go for the computer, Mr. Google? asked Ammi.

Everyone, take a wash and change into the good clothes, said Thathi. Only Devi, no need. You stay in your uniform. You go and help Achchi get into her sari, darling, please.

What is this madness, men? Ammi asked. The child can just get the info right here, no?

Do you see, Devi, which one of your parents taught you patience?

Devi looked at Ammi, who shook her head and looked away. Still worrying the string on her wrist.

Thathi went near Ammi and tried to say something. She stepped away, turned, and tried to say something. He stepped back. They shook their heads at each other, their faces fast, full of old sadness, old wounds, all worried fresh.

Devi suddenly hated this. She suddenly wished she had never asked her teacher what the Oxford in the Oxford English Dictionary was. The answer had led to years of dreaming and studying, dreaming and studying, and making her applications, and Thathi and her brothers doing all the work to pay the fees, and Thathi and Ammi fighting about the cost of tuition with Johannes, and now these last few months of waiting by herself, no Johannes, to find out the results.

But did she really have a choice in this? Thathi felt certain Devi was meant for more than village life, just like him. Not Ammi. Devi and her Ochpys, Ochpys, Ochpys. Ammi said it to sound like the waste, the piss, the old woman piss, Achchi piss, that she thought OxfordCambridgeHarvardPrincetonYaleStanford was. Ammi was certain that Devi was meant to be a village girl, just like her. At most, a little more than a village girl. But she had never applied to university in Sri Lanka, as she promised Ammi she would. She had needed the money for Johannes. She couldn’t have asked them for more.

And now both Ammi and Thathi were expecting her to give proof of who was right.

And the proof was waiting.

And right now, she had a good idea of what they were saying to each other. Ammi was telling Thathi that they should check the results here, inside the house, with no one else watching, because Ammi didn’t think she’d be given admission anywhere. And Thathi was telling Ammi that they should check the results in front of the entire country, with everyone watching, because Thathi thought she would be given admission everywhere.

And what did Devi think?

That they were both wrong.

She predicted that much. No one got into all of Harvard and the rest, did they?

Actually, she didn’t know even that much. She didn’t know what the results would be, and because she hadn’t spoken to Johannes in so long, she couldn’t ask him what he thought of her chances. But she also remembered that last time they’d spoken, when he had asked her for more money, to read her essay, and she had said no, she didn’t have it, and then Ammi had seen him on her screen and he stopped asking and ended the call. Devi decided to blame Ammi for that, and for Johannes not responding to any messages since. If her results were bad, it would be Ammi’s fault, Devi decided. Her heart did a funny thing at this decision. It beat quick and hard and then seemed to fall down and disappear. Of course it hadn’t disappeared. She was still standing there in the quiet hallway, with Achchi and her brothers, all of them watching Ammi and Thathi staring at each other, a different kind of silence hanging like cold fire between them.

It’s arranged, Thathi said, finally.

What’s arranged? Ammi asked.

It is arranged. Just trust me this once, will you? Everyone, change into your funeral clothes and we’ll go get Devi’s uni results.

Where? Where are you taking us? Ammi asked.

I said it’s arranged. Now change, or don’t change. Stay here. Stay here in the village, where you like to stay, where you want Devi to stay.

Thathi, please—

No, Devi, Ammi said. Let him say what he wants to say to me. He’s been waiting a long time to say these things, haven’t you?

Thathi was in a rage. He opened and closed his free hand, while the hand holding his sarong about his waist was a shaking fist.

Was he going to hit Ammi? What would he do when she hit him back, as Devi knew she would? And would her brothers stop them from fighting more, one with Thathi and one with Ammi, and would their own old lines of loyalty and blame come alive? And then it would be all four of them fighting, and then the whole village would hear the thunderclaps and curses and the screaming from pulled and pulling hair and Achchi facing the corner and wailing. And all because Devi once had a small girl’s dream of Oxford?

Stop it, all of you! said Achchi, already in her sari. She was holding a small burgundy purse. Behaving like drunk Veddas. Not right. Not fair to Devi after all of this. Stop it, will you? Do as you’re told. Change and come and then let’s go and find out about her prize Ochpys.