34. A Sure Sign - Lords of Serendipity

Waiting for her client to finish reading the passage she’d assigned, Devi tapped her pencil on the rusted bars of the apartment window. Looking through them, she could see skinny men wearing their shirts on their heads. In the village, they were called garbage truck sheikhs. They were swinging scythes under the noonday sun as they walked along the railroad, cutting back the tall grass crowding the ancient iron ties. Behind them walked teenagers in ball caps wearing earbuds wired into phones stuck in the waistbands of their shorts. They were gathering the grass clippings in bags made from cut pieces of blue plastic tarp. Behind them were little boys in long, dirty pants and shrunken cricket jerseys playing catch on the newly leveled ground while stray dogs chased their bald brown tennis ball back and forth between throws. Devi could see into the future for those little boys. They would play ball until they were old enough to work along the railroad like their brothers and fathers, and they would never go anywhere.

Miss?

Devi turned from the barred window.

Finished reading? she said.

Yes.

And?

I bloody hate this reading, miss.

Really? I’m surprised, Tissa. It’s a story about a boy who lives near a railroad and goes fishing. In America. You live near a railroad. You told me you like to go fishing. And if you are good at uni tests, then someday you can go fishing in America. Like I am.

You’re going fishing in America, miss?

No. I meant, I’m going to school in America.

When?

Soon. Just waiting for the uni to give me the details.

Will you tutor me when you are in America, miss?

How, Tissa? Do you have a computer?

No. But I can ask Thathi to get me a phone, you know, for tuition.

The boy grinned.

Right, okay. Understood, said Devi. Just don’t involve me in those plans, okay? Anyway, I’m sorry you didn’t like the story I chose for your reading lesson. I really thought you would.

No.

Why not?

No, miss, you don’t understand. I bloody hate reading. As in reading. Not reading this or reading that, but reading. Just reading. Anything reading, I hate it. Okay?

Okay, Tissa, but you know your parents want you to do this.

I know, I know.

And they have hired me as your tutor because of my extensive experience with the education system here in Sri Lanka and also overseas.

How overseas? You’re not in America yet.

No, but my business partner worked there, before he died.

How did he die? Gunfighting? Car crash? Drones? Blacks? Muslims? Trump?

Never mind how he died. Just be grateful he gave me his expertise first and that I’m giving it to you now, thanks to your parents hiring me.

I know, I know. They are always telling me this is why Thathi is doing extra jobs. To pay for my tuition.

Yes, said Devi.

The boy didn’t notice her flinch.

But every parent did extra work to help their children succeed, didn’t they? Only Devi’s fell apart into drunkenness and plans to sell her to a Dubai employment agent. She had been holding it off for months now, waiting to hear from Arcadia. She’d started a tutoring service and was giving Thathi some of the money, which he desperately needed because he had no job and Ammi wouldn’t give him any money from her job. Only Devi gave him money, quietly, and for her own purpose. The more he drank, the less capable he was of sending her to Dubai to clean toilets and get raped every day. She’d seen WhatsApp videos made by girls from other villages, hiding in giant Dubai closets, whispering for help.

Devi was also giving Menaka Aunty some of the money she was making. She said it was for safekeeping, because of Thathi’s situation. The old woman had immediately agreed and Devi didn’t expect to see the money again. Which was fine. She was hoping these sums would hold Menaka Aunty back from trying to arrange a marriage with one of the grandsons, until Devi could get away to America. But it had been months and she’d still heard nothing in reply to the messages she’d sent—her letter of consideration, explaining that she was Johannes/Adi’s fiancée and demanding the chance to continue with his studies, in his memory, also a letter asking that the university disregard the letter that had been sent via Menaka Aunty’s email address. And then a third message, saying that she stood behind whichever of the letters convinced them to admit her.

Every day Devi tutored as many children as she could in places where people couldn’t afford proper Colombo tuition and could be convinced by Devi’s story of having been trained by an actual Oxbridge college scholar. To establish her credentials, she showed them her screenshot of Johannes, with his background of academic towers and the River Cam. It worked with people living in shanties under highway overpasses and in dank, overcrowded apartment buildings built beside the railroad.

So you are now ready for my questions? she asked.

Yes?

Tissa, what do I keep telling you?

Don’t remember, miss. Sorry. Can you tell again?

That you must be confident in your answers if you are going to get into uni someday. You’re only twelve now, I know, but you must start preparing young, as I did. And look at where I’m going.

You’re going to America.

Correct.

Maybe, Devi thought. More likely she was going to Dubai, or to a honeymoon prison. But not as long as Thathi and Menaka Aunty were getting money. Which they would, if her tutoring business was working. This much she had learned from Johannes. The person being scammed wanted to believe the scam was true even more than the scammer did. You didn’t need to go to an American university to learn that. You just needed to apply to one to figure it out.

Right, miss. Okay. Fine. I want to go to America just like you. Ask me again.

Are you ready for my questions?

He looked down at the passage, which Devi had taken from a Hemingway story. He was studying it again, nodding and nodding.

Tissa, are you ready?

Yes!

At the boy’s yell an old woman came into the tiny, crowded living room.

Listen to me, you book-eating devil! Your nangi and your ammi are both sleeping on the bed. And your ammi has the headache today and your nangi still has the fever. They are exhausted, child, and I am exhausted from taking care of them. Just now, they were peaceful and I had my first moment of peace since Lord Buddha was cremated. And now you’re yelling?

The old woman stepped closer and clenched her fist.

If you make a noise like that again, child, I’m going to send you straight through those bars and out the window just when the train is coming. I promise you I’ll do that. You wonder why you don’t have an older brother? Ask your ammi. I threw him through that same window.

Really, Achchi?

Don’t test me, child. Understood?

Sorry, Achchi, he said.

But the boy was staring at Devi. He was not asking her to understand his impossible situation, belonging to a family like this and having university dreams. No. He was blaming her for getting him in trouble with his grandmother, and for what? So he could someday write a difficult test and then another, and another, and probably never go anywhere other than the overgrown fields along the railroad track?

The old woman was still standing there.

She pulled her pink T-shirt down over the top of her heavy black skirt.

And you, elocution mistress, with your sharp eyes and sharp pencils, filling this poor idiot child with useless ideas and tricking his parents into giving you money? You think I’m just a stupid old railway apartment woman? Na-ah. I know what you’re doing, and believe it, you’ll pay for this.

Devi took a deep breath and then smiled sweetly at the old woman, who backed away, horrified, making signs against the evil eye. Devi turned back to her student, who was picking his nose.

Tissa, time’s nearly up. Shall I ask my questions?

He looked past her, to see if his grandmother was listening.

Yes yes yes yes!

The boy’s baby sister began screaming, his mother started moaning, and the grandmother came back in a spitting rage, cursing both her grandson and Devi and telling both to get out.

The boy ran out, laughing and calling down the dark hallways for his friends. Devi stayed inside the hot, loud apartment until she was paid by the sleepy, weepy mother. Only then did Devi depart, walking down a garbage-covered flight of stairs, giving a wide margin to the rats but kicking back a stray cat with burnt fur. She knocked on the battered door of her next client.

Returning home that afternoon, Devi stopped short at the gate and dropped her schoolbag. Menaka Aunty had never, ever come to their house before. But now she was standing inside the front door. She stumped outside. Thathi joined her. Devi knew one of his life’s many missions was someday to best the rich woman who lived next door, who from her verandah had looked down on him every chance she found. Devi’s going to university had been his best bet, until it wasn’t. Had he found a new way? Would he beat Menaka Aunty by marrying his daughter into her village empire?

They were both smiling and motioning for her to come forward. Normally, she saw both of them sitting down. Now she noticed the way their clothes clung to them. Thathi had a paunch from doing little every day but drink. Menaka Aunty had an oyster-shaped belly from all the pudding. Devi held her own stomach, knowing they would both want it to rise and rise as part of their deal. Thathi was holding a glass of milk on a silver tray. A sure sign.

She shuddered. Would she be asked to share the glass of milk with her future husband? She closed her eyes and imagined one of Menaka Aunty’s grandsons putting his whole mouth over the glass and licking up the milk, then holding the glass to her lips. For the dregs. And then the wedding-planner monk would be called from the temple to read their horoscopes and determine the best planetary arrangement to ensure a healthy and wealthy marriage.

But Devi looked past Thathi and Menaka Aunty and saw no one else. The grandsons were too arrogant, too fat, to hide inside her small, hot house. Was anyone else inside, though? It was a useless question. She knew Ammi and her brothers were still at work. She could only hope they would come home early. Which they wouldn’t, because they needed to work as many shifts as they could. The family always needed more money. Only Achchi was definitely inside. Had the two of them drugged her Bovril or given her chocolates and new royals magazines and chained her to the cot while they did their marriage deal?

Did it even matter which one she was being married to? She imagined herself chained to a fancy golden bed with Menaka Aunty sitting in a chair beside it, giving directions for the best way to make sure they’d get a boy out of her. Maybe Dubai wasn’t so terrible? At least she could hide in all those closets.

Darling! Please, come forward, said Menaka Aunty.

Devi stayed in place.

Devi! My brilliantine daughter! On this most auspicious of auspicious days, ascend!

She didn’t move.

Child! I said approach me, Menaka Aunty said. With haste. Now. Come here!

Devi’s lips trembled.

Thathi, where’s Ammi? I want Ammi to be here before this happens.

What, child! You know she’s at that bloody evil hotel until late at night and Menaka Aunty, who has graced us with her augustine presence in our humblest home, in light of this wonderful news, can’t stay that long. After all, there are preparations to make!

Devi shook her head, crying silently.

Menaka Aunty made an offended face and shook her head.

What’s wrong with this child? She finally gets what she’s been wanting for so long, and now she doesn’t want it? Now she’s crying about it?

Devi almost screamed back that she didn’t want to marry one of Menaka Aunty’s disgusting pervert hippo grandsons, but Thathi began giggling. Not a drunken gargle, but a real, sincere laugh, warm and happy, a sound she hadn’t heard from him in a very long time.

My god, child! You haven’t had Wi-Fi all this time, have you? Of course not! Those bloody poor buggers under the Chinese highways have no internet. You don’t know!

I don’t know what, Thathi?

He ignored her, turning to Menaka Aunty, and laughed and said.

She doesn’t know, the poor girl. She hasn’t seen the email.

The old woman cackled and shook her head.

The email, Thathi? What email?

Before they could say anything else, Devi took out her phone and raced up the steps and squeezed between them into the house, looking for a signal. Hearing her dash about, Achchi came out of her room, eating a duty-free Cadbury’s. Devi took her hand and squeezed it as she read a message from the admissions office at Arcadia Tech that had also been sent to Menaka Aunty. Devi was being asked to contact a professor from the university who happened to be in Sri Lanka. If she was able travel to meet him in his office at Serendipity University, he would interview her about her interest in attending Arcadia Tech.