Funny Boy (20 page)

When my father and Jegan arrived home, I was surprised to discover that my father was thinking along the same lines I was. Once Amma told them what had happened, my father turned to Jegan and said, “I’ve never asked you this, son, but I need to know. Were you or are you connected with the Tigers?”

Jegan was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. My parents looked at him, appalled. “But not any more,” Jegan said hurriedly, trying to reassure them.

“Are you sure, son?” my father said gravely. “This is not the time to hide anything from us.”

“I’m sure, Uncle,” Jegan replied.

“But what do the police want, then?” Amma asked anxiously.

My father telephoned a friend of his who was high up in the police and explained the situation to him. Then he just listened and nodded for what seemed like a long time. When he put down the phone, Amma asked what the man had said.

“He’ll look into it,” my father said.

“Meanwhile, what do we do?” she asked.

“He advised us to go to the police station without waiting for them to come to us. That way they’ll know we’re innocent.”

“Is that the best thing to do?” Amma asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

Amma and I looked at each other doubtfully.

My father stood up. “Better put on a fresh shirt and tie,” he said to Jegan. “Things like that are always important.”

Jegan nodded but didn’t get up. He looked very frightened.

My father patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, son,” he said. “You are innocent, so what can they do?” As an afterthought he added, “Anyway, it’s best not to mention this Tiger business.”

That evening, we sat around on the front verandah and waited for my father and Jegan to return. Even though the next day was a school day, neither Amma nor Neliya Aunty forced us to go inside and do our homework. I glanced at Neliya Aunty and Amma, and I was reminded of that terrible morning when we had sat on the verandah, waiting for the police to come and take them to identify Daryl Uncle’s body. As the hours passed, Amma and Neliya Aunty got up from time to time to do little tasks, but they always returned to the verandah. Gradually the darkness obliterated the red glow of the sky.

Finally, we heard my father’s car outside, and Amma sent me to open the gate. The glare of the headlights prevented me from seeing into the car; it was only when it had passed me on the way to the garage that I saw that Jegan was not inside.

I closed the gates and went up the driveway. Amma had come down the verandah steps, and she saw the expression on my face.

“Only Appa came back,” I said.

She drew in her breath. My father had closed the garage door and was walking towards us.

“What happened?” Amma called out to him. “Where is he?”

“Oh, they just kept him for the night,” my father said. He was trying hard to sound casual.

“What?!” Amma cried.

“Just routine stuff.”

“How can it be routine to keep someone in jail overnight?”

By now Neliya Aunty, Sonali, and Diggy had joined us.

My father looked at Amma, irritated. “They just wanted to ask him a few questions, that’s all.”

“Couldn’t he have gone back tomorrow morning?”

My father shrugged.

“You didn’t say anything?”

“I did, but under the Prevention of Terrorism Act they have the right to keep him.”

“But he’s not a terrorist!”

My father was silent for a moment. His face looked suddenly tired. “Don’t be so sure about that,” he said. We stared at him.

“Evidently they spotted him at the Ministry of Sports’ grounds chatting with two men whom they later arrested. The men were planning to assassinate a prominent Tamil politician because he is considered a traitor by the Tigers.” I gasped involuntarily. Everyone turned to look at me.

“Wait a minute. You go jogging with him, no?” Amma said to me.

“Did you see him talk to these men?” Neliya Aunty asked. I nodded.

“Son,” my father said gravely, “tell us exactly what you saw.”

I told them all that I had seen. How Jegan had recognized the men and how they had chatted briefly while they were jogging and later as well when we sat on the grass. I also told them about Jegan’s decision afterwards to change sports grounds, a decision which now made sense to me.

“He’s innocent,” Amma said, once I was finished. “How could he have been involved in the assassination plan?”

“How do you know he’s innocent?” my father asked. “We can’t be a hundred per cent sure.”

“You mean you honestly think he’s guilty?” Amma asked, astonished.

My father was silent. We all stared at him, angry and hurt that he would really believe this.

“Look,” my father eventually said, “the best thing is to get as little involved as possible. If they find out that Jegan is connected to the assassination attempt, we could be accused of harbouring a terrorist.”

“Nonsense,” Amma said. “Why would they accuse us?”

“These days, every Tamil is a Tiger until proven otherwise.”

“So you’re just going to leave Jegan there?”

My father turned to her, impatient now. “You forget, Nalini, that I have a business to maintain. There are many Sinhalese in this city who would love to see me go under. I have to be very careful.”

The next morning, I was awakened by the sound of my father calling to Amma. Just from the tone of his voice I could tell something had happened. I hurriedly knotted my sarong and went out into the hall. Amma and my father were leaning over the newspaper on the dining table. I came up to them and looked at the column they were reading. The heading read, KEY SUSPECT IN ASSASSINATION PLOT DISCOVERED.

“See that!” my father said to Amma, jabbing his finger at a line in the article. “The suspect, Jegan Parameswaran, resides with a well-known Tamil hotelier.”

He groaned and pushed his hair back from his forehead. He and Amma regarded each other for a long moment.

The phone rang then, and Amma went to pick it up. “Oh, hello, Mala,” she said.

I could hear Mala Aunty’s excited voice on the other end of the line. “Yes, we saw the article,” Amma said wearily.

For the rest of the morning the phone rang constantly.

My father came home very late for lunch that day. We had already returned from school when he arrived. He looked grim as he sat down at the table. We waited for him to speak, but he didn’t say anything until he had dished out some food onto his plate.

“The office staff have read Jegan’s name in the paper,” my father said to Amma. “Some were sympathetic, but others said nothing. It’s only a matter of time before the hotel staff finds out.” He took a mouthful of food. “You won’t believe what I found on my desk this morning.”

We waited for him to continue.

“A hate note,” he said bitterly. “Accusing me of being a Tiger.”

“But how did the note get on your desk?” Amma asked.

“How else do you think? A staff member put it there.”

We stared at him, shocked. I had been in my father’s office many times and I knew all his employees. It was impossible to think that any of them was capable of such maliciousness.

My father pushed his plate away. “And the filthy phone calls, both for Sena and me. Poor Mrs. Wickramasinghe, our receptionist, was in tears by lunchtime.”

He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to live this down.”

That evening, the police released Jegan. There were no charges laid. My father went to pick him up and we waited on the front verandah for them to return. When we heard the car outside, Diggy and I went and opened the gate. Jegan was seated in the front with my father. My father stopped the car in the driveway and they got out. By now Amma and Neliya Aunty and Sonali had come to the edge of the verandah, and we all looked at Jegan, not knowing how to react.

He sensed our discomfort, for he smiled and held out his hands, saying, “See, I’m all in one piece.”

This broke the tension, and we all began to ask him questions at the same time.

“Are you really okay?”

“How was it in prison?”

“They didn’t ill treat you, did they?”

“We were so worried, you can’t imagine.”

“It must have been such a nightmare.”

My father held up his hand and said jovially, “Please, please, the boy has had enough interrogation.”

We became quiet. My father had acted very shabbily in the whole affair, we all felt.

“Why don’t you go and have a bath,” Amma said to Jegan. “You must be dying for one.”

Once Jegan had gone to his room, Amma sent me after him with a fresh towel. As I went up the steps to his apartment, I could not hear him moving around inside. I knocked on the door and waited, but there was no response. “Jegan,” I called out softly, and after a while he said, “Yes.”

I opened the door. He was lying across his bed and he
quickly sat up. He turned his head away, but not before I saw that he was crying. I stood in the doorway, not knowing what to do. “Amma told me to give this to you,” I finally said, and held out the towel.

He didn’t move.

I placed the towel on the table and turned to go, but he beckoned to me to come and sit by him on the bed. He rubbed his hand across his cheeks and then went to the bathroom. After a while, he came out and, apart from the slight redness of his eyes, there was no sign that he had been crying.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he said.

I nodded.

Later, Jegan joined my father for a drink on the front lawn. I watched them from the verandah, where they couldn’t see me. For some time they didn’t talk, then my father said, “I’ve been thinking.”

Jegan studied him carefully.

“Would you like to take a few days and go to Jaffna?”

Jegan sat back in his chair.

“I mean, it would be good for you to take a small holiday after all this.” My father shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Why, Uncle?” Jegan asked.

“I just think you need the holiday. A chance to get yourself together.”

“I’m fine,” Jegan said.

My father looked at him and said irritably, “How can you be fine? You just spent the night in jail.”

“The best thing for me is hard work,” Jegan replied. “I need to get back into my routine.”

My father was silent for a moment. Then he picked up the newspaper that was beside him on the grass and gave it to Jegan. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to show you this, but I guess there’s no help for it.”

Jegan placed the newspaper on his lap and leaned over to read it. When he was finished, he sat back slowly in his chair. He picked up the paper and glanced at it again. He turned to regard my father. “The office staff read it?”

My father nodded. “It was in the Sinhala papers too.”

“What did they say?”

“Most of the Tamil and Muslim staff came by my office to say they didn’t believe it. But the Sinhalese staff, with the exception of Mrs. Wickramasinghe, were silent.”

“So they believe that I am a Tiger.”

My father sighed. “There is a lot of jealousy because I gave you such a high position.”

“What about the hotel staff?”

“They know as well. Mr. Samarakoon called to express his regret over the whole thing.”

Jegan looked at the paper, then he grabbed it and threw it on the lawn.

“It’s unfair,” he cried. “I’m innocent.” He turned to my father, agitated. “Can’t we sue the papers for defamation?”

My father looked down at his drink.

Jegan sighed and rested his forehead on his hand. After a while he straightened up. “So what are you telling me, Uncle?” he asked in a dull voice. “Does this mean that I’m fired?”

My father glanced at him quickly, a hurt expression on his face.

“Of course not. What kind of a man do you think I am?”

Jegan lifted his hand in apology.

“I just want you to take a small holiday, that’s all.”

Jegan shook his head. “Going away won’t solve anything,” he said. “The best thing is to face the problem.”

My father shrugged to say that it was Jegan’s decision.

Jegan went to work the next morning. Before I left for school, I saw him coming out of his room in his tie and short-sleeved shirt. As I looked at him, I wondered if he was wrong to ignore my father’s advice. The hate note and the general attitude of the staff had made me realize the gravity of the situation. I was surprised that he couldn’t see it, too, that he didn’t feel a few days away would help ease the tension in the office.

That afternoon, I was lying on my bed when I heard Jegan outside, calling my name. I got up, surprised that he was home early, and went to the window. He was dressed in his shorts and T-shirt.

He looked at me and said, “Why aren’t you ready?”

“I didn’t know you were home.”

“Hurry up, hurry up,” he said.

I was stunned, he had never spoken to me like that before. I put my book down hastily and started to get dressed.

As soon as I came out the front door, he began to walk briskly down the verandah steps towards the gate. I hurried after him. All the way to the park he was very quiet. I glanced at him from time to time, but he looked so forbidding that I didn’t dare say a word. There was a slight sadness in his face,
too, and this melancholy expression made me realize that something had indeed happened at the office.

When we reached the park, he didn’t jog at my speed, as he usually did. Instead, he ran very fast.

After I finished my few laps I sat on the grass, watching him.

Eventually he slowed down to a brisk walk. As he passed me, I saw that he was no longer angry. Finally, he stopped altogether, walked over, and sat down next to me. He tried to smile. “That was a good run,” he said.

I nodded.

We sat in silence for a little while. I could see that his face was still sad.

“How’s work?” I asked hesitantly.

He made an exasperated sound. “Awful,” he said.

Then he told me what had happened. The office peon had delivered a parcel to the wrong address and Jegan had reprimanded him for his carelessness. He had been insolent, and Jegan had threatened to dismiss him. The peon had stalked out of his office, close to tears. The secretarial staff had taken the man’s side. What made Jegan really angry was that my father had also sided with the man. I, too, was angry when I heard this.