You're Invited(20)

The house itself worked in layers. The outer ring was the veranda, which was dotted with large cane armchairs that were perfect for snoozing or reading. My mother had never really used them, from what I can remember, and neither did I. The next ring was after you step inside the front door—the open corridor that led to our rooms. The walls were covered in my mother’s artwork. I’d never let Seetha even think about removing any of it. My mother had been an avid painter, even if her subject matter was gloomy and depressing. Six-by-four-foot canvases of women weeping—heartbroken and alone. Tears streaming down their faces, which were twisted in despair. I asked her once why she painted them, and she must have told me but I can’t remember her answer. I was too fixated on the realization that the women all had her eyes.

Then there were the rooms. My mother’s on the left and mine on the right. I’m sure Seetha would have cleared out the medical equipment and hospital bed from my mother’s when we were renting out the property, but I’d never gone inside to check for myself.

And finally, the last ring. The epicenter around which the house had been built. A spacious open courtyard sat right in the middle of the house, where a large Araliya tree spread its branches. When the flowers bloomed and the smell wafted through the house, it was like my mother hadn’t left at all. It was her favorite flower, and my father had it planted just for her. The first tree had died, my mother told me, shortly after they moved in. She said she should have known that they were doomed. But my father had loved her then, and planted another, announcing that it was a good omen when it finally took root. That sometimes, all anything needed was a second chance. Well, he certainly got his.

I don’t remember much of him. He’d realized soon after I was born that life in Colombo wasn’t really for him. Or maybe it was life with my mother. Or maybe it was me.

But it hadn’t taken him too long to set himself back up in England, where he was from. And of course my mother was to blame. She was the one who ran away from home to marry an Englishman against her parents’ wishes, after all. She was the one who couldn’t keep her man happy. She practically asked for it.

And when she got sick he left for good. He took care of the expenses, and he left her this beautiful, haunted house full of weeping women. All the fight my mother must have once had in her was already spent on leaving her family and living the life of a high-society outcast in Colombo. She was swept away with her cancer on a wave of painkillers much sooner than the doctors expected.

And then there was just me. And Seetha. And this house I never wanted to stay in for a moment longer than necessary but kept coming back to just the same—like I was a ghost cursed to haunt these walls.

The dining room sat at the back of the house. The table was set at my usual seat. Seetha had made kiribath—milk rice. It wasn’t customary to eat it in the evenings, but we ate it for special occasions. It was supposed to bring us good luck. And I wasn’t wasting even an ounce of any luck I could muster.

“Shaa!” I made an appreciative noise, to which Seetha gave me a small smile.

“It’s good to have you home, Baba. Long time, no?”

“Yes, too long.”

But it wasn’t too long. There wasn’t enough time in the world to put between what happened the last time I was here and now.





SEETHA


Interview Transcript: Ranasinghege Kusumalatha Seetha (abbrev. RKS)

Date: January 25, 2020

Location: The Mount Lavinia Hotel

EP: Thank you for joining us today. I was told you are comfortable having this discussion in English, is that true?

RKS: Yes, madam. My English is not perfect, but we can talk. Anything to help. They are saying that Kaavindi Baba—that she is dead. Is that true, madam? No one is telling us anything.

EP: We are investigating the matter, Miss Seetha. The more you can tell us, the better it will be, understand?

RKS: Yes, madam.

EP: Good. Could you please state your name and address for our records?

RKS: Yes, madam. My name is Ranasinghege Kusumalatha Seetha, but you can call me Seetha. Everyone does. My registered address is 281 Vishaka Road, Bandarawela, but I currently reside in Amaya Baba’s home in Colombo 07.

EP: That’s her home in Cinnamon Gardens, am I correct?

RKS: Yes, madam.

EP: Miss Seetha, what brings you here to the wedding? Were you invited?

RKS: Fonseka Madam asked me to come so I can help, madam. She has known me a long time, and when she asked for my help I was happy to come. I have known Kaavindi Baba since she was a small girl, madam, and I am happy to help with the wedding. The Fonsekas have been good to me. They are very rich, madam, maybe some of the richest people in Sri Lanka, who knows? But they still ask for me. They remember Seetha.

EP: I see. And how about the Blooms? How long have you worked for them?

RKS: I was hired by Amaya Baba’s father, Mr. Bloom, madam. It was around the time that Amaya Baba’s mother, I called her Loku Madam, got very ill. Before I came to work as a housemaid, I was an English teacher in my village. Sadly, the salary was not enough, madam, only ten thousand rupees, and when my husband’s accident left him unable to work as a farmer, I had to leave home to find work in Colombo. Mr. Bloom gave me a very good salary, madam. He sent money every month for expenses as well, and he trusted me to take care of Amaya Baba.

EP: So to answer my question, Miss Seetha, how long?