The Last Theorem - Arthur Charles Clarke [33]
He found that subject uneasy to think about and went on. There wasn’t much more of the letter anyway. A bunch of Gamini’s fellow students—Gamini didn’t mention this Madge there, but Ranjit would have bet a large sum that she had been in the group—had gone up to Stratford-upon-Avon for a day. And then at the very end, in a brief afterthought, the big news: “Oh, listen, I’ve got some summer courses I need to take, but Dad wants me home for a few days this summer so I can see Gram one more time before she goes. He says she’s doing poorly. So I’ll be back in Lanka for a bit. Where will you be? I don’t know if I’ll have time to get to Trinco—but somewhere?”
Well, wasn’t that grand news? It was. And the only thing that slowed Ranjit’s quiet exultation was the fact that his father’s call needed to be returned.
The old man picked the phone up on its first ring. His voice was cheerful, too, as he said, “Ah, Ranjit”—affectionate, pleased—“why do you keep secrets from your father? You didn’t tell me that Gamini Bandara had gone to England!”
Though no one was there to see, Ranjit rolled his eyes. If he had failed to tell his father the news, it was almost entirely because he had been confident his father’s watchers would make sure it got to him. The only surprising thing was that it had taken so long. Ranjit considered for a moment whether or not to mention that Gamini would at least briefly be coming home, and decided not to do the dormitory staff’s work for them. He said guardedly, “Yes, he’s going to school there. London School of Economics. His father thinks it’s the best school in the world, I think.”
“And I’m sure it is,” his father agreed, “at least for certain kinds of studies. And I know you must miss him, Ranjit, but I have to say that it goes a long way toward solving a major problem for me. No one is going to be worrying about your closeness with a Sinhalese boy when there’s an ocean or two between you.”
Ranjit didn’t know what to say to that and sensibly said nothing. His father went on. “The thing is, I’ve missed you very much, Ranjit. Can you forgive me, Ranjit?”
Ranjit had no need to think over his answer to that. “I love you, Father,” he said at once, “and there is nothing to forgive. I understand why you had to do what you did.”
“Then,” his father said, “will you come and spend your summer holidays here in Trinco?”
Ranjit assured him he would like nothing better, but he was beginning to feel uneasy. The conversation was getting sticky. He was glad when he remembered the question his father might be able to answer. “Dad? There’s a man from Trinco who’s been arrested in Colombo, Kirthis Kanakaratnam, and I have a feeling I might have known him at some time. Do you know who he is?”
Ganesh Subramanian sighed deeply—whether because the question was troubling to him or because he, too, was grateful for the change of subject, Ranjit could not tell. “Yes, of course. Kirthis. Don’t you remember him, Ranjit? My tenant? The one with all those little children, and a wife in somewhat poor health? He usually worked as a coach driver for one of the hotels along the beach. His father used to do odd jobs around the temple until he died—”
“I remember now,” said Ranjit, and he did. The man they were talking about was short and as black as Ranjit himself. He had lived, family and all, in the tiny house at the edge of Ganesh Subramanian’s property: by the most optimistic count, three rooms all told, for two adults and four tiny kids, and no interior plumbing. Ranjit’s clearest memory was of the mother despondently washing children’s clothes in a huge tin tub…and the children whining around her feet as they assiduously dirtied more clothes, and themselves.
When Ranjit got off the phone, he readied himself for bed, feeling pretty good about the world. Things were going well. He had made up with his father. He was going to see Gamini, at least briefly. And that mystery concerning the identity of this Kirthis Kanakaratnam was solved, and he would never