A PAIR OF UMBRELLAS

It is early afternoon in mid-April in Colombo. And you know what that means: unbearably hot and humid. The heat inside you cannot escape into the moisture-saturated air trapped between heated earth and clouded sky. The sea is a metallic grey and there is no breeze. Only under a fan is life bearable. And of course if you are in an air-conditioned hotel, office or super-market, you are in Europe in springtime.

However, we are in the steamy tropical world of Colombo's streets. Everyone is hot and angry for no apparent reason. In retail shops wilted sales girls and listless salesmen let customers fend for themselves. Executives in offices bark orders to the staff to keep to impossible deadlines.

In the streets, the cars race along from one traffic jam to another honking and braking furiously in a kind of heat-induced road rage. Three-wheelers take corners borne momentarily on two wheels. Weary pedestrians, standing in knots at bus stops, break away for a brief respite to the shade of a wall or a rare tree at the risk of losing in the scramble for a place in the next bus.

Under the awning of a vegetable stall near the Town Hall sits Saranelis, the umbrella repairer. He has been here for many years, almost a fixture. He is a small, slightly built man wearing a white cloth and tunic. The passer-by would take little notice of him, till he stops and looks at his fine triangular face, accentuated by a pointed carefully-trimmed beard and framed in a fine head of hair, well-oiled and parted in the middle. His face has a timeless quality about it - he could be anything between 50 and 70 years. In repose, it has the gravity of age, but when he speaks or smiles the years fall away and reveal a vivacity almost of youth.

No one was certain of the relationship between the cloth-and-jacket-clad Laisa, the matronly owner of the vegetable stall, and Saranelis. Some said they were brother and sister, others that they were cousins, and still others that they were neighbours from the time of their childhood days in the village. Listening to the gentleness in the tone of the most mundane remarks that passed between them from time to time, the more discerning might detect in them the after-glow of a more tender relationship.

Sarnelis was fitting a spoke to a solitary umbrella. When he finished he fixed himself a chew of betel and sat gazing at the great gleaming dome of the Town Hall, so like that of the Capitol in the USA which he saw often on television. Beyond was the Park. It was the Victoria Park when he was a boy; it had been named after the British Queen. Now it was known as the Vihara Maha Devi Udyanaya in honour of the revered mother of the warrior king, Dutugemunu. People were passing by, dodging the breaks in the narrow pavement. Others were crowding round, buying vegetables. His own business was at low ebb - who wants umbrellas in this drought! Like all things, he reflected, even droughts must end!

And even now the skies were darkening. But then, that happened yesterday and the day before, and no rain fell. The same could happen today.

An argument arose in a neighbouring stall and voices were raised. The owner of the stall was saying: "All our troubles are due to these alien Tamils. The army should eliminate them."

A customer was saying: "You mean the Tigers?" "They are all the same."

"Don't be silly. Remember our Foreign Minister is a Tamil." "I would not trust him."

"Your opinion is not important. The President trusts him." "Are you a Tamil?"

The customer was furious but contained himself. Saying, "I am wasting my time arguing with you," he walked away.

However, the knot of people who had gathered round, continued a disjointed debate on the Sinhala - Tamil issue.

Suddenly it became very dark and there was lightning and a roll of thunder, a gust of wind and the rain came down. It came down in large drops - the first rains! Men were running for shelter holding newspapers over their heads and women covering their hair with the falls of their sarees.

"Brother," said Laisa smiling, "they have forgotten their umbrellas!"

Saranelis also smiled. "This is only the vanguard! Wait for the real troops of the monsoon, sister, then they will remember all right !"

Saranelis pictured the farmers in his village who would have by now broken up the hard-baked earth with their hoes to receive every drop of these early rains, before the torrential monsoon downpours when they could plough the muddied fields. In his imagination he wandered through the village to his long-lost ancestral home with its own drinking well, and the bathing well lower down on the edge of the rice fields. It was sweet, this journey into the landscapes of his childhood, and he would have gone still further, but he woke from his reverie for the rain had suddenly stopped, and against a shaft of sunlight there was a figure standing. He shaded his eyes against the strong light. It was an elderly Sinhala gentleman dressed in full European attire.

"Would you look at this umbrella," he said, holding out a handsome man's umbrella, "and see whether you could restore it. If you cannot, please say so."

Saranelis took it with both hands. When he saw the handle he drew in his breath. It was of mahogany and shaped like the mermaid-lion of Singapore with the English letter J. carved in two places. He was lost in thought and the customer asked "Aren't you going to open it?"

Saranelis said, "I am sorry, sir, I got carried away." He opened the umbrella. The covering was of a superior fabric which unfortunately had been torn in three places. Two of the spokes needed replacement. "It is such a good fabric that it would be better for me to sew the tears than to re-cover it with something inferior. You can't get this fabric nowadays. There is no problem replacing the damaged spokes. Would you like me to clean and polish the handle? It is such a fine umbrella."

"Yes, I would like it to look as it was when I first received it, if that is possible."

"It was a gift, sir ?"

"Yes, indeed. When can you have it ready ?"

"I will have to take it home. If you come about ten in the morning it will be ready."

The gentleman hesitated and looked towards Laisa. She said "Don't worry, sir. He is here everyday. He won't run away! I will answer for him."

"All right then What is the cost?"

It was Laisa who answered "Sir, he is the finest repairer of umbrellas, including handles, in the whole of Colombo You can judge his workmanship and pay him accordingly." It was clear that Laisa managed the finances of this business she rightly judged that the gentleman, who looked quite prosperous, would likely pay more than what they would expect.

"If you come about ten tomorrow, sir, it will be ready," said Saranelis

And so it was agreed

Saranelis and Laisa were at the stall by six-thirty the following day. It was a lovely sunny morning with a cool breeze, the best time of the day. Of course it would not last Soon the sun would rise in the sky and everyone would be sweating. Laisa brought him some plain tea and Saranelis settled down to work on a heap of umbrellas which had arrived from nowhere!

Sharp at ten the gentleman appeared Saranelis pulled out an umbrella from a long cloth bag and held it out to him with both hands without comment.

The customer took it and considered the handle. "You've done a very good job. The handle is like what it was when I received it." He then opened it and started looking for the repairs to the tears. "I can't see the tears," and after a pause, "You've replaced the fabric. I thought you said you can't get the superior fabric."

"That's right, sir," said Saranelis with a smile. "I re-covered this umbrella fifteen years ago."

The customer closed the umbrella and held it in both his arms as you would cradle a child who had fallen asleep. He stood in silence looking down at it. When the customer spoke it was with a hushed voice "How did it come into your hands?"

"A gentleman like you, sir, came one evening about fifteen years ago and told me to re-cover the umbrella. And I told him the same thing I told you -'come back tomorrow about ten'. He never came back. Many friends wanted me to sell it. They said the handle alone would attract a very good price; but I had never come across such a lovely handle and could not bear to part with it. I kept it like an ornament in one corner of our best room."

The customer said, "What was the gentleman like? Do you remember?"

"About your height, sir, but darker, and he had a moustache."

"May I have my own umbrella now?"

Saranelis pulled out from the same long bag the customer's umbrella and handed it to him in the same manner as before. The gentleman did not open it but held the two umbrellas side by side in his arms. He looked at them in silence for a long time while Saranelis began attending to other customers who were becoming impatient.

Round the neighbouring stall the Sinhala – Tamil issue was still being debated with rage winning over reason most of the time. Snatches of talk could be heard through the din of the passing traffic. One man was saying, "You would not talk so 'reasonably' if you had lost a son in the war."

"My friend," said the other, "I have lost two" And the debate seemed to end.

When Saranelis's other customers had been attended to, the gentleman spoke very quietly, "I cannot speak to you here. Come with me to the park: there we can talk undisturbed. Can your lady look after your customers for a little time? I owe you a lot - and it is not money."

"Sister," Saranelis called out, "keep an eye on things. I am going out with this gentleman for a short while."

They walked to the park, the gentleman still cradling the umbrellas in his arms. They sat on a bench and the gentleman said, "First I must thank you with all my heart for keeping the umbrella and not selling it. When I tell you the story you will understand."

Saranelis said, "You said your own umbrella was a gift."

"Yes, so was the other. Both came to us from the same benefactor."

"You know the owner of the other umbrella?"

"He was my dearest friend." He paused and looked down at the umbrellas on his lap.

"But how do you know, sir? Many umbrellas like this might have been imported, though I must say I have not seen a single one like these."
The gentleman sighed and said, "I will tell you the full story. My friend and I were bright pupils from our young days at school. We were inseparable. We went to school together and sat our exams together. Some months after we left the school we sat for the public service exam and got through. We were posted to the Secretariat in Ratnapura. We knew it as the Kachcheri. Our favourite subject at school was geography and we did particularly well in that subject. Our much-loved geography master and his wife had been travelling in South East Asia and returned shortly after we had been posted to Ratnapura. When we saw him on a casual visit to the school he said 'Before you lads leave Colombo call on us.' We did so and were received warmly by him and his wife who gave us a fine string hopper feed. We thanked them and were about to leave when he said, "I have something for you. I nearly forgot." He went inside the house and brought these lovely umbrellas. 'What is the annual rainfall of Ratnapura, boys?' he asked. 'About ninety inches,' I said. 'Actually it is a little less' he said with a smile 'Anyway it is a pretty wet place and you will find these useful'. We were overwhelmed; broken words of gratitude tumbled out of our mouths and we left. Later we wrote a letter of thanks which both of us signed. Since both our names began with the letter J and since we wanted to express our complete devotion to each other we decided to carve J J on both umbrella handles. A boy who worked in the newly opened woodwork department of the school carved the letters, and you notice he also carved a tendril of leaves joining the letters."
"Yes, I noticed it," said Saranelis, "polishing that part was difficult."

"Well," continued the gentleman, "after some years in Ratnapura, my friend was transferred to Colombo, but we kept in touch by letter. And then learnt that he and his family were killed in the riots of 1983."

There was a long silence, he with grief, Saranelis with a kind of embarrassment. At last Saranelis said, "Your friend was a Tamil gentleman, sir?"

"Yes, his name was Jeyaratnam." "And yours, sir?"

"Jayaratna; He must have brought it to you shortly before the day he was killed; It seems this umbrella is the only thing of his left in the world. Nothing else remained-his house in Bambalapitiya was burnt down to the ground. Thanks to your not selling it I have it in my hands today........ Now tell me first how much I have to pay for the repairs to my umbrella."

"Would you say a hundred rupees was too much, sir ?"

"Certainly not. Here is two hundred I would like to buy the other umbrella; how much would you sell it for ?"

"I did not sell it to anybody all these years. Nor will I now, sir."

The gentleman was taken aback by the speed with which the answer came and its definiteness. Silently he held out the umbrella to Saranelis who did not take it. With a beatific smile he said, "I said I will not sell it, sir, but I did not say I will not give it. Please keep it, sir. It is yours. Our people killed this innocent family, and the umbrella will mean so much more to you than to me. Your friend would want you to have it."

The gentleman was lost for words. At last he said, "You have a kind heart, and like the friend I lost, you don't consider money the most important thing in life. However for you, more than for me, money is important, especially if trouble comes your way. And the lady who runs the vegetable stall has greater money sense than you, and one day you will appreciate that."

Saranelis said, "Yes, she is very kind to me. I don't know where I would be were she not there. She thinks I am a kind-hearted dreamer!"

The gentleman said, "I would like you to accept this, not as payment for the umbrella, but as a gift for keeping the umbrella for me all these years. Surely Fate has led me to you." He took out a wad of notes and said, "Open your hand!" Saranelis did so with some reluctance "Now close your hand!" Saranelis did so.

The gentleman said, "I hope your business will prosper. Thank you again." With that he opened his own umbrella, for the rain had started, and holding the other in the crook of his arm he turned to walk away. He stopped and turned round. "Come," he said "you are getting wet."

"I am all right, sir."

"No, come under my umbrella."

They walked together in silence till they came to the stall. "Thank you, sir," said Saranelis, "and may things go well with you." He ran across the road in the rain with the money still clenched in his fist. When he looked across the road the gentleman was not to be seen.

He held out the wad of notes to Laisa. She started counting it and opened her eyes in wonderment.

"You sold that for a thousand rupees! You are a better business- man than I thought !" she said laughingly.

Saranelis, bending over his pile of broken umbrellas, murmured, "It was a gift."

Sydney Perera
