The Flower Boy by Karen Roberts Page B

don’t just stand there,” she said. “Go down to the well and have your bath quickly.”
    He frowned. “Alone?”
    â€œYes, no, why? Can’t you manage alone?” she asked distractedly.
    â€œI suppose so,” he said doubtfully. “But what if the bucket falls in? Can’t Rangi come with me, just in case?” he said.
    But she was already back in her other cutlet world.
    Rangi left the sandwiches and went to get the towel. He skipped after her. Bathing with Rangi was fun.
    At the well, she hung the towel on the old mango tree which drooped its dusty leaves toward the water. She waited while he stripped.
    â€œAren’t you going to bathe too?” he asked.
    â€œNo, Malli, I’ll bathe later when the work’s finished,” she answered.
    â€œWhat’s happening? Is there a party?” he asked casually.
    â€œYes,” she said. “For Lizzie Baby. It’s her birthday, remember? And yours too.” She looked down at him.
    â€œOh,” he said, disappointed.
    â€œDon’t look like that,” she said, smiling. “You’re going too.”
    â€œWhere?” he asked blankly.
    â€œTo the party. To Lizzie Baby’s birthday party.”
    â€œNo I’m not,” he said dejectedly. “Why would they want me?”
    â€œWell they do, because the Sudu Mahattaya himself told Ammi,” Rangi said.
    He stood there until she pushed him down so she could pour the first bucket of water over him. He didn’t gasp. He didn’t feel it. There was a warm feeling in him. A numb, warm feeling.
    He was going to Rose-Lizzie’s birthday party.
    He didn’t want to know how this had come about. He just knew he was going. He had never been to a birthday party before, although he had seen a few from afar. Jonathan’s, Anne’s and even Rose-Lizzie’s last one. He had watched the children and the games and the singing from behind the big gardenia bush near the passageway. Now he was actually going.
    Then the fears began. What if they didn’t mean it? What if they changed their minds at the last minute? What if he got a cold from the cold well water and died before he could go? What if Rose-Lizzie got a cold and died before the party?
    He began to shiver uncontrollably.
    â€œIs the water too cold?” Rangi said.
    He shook his head and tried to stop the shivers.
    Back inside, he ate his lunch slowly. He had been told the party was at four o’clock, which left him one whole hour to kill.
    He sensed that this was another don’t-get-in-my-way day, so when he finished eating, he wandered off into the back garden, only to be stopped and told sternly not to get himself dirty.
    Leela was trying to sound Ammilike and succeeding frighteningly well.
    HE WALKED THROUGH the vegetable garden trying hard not to think of the evening ahead, but it was difficult. He stared hard at the tomatoes, and the aubergines and the beans and the winged beans and the spinach and the fat white cabbages in the cabbage patch, as if they held all the answers to all his questions.
    Two worms wormed their way up a shiny purple aubergine that was already full of worm holes. Was there a worm village in there? Did worms have families and birthday parties? Were there worms in England?
    A little sparrow was picking delicately at a handful of rice thrown out by Rangi. How many grains of rice did it take to fill a sparrow’s stomach? Did sparrows have birthday parties?
    He spotted a seashell embedded in a piece of cement. What was it doing so far away from the sea? How had it got there? Had Glencairn been an ocean long ago?
    Loud barking broke into his reverie. He had wandered toward the garage, where Buster was tied. Now he took a few quick steps back. Buster hated him, and always tried to get a quick nip whenever Chandi was in nipping distance.
    â€œChandi! Chandi!”
    He heard his mother’s voice and ran back to the kitchen. She was