Swimming in the Monsoon Sea by Shyam Selvadurai Page A

them. Two boys with straw hats were fishing from a large flat boulder that jutted out into the sea.
    Amrith noticed that Niresh had begun to sweat profusely, stains appearing under his arms and on his back, moisture gathering on his forehead and chin and upper lip. Niresh was not used to their tropical climate. He kept rubbing his face with his sleeve, which grew increasingly soggy. Finally, Amrith took out a handkerchief and offered it to him. Niresh looked at the handkerchief, not sure what he should do with it, but when Amrith gestured towards his face, Niresh grinned in thanks and wiped himself with it.
    Amrith was telling Niresh about his school — whose system of houses and prefects and addressing one another by last names seemed to fascinate Niresh, who said it was like something out of an old-time British movie — when he heard his name being called. He turned to see Uncle Lucky walking towards them. He glanced at his watch, amazed at how quickly time had passed.
    Niresh hurriedly stubbed out his cigarette and flung it over the balustrade to the beach below.
    “Son,” Uncle Lucky said, smiling, “it’s time to go home for lunch.”
    “You’re leaving so soon?” Niresh’s jaw dropped in disappointment. “Can’t Amrith stay for lunch?”
    Uncle Lucky struggled with this. The invitation had not come from Niresh’s father. “I’m afraid not. Food has already been prepared for Amrith at home and —”
    “Hold on a sec. I’ll ask my dad.”
    Without waiting for Uncle Lucky’s response, Niresh ran across the terrace and down the corridor.
    Uncle Lucky turned to Amrith. “So you and your cousin are getting on well?”
    Amrith nodded. He was delighted at how comfortable he was with Niresh, as if they had always known each other.
    “Good-good.” Uncle Lucky smiled. “It was the right thing to meet him.”
    Niresh came back in a surprisingly short time. He smiled broadly. “My dad said Amrith could stay.”
    Uncle Lucky seemed a little taken aback that Niresh’s father had agreed to this, but he nodded and told Amrith he would pick him up at five o’clock.
    The moment he left, they grinned at each other and Niresh cried, “Yeah! This is great!” In his delight, he thumped Amrith on the shoulders so hard he nearly coughed.
    Niresh went to change and, when he came back, he led Amrith to lunch. They entered a large ballroom withmirrors on the wall, the lamp brackets and ceiling cornices decorated with gilt. There was a buffet table set up at one end, covered with white tablecloths and piled with both Sri Lankan and Western food. Another table, a little distance away, had the desserts.
    The room was crowded with tourists lining up to fill their plates, or sitting at the round tables and eating. His uncle was alone at a table.
    Niresh led the way towards his father. When his uncle saw Amrith, he looked astonished.
    “Hey, Dad,” Niresh said, as they came up to the table, “Amrith’s staying for lunch.”
    He was not asking his father’s permission, he was telling him. His tone was casually contemptuous, as if his father’s consent did not count at all. Without waiting for a response, Niresh led Amrith towards the buffet table.
    As they stood in line with their plates, Amrith expected his cousin to say something about his lie but, instead, he treated Amrith to more jokes — What do you get when you cross a stripper with a banana? A self-peeling banana. What’s the difference between in-laws and outlaws? Outlaws are wanted. Why did the chicken cross the road twice? Because it was a double-crosser.
    None of the jokes were very funny, but Niresh told them with such an eagerness to please that Amrith had to respond with dutiful laughter. It was clear to him that Niresh was keen to impress him, to win his affection. From the first moment of their meeting, his cousin had set out determinedly to build a relationship between them. Amrithhad never been courted in this way by anybody, and it was especially