Read Online The Flower Boy by Karen Roberts - Free Book Online

Aloysius and kept stored for just this moment. But his brain had gone blank, so he just stood there and grinned foolishly, like a new father meeting his baby for the first time.
    He held his hand out to her. She grabbed his finger and held on to it. He laughed.
    â€œRose,” he said experimentally, tasting the name.
    She laughed.
    â€œBest friend,” he said.
    She laughed louder and tightened her grip on his finger.
    Rose had chosen.
    So that was that, he thought triumphantly.
    That would show them. Ammi and Rangi and Leela and Ayah—he heard her laugh. He turned and saw her walking slowly down the driveway with the firewood man, who was pulling his firewood cart with more enthusiasm than Chandi had ever seen. Chandi realized he had to get out of there fast.
    â€œI’ll come back and see you soon, Rose,” he promised her in Sinhalese, and tried to withdraw his finger. She held on with grim determination. “Soon, Rose, maybe tomorrow,” he said, trying to pull away. She laughed and gurgled and blew spit bubbles and hung on. The voices were close now and he was frantic.
    â€œRose,” he whispered urgently. “If you don’t let go of my finger they will see me and Ammi will whip me for sure.”
    She let go at last.
    He crawled on his belly as fast as he could, trying to get to the gate before they did. He would have gone down the passage that ran around the house, but his schoolbag was just outside the gate. He grabbed it and ran.
    â€œChandi! What happened to you?” His mother stood there wiping her hands on her reddha. He looked down. His white school shirt was streaked with grass stains.
    â€œI fell,” he mumbled, and went indoors.

chapter 6
    IN DEFERENCE TO HER REAL NAME, HE DECIDED TO CALL HER ROSE-LIZZIE. And although he didn’t see Rose-Lizzie again for another month, he hugged those five minutes to himself.
    It kept him warmer than any burgundy sweater could have during the freezing Nuwara Eliya nights, when the temperature slipped right down and a thin film of frost covered the grass, turning it to silver.
    It helped him get through chilly mornings listening to Teacher’s loud disjointed snores. It made him pay even more attention to Mr. Aloysius’s soliloquies, and made his brain take note of and file away even more words and phrases.
    It was like a happy spell he could summon up whenever the need arose.
    And the need frequently arose.
    He stopped hovering around the front garden hoping for a glimpse of Rose-Lizzie; he had already had one. He stopped pestering the unpesterable Rangi with questions about what the not-so-new-by-now baby looked like; he already knew.
    Other people noticed the change in him. Ammi with slanting looks of concern, soon forgotten by work to be done. Leela with direct stares of suspicion, and suspicious questions. Rangi with happiness, because he was happy. She wasn’t really interested in knowing why.
    In his newfound state of happiness, Chandi sang Christmas songs because Christmas was coming. He’d already seen two Christmases at the bungalow, but this one was different. There had been no Rose-Lizzie then.
    Already preparations were under way in the house. A huge spruce was currently lying in the side veranda, its trunk in an old tin bath full of water.
    Appuhamy could be seen teetering on ladders as he searched cupboards for Christmas decorations and fabric-covered pelmets for cobwebs.
    All through the year, he faded in and out of rooms and days like a sad ghost, but at Christmas he came alive, as if he had been conserving his strength throughout the year just for these two weeks.
    Premawathi too was infected by the Christmas fever, hurrying back and forth even faster than usual. Thanks to her years at the convent and countless Christmas fairs to raise money for the Wanathamulla poor, she was a skilled Christmas cook.
    In these weeks and days leading up to the (other) big birth, she baked scores of mince pies and