Read Online The Flower Boy by Karen Roberts - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Roberts
Tags: Fiction
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genuinely fond of his parishioners, who in turn felt real affection for the mild-mannered, good-natured priest, who wasnât above having an arrack with them at weddings, baptisms and funerals.
Every time the Nuwara Eliya diocese brought up the subject of India, Father Ross would tell them he had so much more to do here, and they let him be.
He was a true missionary, and didnât give them problems involving married women and young boys like the previous parish priest had.
CHANDI WAS CAST as one of the three kings, much to Sunilâs secret disappointment, who himself was only one of about thirty shepherds. But Sunil did not live at the bungalow.
The nepotism continued with Rangi playing the Virgin, and Leela as the Angel Gabriel.
Every day they had to stay an extra hour after school to rehearse.
The tables and chairs were cleared away from one of the classrooms and the thirty dirty shepherds took their places.
Sunil had to shade his eyes and look up at the cobwebby ceiling for the Star in the East, which was going to be fixed later on. For now, all he could see were alarming-looking cracks with brown fungus growing out of them.
Then along came Rangi, her Joseph, and his imaginary donkey. Under Mrs. Carsonâs old blue bathrobe, Rangi had a pillow tied around her stomach that had split in one corner after too many tyings and now left a trail of moldy cotton behind her.
They had to knock at an imaginary door and face Bala the school bully, who played the obnoxious innkeeper quite well. The manger was made up of handfuls of dried African grass, and it was there they sat to wait for the Savior to make an appearance from Rangiâs leaky pillow.
The actual birth was censored. The audience only saw Anneâs old plastic one-eyed baby doll, wrapped in swaddling old nappies, lying in the manger.
Chandi and his two other kings arrived, also shielding their eyes and staring up at the fungus-filled cracks, looking in vain for something that looked like a star, that wasnât really a mummified spider.
The grand finale was when shepherds with their imaginary sheep, the Magi on their imaginary horses and camels, and the other faithful met at the manger to pay their respects to the one-eyed baby doll.
Although he didnât mean to hold up rehearsals, Chandi did anyway, with all his questions. What if the Baby Jesus had decided to be born into a palace, or at least a bungalow? In fact, why hadnât he? Wouldnât he have saved his parents a lot of grief? Why didnât God send down a chariot to take them to Bethlehem? Why didnât God get rid of Herod, because then there would have been no trouble to start with?
Mr. Aloysius struggled to find answers, but eventually left it to Father Ross to deal with Chandiâs spiritual teetering.
The Sudu Mahattaya and Nona and their children were coming and there were rumors that the family from Windsor would also attend. It was important to create a good impression, he told his charges, who had no idea what âimpressionâ was. They hadnât got that far in their English class.
At which juncture, Chandi presented him with another poser: didnât only God create?
Mr. Aloysius ignored the question, wishing for the umpteenth time that Chandi would stop asking questions. None of the other children did.
BACK AT THE bungalow, the Sudu Nona eyed her calendar with increasing trepidation. If there was another thing she hated about being the lady of the manor, it was the guest appearances she was supposed to make every now and then.
She had no idea what she was expected to do, so she usually nodded and half-smiled, as if full smiling would encourage familiarity. She felt a little like royalty.
The play was scheduled for the twenty-third of December at five in the evening, which was also inconvenient since she had guests for Christmas Eve dinner. The family from Windsor had invited them the previous year, and this year it was Elsie Buckwaterâs
Every time the Nuwara Eliya diocese brought up the subject of India, Father Ross would tell them he had so much more to do here, and they let him be.
He was a true missionary, and didnât give them problems involving married women and young boys like the previous parish priest had.
CHANDI WAS CAST as one of the three kings, much to Sunilâs secret disappointment, who himself was only one of about thirty shepherds. But Sunil did not live at the bungalow.
The nepotism continued with Rangi playing the Virgin, and Leela as the Angel Gabriel.
Every day they had to stay an extra hour after school to rehearse.
The tables and chairs were cleared away from one of the classrooms and the thirty dirty shepherds took their places.
Sunil had to shade his eyes and look up at the cobwebby ceiling for the Star in the East, which was going to be fixed later on. For now, all he could see were alarming-looking cracks with brown fungus growing out of them.
Then along came Rangi, her Joseph, and his imaginary donkey. Under Mrs. Carsonâs old blue bathrobe, Rangi had a pillow tied around her stomach that had split in one corner after too many tyings and now left a trail of moldy cotton behind her.
They had to knock at an imaginary door and face Bala the school bully, who played the obnoxious innkeeper quite well. The manger was made up of handfuls of dried African grass, and it was there they sat to wait for the Savior to make an appearance from Rangiâs leaky pillow.
The actual birth was censored. The audience only saw Anneâs old plastic one-eyed baby doll, wrapped in swaddling old nappies, lying in the manger.
Chandi and his two other kings arrived, also shielding their eyes and staring up at the fungus-filled cracks, looking in vain for something that looked like a star, that wasnât really a mummified spider.
The grand finale was when shepherds with their imaginary sheep, the Magi on their imaginary horses and camels, and the other faithful met at the manger to pay their respects to the one-eyed baby doll.
Although he didnât mean to hold up rehearsals, Chandi did anyway, with all his questions. What if the Baby Jesus had decided to be born into a palace, or at least a bungalow? In fact, why hadnât he? Wouldnât he have saved his parents a lot of grief? Why didnât God send down a chariot to take them to Bethlehem? Why didnât God get rid of Herod, because then there would have been no trouble to start with?
Mr. Aloysius struggled to find answers, but eventually left it to Father Ross to deal with Chandiâs spiritual teetering.
The Sudu Mahattaya and Nona and their children were coming and there were rumors that the family from Windsor would also attend. It was important to create a good impression, he told his charges, who had no idea what âimpressionâ was. They hadnât got that far in their English class.
At which juncture, Chandi presented him with another poser: didnât only God create?
Mr. Aloysius ignored the question, wishing for the umpteenth time that Chandi would stop asking questions. None of the other children did.
BACK AT THE bungalow, the Sudu Nona eyed her calendar with increasing trepidation. If there was another thing she hated about being the lady of the manor, it was the guest appearances she was supposed to make every now and then.
She had no idea what she was expected to do, so she usually nodded and half-smiled, as if full smiling would encourage familiarity. She felt a little like royalty.
The play was scheduled for the twenty-third of December at five in the evening, which was also inconvenient since she had guests for Christmas Eve dinner. The family from Windsor had invited them the previous year, and this year it was Elsie Buckwaterâs
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