The Piano

The Piano

The day Lucas Mudalaali (who was by rights Lucas Anton Perera) took Miss Maria Fernando as his lawful wedded wife in front of the parish priest and the whole assembled congregation, was indeed a red-letter day for that tiny fishing hamlet situated a few miles off Negombo. The whole village, rich and poor alike, were invited for lunch at the Mudalaali’s home. Both, food in the shape of chicken and pork, and drink in the shape of Arrack, flowed freely; as did the conversation. The bride, the pretty schoolteacher, Miss Maria Fernando was past thirty, and not all that well endowed with – as regards money. Yet, the folks whispered, she had turned down the young and handsome (and not just rich) Mudalaali’s suit at first. “Why”? “Oh, because she was a bit stuck up. She had been convent educated, and could play the piano so marvellously wonderfully well, or so it is said, that it is such a joy to hear. But surely that was not a reason to turn down such a wonderful proposal. And her past thirty-six years of age, if a day! Well, she comes from a very different background to the Mudalaali. Well, he’s in the fish business you know. His grandfather had been a mere fisherman, you know, like the rest of the village even now. But his father had somehow or other scraped and scrimped and even borrowed some money to purchase a second-hand fishing boat, that soon repaid the money invested in it with more than enough interest! One thing led to another, and soon the family had graduated from being mere fishermen to being in the Maalu-Mudalaali line. And Lucas of course had done even better, branching out to other areas in business as well ... and doing quite well too! And my dear, twenty-nine years of age, is the right age for a man to marry – especially an up and coming businessman like our young Lucas here! Though why he should settle his eyes on a woman more than seven years older than him, only the Blessed Lord above can probably fathom ... if at all! And Miss Maria, so stuck-up and all, even if not that well off! But then she comes from such a noble high-faulting family, though so impoverished now... But then it’s her own fault, my dear. She should have got married long-long ago! Instead of waiting so long that her very hair seems in danger of turning a trifle grey! While her father seems increasingly so old and grey and full of sleep ... as he may soon go to sleep forever, leaving her al alone with none but her own poor self to fend for her! But she kept turning down proposals, and her father was at his wits end, hunting up marriage brokers, and spending good money on them and laying out banquets for guests and what-not-s who came to see his daughter ... checking out her suitability as a bride for someone’s brother, son or nephew! But though she suited well enough for most of them, apparently none suited her fine high-faulting tastes ... not to mention her fine education in convent and beyond... She had actually been to the ‘varsity, you know – a rare feat, even for a boy in these parts.. Who knows what has happened there? Anyway it has taken all the persuasion that the bride’s only living aunt, a wealthy widow, could exert upon her niece, to bring about the match. Anyway, the bride looks happy enough, isn’t it? And all’s well, that end’s well, that’s what I have always said!” The band struck up. ‘Twas time for the bride and the groom to depart on their honeymoon, on the eve of a new life together ... in the hope of living happily ever after... if such a thing ever really happens!

The honeymoon was to have been in Negombo. It was a closely guarded secret, which by then, everyone present there knew – thanks to the bridegroom’s mother! Be that as it may, the car took the road to Colombo. Perhaps the young bridegroom felt that now that everyone knew where the location of that very closely guarded secret place was, he might as well head for to the Capital, and enjoy his new wedded bliss in the comfort of a five star hotel complete with air-conditioning, swimming-pools and swanking politicians eyeing pretty foreign women. It was, everyone asserted, further proof of his devotion to his brand new wife. And what mattered, if his eyes to strayed a little while unnecessarily longer over those said foreign women sometimes clad only in a towel carelessly slung over their bikini tops while standing near the water’s edge? It would have only added more spice to an already too long waited honeymoon that surely would have lost its edge quite, if the bride had chosen to tarry yet a little longer... For only her mother’s sudden demise consequent to a very expensive (and totally unsuccessful) cardiac bypass surgery, coupled together with her rich aunt’s refusal to advance any more money to take care of her father and his debts unless she at last cared to heed her advice a little and come back to earth up straight from the clouds, and make do with the half loaf offered to her, instead of pining for hyacinths to save her soul. “And” her aunt assured her, “You’ll like him well enough my dear, by the time your honeymoon is over – clad in a pretty negligee and him not being able to take his eyes off you! You’ll come back with him, with your face glowing and your black hair all in a pretty sheen, with your lips red and full and smiling all the while... Take an old woman’s advice, my dear... Married bliss would suit you well enough – even if only with a Rich Mudalaali... For with his money to help you, your housewifely duties will well sit only too lightly over you ... leaving you almost wholly free to pursue your interests in books and other matters.... especially in enjoying playing the piano whenever and however often you feel like it!” Years and years ago, ages and ages past, that aunt herself had made just such a marriage of convenience, which was why that she was now in a such a position as being able to lay down the law to her impoverished brother and this stupid niece – whose feet had but been all too set firmly in the direction of dying an old maid – a calamity, that her aunt had prevented just in the nick of time! And so pleased she was with the results of her labours and endeavour, that she almost (though not quite) followed them on in their journey to their now revised honeymoon destination!

So, as said, the wedding took place, followed by a weeklong honeymoon, which surely cost the Mudalai a pretty packet ... and everyone thought that it was indeed twenty-nine year old Lucas Perera who managed to get the short end of the stick, and not Maria Fernando! After all, Miss Maria’s father had been but a clerk in the Negombo Kachcheri; and even if they had lived at a Walauwa, and even if she could play the piano wonderfully well, what then? When poverty howled near the window … and surely it was only a matter of time before it took full wing, storming through the open door as well… then you see, dear, everything else has to give way before that! After all, she and her father had subsisted on her schoolteacher’s salary and his pension. Nothing much those days, you had to admit. When poverty comes through the door, genteel folks must simply make do.

No one knew that Miss Maria had gently (even despairingly) remonstrated with her aunt, “What about love?” No one knew, that is, except her aged father, who too had finally sided with her rich aunt, his sister. If he had not, she would have left her money elsewhere. So, Maria put away her notions of love aside, safely locked within the confines of her secret heart, and resigned herself to being a good wife to Lucas Mudalaali, hoping that soon she will at least have the joy of being a mother.

In many ways, he turned out to be a good husband. When they returned from their honeymoon, she found a brand new piano installed in her new living room. True, its tone was not as good or smooth as her old one back home; but to please her husband, she kept her mouth shut. Though he plied her with food and drink, his conversation with her was limited, being confined to a few pleasantries and jocular railleries. Try as she could to reconcile herself to her fortune, there was a faint ineffable longing to be free. She took refuge in her new piano. But to her touch, it was not as good as that one she had left behind in that place she still called her home. The old magic was simply not there! Till at last one night when her husband was still playing with her hair and wiping off the tears that glistened on her eye-lashes and asked her bluntly as to now what was the matter, she mustered up her courage and told him the truth. As to how much she missed her old piano, that this new one was simply not a patch on that old dear one of hers that she had left behind her when she left her father’s home and came to live with here with Lucas – her husband ... but that still her piano whispered words of enchantment in her ears, carrying its silvery music along the wind that blew across the space – that little bay with its shiny pool of limpid clear blue water – separating her home from his. Especially when the stars were out at night casting their spell over silent sleepers or the moon was sailing quietly over little ghostly wisps of clouds ... casting a silvery sheen over the whispering sea and the murmuring of her heart... Lucas understood none of this, save that she considered that old stained piano to be worth much more than this brand new very expensive piano that he had been foolish enough to lavish on this foolish though marvellously pretty woman who simply did not as seemed yet, quite not able to fully appreciate her good fortune. Still, he took it in good part, and hired an old truck to tow that old battered piano of hers to the place, which by rights now she should have learnt to regard as her new home ... and sold his own priceless gift to her, if not exactly at a loss, still not quite far off the mark from its original marked price. “Women!” he exclaimed to himself, somewhat testily, yet partly in good humour, “They never can appreciate what’s good for them! Yet, one thing is sure ... this one won’t cost me a penny more than what I bargained for right from the start. Probably a good deal less! And a very good thing it is too, for I have always disliked spending money unnecessarily ... For otherwise how would have I struck it rich?” And in a way, his taking it all in good humour – even part in jest, served him well, for her music now became much freer and richer, he had to admit ... as did the way she now looked at him, and even occasionally touched him on her own when the fancy took her – a thing that she had up till then, hardly done ever! And as she did so, it seemed that she was in fact opening up her very soul for him to see, not just her body, but what that lay hidden in the very depths of her soul or poured out straight from her heart, he never could quite fathom. He simply shrugged his shoulders, part in vexation, part in good humour, and simply told himself, “Women are such odd creatures! What will please them or what will not, you never can tell!” But he took good care to hide his impatience and irritation and puzzlement well from her prying heart, for by nature, he was still a rather kindly man, though advancing considerably in the sphere of his business calling than what you would have expected that possessing such a kind heart would have permitted.

Being at her husband’s instance, free of her job now, from morning till night she sate herself in front of her piano, and played and sang to her heart’s content, unless be it to go into her room and read or when her husband bade her come and sit and talk with him. He for his part, took it all with good humour. “If it pleases Maria, it pleases me.” he would say and laugh, slapping his thighs.

If it pleased Maria, it pleased him. So it was until that day, when during his absence, a business acquaintance of his, called upon on the house. Maria invited him for lunch, but failed to put an appearance at the table. As the servants later related, the lady just sat at the piano and played to herself right throughout the duration of his visit, while the annoyed guest fumed in silent anger at the meal in the ornate main dining room, adjoining the little sitting room where Maria played. Her excuse was that she was used to taking lunch well past one o’clock. What she forbore to say was that the visiting Mudalaali was uncouth, boorish and smelt strongly of arrack. Anyway, the business acquaintance was thoroughly offended, and took his business elsewhere. On learning this last mishap, the thoroughly mortified Lucas Mudalaali, without paying heed to her somewhat incoherent attempt at an explanation, struck her full in the face, probably for the very first time in the course of their yet very short married life. “If you do that sort of thing again, I’ll break your silly piano!” he told her. Without a word, she went and shut herself in her room and cried. And when he came into her room and tried to take hold of her by the waist, she simply pushed him away. Without a word, he went outside, fetched a large axe and simply broke down that poor old battered piano into pieces of dry hard wood, some not much bigger than the size of a little matchstick! And Maria cried and cried, and would not come out from her room which she had by then locked from inside, though all night he stayed outside, drinking arrack by the dram, and getting drunker and drunker by the minute, and hammering in vain at her door.

Next day, he went to Colombo, and went to the biggest showroom said to be available in the music trade, ordered what he was to be the best and grandest grand piano available this side of Aden, if not very Eden itself. And the new piano appeared, looking grand and very self-conscious in its brand new polished robes that spoke not only of French polish but grand concerts and great balls. but Maria not so much as looked at it, even though Lucas tried to coax her out of her bed and led her slowly to its feet, making her sit down on the piano stool, opening and pushing back the piano’s lid, and keeping her long white fingers over its ivory keys inlaid in ebony. but she simply snatched her fingers away, and ran back to her room, flinging herself back on her bed, and crying as if her heart would break... while Lucas stood mute, aghast, yet not knowing how to put things back right ... something that was, never to be again. And she never touched that new piano again, ever.

She never let Lucas touch her again either, save in anger. In vain he cried out to her, remonstrated with her. He even offered to bring her yet another new piano, if this present one did not seem to suit her. She just sat silent and mute, her lips set together, and her expression wooden also, as were her features. It was as if her very soul had left her, leaving only a wasted shell of a body behind it. Trying to hold her now, was like taking a wooden plank. Her soul was simply no longer there.

On hearing of their trouble, the parish priest called upon her, but she was not to be moved. Hard as flint, and adamant as rock. She simply refused to have anything more to do with her husband. “I was a dutiful wife to him. But what did I mean to him? I want to go home...” she whispered. “Home?” echoed her husband, when her words were conveyed to him. “Her father is dead now. And the walauwa is in ruins. And she has yet to bear a child to me.” “Let her be.” told the parish priest to him, “Women get over those things after awhile. Let her be for the moment.” He took his advice and let her be ... permanently.

She would sit on the veranda gazing out into the sea, humming a wordless tune strummed through her close-shut lips. Or she would just sit vacantly, staring at the ceiling, listening to ethereal music that only she it seemed, could hear. Sometimes her hands would move as if over an unseen piano, though she never touched again that new interloper that her husband (now only in name) had presented her with ... in recompense for her old one now lost forever. That old battered piano that she brought from the place that she still called home. That piano was gone, and so was her mind. Unkempt, uncared for... Unloved and unwanted... She sat empty of all feeling, all desire, pure or impure.... Listening to an unseen music that came from nowhere. Nay, that came from somewhere lying coiled unused, hidden deep within her secret soul, from a place that she once actually called home.

The Mudalaali found solace elsewhere, with Suddhi, who was in a way, only a common prostitute. Indeed the only reason she technically escaped from being classified as one was, because she made no claim as such in payment for her favours, ... being rather, content to accept whatever was given to her, usually in kind. It hadn’t really made Suddhi rich, but it had kept her out of prison.

If Maria knew of Lucas’s goings on, she showed no care. True, the poor men of the area grumbled a little, because Suddhi was not so complaisant with them as before; but being poor, and their Mudalaali so rich, and the only one to whom they can turn to when in times of dire need, they felt it prudent not to grumble overmuch – least of all within his hearing. It was left to the parish priest to rebuke Lucas. In a way, the priest never knew when it was absolutely necessary for him to mind his own business ... and leave that of others to God alone. Indeed, several harsh words passed between the priest and his one-time biggest patron, so that Lucas withdrew his patronage from the church altogether. The priest tried to make amends, but Lucas would not forgive.

After all if it had not been for the good priest and his Sunday School teaching, Lucas would probably have discovered for very much sooner, that a whore was as good as a lady for him. His love for Maria had been of a purely carnal nature, and with that denied permanently to him now, there was no love lost left between his so-called wife and himself. He never understood what her music or her books really meant to her, or as to either as to why she despised him now. For when love is gone, and there’s nothing left, a whore is as good as a lady – or even better! And like worlds without end, or love without a beginning or even a middle, (and so, never really ended), that new piano too stayed unused and forgotten, lost in a world of its own. A whore is as good as a lady, as Lucas told everyone he knew, hiccupping between his teeth and his cups, as he lurched in turn between his house or fishing boats and Suddhi’s bed ... while his lawful wedded wife’s fingers slowly moved over the useless keys of a ghostly piano long since gone to its eternal rest, untimely and unheeded, save by its poor mistress… Yet within his saner, more sober moments, the Mudalaali could not but help wonder. “If only I had listened to Maria a bit more, and not be-a-breaking her silly piano…” he told himself sadly. But like worlds without end, it was now a world lost and gone forever, from him and Maria, like her piano.

Priyanthi Wickramasuriya
(Originally written in 1996 or thereabouts,
Final version: 22 June 2006)