The Luminist by David Rocklin Page B

bound to a terrible day. You could go to any colonial house. Do you wish to avenge your father? Do you blame us?”
    â€œ I am not such a man, memsa’ab.”
    â€œThen what sort are you?” She took up the image of the Court. “ Every colonial has objects of value, and they fear your theft. Mine may not be jeweled or inlaid with precious metal. But I fear losing them. I have lost enough in my life. Perhaps you understand this.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œ My needs are simple, Eligius. Do not profane who we are or what we do. Do not desecrate what is ours. Do not drink and expect to be welcome here.”
    â€œ Mother, enough,” Julia said. “ What is it you want from him?”
    â€œ Does a boy who speaks English also read it?”
    Catherine handed him a letter. He unfolded it. If this be your life’s work, I will continue our correspondence on the science of this. But this is not art, nor is it God. It is the merest shadow of life. Have you not held shadows long enough?
    The letter was signed by Sir John Holland.
    He understands, Catherine thought. And he does not run.
    â€œ You serve a woman who wishes to prove those words wrong,” she said. “ But hear me on this. Do not let me become familiar with you now, only to yearn to forget you later.”
    She walked out of the cottage. “ I cannot stand goodbyes,”
she called. “ Tomorrow you will work and I will provide you food and a rupee perhaps. What more can a soul do?”
    Mary took the letter from him. “She may take pity on you, but I don’t. Be sure of that. As hard as I work, I ’ll not let your smart tongue in this house. Know your place. There are a hundred more just like you, less the cost and half the trouble, I can see already. But she’s cast her eye on you, the good Lord knows why. I’ll see you leave before long. Do you understand those words?”
    â€œI understand.”
    â€œChildren, to bed with you.” She took Julia by the arm and led her away. Ewen lingered a moment. Eligius tolerated it.
    â€œ Ewen,” Mary said. Ewen went to her, obedient. “ Put out the lights, Eligius. It’s your duty now, not mine.”
    Â 
    THE NEXT MORNING he took to the roof of Holland House, cutting wood into rough planks with the only suitable tool he could find, a corroded machete. Hacking until his hands bled, he wondered if his father had wielded such an instrument in similar circumstances, before his life among the colonials sent him from Dimbola to the Court, to beg for crumbs and ash.
    Repairing the roof was painstaking, tedious work. The machete was dull. He ran out of strength and worse, wood.
    Before climbing down, he peered into the bowels of Holland House. The last of the daylight revealed the spider, patient and still, resting in the sun among his memsa’ab’s bits and pieces.
    That evening, he told the memsa’ab that more wood was needed, and a proper cutting blade, if she had any hope of keeping the sky out of her beloved Holland House. “ I shall pray on it,” she said and walked away after telling Mary to bring him some food.
    He suspected that other Britishers were better off than the people he found himself among. The others’ pockets were filled with gold, no doubt, and rupees fell like rain from them as they
walked through fields of thriving coffee that brushed the blue canvas of the world.
    The week wore on. He ministered to the roof as best he could. As time passed he took notice of the family ’s peculiarities. The sa’ab rarely asked him to do anything, even fetch tobacco for his pipe or a splint to light it with. When the pipe went cold, he simply sat as night fell over him.
    Eligius was grateful for the sa’ab’s isolation. He couldn’t bring himself to look the old lion in the eye.
    The memsa’ab doted on her husband, albeit in flurries and during daylight only. She brought him a bit of food –