Anna and Leo — Part II

A story of a hasty exit, delusions, marriage brokers and a deadly hoax — Part II of II

Read the First Part of this story here first.

When Anna and Leo relocated from their exile, Leo was in his mid-forties, and Anna was in her late sixties. Hyperactive Leo single-handedly ran the farm in their new surroundings, doing hard labour work himself. My mother remained their financial backer. On her regular visits to our home, Anna continued to borrow money for their farming business on various ruses. It was a recurrent habit for Anna. My mother did not know how to say ‘no’ to her aunt.

Visits to the new farm

Meanwhile, being the eldest child in my family, I willingly took more responsibility to help run our home. I learnt to support my mother, who was struggling to manage our house, particularly in coping with demands from her mentally ill mother, who had been dumped on her and her young family.

One of my tasks was visiting Anna’s and Leo’s new farm regularly. I considered it a joyful escape. I took an empty cane basket to bring back fresh produce from their farm. The routine involved a commute by bus on the eight-kilometre ride to the nearby main town, Kadawatha. Instead of walking the gravel road to their property, I took the shortcut route; the one Leo introduced me to on my first visit. I loved walking through the open paddy fields, muddy patches, and waterways, enjoying the beauty of these lush, pristine natural surroundings.

Leo was his happiest working, a contended man in his farming business. On every trip, I walked to every corner of his farm. Leo would show what had changed on the farm from my last visit. Plants grew, trees cut down, new growth and new produce. It was damn interesting being exposed to farming and listening to him.

Keeping up with my social skills, I befriended their rural neighbours and kids. The farming community neighbours knew me already as my deceased pappa’s grandson. My pappa was famous in his hometown among the village folks. Despite my young age, the implied responsibility of carrying his name was not lost on me.

I spent a couple of hours in this unique farmland on each visit.

Leo packed fresh pineapples, and king coconuts plucked fresh from his farm in my cane basket. The basket was now heavy, too heavy for a pubescent boy. Leo accompanied me to the bus stand, carrying the heavy basket. Leo sat me on a bus seat to ensure my safety before departing.

Anna and Leo only made a little money from their business. While Leo knew the farm labour work, they were bad at managing finances. So they kept on postponing paying back my mother. By this time, they had borrowed considerable money from my mother.

A proposal came from their next-door neighbour, Mays, to buy out their property. My mother and father consented and bought it, paying the asking amount. That parcel of land was small but moderate in size. Both lands were now annexed as one big property. Leo extended his cultivation, planting pineapples on that annexed part of the plot.

Turmoil on the farm

Afew years go by. Only some things worked perfectly for Anna and Leo at the new farm. They experienced minor disagreements and conflicts with their neighbours. I am not sure what caused it; perhaps Leo was quick with his temper with his neighbours. Perhaps it was pure jealousy, seeing a hard-working man who had completely transformed a huge property. Many villagers have a tribal mindset; perhaps Leo being from outside the village, caused their jealousy. Whatever it was, there were conflicts. Fortunately, none resulted in violence.

Anna, in her regular visits to our home, was talking about these conflicts. She had this bad habit of talking incessantly, without breathing, often repeating herself. One never knew the beginning or end of her stories. For this reason, I stopped listening to her.

Anna and Leo were not smart farmers. While Leo knew the hard work, their financial lot did not improve. They had no notion of profit and loss. They were now making losses on each harvest and were finding it hard; they could not pay back my mother what they owed. They were in a loss-making business and were not happy in their neighbourhood.

This unfortunate pattern continued. I stopped going to their farm because hearing Anna’s sob stories was painful. Besides, I could not figure out the head or tail of her tales of woe. Leo was increasingly talking about God, Catholic saints and local myths.

Hasty exit

Suddenly both took off back to their bush village, Anamaduwa leaving everything in the lurch. They returned to the same surroundings where they spent their time in exile. They left the new farm in tatters. The pineapples ripened and rotted. My mother lost more money with their desertion.

At this time, I was about fifteen years old and was coming to my own as a young lad.

A few months passed by. There was no news from Anna or Leo for a short period. Then Anna started writing short letters to my mother, sometimes asking for money. Then they started visiting us periodically, staying with us for days.

When Anna and Leo visited, we had five adults in our medium-sized home. My siblings and parents hardly had any room in our house for us with the five of them, two of my grandmothers, my disdainful uncle Christie and then Anna with Leo.

Of the five, I was emotionally connected only to my paternal grandmother, Kadayamma, the only sane person in this extended family.

Leo became increasingly isolated from me with his fairy tales of saints and beliefs. Although Leo liked me, I lost interest in talking to him with his recent fascination with religious myths. I liked the old Leo, not the new Leo.

Religious delusions

Oneach visit, Leo’s behaviour was becoming worse. He claimed that he could see saints. He danced in front of our house, claiming that St. Sebastian was descending on him and that he could see the saint. He claimed that he could see St. would enter his body in other instances. Leo would go into trances, muttering words that nobody could understand. Anna collaborated with these antics, believing that Leo was becoming a saint. Saint Leo of Sri Lanka. Anna claimed that one day Leo would ascend into heaven through the clouds. When Leo was acting these acts out, often in front of our family’s Catholic statues, muttering gibberish, Anna would kneel beside him with a rosary in her hand, happy that she was married to a living saint. Both believed they had a one-way ticket to the heavens — to la la land.

I lived in a Christian formative boarding school and was home only during school holidays. Despite being away from home, the irony of these sagas in my home was not lost. It was an unfair imposition on my parents and my two young siblings. I am amazed at how much my mother and father tolerated this infliction on them.

This was such a parody. I hated it. I was studying science, and this was an utter joke about everything I learnt and believed. I rejected it all. Both were mad, to my young mind. I was too small to confront them about this gross fallacy and deception.

After a while, Anna and Leo stopped visiting us. Instead, they stayed away in Anamaduwa.

Telegrams

In1972, when I was turning seventeen, my parents got a telegram. The telegram had the sad news that Leo died from sudden death. My father immediately took off, taking the long, arduous ride to Anamaduwa to attend Leo’s funeral and be with Anna. The rest of us stayed home with my mother, with our school and other commitments.

My father returned the next day, angry, bringing odd unbelievable news. Leo had not passed away. The telegram was a hoax, deliberately sent by Leo. Anna and Leo wanted to test my parents out whether they would care for them still. My father was furious that he wasted two days believing their bloody bluff. It was not a joke.

A few months went by.

Another telegram came from them. It stated that Leo had passed away. Having been fooled once, my parents ignored the telegram, another hoax. We were now immune from their bluster. We had to come to accept that both Leo and Anna were deranged. My parents did not want to waste their time on these silly antics.

A couple of weeks went by.

Suddenly, Anna turned up at our home, wearing a black saree. To our surprise, she broke off into tears. She bawled as she did a decade ago at my grandfather’s funeral. It turned out that Leo had died this time. My parents ignored the second telegram, having been fooled once.

Leo had died from a mysterious cause. Anna was not clear on the cause of death. She buried him in Anamaduwa, in the bush village, all alone with no relatives present.

I was sad to hear of Leo’s death, thinking of the good times I had with him in the years before religious fanatism and fake eerie beliefs took hold of him.

Anna at our home for good

Anna did not return to her home in Anamaduwa, parking at our home. My mother’s kindness was abused again. We were now back to square one, with three old grandmothers and the bonus of a strange uncle.

From then, Anna lived in our home as if she owned everything. It was wild. I ignored her most of the time. Her fascination with my unhinged uncle, her nephew, continued. She continued her old habits now with additional gusto. She waited impatiently for the weekend until Christie arrived home. The moment he turned up, Anna was seen languishing at his door, trying to get an audience with him. Standing by the closed door of his room, she would go on and on, repeating herself with absolute nonsense. None of which I could understand because she spoke without breathing, in long-winded sentences that made no sense in Sinhala, the local language.

Despite my mother providing her food and lodging without any cost to Anna, she was not grateful to my mother. My mother had decided to write off Anna’s debts which were now a lot of money. Then Anna made a deal with my mother. Anna wrote her farming property in my mother’s name in exchange for the debts, and my mother looked after her till her last day.

I know my mother would have cared for Anna irrespective of the gift of the farm deed. My mother had a tremendous sense of duty to her relatives, irrespective of returns.

Anna stayed with us for a few short years.

Now I must divest some of this storyline to give you some humour. It still involves Anna and has a glimpse of the strange ge brokers back in Sri Lanka.

Marriage brokers

Anna favoured my uncle blatantly. This was my uncle I did not get along with. With predictable routines and antics, the two provided ample cameo for my sister and me.

My uncle Christie, despite his aberrations, was a good looker. He was tall and fair. He could speak English well. On top of that, most importantly, he owned several properties thanks to his father, my grandfather, Lewis. Christie was a great marriage prospect and a major attraction to marriage brokers.

Marriage brokers were a species of their own in Sri Lanka. They were mature men in their sixties and were socially connected to good families, fixing up prospective brides and grooms when marriages were arranged between families. They wore a jacket and a sarong and carried a black umbrella.

Marriage brokers would end up at our home, with proposals carrying photographs of prospective brides and details of their pedigree for my uncle. Christie was not interested in partners, and he brushed off the brokers’ visits, It was Anna who talked to them most with her passion for marrying off her nephew.

One of the brokers went to another extreme. I was seventeen, an awkwardly skinny and tall lad. I walked into our verandah, unaware that a broker was trying to secure a deal with my uncle. Just as the broker finished, I walked in without a top. Being unsuccessful with my uncle, he now saw me as a potential groom prospect to earn a fat commission.

To my shock, the broker talked to my mother. “You should think of this golden boy. He has a great future. I have a beautiful girl from a very respectable family. They have many properties and paddy fields. She studied at a convent. These two will be a good match with all these valuable properties in both families. The girl is fair and beautiful. They can live here under your roof. Having a young daughter like your own will be good for you. I will bring her picture next week for you”. Mind you; I was technically a child. But for the human real estate agent marauding as a marriage broker, I was a prime real estate to be sold.

Then he went on to my utter surprise and further embarrassment. “This boy is too skinny. Look at his shoulder bones. They are jutting out. He needs some flesh on his body. He must be having wet dreams. Right, son”, He was looking at me. I was red-faced now.

He said, “I have the right medicines to cure him, a herbal remedy”.

I thought, “What a whack is this?”. First, I was a golden boy. Now he can cure me for being a boy.

I could not believe what this guy was going on about my mother. I was having the time of my life; marriage was for old people. It was never on my radar at that tender age. Then he ridiculed me for my lean body. Only if he knew about my budding love life. I was dumbfounded and embarrassed in front of my mother about wet dreams.

Fortunately, my mother tactfully stopped him then and there.

I thought, “what has this world come to”.

That was the weird world of marriage brokers back in the day. This one did not spare young lads from his prying eyes, solely thinking of his fat commission.

Anna and her favourite nephew

Back to Anna’s original story, after these prying brokers had left, Anna would start her narrations standing near Christie’s room, extolling the virtues of potential brides. She would break into her long spiels while Christie kept on ignoring her. These comedy sagas on the weekends at our home evoke a smile in me even today, some fifty years after these crazy events.

A year or two went by. Anna, a permanent fixture at our home, was repeating her antics boldly. She drew a pension but would not give a cent to my mother for her living expenses in our home. Anna was now in her seventies. Once a month, I took her to the post office to collect her pension. She signed the papers and ask me to collect her pension if she felt unwell. She gifted me a few rupees for my services, a great contribution towards my pocket money for cigarettes.

In October 1974, my favourite grandmother, my father’s mother, Kadayamma, passed away. I was heartbroken.

Now, we were down to two elderly women at home.

I was now assertive and confident as a nineteen-year-old and at home with no room. Christie occupied the front room, but he was home only on weekends — that too not every weekend. Christie became further detached, coming home on the occasional weekend, every 2nd or 3rd weekend. But the front room was kept reserved for him, unused. It was a waste of space in a tightly packed home.

I was having a great social life, as any nineteen-year-old would. When friends visited me at home, I had no place to hang out. No privacy. No place to hang my posters or listen to my mid-seventies music. I had to share my space with my mentally ill grandmother, Anna and my two younger siblings. I was frustrated.

A lad’s resistance

The front room was ideal for me and should have been mine in the first instance. The room was kept locked in case the aloof and ageing crown prince, Christie, turned up.

I talked to Christie, asking his permission to occupy the room when he was away. His room had a desk, a bed, and my pappa Lewis’s large cabinet of books. I would not disturb his stuff or occupy the room when he was away. My uncle brushed me aside rudely. He told me harsh things like, “this property does not belong to you”. Everything he said was deeply hurtful.

I asked him again on another visit. Again, crude responses from him belittling me. To him, I was a nobody. I felt mad. I told him I would now occupy his room whether he liked it. Christie responded, “You would not dare?”

Challenge accepted. I determined I would move his things to a backroom next to our kitchen, which I occupied when he was away. One glitch; there was this massive book cabinet, heavy and locked. I could not move it myself because it was too heavy.

I was a popular lad in my home village. Many friends hung out, partied and would do anything for me. I gathered five friends and asked them to come to my home one evening. My uncle had locked the room, taking the key with him. I took the spare key from my mother and opened the front room. With my friends, I moved everything to the back room. The huge, ultra-heavy cabinet was the hardest to move. But the power of six young lads moved it. Anna came to protest about what I was doing, but I had no time for her.

My job was accomplished. Satisfied, I moved to that room that night. I hung my David Bowie, Elton John and Bay City Rollers posters in the front room. I set up a desk and bed and slept well that night listening to my radio.

Anna kept on complaining to my mother about what I had done. My mother ignored her, saying nothing.

Two weeks later, Christie turned up. Seeing that I was now in his room and his things were in the backroom, he yelled at me. It was beneath him to occupy the backroom for a day or two. He went into a fury and said nasty things to me like, “You will never do well in life. You are cursed”. His derogatory words did not unsettle me. I laughed at him. Years of anger had made me hard and ready to face this monster of an uncle.

Christie left a short while later; Anna tried to pacify him before he left with her mutterings. I had unsettled her beloved nephew.

I did not care. I was firm.

A couple of hours later, Christie arrived home with a lorry and some labourers. He moved his things into the lorry from the backroom, including the huge book cabinet. He took his mentally ill mother with him. Anna did not want to feel left behind. She, on her own, packed her bags and left with her favourite pet nephew, thinking she was onto a winner.

Christie, despite having financial resources, including many properties that he had rented out to support himself, including his sick mother, parked himself at my auntie Catherine’s home. He again took the easy option. He moved there with the two elder women, his mother and Anna. Catherine had four kids, but just like my mother accepted them into her home.

Liberating the family

For me, it was good riddance. With one stroke, I got rid of everyone. As for me, Christie went into oblivion. It had been very hard on my parents to bring us up independently with his imposition of his mentally ill mother on us.

My mother and father never said anything to me about my action. I think they were secretly happy that I stood up for myself. In the painful process of confronting my uncle, I released my family from the enforced unnecessary burdens.

That was either late 1974 or early 1975.

What has happened since?

Anna, despite being 25 years his senior, outlived Leo. Anna passed away at my auntie’s home a decade later, in 1984. She was 83 years old at the time of her death. She had continued her antics with my aunty Catherine’s household. Despite that, just like my mother, Catherine looked after Anna to her last day.

My uncle married in 1982, in middle age, when he was 52 years. Paradoxically it was a year before I got married. I forgave my uncle a few years later for what he did to me as a young boy and youngster.

Epilogue

This story about Anna and Leo is incomplete without my uncle's added melodramas and marriage brokers' machinations. That’s why I did not decouple them from the original story of Anna and Leo.

I hope you enjoyed this story of diverse and complex characters I experienced growing up and resisted when pushed to.

I am unsure what caused Leo’s sudden death at a relatively young age for a healthy man in his mid-fifties. It was suspicious and could have been a result of self-harm. In his later years, he was likely to have been mentally unstable to believe in various religious bigotries. He faked his death, perhaps a desperate action during that sickness. One would never know.

This is a factual story, compiled from the author’s experiences as a young boy and stories told to him by his elders.

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