Power Failures

By Katrin Horowitz

Power Failures by Katrin Horowitz explores the always unequal power relationships between men and women, father and daughter, the first and third world. The setting is a coastal village in Sri Lanka, just weeks before the tsunami of 2004.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Quadra Books
• Release date: Aug 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9780987771063

Katrin Horowitz

Katrin published her first novel, Power Failures, in 2007 following two lengthy volunteer assignments with CESO in Sri Lanka. The book, a murder mystery set in a small coastal village on the south coast of Sri Lanka, focuses on the myriad levels of betrayals in a complicated world.In 2008 Katrin attended the Victoria School of Writing summer program, where she worked with Steven Galloway. She went on to win a prize in a Victoria competition with a short story entitled ‘Blues for a Bridge’ and has contributed short pieces to an international anthology called Saying Goodbye (Dream of Things Press, 2010) and Quadra Books’ Pathways Not Posted.Katrin lives in Victoria, BC.

Book preview

For several months in 2003, and then again just before the tsunami of 2004, I had the privilege of working in Sri Lanka with some remarkable people – remarkable for their warmth and intelligence and hospitality. I was there as a volunteer, working with two different organizations that both do an incredibly important and effective job of helping people with disabilities in that beautiful country with its tragic history of violence. The contrasts between the kind and thoughtful individuals I met and the inhumanity of the country’s institutions, both within and outside of government, made a lasting impression on me – an impression that has resulted in my writing this book. The places and some of the events that appear in this book are based on fact. The tsunami that happened on the 26th of December in 2004 is the best known. It killed 700 people in Tangalla, a village on the south coast of Sri Lanka. Some less well known events, including the murders of two European expatriates and the disappearance of a shipment of arms on its way to Sri Lanka, are also real. However, the characters and the interrelationships of these events in Power Failures are entirely fictional.

* * * * *

Swiss Expatriate Stabbed and Burned to Death

Reuters: Tangalla, Sri Lanka, 25 November 2004

Klaus Neufelz, a wealthy Swiss national who lived in the picturesque village of Tangalla on the south coast of Sri Lanka, died a violent death sometime last night. His murderer bound and gagged him in his bed, stabbed him in the chest, doused him with kerosene, and set him alight. The local Criminal Investigation Division, aided by Colombo and Matara CID staff, is investigating. Officials refuse to comment on whether the murder was politically motivated.

Mr. Neufelz, age 78, had retired from a military career in Africa and had taken up residence in Tangalla some 10 years earlier. He had business interests in Colombo and Europe. Mr. Neufelz is survived by a daughter and a son, both of whom live in Zurich, Switzerland.

Six months ago a German national was killed in a similar incident in nearby Hambantota. No arrests have been made in that case.

Zurich, 29 November

How dare you call here with your prying questions? I’m not talking to you. No one will talk with you. There is no story to write about my father. Erika Neufelz slammed down the phone in a temper and took several deep breaths before returning to her overheated, overstuffed parlor where her mother, Johanna, was putting down her teacup.

Who was that, Erika? Another reporter? her mother asked mildly. Johanna had been divorced from Erika’s father for so long that his grisly murder in the faraway tropics was little more than an occasion for juicy gossip. She had dropped in for tea with her daughter with the happy prospect of a good, gossipy conversation in mind, and was hoping for more to talk over as a result of the phone call. But as she saw the angry splotches on Erika’s cheeks, it was obvious that her daughter, even in her early forties, had far more complex feelings about the death of the father she hadn’t talked to in a long time.

Worse than that, said Erika. If it were just a reporter, it would all go away soon. But this was some silly woman who wants to write a book. God help us. She threw up her hands in disgust, and dropped into her chair. In the aftermath of her anger, she looked drained of energy. What are we going to do?

It was clearly time for Johanna to concentrate on helping poor Erika. Reluctantly, she pulled together whatever maternal authority she had, poured a cup of tea for Erika, and put a chocolate biscuit on the edge of the saucer – a biscuit that her chunky daughter definitely didn’t need. Here. Drink this. This is a really difficult time right now. It’s hard to lose a father, and for some reason it’s even harder when you didn’t get along. And the circumstances make it even more dreadful. How can I help? Would you like me to answer the phone if it rings again? Johanna tried to sound sympathetic, and she gently stroked Erika’s arm. Klaus had turned out to be even more infuriating as a father than he had been as a husband, but that didn’t mean that Erika wasn’t suffering.

Erika tried to focus on her mother’s soothing touch. I hate all those lurid newspaper articles. Everybody is smacking their lips over all this, and they can’t wait until they hear the next installment, no matter how farfetched. And the thought of a book on top of everything else – that’s more than I can bear. How could he do this to us? And then she heard what she’d just said, and managed to laugh a little. She sipped her tea and ate the biscuit. You know, I thought I had finally gotten beyond resenting him and how he always tried to control my life. And now somebody in a village that nobody has ever even heard of stabs and burns him, and it all feels like it’s starting over again. Nobody else’s father inflicts a notorious death on his family. Good, thought Johanna, she’s sounding exasperated, and that’s a lot better than discouraged and depressed.

Tell you what, said Johanna, as she got up and started to clear the tea things. Why don’t I stay and make dinner for both of us? We’ll open some of that wine I brought back for you from my trip to South Africa last month and talk about whatever you want. We’ll open it now, and you can keep me company in the kitchen while I get dinner going.

Looking through the refrigerator, Johanna decided to make a big pot of soup for dinner. A hearty soup was a fit with Zurich’s dreary November weather. But more importantly, it involved lots of rinsing and peeling and chopping, all of which kept her busy and kept Erika sipping wine and talking, almost to herself.

Erika stared moodily into her wine glass. I suppose if you were charitable you could say that my father meant well. But what was so damn frustrating was that he always thought he was the smartest person around, and that naturally his decisions would always be the right ones. And of course that meant that everyone else’s decisions were always wrong. It didn’t matter whether it was a big decision or a little decision. He brought as much overbearing superiority to a card game as he did to my engagement. Poor Andrei never stood a chance once my dear father decided he needed his daughter to marry someone who would live in Tangalla. And I never figured it out. Stupid me. Maybe he was right. He pretended to be so charming and hospitable. ‘Oh Andrei, you and Erika must spend more time with me – it’s always so much more fun to have young people around.’ But after we arrived, there were always little condescending games he would play to make sure that I saw how charming he was being to an inferior. Actually two inferiors. Me and Andrei both. In his eyes, I was too old to make what he would call a good marriage anyway. He would get that resigned look in his eyes whenever he looked at Andrei, and often enough when he looked at me. With that hint of a shake of his head, as though he were thinking, ‘How did I end up with a daughter who would settle for someone like Andrei?’ But this is all hindsight. At the time I worked so hard for his approval. And the more I asked – demanded – that Andrei work for his approval too, the farther I pushed him away. It was only after Andrei walked out of my life that I finally realized that my father would never, ever, approve of me. But by then I had spent more than thirty years turning myself inside out trying to live up to his expectations. I studied law because he thought it would be a good career for me. That it would bring me into contact with the ‘right’ people. But corporate law bored me, and I wasn’t particularly good at it. Yet another disappointment for my father. So then he married Celia, probably because she was a successful corporate lawyer. It felt like he was saying to me, ‘See, if you were successful, you could marry someone like me, instead of settling for someone like Andrei.’ When Celia got fat and they got divorced, I actually felt vindicated.

I thought it was just me that felt that way, said Johanna. Did he talk with you at all about the divorce?

Not much. Of course he had to do the usual justification – how this was really best for both of them, he couldn’t really talk about it because that would be unfair to Celia, all that kind of stuff. All the while he was careful to provide very small glimpses of Celia’s bad behavior – little disagreements between them, hints that there were much bigger problems, things Celia just refused to understand. But I think he was a lot more upset than he showed. He wasn’t the kind of man who handled rejection well, and whoever asked for the divorce, by the time it was all over it was obvious that Celia wanted nothing more to do with him.

What gave you that impression?

Erika took another sip of her wine. I’m not sure. It was more a feeling than anything. But he was trying too hard to be nice during that whole time. He seemed to be looking for approval, even from me, even though at that point I was barely talking to him. And although Celia and I never ever talked about anything serious or personal, I had this sense that she had offloaded a huge burden. She seemed more energetic, busier – happier, really. And meanwhile he was constantly phoning me, inviting me to visit him – it was weird there for a while. I finally had to remind him that he was the only one in the family that really liked Sri Lanka. After that he went back to being his usual, disapproving self.

Speaking of weird, what was going on with him and his housekeeper? I heard some bizarre stories going around town. Without thinking, Johanna allowed herself to slip back into gossip mode. She really did love a good, juicy story and all the opportunities for sharing, comparing, and judging that it could provide.

Oh my God, Shamali! Do you think that writer knows about her? What if she picks up any of the local gossip? This is going to get worse, I can just feel it. Erika held her head in her hands, while Johanna mentally kicked herself for being so stupid.

Johanna tried again to focus on being a good mother. You know, Erika, this is already yesterday’s news, and it will all blow over as soon as something new and scandalous happens. You did exactly the right thing by refusing to talk with that writer. As soon as she realizes how hard it is to find out about your father, she’s bound to move on to something far easier. You know as well as I do that in another day or two no one will be talking about this anymore. Gossipers always move on to live targets in very short order. They can watch them squirm better.

You’re probably right. But Erika was still slumped into her chair. Let’s talk about something else – how’s that soup coming?

* * * * *

Colombo to Tangalla, 21 November

Kate thought it was great that Malini had arranged for her brother-in-law to drive them from Colombo to Tangalla. An air-conditioned car was so much better than the heat and discomfort of a train or a bus. After nearly three months of traveling on a shoestring and sharing hot, sticky transportation with too many people who couldn’t afford deodorants and mostly didn’t speak English, Kate felt that this was a very welcome respite. This could be the best part yet of her travels with Robbie – a chance to relax in more comfortable surroundings and to really get to know more about the country and its people. She was glad that her Aunt Becky had insisted that they spend part of Robbie’s sabbatical in Sri Lanka with her old friend, Malini – and that Malini had written such a gracious letter inviting them to stay for a few weeks.

It was also great that Julian had been providing a running commentary on what they were seeing as they drove along. There were all kinds of different examples of development schemes – hotels built to attract foreign tourists, self-conscious local attractions that catered to tourists’ dreams of Sri Lanka’s romantic history, new factories designed to manufacture products for the export market – all interspersed with evidence of the day-to-day life of a huge population simply trying to get by. Everywhere there were dilapidated storefronts with counters displaying stacks of yellow coconuts and big bunches of tiny bananas, gaudy plastic doodads and cheap clothing hanging overhead, and small garbage dumps of empty coconut shells and discarded plastic bags. People were everywhere – children playing at the side of the road, older women in saris and younger women in T-shirts and jeans, men in sarongs or trousers. Many of them looked painfully thin. And there were dogs everywhere, checking out the garbage for anything edible or simply resting by the side of the road. They too were painfully thin and many of them had open, oozing sores, presumably from fights over food.

Thanks to Julian, who was being very good about answering all their questions, Kate already felt that she had a sense of Sri Lanka’s complicated ethnic and religious mix. The majority of the population was Buddhist and their first language was usually Sinhalese. The largest minority were the Tamils, who were Hindus and spoke Tamil as their first and often only language. They were mostly much poorer than the Sinhalese. And because Sri Lanka – formerly Ceylon – had long been at the crossroads of international trade, there were also minority Christians and Muslims. Julian, for instance, was a Christian with some Portuguese as well as Sinhalese ancestors, and his first language was English because his family had been part of the ruling elite back when the country was still part of the British Empire. He also spoke Sinhalese, but as he put it, he did his best thinking and his best work in English.

Kate found him as interesting as the country he was telling them about. He was a tall, affable-looking man with a generous belly – two clear signs of wealth in Sri Lanka where the poor were short and thin. Despite his well-fed appearance and his age – probably at least sixty, Kate guessed – he had a youthful air about him. He had married Malini’s husband’s sister and, although Malini’s husband had died many years ago, he clearly thought the world of her and was a big supporter of the charity Malini had started to help the disabled in Tangalla. He also explained that he owned several garment factories, including one in Hambantota, which was another hour down the coast from Tangalla and was the reason he was driving down the coast today. He professed to being delighted to have their company on the long trip. Normally I have only myself to talk to, and that can be boring when you get as old as I am.

He had a hearty laugh, and he laughed frequently as he told them stories of how the government lurched from one scheme to another, often at the behest of some international development agency that, in turn, had received the latest wisdom from some academic who knew all the answers before they ever set foot in Sri Lanka. She and Robbie both joined in his laughter, because his descriptions fit some of their university colleagues all too well. But despite the lively conversation, the drive from Colombo to Tangalla was long and the last stretch, where the road hadn’t been repaired for a long time, was uncomfortably bumpy. When Kate spotted the sign saying that there were only three more kilometers to Tangalla, she was very glad they would soon arrive at Malini’s house.

Kate was beginning to think that she wasn’t cut out for travel in the third world. It had seemed like such a good idea when Robbie had asked her to come with him on his sabbatical – she had seen it not only as an adventure into parts of the world that neither of them had ever been to before but, even more importantly, as a test of their relationship – something that would help her to decide whether she and Robbie could have a long-term future together. Nevertheless, nearly three months later, much of Kate’s sense of adventure had been lost in the unrelenting heat and dust and the ubiquitous bugs and discomfort. She hoped that their stay with Malini would turn out to be an oasis –green and restful. As for the relationship – well, she didn’t know where that was going either.

Aunt Becky had certainly painted a glorious picture of Tangalla and Malini’s home. Palm trees, azure ocean, a lovely, airy old house built around an open courtyard where jasmine bloomed and monkeys frolicked. That would be terrific if it turned out to be true. And it also mattered to her that she would be making some kind of contribution to their trip, even if it was only a free place to stay for a few weeks. So far Robbie, with his sabbatical income, had been paying for almost everything, and Kate was beginning to feel even more like the junior member of this relationship than she usually did. The fact was that she was Robbie’s junior – there was the difference in their ages, and the fact that Robbie had been married and divorced, and that he had tenure while she was only a sessional lecturer. On the other hand, they mostly seemed to have a lot of fun together, even under trying circumstances, and she had to admit that he was totally oblivious to the money thing. She smiled to herself as she realized that this was her silly little hang-up, but that it would make her feel better anyhow.

What made you smile? Robbie asked, smiling back at her from the front passenger seat.

I was thinking how much I’m looking forward to meeting Malini. And I’m really glad we’re nearly there.

Julian turned off the main road, drove down a narrow road that was even less well paved, and then stopped in front of a massive iron gate. That is good, he said with another hearty laugh, because we have arrived.

He honked his horn and a barefooted servant in a sarong ran out quickly to open the gate and let the van into the courtyard. A handsome woman in her sixties, wearing a gauzy sari and her dark hair pulled back into a businesslike bun, came outside to greet her visitors. She was accompanied by a tall, white-haired European man with military posture. Kate immediately recognized the handsome woman as Malini from pictures that her Aunt Becky had shown her, although it was obvious that the pictures hadn’t begun to capture either her charm or her authority. Just looking at her, you could tell that she expected things to happen her way, and that the world would be a better place when her expectations were met. She would have made a perfect benevolent ruler, much loved by her subjects. Her warm, low voice reinforced that impression.

Hello, you must be Kate. You look so much like your Aunt Becky. I must have a hug from you immediately, she said, embracing her warmly. And you must be Robbie, she continued, shaking his hand. Becky wrote me that you were so handsome and intelligent and witty, that she expects that any day now you will ask Kate to marry you and that you will have lots of beautiful children together. That stopped Robbie completely. He had been about to say hello and introduce himself. Instead, he blushed a deep red, grimaced foolishly and just barely managed to return Malini’s handshake. Kate pretended she hadn’t been paying attention and looked instead at Malini’s lush, tropical garden. She was overwhelmed by the heat and humidity that had engulfed her as soon as she stepped out of the air-conditioned van, so simply ignoring Robbie’s embarrassment was an easy option. Julian, however, unbothered by the heat, enjoyed Robbie’s discomfort and burst out laughing.

And this is my excellent friend Klaus. Malini ignored both Robbie’s and Julian’s responses and drew her companion forward. He is our Swiss benefactor, and he has done wonderful things for our little charity here in Tangalla. But you must all be hot and tired, so do come in and have some cold juice and rest from your journey.

Julian seemed suddenly much more businesslike as he shook hands with Klaus. How are you, Klaus? It has been a long time since I saw you. However, he said to Malini as well as Klaus, unfortunately I need to leave right away. I need to get to Hambantota for a meeting, and I am running a little late. The JVP – that’s the local Communist party, he said by way of explanation to Kate and Robbie, – is causing all kinds of trouble and I need to deal with it. But I will come back for your foundation laying ceremony, he promised Malini, as with a farewell wave of his arm he returned to his car.

Kate and Robbie both thanked him again before entering the house with Klaus and Malini. Soon they were settled in comfortable chairs in Malini’s large, shadowy living room, and Malini’s housekeeper was handing around glasses of frosted tamarind juice. Kate loved the tartness of the drink, a wonderfully refreshing antidote to the oppressive heat.

Meanwhile, Malini provided Klaus with their bona fides. I was just telling Klaus that you are Becky’s sister’s daughter. You remember, Klaus, Becky helped me to start the Rehabilitation Centre back when all the riots and massacres were going on. Kate and Robbie are traveling through Asia for a few months. So of course, I absolutely insisted that they must spend a few weeks here with me.

Robbie and Kate took turns telling Malini and Klaus about their impressions of Colombo, Sri Lanka’s capitol, where they had spent a few days before coming to Tangalla with Julian, and their fascinating trip down the coast – the beautiful sea and beaches, the traffic, the contrasts between the elegant hotels for Western tourists and the obvious poverty of the local people. But Klaus seemed increasingly uninterested, and soon, with a touch of impatience, he changed the topic. Do you know about Malini’s Rehabilitation Centre?

"Only what Aunt Becky