The Wedding Drums

by Marilyn Rodwell

  He stood still, breathing in the sea air deeply, to push his breakfast back down in his stomach. The deep green water swirled and rippled around the swaying vessel. He was desperate to see the man’s face and wondered if all was well with him. Another man appeared and asked to see his boarding paper. Rajnath handed him the ticket from his shirt pocket without a word, then picked up his brown canvas bag and headed down the boat. Farouk was sitting on top of a wooden chest.

  Rajnath touched the man, but the man didn’t appear to recognise him. He stepped back to get out of the man’s space, feeling foolish to have assumed it was his friend. The wind was strong. He pushed his hair from out of his eyes and squinted to check the man’s face again, before boldly reaching out and lifting the man’s stubbly chin.

  ‘Farouk?’ he said. ‘Is that you!’

  The man turned his head into Rajnath’s grip, and looked him up and down.

  ‘It’s me – Rajnath. What happened to you? Where have you been all these months? You are you looking so . . . I was worried. Do you have any idea what is going on at home? You remember Granville? Talk to me, Farouk. I just want to know.’

  But the man sat like a stone, not a flicker of light from his eyes.

  ‘You coward!’ Rajnath burst out. ‘You remember that pretty young girl you spoilt and then took away? You begged me to help you, and I was fool enough. I thought you were in love with her. But I should never have trusted you, sonofabitch!’

  The man flinched and looked at Rajnath with a wild, mad dog stare.

  ‘Say something!’ Rajnath yelled, grabbing him by both shoulders. ‘You bastard! You used to be my friend. I trusted you. I thought you had it right, running away from those blasted arranged marriages. I thought that whatever happened, at least you loved the girl enough to stay with her till the end.’

  The thin man’s Adam’s apple moved up and down, but he made no sound. He looked weak and vulnerable. Rajnath seized his shirt and hauled him up.

  ‘Farouk! Say something! Did a jumbie take you over?’

  ‘I don’t know you,’ was all the reply he got.

  Rajnath looked at him, shocked, and let him go. But some instinct made him ask this haggard-looking man to open his hand.

  ‘Not that one,’ Rajnath said. ‘The left hand.’ He forced open the fellow’s hand, then cried, ‘I knew it!’

  ‘It was a good thing your hand split when you fell out of the mango tree that time. You could have fooled me otherwise.’

  They sat quietly until Rajnath asked, ‘What happened to you, boy?’ He pushed Farouk’s hair off his forehead and looked into his old friend’s eyes. They were becoming agitated. The fellow started shifting his bony bottom uncomfortably on the wooden crate.

  ‘I can see that something happened,’ Rajnath said, ‘and that you had a hard time. If somebody has mistreated you, you have to tell me. But you don’t seem to know how much that girl wanted you.’

  Farouk winced, staring into his lap, twisting his clasped fingers, cracking each joint.

  ‘Say something!’ Rajnath pleaded.

  ‘You really want to know? Well I’ll tell you.’ Farouk finally spoke.

  Rajnath moved closer until the two young men sat side by side, inches apart, facing the same expanse of deep-green ocean. Farouk didn’t move. The boat turned smoothly west with its tall, triangular sails billowing outwards. It rocked along the western coastline of the island. Rajnath leaned back and said out loud, ‘This day is a miracle.’

  He realised he had been so consumed by worry lately, that he had been hearing and seeing things that weren’t there. But this was real. Farouk was real.

  Farouk started to talk. ‘We got there all right,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t too hard. Your uncle seemed pleased to see us.’

  ‘I’m glad about that,’ Rajnath said reassuringly. ‘He’s a good kind man.’

  ‘But then he didn’t want me there any longer. He and your cousin sent me away.’

  Rajnath looked confused. ‘And Sumati?’

  ‘I don’t ever want to see her again.’ Farouk clenched his fist hard. ‘And your uncle is not what you think.’

  Rajnath couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sumati and her family were shattered, she had lost her mother, her lover, and her future. Rajnath felt disgusted, and his pulse began to race.

  ‘Do you realise that you cannot show your face in Granville again?’ he burst out. ‘Because no one will even spit on you if you were on fire. Did you know Sumati’s mother died?’

  ‘People die,’ the stranger replied without emotion. ‘How is that my fault?’

  Rajnath stamped his foot almost through the deck. ‘What is wrong with you? What kind of man are you, to heap all the blame on your woman? You caused Daya to put a rope round her neck! You caused her father to blame Amina, her friend. Roopchand tried to strangle her, you know! Man, you deserve whatever you get now.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Farouk’s tone was flat and resigned. ‘You probably don’t want to know, but your uncle is a crook. And your cousin is ten times the crook your uncle is.’

  ‘Why are you saying lies? Accusing my uncle and cousin of being criminals? If they forced you to leave, what stopped you from taking Sumati with you or going back for her?’

  ‘You think a lot of your family. But I see a different side.’

  ‘You see the side of a small-minded little man. You see them with big business, and you’re jealous.’

  Farouk laughed. It sounded like a goat with a cough, which irritated Rajnath.

  ‘My uncle works damn hard for what he has,’ Rajnath said hotly. ‘You had a chance. But instead of working hard yourself, you ran away.’

  ‘Amrit and Dillip are doing business with white people only.’

  ‘My uncle can do business with whoever he wants. Why is that bothering you?’

  ‘Not just me,’ Farouk said. ‘You know where his wife went?’

  ‘She died.’

  ‘Kalouti died?’ Farouk went pale. ‘When?’

  ‘No, no, no. Not Kalouti. His wife, Rani, died, and he never recovered for a long time. Rani was Dillip’s mother. My uncle sent Dillip off to that expensive Catholic school in Port of Spain. Never saw him for weeks, if not months. I know Dillip ran away once . . . came home crying. Know what Uncle Amrit did? He put him in a car and sent him straight back.’

  ‘That cousin of yours is a rotten egg. And that education has really paid off, because he’s putting it to use – and I don’t mean in a good way either. He’s smart in a crooked way.’

  Amrit had suggested something similar, Rajnath recalled. They both sat staring into the empty horizon. The seagulls squawked, following the boat, swooping down and cutting the water like arrows, emerging with flapping fish across their beaks.

  ‘You are looking tired, Farouk,’ Rajnath said. His voice was gentle, empathetic.

  ‘I should have fought for her.’

  ‘But it’s not too late.’ Rajnath looked at him hopefully. ‘She is having a child.’

  The minutes passed. It was as if Farouk had not registered what Rajnath had said about Sumati’s condition. Farouk began to talk, and they both did, forgetting about the huge void that divided them. They talked about the wind, the sea, the cricket, the late afternoons spent standing around the standpipe or joining the older men on a Friday night drinking illegal mountain dew, smoking a tobacco roll-up or taking a sneaky puff of the ganja pipe. For a while they managed to forget the rest of the world. Farouk unwrapped a brown paper parcel, tore off a corner of dry roti, and munched, chewing about fifty times before swallowing.

  ‘My chances are all spoilt now,’ he said.

  ‘Every day is a new start,’ Rajnath said, trying to encourage him.

  ‘You don’t understand. Some people just fail.’

  ‘When you fail, you learn something new. That’s life. But there’s always a chance.’

  Rajnath felt himself sitting neck-deep in guilt, lies and miscommunication, having sent Farouk and Sumati off to their des
truction. He realised he had to face up to some truths. It was why he was on his way to San Fernando, and was worried about discovering more than he could deal with. Meeting Farouk had softened that blow. But having bad thoughts about his uncle made him feel wretched. Family was family. Why though, was his expensively educated Latin-scholar cousin be so mean to Farouk and Sumati?

  ‘Where are you going today?’ Rajnath asked.

  ‘Up to Port of Spain.’

  ‘That’s a long way from here! I’m going to San Fernando. Come with me to see Uncle.’ Rajnath caught a glint of fire in Farouk’s eyes. ‘I’ve a serious bone to pick with him. Dillip too. I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.’

  Farouk was visibly agitated. ‘Did you understand what I just said?’

  Rajnath looked at Farouk. His friend truly had changed. He hadn’t grown like a man. He looked starved – and there was something else. He had failure in his eyes and was broken. This made Rajnath even more upset with himself. He wanted Farouk’s friendship. Needed it. But he feared it might never be the same. He wondered if Farouk was bad at making good decisions, or if it was all his fault. His head hurt, crushed under the worry that Farouk might never recover, and that Sumati was in a mess because of it.

  The sloop eventually arrived at the docks in San Fernando. Rajnath tried to persuade Farouk to go with him to Amrit’s, but the young man insisted he couldn’t go there.

  ‘You know, you’ve not told me anything. You can’t stay away for ever. I miss you, Farouk.’

  ‘My family don’t want to know me.’

  ‘By the way,’ Rajnath said, as he jumped off the boat. ‘I hear Sumati’s getting married in a few weeks.’ These were his final words. Rajnath hoped they would prompt his friend into action.

  Farouk shouted something, but Rajnath had already turned his back and disappeared into the throng of bodies busily hurrying through the pandemonium of the wharf.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The rain had belted down earlier and the road was still wet and steaming when Amina and friends were walking home from school, still unsure about visiting Sumati. By the time they reached her house, the sun was blazing down again, and Chandra and Pryia decided to go home instead.

  Amina looked at them in despair. ‘She’s trying harder than you realise. And she’s still our friend.’

  ‘I thought you and she had an argument,’ Chandra said.

  ‘You heard what Mr Clifford said this morning?’ Amina asked. ‘None of us are perfect. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’

  ‘It makes sense,’ Ramona said. ‘If we did, no one would hurt other people. But they do. Which means that we don’t think about how it would feel if we were the one being hurt.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m going to see how Sumati is doing,’ Amina said. ‘It could be any one of us. I want to make sure she’s all right there on her own.’

  Amina and Sumati sat together, chatting. ‘I just want to get married and end all this,’ Sumati told her friend.

  ‘To that old man with children?’

  ‘Do I have another choice?’ Sumati said in despair. ‘It’s all arranged. Only ten days to go.’

  ‘If you need anything I’m sure my mother will help,’ Amina said. ‘She’s going to Port of Spain soon. She could get you some things. Who’s making your wedding outfit?’

  ‘I have everything I need,’ Sumati said indifferently. ‘My mother’s things – that will be enough. I have more important matters on my mind.’ She moved closer to Amina. ‘I’m not feeling right. It’s my head . . . I don’t feel like myself.’

  ‘Go and see the doctor,’ Amina advised. ‘He comes on a Friday. I’ll go with you, except Mr Clifford might want to know where I am. He dislikes absenteeism.’

  ‘Clifford minds people’s business too much,’ Sumati said angrily.

  ‘He cares. I care too.’

  ‘Anyway, I know what’s wrong with me. I don’t need to go to the doctor again. Best if I just get married. It’s what my father wants. He guessed. And I had to tell him. I’m glad I did. I didn’t exactly make it easy for him to find me a nice boy. But that’s the price I have to pay for playing the jackass with my life. I thought I was in love with somebody, and I made a fool of myself.’

  ‘No, Sumati. He made a fool of you.’

  Sumati’s eyes were full. ‘You wouldn’t understand. A while after I started bleeding, I started to feel like a different person. I couldn’t help myself.’

  ‘Even though you knew how people gossip? And the trouble it would bring?’

  ‘I know that now. I was stupid. Don’t be like me. People take advantage of you when you’re like me. I trusted everyone. That was a mistake.’

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted the people where you stayed. But how were you to know? Maybe falling in love does that to you. Makes you think everything is like sunshine.’

  ‘In a way, yes, it does. Something takes you over. And you have to be with the one you’re in love with all the time.’

  ‘But even sunshine can get too hot, or just disappear when rain comes pouring down.’

  ‘Once the thought of running away came to my head, I stopped thinking straight. I just couldn’t spend another day here. Farouk thought everything would turn out all right. Now I wish somebody had actually tied me down and made me stay home. Or locked me up. I actually miss school. Can you believe that?’

  ‘School is easy compared to what you’re going through,’ Amina said. ‘I’m staying there for as long as I can. There’s always something to do, and our friends are still there.’

  ‘I wish I had known this would happen. Nobody talks about these things.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried that your child does not belong to this man you are going to marry? I wish we could find Farouk.’

  ‘I don’t want to see Farouk ever again.’ Sumati’s voice went hard. ‘It is a man’s child. I don’t care which man it was. I didn’t put it there myself.’

  ‘I could ask Rajnath if he’s found out anything about Farouk.’

  ‘No!’ Sumati said. ‘I don’t want him or his family to know. Please don’t tell them!’

  There was a voice shouting from the yard.

  ‘It’s Ramona,’ Amina said. ‘She said she would come and see you.’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone what I told you,’ Sumati warned her friend. ‘Nobody must know, otherwise I will hang myself just like my mother, I swear!’

  ‘Stop saying that,’ Amina begged, tears in her eyes. ‘I won’t tell anybody. I promise.’ But she had already broken that promise.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Amina worried about Sumati’s careless manner towards the prospect of marrying this old man whom she had previously rejected. She was sure the marriage would backfire somehow, bringing more dramas.

  Her own life also seemed complicated. She sat outside in the sun feeling like an overripe watermelon, ready to split and spill its red flesh and seeds on the ground. Both her parents had commented on her low moods, but she couldn’t help it. Then one day, the depression flowed away, along with the show of her first menstrual blood.

  ‘Now your business has started,’ Devinia said, ‘things will be different. Stay home from school and look after yourself. The bellyache will come. Just go lie down. I’ll show you how to wash your cloths. Soak them in the half-a-drum behind the bathroom.’

  ‘I can go to school tomorrow though,’ Amina said, confidently.

  ‘You are going nowhere for the next five days,’ her mother stated firmly.

  The next morning, Amina tried to get up early when she heard Etwar’s voice, and her mother clattering in the kitchen outside, but she was too tired to move and fell back to sleep. When she woke, Devinia was in her room with breakfast – something she hadn’t done since the typhoid. As she ate, Devinia talked to her daughter about womanhood, customs and hygiene – what she was allowed to do and what she was not. Not too much bathing, not touching food in the kitchen, soaking and laundering stained clothes, rubbing
them with a lot of soap and bleaching them in the sun behind the shed, out of sight.

  ‘You never told me this was going to be so hard,’ Amina said, feeling dismayed.

  ‘I’ll help you. But this is normal now. And don’t talk to boys. Don’t go anywhere alone with a boy. Never, never, never.’

  ‘What about boys at school?’

  ‘Even in school, never be alone with a boy. If a boy respects you, he will never ask you to go somewhere with him alone. You don’t want to be making a baby before you are married.’

  ‘Really? Talking to a boy will cause that?’

  ‘Talking can give a boy the idea.’

  ‘I can see what you trying to say, Ma. But it’s 1917. Things are different now.’

  ‘Things like that are never different. A boy is a boy. They only want one thing! Don’t give them the wrong idea about you.’

  There was little point arguing with her mother. Sumati had talked to boys at the standpipe, and she must have given boys the wrong idea about her. In fact, she had given the whole village the wrong idea about her. But Amina was thinking about this business. Sumati described the business as some kind of new freedom. A different mind. A different body. But to Amina, this issue of blood every month looked more like a bad spell, and she dismissed what Sumati said about wanting to be with a boy as complete nonsense. She tried to read, but was unable to focus. Now she was beginning to understand why women were mostly confined to the home, and girls were unable to attend school. How on earth would she get to Port of Spain to Teacher Training College?

  ‘How can I go Sumati’s wedding?’ she asked her mother.

  ‘Depends. You have to rest, and wait and see.’

  ‘There must be something to stop it.’

  Devinia laughed. ‘You have to stay close to home. You don’t want to make a shame of yourself for everyone to see. It’s the first time, so it might stop early. Drink plenty of milk and eat enough food. Bhajee is very good for making blood. Anything dark green.’