‘Something more respectable. I’m not using people who come to me for help.’
‘You call cutting cane and getting whipped for not weeding a line, something respectable? You know nothing about business, you half-wit country-bookie Indian. I’d have offered you a cut if you weren’t so stupid.’
‘A cut?’ Rajnath stood, angry.
‘Yeah, man. But you are too much of a country-coolie.’
‘Dillip, stop it!’ Amrit shouted.
‘Did I ask you for work?’ Rajnath said.
‘Pa, we should give Rajnath a few dollars for his part in sending that girl. She brought us luck. She had one sweet arse. And those white men know how to treat a girl eh. At least they know what to say and how to pay.’
‘He’s lying,’ Amrit shouted. ‘He’s trying to make you annoyed, Rajnath. You want me to give him a good beating?’ The older man got up and grasped a piece of wood from the yard – but by the time he advanced, Rajnath had already whacked his cousin.
Dillip coughed and spluttered. Blood was pouring from his open mouth. His right eyebrow was split and the eyelid was swelling. Amrit ran over to him and tried to help.
‘What did you do that for, boy?’ Amrit turned to Rajnath with a reproachful look in his eyes. ‘I was going to deal with him myself.’
‘You had your chance, Uncle Amrit, but you never did anything. You let your son use innocent people. Young girls! Sumati, Matilda here right now. How many more?’
Tonia came running out of the kitchen looking frightened, and then she ran back and emerged again carrying a bowl of water.
Dillip tried to talk but his words made no sense through his two broken front teeth.
‘I think it is time you left,’ Amrit said to Rajnath.
‘I am leaving, uncle. I am going to the police station.’
‘Listen,’ Amrit said, in a pacifying voice. ‘Go and take a lie-down. We will give you one of the special rooms on the new side.
‘What you mean by a special room?’ Rajnath asked suspiciously.
‘You know,’ Amrit said, and lowered his voice. ‘The full treatment.’
Rajnath looked at his uncle, stunned. ‘You’re telling me, you’re offering me a woman? One of these girls – a child? For the night?’
‘Take your pick.’
‘How many do you have?’
Amrit looked at Dillip, who was gaping at his father open-mouthed, unable to close his mouth against the two protruding front teeth.
‘This is crazy,’ Rajnath snarled, turning to leave the yard.
‘Where are you going?’ Amrit asked in a panic. ‘You wouldn’t get a boat back home now. And you won’t manage to ride back home on that bike.’
Rajnath walked to his bike.
‘Don’t involve the police, son,’ Amrit pleaded, following Rajnath. ‘We are family. We will talk and settle it between us. I’ll give you anything.’ He began to wheedle. ‘Come and work for me. I’ll pay you good money. You’ll never want for anything.’
‘How much are you making, uncle?’
‘I don’t know,’ Amrit shrugged.
‘How much a month?’
‘A month? Just a few hundred a day.’
Rajnath’s eyes opened wide.
‘Pa!’ Dillip shouted. ‘Pa knows nothing.’
Rajnath began pacing the yard. ‘So that is the amount you are aware of, uncle. You know something? I always thought a lot of you. You were my hero, ever since I was a little boy. But your riches never meant anything to me. I didn’t know how you got rich, and I never asked. But my mother was always proud of you – her brother! Although my father never liked something about you.’
‘Well, your father never kept that a secret. He thought he was more educated than me, but he didn’t have the business head on him.’
‘My father and I have our differences, but he is not a thief.’
‘Who are you calling a thief, boy?’ Amrit said, feeling stung.
‘You rob young girls of their virginity and their life,’ his nephew told him.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You promise them something you don’t give, then use them to line your own pocket. That is a thief. You betrayed Farouk and took his life away when you trapped Sumati here. That girl might have been bold as brass, but she was a virgin when she came here. Unspoilt, I am sure of that. And what about Matilda?’
‘Ha! Ow u no ah! Upid oron!’ Dillip began making loud jabbering noises again.
‘And you.’ Rajnath looked at Dillip. ‘You sold her virginity and her body for the promise to teach her to read? Have you kept that promise? I have no choice but to get the police, uncle. You’re a crook. I am sure they will find out what you are really doing here – about illicit activities between Icacos and Venezuela.’
‘All I wanted was to survive after Dillip’s mother died. My Rani.’ Amrit’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I did my best, and this is what it’s come to.’
‘We all make mistakes, uncle. Mine was to trust you. Yours started by not taking responsibility for your son. We all have to pay. I have to take this to the police.’
‘You! You are the cause!’ Amrit screamed at Dillip. ‘You deserve that beating! And more! I would have done it myself if Rajnath hadn’t got there first.’
Dillip groaned and cursed while he watched Rajnath wobble away on his bicycle.
It was late afternoon. Rajnath cycled towards the police station, but the door was shut. He called but no one came out. He rode up and down the streets for a few minutes and then had a thought. It was Sunday. He headed back to his uncle’s house. Amrit met Rajnath at the gate.
‘Tell them you made a mistake,’ Amrit begged. ‘Don’t involve the police. We are family. Look, I’ll give you anything. Just name it.’
‘Ten thousand dollars,’ Rajnath said. The words fell from his tongue before he even thought about it.
‘What?’ Amrit began, stuttering and spluttering through a sudden coughing fit. At the same time Dillip was having a painful-sounding laughing fit.
‘You’re joking!’ Dillip babbled. ‘Crazy fool!’
‘Maybe you could bribe the police instead?’ Rajnath offered.
‘That might be better,’ Amrit said. ‘I never thought my own nephew would threaten me like this – for money.’
‘Well maybe I really am a chip off the old block. Just like you, uncle. My mother probably inherited some other disgusting trait, but mine must be travelling down the male line of the family.’
‘I can’t give you that kind of money, boy. Not right now.’
Now Rajnath realised that his uncle did have that kind of money – somewhere. ‘Stop calling me boy, uncle.’
‘Call ’im woman,’ Dillip mumbled cheekily.
‘Want some more of this, cousin?’ Rajnath said, raising his fist.
‘Boy, you have changed!’ Amrit said.
‘Yes, suddenly I am a man! So, please, less of the “boy”. If you can’t get the money, I’m going back to the police station.’
‘Wait here.’ Amrit sucked his teeth and turned.
‘Pa!’ Dillip called his father in vain as the man disappeared around the back of the old building and up the steps. He then returned and walked towards the road.
‘Where’s he going?’ Rajnath demanded.
‘Wait. Don’t go anywhere,’ Amrit called. ‘I’m coming back in a while.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
On his return home, Rajnath collapsed and was barely able to get out of bed. Parbatee sent a message for a doctor. Dr Boyle visited and after a thorough examination agreed that the young man was not at all well.
‘Doctor, the boy has been overdoing it of late,’ Parbatee said. ‘He came home in the middle of the night and I heard ructions. I got up and woke my husband and my other son, and Raj was there, lying on the ground outside. It took all three of us to bring him inside. We had to drag him up the steps and into the bed. He’s not right these days – odd like. You will write
a certificate so that I can send it to the plantation so they know he is sick?’
She disappeared and returned with a bucket of water and towel.
‘I’d like to keep an eye on him,’ Dr Boyle said. ‘If he was closer to Port of Spain I’d have him in hospital, where we could run tests. Port of Spain is far, but if you can, get him to the infirmary in San Fernando.’
‘You mean that infirmary in the poorhouse in San Fernando?’ Parbatee asked.
‘That is the closest place.’
Parbatee shuddered. ‘That is where sick people wait on the long waiting list, and when they manage to get a bed, they die. They die there, doctor! That place finishes them off. I’m not having my son go there. You just write out a sick-paper so when he goes to work, he will give them it.’
‘He won’t be needing any medical certificate if he doesn’t get better, Mrs Singh. He is seriously ill.’
‘Yes, he will, doctor. You see, the foreman and the overseers at the plantation are very, very wicked. Bully boys. And they will make sure to punish him in more ways than one for not coming to work. They will never believe he was ill without the sick-paper. They have a habit of not believing Indians. Regular they get thrown in the jail. And they get big fines they can’t ever pay back, that they will work all their life to pay back.’
‘Very well, I will write out a certificate. But that will cost you an extra thirty cents. And you will have to follow my instructions to the letter. I have a strong suspicion that your son has contracted tuberculosis.’
‘TB?’ Parbatee began to shake. ‘My son have TB? Oh Lakshmi Mata, RamRamSita! How he get that? You will have to give him injections,’ she jabbered. ‘And we will look after him. We will do pujas.’
‘I can’t do miracles. He should be in isolation. Kept away from everyone else. You see, he is infectious.’
‘You really mean my son is going to die?’ Parbatee went pale.
‘I will be honest: the possibility is high. Although if he is a strong young man he could recover. But that is usually with good care in hospital facilities. Not at home, in these poor conditions out here.’ The big Scotsman opened his bag. ‘I’ll give him an injection today, and will come back in a few days to check on him.’
‘Oh praise be to you, doctor. And Catholic God of Roman, I praise You too. I will get you some money,’ Parbatee said, full of hope, and hurried away.
‘I’m Presbyterian, not Catholic,’ Dr Boyle called after her. ‘I’ll see you outside in a few minutes.’
Parbatee looked confused but went outside and waited. She had prepared a bag of food provisions from their garden, together with the visiting fee and extra for the medical certificate and for the medicines he left.
When Doctor Boyle had washed his hands and came outside, he gave her care instructions for Rajnath. ‘No visitors,’ the doctor said, as he took the things from her. ‘And for your benefit and your own family here, you must take precautions and isolate him as best as possible. I’ll take this sample to the hospital and see how quickly they can do the test.’
He looked at the woman before him with pity.
THIRTY-NINE
Amina’s life turned eerily quiet after the wedding. Sumati left Granville with Baljit, her new husband, who had been remarkably calm in the midst of the wedding furore. Amina waited some days for Sumati to return in disgrace, but she didn’t, so she wished her well and stopped worrying.
When she returned to school Mr Clifford suggested she read as many books from his cupboard as she could, which would stand her in good stead for the rest of her life. The girl intended to do just that, for her appetite for reading was voracious. But one day it occurred to her that she had not seen or heard from Rajnath for a good two weeks, and wondered if he had given up on Farouk since Sumati had left. But Amina’s father kept reminding her that her own wedding was approaching. She had to do something since her plan to persuade them was failing. So she went to see Mr Clifford about a different plan.
‘Unbelievable!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is what I live for. You will be a teacher and a Catholic. That is wonderful.
‘Now, you will learn the Catechism and when you are able, you will attend Mass. Your parents will come with us to Port of Spain for baptism, initiation and sacrament. But that won’t be for a little while. Believe me, it will be of great help when you qualify as a teacher, for making good progress in a Catholic school.’
‘Port of Spain?’ Amina echoed. ‘My parents?’
‘Of course. They will be pleased you are making such good decisions.’
‘I can’t tell them, sir.’
‘How can you do this if they are not consenting?’
Amina thought frantically. ‘No, I mean that I have already talked to my mother about it.’ Her voice shook as she told Mr Clifford this bold lie.
‘Very well, I knew she would understand.’ The head teacher smiled reminiscently. ‘I remember when you were very ill indeed, how your poor mother would bring me Indian sweets from their prayers and ask me to read you poems. I visited your bedside once or twice, and read to you from Byron, Keats and Wordsworth.’
Amina hazily remembered the figure at her bedside on the wooden bench, a glowing lamp in the darkened room, and a husky, undulating voice.
‘I remember,’ she said. ‘It’s probably why I know so many of those poems by heart.’
‘You have no idea how useful that made me feel. Maybe it was part of your recovery? God only knows. You could have died. And look at you now – entering the teaching service. I’m proud of you – as proud as if you were my own daughter. Tonight I will make tullom, and bring some to celebrate. You know tullom? Our version of sugarcake. My mother used to make it. A round sweetie made with molasses and grated coconut.’
Amina twisted her face at the thought of the sticky bitter version of sugarcake.
‘This news makes me rejoice like the angels in heaven when one child turns to God. Let’s hope you start a trend amongst your culture. Why is it that more Indians are not like you and your family? Maybe one day.’
‘Because, sir, they find it hard to make enough money to buy food even. I’m lucky. My father has his own business.’
‘Education is another way out of the poverty too. You will be an example to them all.’
‘But it doesn’t train their children for the kind of jobs they are able to get right now.’
‘These people are illiterate,’ he said dismissively. ‘They cannot appreciate the value of education. They think about the next meal, when education is offering them the stars.’
‘Sorry, sir, but when your belly is empty it is hard to think about reaching the stars.’
But the headmaster failed to hear her. He was rummaging through the book cupboard. ‘Take this book. Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë. It’s the one we’re doing for the Part One Pupil Teacher syllabus this year at evening classes.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Amina’s smile lit up her whole face.
The man nodded, pleased. ‘I haven’t seen you smile like that for months,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you now, that Sumati was not good for your focus. You have chosen well. Tell your mother I said so.’ He patted her on the shoulder.
FORTY
Two months after her wedding, Sumati returned to Granville and hobbled over to see Amina that same evening, cradling her abdomen. They were all pleased to see her but surprised at her size. Devinia cooked and they talked for hours.
‘So, what is he like, your husband?’ Amina asked.
‘Good.’ Sumati beamed her usual broad smile.
‘And your in-laws?’
‘To be truthful? His sister said she was worried about him since his wife died.’
Amina stared at Sumati’s belly. ‘You look ready to drop.’
‘I can’t understand it – it’s not time yet. I must be content. Baljit is a very nice man.’
‘More like a father?’ Amina asked.
Sumati laughed. ‘Well, he likes children and wouldn’t want me to miss out
on having my own.’
‘And what’re his children like?’ Amina asked.
‘The girl is all right. But the boy tells me I’m not his mother.’
‘So, Baljit didn’t say anything about you being so big so quickly?’
‘Not really,’ Sumati lied.
‘And you’re not worried?’
‘You know me, I don’t worry when there’s nothing to worry about. Anyway, I have you to do all the worrying for me . . . still! Listen to yourself!’
‘I am worried what will happen when he finds out he’s not the father, and Farouk is.’
‘Farouk?’
‘What’s wrong? You don’t remember who Farouk is? You remember fainting on your wedding day when you saw him there?’
‘I wasn’t feeling good,’ Sumati said. ‘I hadn’t eaten since six o’clock that morning, and then when I spotted Baljit’s face, I couldn’t believe my luck.’
‘I know what you are doing, Sumati,’ Amina said. ‘You’re trying to forget all about Farouk, but you can’t rub him out like a wrong word you’ve written with chalk on a slate. He exists. You did things with him, and you ran away with him, and lived with him. And that child in your belly belongs to him – might have his nose, his mouth, his eyes.’
‘What are you trying to do to me? I told you before, he is not the father.’
‘You are my friend. And Baljit is your husband. You shouldn’t lie to people who care about you. When he finds out, he will kill you! That is what I’m worried about.’
‘Sometimes you talk as if you’re my mother.’
‘Well, somebody has to!’
‘I know.’ Sumati let out a sigh. ‘And I’m the one who’s got to force you to jump off a cliff once in a while. Otherwise everything will pass you by. You’re frightened of your own shadow.’
‘I’m not frightened. I’m just not as . . . ’
‘. . . stupid as me? Is that what you’re thinking?’
‘Well, jumping off a cliff isn’t too clever. You don’t worry – and that makes me worry.’
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