‘But he couldn’t help himself, sir.’
‘All he was left with was his wealth,’ Mr Clifford said. ‘Property had value.’
‘It’s still like that now, sir.’
‘Very much so,’ the headmaster agreed. ‘Most things that divide our society have some kind of value that people aspire to. The poor want riches. Black people would want to be white, if they could. If a slave had been asked if he wanted to swap places with the white man, you’d learn the truth if you could see right inside his heart. But that wouldn’t be about colour. It would be about opportunity and position.’
‘But that is not good, sir,’ Amina objected. ‘We shouldn’t hate how we were made.’
‘Try telling that to a deformed child left to die with no food.’ The headmaster cleared his throat. ‘So, what other factors might divide people?’
‘Education, sir!’ Amina shouted. ‘Although it is free, it is rare. And it divides people into literate and illiterate. Education does that amongst Indians, sir. Right here in Granville.’
‘Agreed,’ Mr Clifford said. ‘But when they finally see the value and I think they will, in time – they’ll come to appreciate it, and will do anything for it. Look at you few here. You’re a start. And what you told me this morning about your father, girl, I myself can hardly believe it. He has changed his mind completely? I must come and speak with him. If you can study medicine you will add such value to the world. What else divides people?’
‘Language, sir!’
‘Yes,’ the headmaster nodded. ‘That is a part of education too.’
‘Lady teachers,’ Amina said eagerly. ‘Women will add value to teaching!’
When they broke off from evening class, Amina’s brain was buzzing, engrossed in Emily Brontë’s world of fiction and her own. Her mind was spinning with similarities, yet Wuthering Heights was so far from her reality. To bring herself back down to earth, she called in to see Sumati and the babies as she did most afternoons.
Elsie’s two weeks had come to an end, and Roopchand paid her generously with a hundredweight flour-bag full of ground provisions – cassava, yams, dasheen. And another with breadfruit, mangoes, avocados, two large mammy apples, some star apples, and a few eggs each wrapped in small squares of newspaper and placed carefully on the top. And a third bag with a live chicken sent by Devinia, with its feet tied and wings folded to keep it from flying out. Roopchand gave them to the midwife before pressing some cash into her palm.
Neighbours were still coming and going. Devinia brought a full rum bottle of fresh milk from their cow each day, and always had Sumati’s best interests at heart. But she was concerned.
‘Has Baljit come to see you yet?’ Devinia asked Sumati one day.
‘He sent a message to say he will come later,’ the girl lied.
‘How much later?’ Devinia asked. ‘When they turn into man and woman?’ She threw a glance at the babies at Sumati’s breasts. They had visibly grown since the birth. ‘He married you with two children of his own. Now you have two. You’re in the same boat.’
‘That will be up to him to decide, Tantie.’
‘You want me to talk to him?’ Devinia offered. ‘Just because you don’t have a mother, doesn’t mean he should take advantage.’
Sumati didn’t reply.
‘The children are very pretty,’ Devinia continued. ‘Fair-skinned too. He’ll like them.’
Sumati glanced up at Amina who had just arrived.
‘I’m not stupid,’ Devinia said quietly. ‘People make mistakes. Imagine if nobody ever made any mistakes.’
When Devinia left, Amina remained for a while to chat alone with her friend.
‘Your mother is almost right,’ Sumati said to Amina, ‘but there are things I haven’t told anybody.’
Roopchand returned home and started making a fuss over the babies, Amina looked anxiously at Sumati. But the new mother’s eyes were fixed on her babies, who seemed to be staring up at the face their grandfather was pulling, so she left.
One afternoon Amina visited and was shocked to find Sumati already surrounded by school-friends cooing and passing the sleeping babies around, kissing them and giggling.
‘You’re going to make them ill!’ Amina shrieked. ‘Why are you letting them throw the babies around like that? They’ll hurt them.’
‘They’re enjoying it,’ Sumati told her. ‘Don’t fuss so. My father does worse. He holds them upside down by their ankles, and they are still living. They’re strong.’
‘Well, that one’s vomiting,’ Amina pointed out crossly.
‘I thought you had an evening class,’ Sumati said.
‘It’s over.’
‘Amina, why are you bothering to go to them? It didn’t work for me. It’s not normal. It separates you from everybody else.’
‘Oh. I see what you are saying,’ Amina said tartly. ‘You’re saying that staying on at school and attending evening classes to get a better education is the same as running away with a boy?’
‘No! But changing your religion . . . Do your parents know about you turning Catholic?’
‘No! And don’t you even think of telling them.’
‘I’m wasn’t thinking of telling them,’ Sumati said. ‘I was only thinking about your soul, while you’re lying to them. Like me lying to my husband, who by the way, beat me up and threw me out.’
‘Baljit beat you up? I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.’ Both girls were silent for a while. ‘Etwar said he saw Rajnath coming down here yesterday.’
Sumati looked up knowingly. ‘That’s true. He’s not happy about something. He has been really ill.’
‘So, you and he are still good friends now?’
‘You are jealous!’ Sumati giggled. ‘We’re just friends. But he’s the best-looking boy in the whole of Granville and San Fernando. I should know!’
‘What will Baljit say?’
‘Baljit can say what he likes. I am not going back there.’
Amina picked up one of the babies from Sumati’s lap.
‘But what will happen to you now?’ Amina asked.
‘He will not be able to beat me up again, that’s what!’
‘I’m worried for you,’ Amina said. ‘Then, have you named the twins yet?’
‘Saraswatti and Patrick.’
‘Patrick?’ Amina asked. ‘How come?’
‘I heard it somewhere, and I like it.’
‘Sounds English,’ Amina said. ‘Or Negro. Or mixed.’
‘Rajnath liked it. He’s good with the babies too – picking them up and winding them across his knee. I wonder how he knows how to do that. Anyway, I told him what I just told you about what happened with me and Baljit.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Not much. I don’t know why he came, really.’
‘Probably guilt,’ Amina sniffed. ‘Don’t worry. Men don’t take the blame for anything. But after what happened to you, I’ve decided I’m not ever going to get married. I might become a nun.’
‘You? Mr Clifford said so? Your parents will have a heart attack if they hear that.’
‘You’ll never guess. My father has changed his mind completely. He’s cancelled the wedding and I’m free to do what I want.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He says I can go to England to study to be a doctor.’
Sumati’s eyes were popping out of her head. ‘But what will happen to me if you go?’
‘You have the children – and you have your looks. Could be that you might have the most good-looking boy in the village after you. But I’m not leaving yet.’
Sumati’s eyes lit up. ‘You’re right. I have everything I want right here. Why would I want to go to England? I don’t even know the place.’
As Amina voiced out loud the possibilities of her future, and the fact that she seemed to have dismissed the chance of becoming a teacher, she realised that it was her father once again who was dictating her path to her. But it wasn’t a bad idea. It w
as helping people, which was all she wanted to do. But she felt confused by Sumati’s attitude; her friend seemed to be living with no regrets, no concern about her future or her children. And that was what she envied about Sumati – her carefree attitude. It was also, however, the one thing she despised about her.
One night, Sankar did not return home. Devinia was up at dawn, not having slept a wink. It was not like him to stay out. She wondered if her husband had worked late on jewellery that someone needed urgently, possibly a big job for a wedding. She cooked breakfast early, covered it over, and swept the yard clean of all the fallen leaves. The children hadn’t even got up yet when two men called at the house.
FORTY-SIX
Early one morning, they heard voices calling from the front of the house and Fluffy was barking madly. Devinia hurried out to see their dog tearing into the sock of one of the men.
‘Is this where the jeweller from Point Fortin lives?’ the other policeman asked.
‘Yes,’ Devinia replied, surprised.
‘Hold your dog, madam. Is anybody at home with you?’
‘The children are home. My husband’s at work.’
‘We are from the Point Fortin police station, madam, and we are here to talk to you.’
It was with some trepidation that Devinia invited the men to sit under her house to talk. They questioned her about Sankar; who they knew in Point Fortin, how much money Sankar made in a week, where they had family and friends, if they had had any disagreements with anyone of late, did she know where Sankar was last night? For most of the questions, Devinia, wracked with worry, felt unable to give a substantial answer.
‘He didn’t come home last night. That is all I know. I don’t know why or where he was. I expect he had a lot of work. You see, he was . . .’
‘I have some bad news, Mrs Banderjee,’ the older policeman interrupted. ’We’re looking for the owner of the jewellers in Point Fortin. A man was found with his throat slit, and the whole shop was ransacked. We think it might be him.’
Amina got up immediately, ran out into the yard, and began to throw up.
‘There’s not much left there now, apart from shelves lying around everywhere, and the counter upside down and a few small bits of gold jewellery scattered. We want a family member to come and identify the dead man’s body. It was taken to the mortuary in San Fernando Colonial Hospital.’
Etwar’s face was swimming in tears. Devinia just stared, stunned, as if she had been hit on the head with a boulder from a height. Her face began to twitch. ‘But . . .’ she said. ‘I don’t understand. What are you saying? Who are you talking about?’ Etwar shifted closer to his mother, almost sitting on her lap. Then he broke down crying loudly.
‘What are we going to do now?’ Devinia said to the policeman. Her whole body began to shake.
‘Have you got any family?’
‘No. Everybody has died, or was left in India.’
‘Good neighbours? Get someone to come over. We will need you to accompany us to identify the body.’
The next few days were the worst the family had ever experienced, apart from Amina’s typhoid. Without Sankar to support them as husband, father, and breadwinner, they had lost everything. All the jewellery from the shop had been stolen, meaning that they had nothing of monetary value apart from their home. Devinia sold milk from the cow and had to use the little savings she had in the house for essentials. One day, Amina returned home with a handful of money.
‘I sold my rose earrings, a necklace and a pair of bracelets to a friend from school,’ she said, handing her mother the money. ‘She is getting married.’
‘Your father made those.’
‘My father isn’t here, and we need the money, Ma.’
‘You shouldn’t do that. We will find it somehow. I will have to get a job on the road carrying water. Or something.’
‘I can’t bear to think of you doing that. Pa would be very upset if he’s watching,’ Etwar said.
‘Well, he’s not here,’ Amina said, ‘and we have to do something. I’m going to talk to Mr Clifford, see what he says.’
‘You think Mr Clifford and his God can help us now?’ Etwar said in a sarcastic tone.
‘Not if Pa has already come back as a cow or goat,’ Amina said, equally sarcastically. ‘When you go to bring the goats home, look them in the eyes and ask the question. “Which one of you is Pa?” Better still, count them to see if there’s an extra one.’
‘What is wrong with you, girl? Why are you being like this?’ her brother asked.
‘We have to find a way to survive,’ she said. ‘Pa should have taught you his trade.’
‘What about the houses we rent to people?’ Etwar said. ‘We will get money from them.’
‘Yes, Ma, the houses.’
‘Your father sold them,’ Devinia said, flatly. ‘To buy gold.’
Their luck had finally run out, with their father dead and nothing to fall back on. Etwar couldn’t believe why his father, an astute businessman, would have sold the houses to buy gold. But Devinia assured them that it was what the lawyer told her. She hadn’t realised that business was so poor, but even so, she was shocked that Sankar would do such a thing without her knowledge.
FORTY-SEVEN
Rajnath had been back to work for two weeks. It was mid-morning when he heard shouting. It wasn’t that unusual, so he kept his head down and continued weeding. But the shouting got closer, and soon he heard the neigh of a horse.
‘You!’ It was the driver. ‘The coolie wearing de white-man hat!’
A few looked around. The driver fired a gunshot, and everyone jumped up. The driver started to howl with laughter. Then the laughing stopped. Everyone stood straight as scarecrows with fear in their eyes. Anything could happen now. Anyone could be plucked out and whipped right there. Then the driver pointed his gun at Rajnath.
‘You – yes, you! Overseer want to see you in de next field.’
‘When I have finished this piece,’ Rajnath said.
‘What piece?’ The man trotted up on his horse and poked Rajnath hard in the shoulder with his shotgun barrel. ‘I don’t see you doing anything here today.’
That was a lie. He’d worked hard since seven that morning. Rajnath dropped his tools and got up.
‘Aye!’ the driver shouted. ‘Bring you tools wit yuh.’
Rajnath grabbed his hoe and cutlass and strode over to the next field. The overseer was sitting in the shed, and Rajnath was relieved to get into the shade. He dropped his tools, took off his hat and wiped his face with the back of his hand.
‘You is that Kamalsingh?’ the overseer asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You have good manners, eh,’ the overseer said. ‘That nice. You fadda teach you that?’
Rajnath half-nodded, looking slightly concerned.
‘I have orders to send you home.’ The overseer’s voice was calm. ‘The planter says you should never have come back to work so quick. The doctor said you was too sick.’
‘But I’m better. And I’ve been back a fortnight now,’ Rajnath insisted.
‘No, no! Sick is sick. We don’t want no sick man in the field. That not right. Maybe we will send you to the hospital right here. See what they say.’
‘No, no, it’s all right,’ Rajnath said hurriedly. ‘I don’t need a hospital.’
‘I told them you wouldn’t go in the hospital here,’ the overseer said. ‘And I was right.’
‘You want me to go home till when?’
‘Till we let you know.’
Rajnath left and gathered up his things, bemused at their decision to send him home after two weeks of returning. He didn’t look forward to the long walk home in the heat either.
He reached home hot and still confused about the day, and decided to head to the beach. He sat under a coconut tree for a while, looking at the surf breaking gently on the sand. No one was around, so he stripped off and ran straight through the tepid shallow water before plunging his overhe
ated body into the cold sea. He swam a few long, strong strokes into the deep water, before surfacing, swimming hard, floating on his back and staring at puffy clouds changing shape. He drifted and rocked on the waves, still wondering why they had waited so long to send him home. Usually they kept very sick men working until they collapsed.
Thoughts of Sumati and her babies drifted through his mind as he floated. There was something about her. Sumati’s twins were both so very different, but he had never heard anyone mention it.
On his return home, Rajnath decided to consult with his mother.
‘Ma,’ he said, when he returned home. ‘Aren’t twins supposed to look the same?’
‘Why do you ask?’ Parbatee said.
‘Sumati’s babies.’
‘Somebody said one is a boy, one is a girl,’ Parbatee told him. ‘You think they’re yours?’
‘No! Of course not. They don’t look the same though.’
‘If they are not yours, why are you so interested?’
‘She is a friend. Her mother died.’
‘I wouldn’t mind, you know,’ his mother said gently. ‘If they’re yours, they’re mine too.’
‘I said no. They are not mine. But they’re so different.’
‘But how could they look the same?’ Parbatee said. ‘One is a boy, one is a girl! Of course they are different.’
‘But . . . Nobody said anything about them?’
‘You mean foolish people thinking that a boy and a girl is the same?’
‘No, but nothing else?’ Rajnath persisted.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, frowning. ‘Is there something wrong with them? Do they have two heads each? Like a god and goddess?’
‘Nothing like that.’
‘I hear she named the boy a white-man name,’ Parbatee said. ‘Or Creole. Some white-man names don’t make sense. Something like Phut-ha-rik. I never heard it before.’
The Wedding Drums Page 25