Between

by Angie Abdou

  she reminds herself, will never be her own. They are only a job, and she

  a minimum-wage worker. A cheap but reliable import.

  Ligaya brings Eliot and Jamal down to sleep in her bed during

  Shane and Vero’s absence. She hasn’t gotten used to this North

  American custom of children sleeping alone, especially with Jamal.

  Surely he is too young. Ligaya cannot let him awaken alone in this

  giant dark house. Two storeys apart from her. A house this big brims

  with hiding places, dark corners to hoard monsters, ghosts, and all

  varieties of imagined evil. The boys would feel safer in her one-room

  house in the Philippines, a cocoon where they would be always sur-

  rounded by adults. Ligaya will, while Vero and Shane are away, keep

  Jamal close where he knows he is protected. That, she tells herself, is

  her job.

  The boys love the sleepover—the adventure of it—down in LiLi’s

  “house,” a space usually off limits after five in the evening. Under

  189

  Between_interior.indd 189

  14-07-09 2:37 PM

  the covers, they curl into her, whispering Ligaya, as they tumble into the deep dreams known only to children. Jamal weaves his small fingers into her long hair, tickles the nape of her neck. “Ligaya,” he says,

  “Ligaya.” The name as natural as breath. The boys love this foreign

  word that they must never speak around their parents. They love it

  more, she suspects, for the transgression of it.

  “LiLi is my Canada name,” she tells them. “Only when we play

  the Philippines game, only then I am Ligaya. There, in my country,

  I am always Ligaya.” She holds her cheek against Eliot’s, saying the

  name close to his ear. “Happiness. Ligaya means happiness.” Ligaya

  always says “happiness” with tickles, and then, when they can take no

  more tickles, she kisses them where their little necks meet their little

  shoulders and smooths their wild hair behind their puppy-soft ears.

  “Ligaya—” Eliot stretches his lips around the word in an exagger-

  ated stage whisper. “—can we play the Philippines game the whole

  time Mommy and Daddy are gone?” He cups his hands around his

  mouth, protecting the secret from his mother and father, as if they can

  see him from their fancy resort across the time zones.

  “Yes,” Ligaya grins at him, cupping her own mouth, and dragging

  out the ssss with a hungry serpent’s smile. “And in the Philippines, we

  will all sleep in one bed.” She matches his stage whisper, puts the fun

  of it in her eyes. Children, she knows, are expert eye readers.

  “Ligaya!” The word is loud and full in Jamal’s mouth. “LIGAYA!”

  Jamal does not know how to whisper. His enthusiasm reminds her

  of Totoy. Nothing will ever be small, nothing ever quiet, with these

  wild boys of hers. Ligaya hugs Eliot and Jamal close to her body and

  pulls the blankets tight across their chests. “I get the middle,” she says,

  “because I am the adult. I choose. And I choose no wrestling. I choose

  no giggling. I choose only sleeping. You there, and you there.” She

  keeps an arm around each.

  190

  Between_interior.indd 190

  14-07-09 2:37 PM

  Ligaya’s bed is narrow, but she is only a small woman, and the boys

  like to sleep close. She pulls them even tighter, so nobody will roll out.

  They all fit. She kisses Eliot near his ear, and then Jamal. They smell

  of baby shampoo. The exaggerated soapy scent fills her small room.

  Happiness. “No more words for now,” she whispers. “Night is the time

  for sleep in Philippines game. Tomorrow we talk.”

  “Goodnight, LiLi.”

  “Gudnayt, Ligaya.”

  They are good boys, these two. She puts her nose close to Eliot’s

  hair and lets the scent of baby shampoo carry her to sleep. It is a

  luxury, she knows, an indulgence. But she takes it.

  Deserves it?

  She will not say.

  ◊◊◊

  There were legal issues to resolve before Ligaya could be left alone

  with the boys for an extended period. That’s how Vero had put it.

  “LiLi, we must be careful…certain legal issues…we want to be

  fair…always.”

  “But as long as you’re happy to make the extra money,” Shane

  rubbed his palms hard on his slacks as if trying to scrape off tree sap,

  “then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Ligaya tried to catch all of Vero’s words, but even after almost a year

  with the family, Ligaya found Vero’s speech too fast. Ligaya couldn’t

  hold onto the words long enough to string them together and find

  their meaning. Trying to make sense of Vero’s words is like trying to

  eat soup out of a pillowcase.

  There was something in her speech about a labour scandal here in

  Sprucedale at a coffee shop, something about a national politician

  191

  Between_interior.indd 191

  14-07-09 2:37 PM

  breaking laws too, overworking his nanny, something about a govern-

  ment “crackdown”— what is a crackdown? Ligaya wanted to ask but

  Vero left no space for questions, didn’t allow for confusion, for the

  possibility of absolute incomprehension. There was something also

  about vigilance, Vero kept saying “government vigilance,” but Ligaya

  did not know that word. It sounded strong. Ligaya imagined Popeye

  the Sailor Man eating a can of vigilance, his muscles bulging with

  new vigilance.

  Vero said “a politician broke the law” with an odd smile, as if it were

  a joke, a contradiction in terms, something that might need explain-

  ing to the slow foreigner. Ligaya nodded and waved off Vero’s ram-

  bling explanation. Vero must know very little about the Philippines

  if she thought Ligaya needed lessons on corrupt politicians. In the

  Philippines, there is no other kind of politician.

  “So we’re not supposed to, technically speaking, leave you alone with

  the kids overnight, if we’re going exactly by the book.” Vero paused

  here as if waiting for Ligaya to speak, but Ligaya did not know what

  she was meant to say. She felt relief when Vero continued. “But we

  will pay you overtime for those extra hours. Overtime to sleep. It’s in

  your best interest.” Supposed to’s, technicalities, bent rules, and best

  interests—this is the language of the politicians Ligaya knows. This,

  she understood. Ligaya nodded at Vero. “Yes, it is no problem. The

  extra hours. It is fine. It is good.”

  Fine. Ligaya would take Vero and Shane’s money to sleep. She cal-

  culated how much she would need to save to send special presents

  home to Nene and Totoy. Maybe a bright red Frisbee like the one

  Eliot treasures. Totoy would be old enough now to catch and return

  a decent throw to his sister. Maybe some nice-smelling shampoo for

  Nanay too. She has heard nothing from Pedro, so she will send Pedro

  nothing. Even though Ligaya has agreed to do the extra work, Vero

  192

  Between_interior.indd 192

  14-07-09 2:37 PM

  and Shane still arrange for Gregory and Heather Schoeman to help

  out.

  The mention of their names surpri
ses Ligaya. This North American

  concept of a family made up of people who are never around, of

  grandparents who may as well live in another country, of grandpar-

  ents who may as well go back to South Africa, who visit so seldom,

  they may as well be dead, makes no sense to Ligaya. Less sense than

  snow. Less sense than an extra house full of bicycles. Less sense than

  hiring someone to care for your own children.

  “They’re very busy,” Shane said.

  “And they’re not crazy about kids,” Vero added.

  But the Schoemans, the absentee grandparents, do respond to obli-

  gation. Of a certain kind.

  “We can’t have you working around the clock for a full week,”

  Shane told Ligaya. “We’ll both end up behind bars. You’ll be stuck

  with the boys for good.”

  Ligaya glanced at Vero to see if these prison bars belonged to one

  of Shane’s peculiar jokes.

  “You’ll need some breaks while we’re away, LiLi. And it wouldn’t

  kill Shane’s folks to spend some time with their own grandkids.”

  This comes to Ligaya’s mind when Heather and Gregory appear.

  They look like the visit with Eliot and Jamal might, in fact, kill them.

  Gregory hobbles in the door, leaning his full weight on a golden

  eagle head mounted atop a sturdy black cane. He swings his leg in an

  odd half circle with every step, as if he has no hip joint. These North

  American sports, so bad for the body’s health. He may have been an

  athlete in his youth, but Ligaya cannot imagine him running now.

  How else will he keep up with Eliot and Jamal?

  Heather wears a perfectly pressed beige silk blouse. Beige! Who

  wears beige when caring for children? It will be stained within

  193

  Between_interior.indd 193

  14-07-09 2:37 PM

  minutes. Bright green squares of glass hang from her ears. Mr and

  Mrs Schoeman look like they’ve never spent a moment with young

  children in their entire lives. Ligaya suspects a nanny raised Shane

  through the hardest years, back in South Africa. Jamal would love

  to get his hands onto those bright squares dangling from Mrs

  Schoeman’s ears and yank. Mr and Mrs Schoeman will never survive

  the night. Ligaya wonders if she can in good conscience turn the chil-

  dren over to these near strangers, these ill-prepared caregivers. But,

  Ligaya reminds herself, Jamal and Eliot do not, after all, belong to her.

  This unlikely couple, these are their blood relatives, their real family.

  Ligaya half expects Jamal and Eliot to look at the pair of carefully

  dressed geriatrics and ask their names, but the boys run to them, hurl-

  ing their small thick bodies into the bony old legs hidden beneath

  perfectly pressed pants.

  “Granny!”

  “Granddad!”

  Jamal and Eliot’s faces glow, their bodies buzz with energy. They

  run in tight, fast circles like puppies chasing their tails. They’re as

  excited, as brimming with love, as they might be if this Granny and

  Granddad showed up every afternoon to take the two of them for ice

  cream.

  The generosity of children, thinks Ligaya, but she cannot finish the

  sentence. The thought is too big. She hopes Nene and Totoy will be

  as generous with her when she finally sees them again. She will not

  let herself think if.

  “We’ll bring them back tomorrow morning,” Heather says to

  Ligaya with a tight smile. She fingers the green glass squares hanging

  from her ears with one hand and holds Eliot’s hand with the other.

  The way she somehow holds Eliot’s hand while simultaneously push-

  ing him away from her, using a stiff arm to keep him slightly apart

  194

  Between_interior.indd 194

  14-07-09 2:37 PM

  where he won’t soil or crease her beige blouse—that rigid arm gives

  Ligaya a sad liquid itch in her sinuses.

  “You’re on emergency standby, though, right?” Gregory’s voice

  belongs to a stronger man, the man he must have once been. He leans

  clumsily into his cane, and Ligaya hopes he makes it back down the

  front steps without incident. “We have you on some kind of 911 line?”

  Ligaya sees now where Shane gets his odd way of speaking. “Oh

  no,” she smiles. “No 911. But I am right here if you need.” She puts

  a hand on Eliot’s head but quickly pulls it away in case Mr and Mrs

  Schoeman think the gesture too proprietary. And then she instantly

  regrets the furtive withdrawal. She does not wish to seem nervous,

  untrustworthy. She is surprised to find herself auditioning for these

  two. They are not, she reminds herself, her employers. She smiles

  again in a way she hopes seems more natural. “The boys be good for

  you. Good for their Granny and Granddad. Okay, boys?”

  With Eliot and Jamal gone for the night, Ligaya invites Cheska

  to the house. She rarely invites friends, even though when she first

  arrived, Vero said, “Have friends over! This is your home!” Vero made

  the invitation with her eyes stretched wide open, an expression Ligaya

  still couldn’t decode. Ligaya took her at her word, though, and did

  treat the basement as her home, at first. She and Cheska sat at the

  tea table, cross-legged on the carpet, eating bowls of leftover curry,

  pilfered from the upstairs’ fridge. They watched romantic comedies

  and did each other’s hair in complicated braids. They put on makeup

  that they bought at the Walmart and took photos of their fancy faces,

  posting dozens on Facebook. Look! See the fun we’re having! In our new

  country! Life is good! Still, the house never felt like her home. Cheska

  scurried in the side door and straight down to the basement, scared of

  being cornered by Vero, harassed by her well-intentioned questions.

  “Do you like it here in Sprucedale?”

  195

  Between_interior.indd 195

  14-07-09 2:37 PM

  “Is Mrs Parks treating you well?”

  “Do you miss the Philippines?”

  Ligaya hated to see Cheska stuck there between the side door

  and the basement stairs, a look of stupid terror paralyzing her face

  because Cheska feared misunderstanding Vero’s rapid-fire questions,

  feared that Vero would be unable to interpret her heavy accent, feared

  that she might answer the questions the wrong way. In Cheska’s face,

  Ligaya saw a mirror of herself and felt humiliation rise in her, filling

  her like hot water, from her feet up. This liquid heat would drown

  her. Ligaya suppressed the bubbling rush of humiliation by telling

  herself that she knew better than Cheska, she understood more than

  Cheska—she would teach Cheska. She told herself that she only

  imagined her own face in Cheska’s. It is not so.

  “Don’t say okay,” Ligaya told Cheska when they were safely in the

  basement. “North Americans do not like the word okay. Tell them it

  is ‘great!’ Everything is wonderful! Don’t say ‘grand,’ though. If you

  say grand, they think you mock them. It is too much, grand, but okay,

  it is not enough. Say: Good! Good! Good!”

  The ridiculousness of these distinctions made Ligaya and Cheska


  smile and then, in a flood of relief, giggle, and forget their humilia-

  tion. How could they be expected to know something is wrong with

  “okay”? It would take them a lifetime to learn all these silly rules.

  Even once they made it past Vero and downstairs—into “Ligaya’s

  house,” as Eliot calls it—they were not entirely safe. Shane would

  come jogging down to his weight room, his shirt off and tucked into

  his waistband, his chest slick with the sweat of a recent bike ride, his

  rear end comically exposed in spandex shorts. “Do you girls mind?” he

  asked, wiping his face with the tail of his shirt. “If I do a few weights?”

  They smiled and nodded, Ligaya hating their muteness in the face

  of this man.

  196

  Between_interior.indd 196

  14-07-09 2:37 PM

  “Just gonna pump some iron here, ladies,” he continued, flexing his

  muscles, pushing an imaginary barbell from his chest. Ligaya won-

  dered if he might be as uncomfortable as they were. “Wanna take a

  turn? I could give you girls some lessons. We could make a run for the

  Philippines’ Olympic team. The country’s first women weightlifters.”

  “Oh no. No, no, no,” they giggled, backing away from Shane’s jokes,

  his naked chest, backing toward Ligaya’s only truly private space. Safe

  inside Ligaya’s bedroom, Cheska stuffed a roll of socks down her

  pants, gyrated her hips, and flexed her muscles. Ligaya clamped her

  palm flat over Cheska’s mouth so Shane couldn’t hear their giggles.

  This country has transformed them into teenaged girls. The place that

  promised to move them forward into prosperity has taken them back-

  ward into adolescence.

  Even with Vero and Shane away, Ligaya feels that Cheska’s pres-

  ence in the house is a transgression. Cheska is not Shane’s friend,

  and this is Shane’s house. Still, Ligaya puts a mattress on the floor

  of the sitting room, by Shane’s weights, and invites Cheska to stay

  overnight. “Cheska will be our secret,” she says to Eliot and Jamal.

  “Part of the Philippines game.” Cheska looks much like Ligaya, could

  be a younger sister, but Cheska smiles more than Ligaya does. Cheska

  eats more too and talks more. Cheska does everything more. “Eliot

  and Jamal will not tell,” Ligaya assures her. “They know this word,

  sumbungero.” Tattletale. “My boys are no tattletales.” Eliot and Jamal