Binding Scars

by Maya Rossi

  I stopped to make sure the robe was secure before opening the gate. The woman looked me over. Maybe the guilt was written on my face because her smiling face turned suspicious.

  “Where your Madam?” she asked, peering over my shoulder.

  “She de shop,” I answered in pidgin English.

  “Only you de house, with Oga?”

  I shook my head. “Oga no de--”

  “No be e car be that?”

  Mortified at being caught in a blatant lie, I struggled to breathe. I felt even more ridiculous in my robe. Benita’s robe. “Come inside.”

  I showered and gave her everything she needed and went to the shop. Madam was in high spirits. She told me to get something for myself and gave me more money for transport than I needed.

  “The money is too much,” I protested.

  She laughed and hugged me tight. Her pretty, far skin tinged pink. “Today’s a great day. Hurry so you can celebrate with me.”

  Usually, I would have celebrated with her, drowned in her happiness. But not today. The guilt was killing me. Surprisingly, there was no traffic, so I made it to the Island and back in time for the party.

  I walked into an ambush instead.

  It was our neighbor to the right, Mommy Isaiah. Too many times that woman had put me in trouble, reporting every perceived act of disobedience, both real and imagined. I dodged the chairs assembled around the buffet table. Hunched over to make my body as unobstructive as possible, I clutched my package to my chest and headed towards the house.

  The music was low, a gentle beat,, but it pounded through my skull. They were colorful balloons and ribbons and even a spot where photographs could be taken. Halfway through the small crowd, I was stopped.

  By Pa Nonso.

  He wore a blindingly white native shirt, stretched tight over his bulging belly with trousers. Legs spread wide, beer bottles scattered in a graceless arc between his legs, he looked in his element.

  I bowed low. “Good evening, sir.”

  “So respectful,” he said to his friends.

  They laughed raucously. One drew me to his lap, I struggled to hold on to the bags.

  “Ada!”

  Madam appeared, looking hostile and battle ready. Pa Nonso smiled winningly. “Our wife.”

  “Don’t touch my maid again.” She held out her hand to me. “Come.”

  She led me to Mommy Isaiah. “She said she saw you.”

  “She used to run around with one boy in the shop,” Mommy Isaiah said. She was a small woman with a big nose. One of those people who loitered around the rich, hoping and panting for favors like a dog begging for treats.

  A widow with five children to feed, she was pitiable, almost helpless. Many tried to help her. Madam especially gave her things. Clothes, jewelleries and stuff for Christmas and thanksgiving. In return she took it upon herself to act like a caretaker, butting her head in my business.

  “...irresponsible, disrespectful. I saw her on a bike--”

  “Maybe I went to buy something.”

  “No,” Mommy Isaiah insisted. “You and that boy were together.”

  She looked at Madam expectantly. Madam returned the look until Mommy Isaiah fidgeted. Then arched an eyebrow in my direction. “Well?”

  “I haven’t been running around with any boy. Where will I see the time?”

  “You lie,” Mommy Isaiah huffed indignantly. “I saw you.”

  “I haven’t been running around anywhere. I do my work, mind my business.” It was a lie. I dropped my eyes to the ground, unable to hold Madam’s gaze any longer.

  Never lie to your Madam.

  Build trust.

  I shivered. “I’m sorry.”

  “You see?” Mommy Isaiah roared fanatically. “I told you.”

  Madam nodded. “Thank--”

  “Madam,” the cook called from the kitchen, “I done finish.”

  “We need to start serving, everyone is here,” Madam adjusted her head tie, jutted her chin out menacingly, “I will deal with you later, Ada. Is this what you do when I’m not around? Carry boys?”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with children these days,” Mommy Isaiah echoed, trying to pour fuel into an already blazing fire.

  Madam placed a hand on Mommy Isaiah’s shoulders. “I can’t thank you enough. Stay for the party. Eat, take something for the children. I will deal with her later.”

  With a simpering smile at Madam and a glare to keep me where I belonged, Mommy Isaiah slinked off.

  Madam sighed. “You lied, just now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you get everything? Benita is waiting in her room.”

  “Yes, ma.”

  She rolled one of rings around her finger. “What she said, is it true?”

  I pressed a finger to my left cheek, fingering the scar. Madam drew my hand away. “Stop that. Just answer the question.”

  I could not tell her about Merrick. No one around here could have seen me with Merrick. “I wanted to help Babalola’s maid.”

  She closed her eyes, looking resigned. “You mentioned you knew her.”

  “Yes, ma.”

  “From Madam Gold.”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned at me, her eyebrows creased, eyes dark with worry. “Something’s wrong.”

  I badly wanted to tell her. About Merrick. About going to school. About Oga. But I couldn’t. Would our special relationship survive it? I didn’t want to find out. “I’m fine.”

  “No… no you’re not. You must tell me what’s wrong?”

  My heart seized painfully.

  “But not now. Many people responded to the invitation. I should have hired a server.” She rubbed my arm apologetically. “Sorry, you’ll be swamped.”

  “No, problem, ma.”

  “Finnnne girl!”

  Madam pulled away, laughing to hug her friends. Some stopped to say hello to me. Aunty Yemi called me aside.

  “I heard about the fire at the hotel. Are you alright?”

  Aunty Yemi was my favorite of Madam’s friends. She didn’t make me run around— not that there was anything wrong with that. But there was nothing worse than an indecisive person giving orders.

  She led me to the side of the house, away from the others. I gasped. She looked ill. There were bags under her eyes, a fading bruise on her jaw.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “Wendy still treating you well?”

  “Yes, ma.” I smiled, hoping it would take away my reaction to her appearance. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

  “Thanks.” She pointed at the bags. “What’s that?”

  My heart sank. “It’s for Benita.”

  She pushed me forward. “You better go.”

  I ran into Benita in front of the kitchen. She slapped me. “What took you so long?”

  Then she grabbed the bags and ran inside.

  “Ada?”

  It was the cook. The heat of the kitchen slammed into me. Sweat poured like water down the cook’s face. She pointed at the various coolers. “There’s the rice, meat and more meat.”

  I opened the nearest cooler and gave her a look of disbelief. “I brought out the meat before I left. This can’t be all of it.”

  She shrugged carelessly and grabbed her bag. “Na your concern.”

  Cheeks smarting from the slap Benita dealt it, I dove for her bag, tearing it from her grasp. Fried meat and drinks rained everywhere.

  “You thief!”

  As I rushed her, she burst into laughter. Surprise halted my movements. What now?”

  “You forget I see you with Oga.”

  I scrambled off her, trembling in fear. “Nothing happen.”

  “Really? Make I tell Madam?”

  I stood by and did nothing, fear a bitter taste on my tongue. She smirked. “Mind your business. Or I tell.” She gathered her meat and left.

  I pondered the remaining meat. How do I arrange the small meat so Madam wouldn’t notice?

&
nbsp; I put a crate of egg to boil. Then I took out the plates and began to serve. By the time I was done with the rice, the eggs were ready. Sweat poured down my face as I removed the shells quickly. I lost sense of time and place, moving as fast as my legs would carry me, serving and receiving orders.

  Halfway through the guests, Madam called me. She mopped my face with her handkerchief. “I’ve called Mary, your friend? She will help serve those outside. Bring food for those inside.”

  The dancing light in my eyes and relief at having help made me smile. I didn’t have time to chat with Mary except to let her know where I stopped. She looked great this evening, with the color in her cheek and the spring in her step.

  Catching my worried look, she shooed me back into the kitchen. “I’m fine, I swear.”

  I used the special plates for the guests in the living room. With the tray balanced by my hip, I made excuses and called out warnings as I pushed through the crowd.

  It was during the fourth batch I noticed him. Someone pushed me from the back, and I tipped forward. My only thought was how embarrassed Madam would feel. Suddenly someone caught the tray.

  Quickly, I found my balance. “Thank you sir, sorry, sir-- Merrick!”

  His mouth dropped open. We floundered for a second, saying nothing. “Hey,” he said.

  I stared into his dark shades. He kept his grip on the tray. For one second, we both held on to the tray. He was smiling, looked happy to see me.

  “Who did you--”

  “What are you--” We asked at the same time. He smirked. “Ladies first.”

  Madam appeared at his side, tucked her hand through his. “You’ve met one of my favorite people. That’s my maid, Ada. Ada meet my son, Merrick.”

  He released the tray and straightened so fast, it wobbled in my slack grip for a second.

  I smiled toothily. “Welcome home, sir.”

  I should thank him.

  “Thank you, sir.” I even bowed.

  I didn’t think; I worked. And worked. And worked. By the time the party drew to a close, my legs and arms ached. Even my eyelashes ached.

  Mary was not much better.

  When the very last guest had been served, and those who wanted second helpings had eaten their fill, I sat with Mary in the kitchen contemplating the pile of dirty dishes. Outside was worse, spilled drinks, littered bottles and those chairs.

  “I can’t believe our Merrick is your Madam’s son,” Mary said for the hundredth time. Riggy and Joy must have sung his praises to her.

  I kept quiet.

  “Maybe he has a twin?”

  I stared at the gas cooker. The hired cook hadn’t even bothered to clean it.

  “Did he know who you were?” Mary caught my hand. “If he did, you must be careful.”

  When I still said nothing. She rose. “I will see if Riggy and Joy can sneak out to help with this.”

  I didn’t even say goodbye or see her out. I remained in that spot, staring at the dirty gas cooker.

  Chapter nine

  “Who works harder than the devil?”

  Mary playfully slapped Joy on the shoulder. “What has the devil got to do with Merrick?”

  It was a Saturday. After the madness of the past week, this was one morning people lingered in bed, rose late and just lazed about. There were neighbors visiting, holding conversations through their fences, discussing in front of their homes.

  It wasn’t a typical Saturday.

  “... that’s how it goes. The only friend we’ve made, and he’s already playing for the other team?”

  It hurt more to hear Joy say it out loud. I left the line of people waiting to use the mechanical grinder to sit on the low fence. Riggy shifted to the right to make space for me. Since the beating she was quieter and jumpy. Something else happened that day to change her. I should ask, but I had Merrick being in the house to worry about.

  I sighed.

  “He’s really at home, right now?” Riggy asked.

  “Yes.”

  We grew quiet. The anxiety in my breast eased, and I took my first full breath of the day. The first person in line, a boy of around six, a new maid, took his bucket full of ground beans. Or was it tomato? He staggered over his burden, nearly tripping on his feet. I clenched my fist and planted my feet to stop myself from running to him.

  I hated when the maids were these young. They spent more time on their backs nursing injuries from a beating than actually working.

  We all watched the boy stumble his way home. The tomatoes leaking from the sides of the bucket. From nowhere, Merrick appeared. The boy smiled at him, saying something. In the slow light of the morning, his tattoos stood out, stark and beautiful.

  “Why does he wear those glasses all the time?” Riggy asked.

  He helped the boy with the bucket and walked him home.

  “He really is nice,” Riggy said.

  Her regretful sigh would have been funny, except it wasn’t. “That ‘help’ will only get that boy more beating,” I snapped.

  Riggy didn’t reply, and soon it was our turn. As always, we waited for each other even though it would likely get Riggy and Mary punished. Surprisingly, it was Joy who tried to get us moving, harrassing the shop owner to hurry.

  “You don’t have to fucking rinse that cover for the five millionth time, Mary. Let’s get out here.”

  Mary shook the water from the cover on Joy in retaliation. “What’s your problem? I thought you’re immune to punishment since you started fucking Oga?”

  Silence.

  The woman operating the engine stopped to gape. Joy flew off the handle, spit dotting her upper lip, shoulders shaking in rage and mortification. “Shut… the fuck up. At least I’m not the one who sickness has turned into a fucking baby.”

  They stood off, their frustration high, survival uppermost on their minds. I looked to Riggy expecting her to break them up. They weren’t just going at it; they could expose potentially deadly secrets.

  But Riggy took hold of her bright green buckets and started for home. I grabbed my bucket and followed. At the end of the street, Merrick stood with a group of guys. These boys owned the street, everything ran through them. They were bullies, rich and careless with their wealth in a way people who had never had to worry about money were.

  I spotted my former Oga’s son, Ayo Babalola.

  Why had I not seen it before? Merrick fit in, effortlessly. An Oga’s son.

  As we got close to the group, I could make out a bit of their loud argument. A football match of yesterday. The few times I went to a viewing center, the place had been rowdy, the voices loud with friendly banter. But last night, Oga and son sat shoulders straight and tight, expression grim like they were being forced to watch the match together.

  Not like these boys.

  One boy separated from the group and got close. He was handsome enough, black with the rough, unshaven hair that was all the rage these days. “Fine girl.”

  Ayo Babalola snickered.

  Riggy walked faster.

  “Riggy. Ada,” Merrick called.

  Ayo stepped close. “You know them?”

  “Give me a minute,” Merrick ordered.

  We stopped. “Sir?”

  To his credit, he led us some ways away from the other guys. He looked adorably confused, looking from one unfriendly face to the other. He truly had no idea.

  “You need anything, sir?” I asked.

  Merrick was floored. “What’s this? I understand you pretending you don’t—”

  “There’s no pretending, sir. I don’t know you.”

  Riggy gave me a pointed look, a reprimand. “Merrick? You’re your Madam’s son, she can’t know you.”

  “So much for being broke, huh?” I snapped.

  “Ada!” Riggy hissed.

  I widened my eyes in false innocence. “What? That’s what he told me.”

  Merrick glanced at the watchful guys, shoved his hand into a pocket and nodded. “Yeah, go on.”

  An ach
e I refused to examine too closely bloomed beneath my breast. “That’s it?”