All the Finest Girls

by Alexandra Styron

  “I cyaant stay long. I’m sorry, but I cyaant. For I got to see my sweetheart.”

  I thought of what Thermuda had said on the bus, about Errol acting crazy. He didn’t seem crazy so much as sad and dreamy, like a man talking in his sleep.

  “When?” I asked quietly.

  “A piece later,” he replied, nodding. He sat back and looked off into the middle distance.

  “That’s nice,” I said, at a loss.

  A smile spread across his face.

  “We’re going for a sail. Cinema Girl and me. My boy say he gonna put out the boat, and then me and she are going for a sail. Yes, we are.”

  Oh Lord, I thought. Turning again, he stared me right in the eye, his brow furrowed.

  “How you think I look?

  My throat felt like I’d swallowed a rock.

  “Swell,” I answered. “You look swell.”

  Errol looked down at his sunken chest and smoothed the front of his shirt. Then he nodded again and looked back out into nowhere.

  “Gonna have to look my best. My girl, she wants to see me again. Said she’d go for a sail.”

  My head seemed to lift away from me. All the questions I’d had for Errol were suddenly meaningless. They drifted out and away on the moist air.

  “Set me as a seal upon thy heart,” he said, a dreamy smile playing across his face. “Yes, indeed. As a seal upon thy arm. Mmhmm.”

  After that, Errol was silent, and in time, I dozed. When I woke I found myself alone, uncertain Errol had ever been there. The clock above the bar read half past three, and with a groan I realized I’d missed Marva and the bus. My arms and legs were murderously painful to the touch. After a couple false starts, I gathered myself and made my way through the empty restaurant and back down the Eldertown promenade.

  25

  ADDY?”

  The sea today is glass, smudged with gray. After rain. In the box where we sit, Cat and I, the surfaces are also flat, but made of harder stuff. No door. No in, no out. In this box we move ourselves about, and it seems, if you look at us, normal. But that’s a trick. We know better. We know better, in the box.

  “Snooks? Her taxi’s waiting. I want you to come out and say good-bye. This instant. Do you hear me?”

  Cat pulls up and down, up and down on the skin of my thighs. Elongates his body, makes the slow crawl up my chest toward my face. Soon he’ll cover my eyes and the wet, sticky fur will clog my throat. This is how it goes in our box. There will be darkness where only I can see. In the light, I am blind.

  “Oh, Addy.”

  Oh Addy. Up rises Mom’s voice, then down. Down, sad, disappointed, mad. Too, too bad. Nothing I can do. Clitter clatter of her shoes on the stairs.

  We’ll miss you so, Louise, and again, I’m sorry —

  Front door closes; the taxi driver, whoosh, opens his van. Cat’s fur on my tongue tastes of all the badness I know. I turn away from the ocean view, before nothing closes over me entirely, and watch Lou climb into her taxi.

  I knock, once, but my box is hard and closed.

  Prrrr is Cat. Against me.

  That is all.

  26

  IN THE TWILIGHT, I made my way back to Eldertown’s center where the cruise ship docks met the main avenue. Before I had left Foxy’s, a tour around the restaurant turned up neither Errol nor Derek. Lunch was long over, the dinner hour not yet begun, and except for two women chopping vegetables in the back of the kitchen, the place was empty. At the sink behind the bar, I drank a glass of water and splashed some on my face. Then I moved along as swiftly as I could, mindful of the approaching evening and Lou’s wake.

  Outside, the air was warm and heavy, but the sun had thankfully disappeared behind the hillside. Figuring that Marva hadn’t waited for me, I hailed the first cab I saw. The driver, with a look of alarm on his face, moved more quickly to open my door than I’d seen anyone move in two days. I understood his urgency once I’d finally settled in the cab.

  “Whereyouwannago?” he said, eyeing me in the rearview mirror while simultaneously careering around the town’s central rotary.

  “Petionville,” I said, hoping I’d recognize the Alfreds’ house when we were near.

  My answer wasn’t what the driver expected. He made a quick, hairy right turn at the last minute, away from the harbor road and the big hotels.

  “Petionville?” he repeated, slamming on the brakes.

  I nodded and, in the rearview mirror, got a good look at myself. Pretty Pearl, as Sebumbo had called me, I definitely was not.

  All of my exposed skin was an angry red. The neckline of my dress, under which I was still paper white, exposed the extremity of the contrast. My face was swollen, so much so that my cheeks had puffed up over my lower eyelashes, partly obscuring my vision. Even the tops of my feet and my toes were fried to a crisp.

  The next stages I could predict. My skin would turn oily at first, coming to a greasy sheen like that of a roasting pig. Then the burn would begin to subside, the dead skin turning from a dry and crusted brown to gray before it began to fall away. The peeling process would take weeks, and under the flakes of brown would be the pink, defenseless, easily scarred new layer. I would shower dead skin like a snowfall. I sat up in my seat and made myself stare into the mirror one more time.

  Brugadung girl. Damn foolish brugadung girl.

  “Petionville. Yes,” I said, leaning over from the backseat and trying to smile. “Whatever way is quickest.”

  Derek of course was right, and now that I was fully conscious, the truth struck me as if I’d been beaned in the head with a brick. Words and images — the long the tale Marva had told me, Derek’s tirade, Mackie Goodson’s grim face, the lost musings of Lou’s true love — all lay over and against one another. Bright, dark, some bleeding together, others hard and painful to touch, broken at the edges. There were all these people, I thought, strangers to me, who were joined together in every crack and fiber by one woman, whose face I was still struggling to recall.

  What in the hell was I doing there? The sharp blade of Derek’s pronouncement — that I didn’t much matter in the grand scheme of Lou’s life — cut me with deep force. I had loved Louise Alfred. But was that why I had come? Who was I really mourning?

  My taxi driver was patient while I made an effort to direct him along the back roads of Petionville. A big, burly post of a man in a gaily colored Hawaiian shirt, he seemed mostly relieved I hadn’t expired in his cab. At last, after several wrong turns, I spotted the Alfreds’ house. All the lights were on inside, and the faint sound of many voices grew ever louder as we made our approach. On both sides of the narrow road, cars were parked bumper to bumper.

  “Yah going to a party, den?” said the driver, grinning back at me. I could tell he was surprised that a white girl, a tourist, was making the scene on this side of the island.

  “Sort of,” I said, feeling a wrench of nervousness in my stomach.

  “So you gwan have a fine time! We knows how to party on St. Clair. Believe you me!”

  “Listen,” I said, interrupting him and pulling some cash from my wallet. “Would you wait a few minutes and then drive me back to Eldertown? I won’t be long.”

  The driver craned his head out the window, cocking an ear in the direction of the back lawn. Someone was playing a pretty melody on a steel drum. A joyful cry rose above the beat.

  “Why you wanna go, man? Dat’s nice music.”

  Plainly, he was waiting for me to invite him in.

  “Just give me five minutes!” I shouted, leaving him idling on the road as I scooted inside.

  The front of the house was empty, and I was able to sneak down the hallway to Marva and Lou’s bedroom without detection. I slipped inside and went immediately for my bag but was stopped by what I saw out the window over Marva’s bed. I shielded my eyes from the light in the room and leaned up against the screen.

  In the greenish glow of the bug-stuck backyard floodlight, I could see Philip up on a chair. He was holding th
e end of a string of little Christmas lights. Laughing, he shouted back to Mackie Goodson, who stood by the side of the house, holding the plug and waiting. When Philip gave him the thumbs up, Mackie connected the wire. The backyard lit up, twinkling like the Milky Way. A roar came from what I could now see was a crowd of people gathered about the Alfreds’ small square of yard.

  In all, there were maybe seventy-five people. Nearly the whole village, I guessed, and some from elsewhere too. Holding beer bottles and plastic cups, they stood about in thick bunches, talking and laughing, enjoying themselves. A three-piece band, set up on the edge of the cliff, began to play again, and soon everyone seemed to catch a festive spirit. Over by the drum set, I could make out Clifton and Sebumbo, looking hopelessly awkward in crisp collared shirts, nodding their heads and tapping feet in near perfect unison.

  Near the back door, I caught sight of Mr. Alfred seated in a slightly elevated spot, a blanket around his legs. Two women on either side kept him company. Cyril ran by the window in a flash, dressed in a suit with short pants that he’d already managed to rip at one pocket. Shaking up a bottle of soda, he was chasing a smaller boy in and out of people’s legs until someone grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him in close. Marva stood by a buffet table with Floria, filling plate after plate and robustly dismissing a couple of women who were trying to relieve her of her job.

  I don’t know what I’d expected. A wake. A hushed household into which I would have to apologetically crash. But as with nearly every other assumption I’d made on this trip, I was mistaken. The Alfreds were throwing Lou a good-bye party. They were celebrating her life. As I leaned against the window, it began to come to me. Lou had had a life. Where was mine? Not here, I thought, aware suddenly of Lou’s rich smell still hanging in the room. Not here. I turned around and just for a moment, I could actually see her, remember her face, feel her right there before me. With hot tears again on my cheeks, I began to gather my belongings.

  When I’d finished packing, I found a scrap of paper and scribbled a note to the family. It was a cowardly thing, full of dumb apology and thankful for their kindness. The paltriness of my sentiment left a bitter taste in my mouth, but at that point I was beyond a solution for myself.

  I took one last look out the window. Among the hubbub of the party, I could see a half dozen young girls in pressed cotton dresses, standing together as space was cleared around them. Marva was hugging a new guest, drawing him into her big arms and the circle of her family. Sick with sadness, I grabbed my bag and headed back out into the hallway.

  I didn’t get very far. My hand was not yet on the front doorknob when the same door swung open and I stood nearly toe to toe with Derek.

  “Watch yah head, Papa,” he said, standing aside as Errol, so tall he had to stoop, made his way inside the Alfreds’ house.

  Wearing a checkered sport coat now, his thinning hair groomed perfectly back, he looked far more like the elderly man he was than he had appeared to me at Foxy’s. His movements were halting, unsure, and he stared nervously down at his shoes while he waited for his son to direct him. Closing the door, Derek saw me in the shadows and, without betraying any reaction, led Errol my way.

  “Papa, this is Adelaide Abraham. From the States.”

  Errol looked up, distracted, and gave me his hand in a thoroughly automatic way. His face was lined heavily with sorrow, his eyes deep in their sockets. He clearly didn’t remember me. Something had changed; he’d come back from his state of shock, I suspect, and the hard facts of death had wrung the day right out of him. Derek and I said nothing to each other.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Errol, his voice weak and reedy.

  “And you,” I said, taking his outstretched hand. “I’m so very sorry.”

  Errol nodded. And then, all at once as he was still shaking my hand, he began to cry. The tears coursed down his cheeks, and his lower lip curled, trembling.

  “Oh God,” he said, barely getting the words out of his quivering mouth. He looked up to the ceiling. “Oh God. I just loved her.”

  I stood holding the man’s hand as he kept trying to control his outburst. For a second, Derek and I locked eyes. Then I watched as his gaze traveled to my bag, slung over my shoulder. He looked back at his father, and it seemed to me as if he might break apart at any instant. Clearing his throat, eyes layered with tears, Derek put a gentle hand on his father’s back.

  “Papa, I got to check on something, OK?” Derek’s voice broke. “Yah want to sit here for a minute?”

  “Let’s get you a little tea,” I said, fishing a Kleenex from my jacket pocket.

  Without looking at me again, Derek took his father’s elbow and transferred the man’s weight from his own hand to mine. Errol didn’t hesitate but, like a little boy, seemed ready to do what he was told. Breaking into a jog, Derek went down the hallway and closed the door to his room behind him.

  “Come now,” I said, leading Errol into the living room. “It’s going to be OK. Let’s just have a seat.”

  Errol bent his long frame into one of the low chairs, knees nearly level with his shoulders. He continued to weep, and I dabbed his eyes once before handing him the packet of tissues.

  “I am a fool,” he said, his mouth full of teary saliva.

  “It’s all right,” I said, smoothing his brow and then slipping out for the tea.

  The kitchen was empty. I rinsed a pot, putting water on to boil. Hearing the sound of rhythmic clapping, I moved over to the back door and leaned out. Marva turned and smiled, touching a cheek out of sympathy for my sunburn before turning her attention back to the entertainment. The mourners stood off to the sides of the yard while the little girls fanned out to form a broad circle.

  Clapping in unison, the children began to move, to the left a turn and then the right. All the grown-ups, following the girls’ lead, clapped along. After a couple of turns, the girls began to sing. Their voices, precise and high, were easy to follow, though I couldn’t grasp the meaning of their words. One by one, the girls jumped into the center, singing a solo verse. They sang:

  Nou ka mouté anro-che lapé

  Eliza Congo!

  Mouin ka mouté anro~a ché lapé

  Eliza Congo!

  Ay jou-joup, jou-joup, jou-joup

  Nou ka mandé

  Eliza Congo!

  On and on went the song, to the left and to the right went the circle of girls, their bright faces fixed in concentration. Many of the older women nodded and sang along. Cyril, who had plopped himself down on the ground, followed the girls’ movements, mesmerized. When the song was done, the mourners burst into applause, and then one girl moved to the center of the stage. It was the girl in the saffron dress I’d seen with Cyril that morning. In a tremulous soprano, she delivered a mournful solo.

  Green gravel, green gravel, a bow

  Shall be,

  And a bow shall be and a kiss to you.

  Will you get up and look at your hands and face,

  And a bow to me, and a kiss to you?

  The song subdued the mourners and though they applauded, most seemed given over to their loss. I brought the tea to Errol, who had managed to compose himself a bit and offered me a shy but handsome grin.

  “Where’s that party at?” he asked, looking up at me.

  We walked outside under the twinkling lights. Every head had turned when the back door opened, but among all the faces, I saw not one that betrayed any displeasure. A couple people lifted their hands to Errol in silent greeting, others looked politely away from his evident sorrow. Marva, her body loose with relief, marched forward from the crowd and embraced him.

  “I knew it,” she said, grinning as she rocked him from side to side, “I always knew it.”

  Errol allowed himself to be held, by Marva, then by Philip, and finally by Floria, each one drawing him further into the net of people waiting to greet him. As he was taken into the crowd, I retreated to an empty spot near the buffet table and soon found a job for myself dishing
out food. The simple activity made me weirdly weepy with happiness, if such a thing as happiness could be had that night. My sunburn became a bearable pain. Soon enough, the band started up again and the yard began to buzz. I hadn’t forgotten about the taxi driver; I spied him with a group of other men, sharing a joke and swaying to the music.

  I was still near the kitchen door, filling plates, when Derek came out, holding a small piece of paper in his hand. He kept his head down and moved straight for the ice bucket, not looking up when Philip came over and wrapped an arm around him. I heard Derek say, gruffly, as he cracked open a beer, “I just didn’t think he should be by himself is all.”

  “Well, thanks,” replied Philip, and without commotion, he backed away. Derek got under the fluorescent light and cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me, people! I just wanted to say —” he called out loudly.

  A whistle from the back of the crowd stilled the group.

  “Excuse me, people! Thank you. I just wanted to say. I just wanted to say that we’re glad to have you all here with us.” Derek’s voice quivered slightly, but he was dry-eyed now, graceful in his manner, and spoke carefully. Once or twice he consulted the piece of paper in his hands, but I don’t think he needed prompting. His thoughts seemed to flow from his heart in an even wave.

  “My aunt, my grandfather, my son, Cyril, Philip and me — we’re grateful to all of yah for being wit us through this. We don’t really know how Mumma died. And I guess we’ll never know. But I was tinking this afternoon and I figured out how it doesn’t really matter. Dat’s not what matters. I took a long, long walk and me feeling angry at a bunch of tings.” Derek looked down and scuffed his shoe in the dirt. Then he looked back out at the crowd again. “And me tinking why. Why dis? Why dat? And den I remembered dat saying about how ours is not to wonder why. When I was a boy I had a chance to tink about did my mumma love me enough. I troubled myself a lot about dat. But it’s now I realize it doesn’t matter if yah are loved. It’s enough to love. Whether yah loved back or not. Yah don’t ask why, yah just do. I tink dat’s de way my mumma always lived. She loved all of yah here tonight. So. Anyway. I just wanted to say that, and thank you all for being here with us. Stay and we’ll celebrate her.”