Dahlia Daley begged for everything. A strange thing, since her mother was none other than Merlene, owner of Merlene’s Bar and Grill; quite a successful business, if you asked some men – a curse on the face of the earth, if you asked the women.
Dahlia Daley never spoke of her mother’s business, and no one at school was brave enough to discuss it in front of her. At least, not since the day Portia Walker got her ‘donut’. Dahlia had asked Portia Walker for the rest of her box juice. Portia suggested that, instead of begging, Dahlia could simply offer the boys some of the services that her mother offered at her bar. Slugga (Mrs. Simpson, the headmistress, so called because of the story that she had once punched a boy, much larger than herself, unconscious) witnessed the said box juice being slammed straight into poor Portia’s face, leaving a scar, as round as a donut, over Portia’s eye. Dahlia had been suspended for a week after that.
But, secretly, while others scoffed at Dahlia Daley, Nola found her a comfort. Dahlia Daley was ugly. Uglier even than Nola. Her dark skin did nothing to hide the pock marks of picked pimples, and her hair was always braided so haphazardly that the plaits stuck out like little blackbirds perched atop a tree. But, the ugliest thing of all was the girl’s nose. A huge, bulbous thing, melding downwards and joining the girl’s upper lip in one united feature.
Yet, despite the ugliness pressed unto her shoulders, Dahlia was as carefree as any of the pretty ‘brownings’ attending Redding Secondary. She just didn’t care that the others laughed behind her back, and that most of her social interactions were limited to begging, copying homework, or pounding a juice box into someone’s face.
Nola watched the girl’s lips smacking noisily on a piece of cheese. There was no denying that they were drawn together, she and Dahlia; not by any formal agreement of friendship, but by the unwritten code of the two black girls being paired off.
Nola wasn’t like Louisa, who was constantly being visited by Toneisha Johnson, and who sat huddled for hours in her bedroom giggling over ‘boy’ stories. Mama said that Toneisha was the reason Louisa had failed her exams, but Papa said that Louisa didn’t need exams. She was too beautiful to worry about schoolwork. Some rich man was waiting for the opportunity to take care of her. Nola, on the other hand, had better work damn hard. So, while Louisa waited for this rich husband, she stayed at home and helped Mama with her chutneys and jams.
Nola sighed and asked Dahlia, “You do you math homework?”
“We get math homework?” Dahlia blinked back.
Nola sighed again. Slugga, who was temporarily subbing as their math teacher, had warned that anyone who hadn’t done the equations would have to remain after school to help Junior plant geranium seedlings in the beds outside of the office. Dahlia would definitely be gardening that afternoon.
The bell rang and Dahlia jumped up, trotting eagerly towards the classroom. Clarice Johnson and Faith Bernard snorted scornfully as she flounced by their desks. The ever-prompt Slugga entered the classroom right behind them and silently waited as they stumbled noisily into chairs and fumbled for books.
Nola always felt a secret relief for the headmistress that her nostrils remained uncovered by the thick layer of face powder, allowing her to breathe beneath her mask of ‘dusky-beige’. Truth was, Slugga was more a dusky-brown than a dusky-beige, but under several layers of the powder you couldn’t really tell.
As the noise died down, Slugga gave them her usual greeting – a look of disdain over the rims of her green-framed glasses. Today, her blue and white striped blouse was tucked primly into the waistband of her pants, giving her the appearance of a pin-striped balloon.
“Well …,” dimpled arms crossed over striped chest, “You all had the whole weekend to do those equations.” Stubby nails trailed down a red-lined page in her grade book, “So quickly pass them up.” Green glasses crept back up the page, down the narrow rows of desks, and rested on Dahlia Daley.
Dahlia blinked. Around her there was a flurry of activity as exercise books were passed, row by row, up to the front.
“Dahlia, where is your homework?” Eyebrows climbed above green frames.
Dahlia dug her fingers into her braids, scratching vigorously. Nola gritted her teeth in preparation for the explosion, but, miraculously, it never came—no deepening frown, no shouting about the time wasters in her school, nothing. Slugga just leaned casually over the desk and wrote something in her grade book.
“Okay, page ten in the text book. We are going to start square roots,” she continued, turning to face the blackboard.
Dahlia turned merrily to Delroy Reckus and asked if she could share his book since she’d forgotten hers at home.
The rest of the lesson became a jumble of “this squared” and “that squared,” and overcome by the heat, Nola drifted into a wide-eyed daze. It wasn’t until Slugga called her name that she jumped out of the daze and caught the end of the sentence, “… need you and Dahlia to come to my office at the end of school.” Nola’s heart pulsed. She couldn’t fathom what she’d done to deserve a summons to Slugga’s office!
The office was a mere cubicle, separated from the staff room only by a peeling dry wall. The headmistress’s desk and chair dominated the space, but there was also a filing cabinet, and an additional chair had been squeezed in front of the desk. It was always a painful sight to watch Slugga manoeuvre her generous portions through the musty space to get to her chair.
At the end of school, Nola stood behind Dahlia at the office door hoping beyond hope that the headmistress had said her name by accident. But Slugga looked up from her desk and beckoned them in. Dahlia plopped into the chair in front of the desk while Nola stood hesitantly behind her. Slugga studied them above her glasses, then she opened the forever present grade book and studied the red numerals etched across the page.
“Nola …” Eyebrows lifted again, “I think you would be a good help for Dahlia, a kind of homework police. Make sure that she does her homework every day. I notice that you always do your work, Nola. You’re not into the chatty, chatty like the others. I think it would be good for you to show Dahlia how to organise herself a little better, hand in her assignments on time—hand in her assignments at all!”
Dahlia looked up at Nola and grinned. Now it was Nola’s turn to blink, as she looked from Dahlia’s grinning face to Slugga’s set mask. She tried to speak, but all that came out of her mouth was a choked, “What?”
Slugga ignored the interruption and continued, “The two of you can do homework together in the evenings. You can meet at one of your houses, maybe take turns … one day Nola’s, next day Dahlia’s, and other such delights. It doesn’t matter where, just as long as you do it together. Just as long as you do it!”
Dahlia clapped her hands.
“What?” There it was again. Her throat had closed shut. She wanted to ask the headmistress if she’d gone mad. Didn’t she know who Dahlia Daley was? Who her mama was? How could she go to that place in the evenings, and how could Slugga expect Mama, or worse, Papa, to allow Dahlia Daley into her house?
“What?” she muttered again, but Slugga just flashed a hand in dismissal and told them they could begin the assignment today, with the square roots on page 14.
CHAPTER
4
Dahlia Daley walked in front of Nola with a cheerful bounce. The day’s activities had worked her grey cotton blouse from the waist of her skirt and two of the top buttons had become undone, so the schoolbag on her shoulder snagged it wide open. Every time she turned around to monitor Nola’s progress, her purple bra beamed too.
She was 15, one year older than Nola. But, though Dahlia’s body had all the physical attributes of a grown woman, she was, in every other respect, very much a child. Even now, as Nola followed apprehensively behind, Dahlia ignored the purposeful distance between them. The more Dahlia smiled at her, the more Nola checked to see who might be noticing the exchange.
Two o’clock in the afternoon always brought a rush of activity to Calabash Street.
The only asphalted road in Redding, it ran from one side of the village to the other; from the turn leading to Clysdale Bend, to where it spilled onto the highway. The bus stop was on Calabash Street, to the left of the school gate. Crowds always concentrated there. Also on Calabash Street was Mad Aggie’s shack, a wooden stall in the middle of the sidewalk.
Mad Aggie was Redding’s very own witch. Nola stiffened as she and Dahlia approached the shack, staring ahead so as not to lock eyes with the snarling inhabitant. That afternoon Mad Aggie was leaning over her counter. The bunches of drying bush hanging from the roof seasoned the air with their pungent scent as the girls drew nearer. There was always a pile of fabric in the corner of the shack, and it was these the witch cut into strips and used to tie up her bunches of prized herbs.
Her eyes frightened Nola. They pierced through her, as if reading her very thoughts. Every time the witch looked her way, the kinks on her head unwound and stood on end. She increased her pace to hurry past the stall, but, to her surprise, Dahlia slowed down and flashed a fleshy grin at the witch. And, if Dahlia’s smile was shocking, the witch’s responding smile almost made Nola pass clear out!
A sudden ruckus pulled her attention away. A group of boys were kicking up a storm of dust in front of the stall, shuffling a paper-stuffed juice box between their feet in a spur-of-the-moment game of ‘scrimmage’. Nola looked back at the stall, knowing for certain that the witch would not approve of the boisterous activity. Just as she thought, the woman was creeping from her shack, machete in hand! “If you ever knock over my tings, I goin’ chop up every one of you and feed you to the pigs!” she shrieked.
The boys just laughed. Clinton Bailey, always up for a challenge, suddenly broke from the group and kicked the box, wadded with wet paper, with all his might. It flew like a rockstone, skimming the witch’s countertop and knocking the fresh collection of bush into the street.
Mad Aggie gave a blood-curdling shriek and hauled up the hem of the faded cloth strapped around her waist. Red-crusted toes dug into the ground and she catapulted towards Clinton, machete high above her head. “Folly is bound in the heart of a child,” she bellowed, “but the rod of discipline will drive it far from him!”
Clinton chased down the street, dilly-dallying expertly among pedestrians, bicycles and goats while the rest of the boys held their bellies and fell onto the asphalt in the throes of laughter.
By the time Nola and Dahlia reached the turn off to Jackfuit Lane, the witch was already returning to her stall, quoting scriptures as she scraped up her spilled stalks of bush.
Merlene’s Bar and Grill was off Jackfruit Lane, tucked safely away from the village at the end of Della Way. As they turned on to Della Way and passed Miss June’s shop, Nola kept her head low lest any of the customers recognized her. She silently recited her speech of assurance, that as long as her parents thought she’d made her usual afternoon stop by the river, she would be safe from their finding out about her new duties.
It had been a difficult call, the choice between Slugga’s anger and Papa’s wrath, but she knew that with careful timing she could avoid Papa’s. Slugga’s? Well … the only way to avoid Slugga’s anger was to do what Slugga said.
The question of Dahlia Daley coming to her house was one she’d not even considered, for it would only have been a matter of time before Papa realized who she was, and chased her straight back down Macca Hill.
Nola gave an inward sigh – there were only about eight weeks left till the end of the term, hopefully not too long to keep the assignment a secret.
Anyway, she had always felt that the longer she stayed away from home the better. Papa’s temperament always changed when she was around. No matter how quiet, how inconspicuous she tried to be, just the sight of her seemed to upset him. She’d tried everything – staying out of the sun so that her skin wouldn’t become more blackened by its glare, eating less so that she could be as slim and neat as Louisa. But nothing ever changed that sneer. “This chile getting swartier every day,” he would complain to Mama, or he would cock his head towards the kitchen door and say, “Remember what happen to Mrs. Spence? That’s exactly where you headin’!”
He always referred to that steam bent rocker as if it had been Nola’s fault that it had snapped apart. It had belonged to Granny Pat, the caned seat softly indented from the years of soothing many a sick or fussy child. It had been passed on to Grampy, and it was at those delicately-curled wooden feet that Nola had sat and listened to his tales.
One evening, Mrs. Spence was sitting in the chair, and while making a very strong point to Mama, she had borne down too hard on the worn seat and her rump had snapped the cane and wedged itself firmly into the rim. Her stockinged legs kicked frantically, but the action only served to lodge her tighter in the vise. Her frenzied attempts to free herself caused the chair to explode, sending steam bent missiles flying all over the kitchen while she landed with a wallop on the floor.
Dahlia’s “This way,” brought Nola quickly back to her current dilemma. As they drew closer to the building, Nola’s heart sank further into her chest. The guffaws of boys could be heard coming from the side where the empty crates were stacked. Just her luck, to be spotted with Dahlia on the very first day of the assignment! She sped up, passing Dahlia’s scraping walk. If anyone asked, she could say that she was simply cutting through the open land beyond Merlene’s to pick up eggs from Tanky’s chicken coops.
The voices belonged to Shane Davis, Oliver Reid, Delroy Reckus and Delroy’s younger brother, Devon. They were bent over the crates, each one pushing the long veins of coconut leaves between the stacks, engrossed in the catching of lizards.
Suddenly, Devon let out a yell and yanked his vein, lifting the tightened loop victoriously into the air. A magnificently multi-hued ground lizard swished angrily from the tip, its mouth gagging open from the tight noose.
“Chop off him tail! Chop off him tail and mek it do the duppy dance!” Oliver instructed.
Obediently, Shane reached for the broom leaning beside the crates. It was an old trick, to cut off a lizard’s tail and watch the severed appendage flick itself around. It always made Nola sick. She turned her head away, just in time to see Dahlia lumber past with her drawstring bag held high above her head. The same stance that Mad Aggie had had with her machete just moments before.
It struck Delroy first. Clapped him on the back of his head with a loud whack. Then the girl headed for Devon, but the boy, having had his fair warning from his brother’s yelp, dropped the noose and ran. Dahlia promptly picked up a clump of soil and sailed it at his retreating back. The missile struck with another thwack, knocking him face-down into the dirt before disintegrating into a burst of red powder.
By the time Dahlia turned to face Shane and Oliver, the boys had already reached half-way to Miss June’s shop. The girl swivelled to face poor Devon who was trying desperately to get to his feet. Dahlia jumped, arms pointed forward in a dive, and landed flat on him.
“How you like that, eh? How you like that round your neck? What? You can’t breathe? Poor ting! You want me cut off you tail now? You ready to do the duppy dance?” Dahlia panted into his ear.
Poor Delroy seemed to be suffering from some sort of concussion, for he just stood there, blinking dizzily and rubbing his head as Dahlia strangled his brother.
Nola realized that she had to do something, for, very soon, she was sure Dahlia would find something resembling a tail to cut off of Devon. “Dahlia! The lizard!” she shouted.
It was now deathly black and its head seemed twice its original size. It looked dizzy, crawling from side to side as it dragged its coconut noose behind it.
Dahlia jumped off Devon, picked up the black body and gently worked the coconut vein loose. The lizard’s eyes immediately sank back into their sockets, but the mouth remained open, gagging for breath.
“Alright little lizzie. You okay now. Them wicked boys can’t hurt you no more,” Dahlia cooed. The black body remained stiff in her palm and the li
zard suddenly flashed its tail, and snapped on to the tip of Dahlia’s thumb. Dahlia gave a startled shout and flashed her hand through the air. She pranced in a full circle, flapping her hand up and down while the lizard sailed through the air like a long, black fingernail. Finally, she gave one last swing, and the lizard’s body somersaulted … one, two, three times through the air, before landing with a splat against the wall of Merlene’s Bar and Grill.
The lizard had been saved from its torturous tail-amputation, but it did not survive Dahlia’s launch. Nola looked to see if Delroy and Devon had witnessed the creature’s attack on Dahlia, but they didn’t seem to have been able to notice much. They were both hobbling down the road, Devon sobbing and holding his throat, while Delroy still rubbed his head, stumbling like a drunken patron of Merlene’s into the thorny privet bushes on the side of the road.
Nola returned her incredulous stare to Dahlia. She was squeezing her bitten thumb, a tiny drop of blood oozing from the flesh. Nola couldn’t fight the snort of laughter that suddenly burst from her lips. Talk about biting that hand that saved you!
“I never know that a lizard could bite and draw blood. Them have teeth?” she choked, trying to inject a note of sympathy into her voice.
Dahlia stuck her thumb into her mouth and gave Nola a broad grin, blood pooling around her dark gums. “Serve them right!” she mumbled, nodding towards the two hobbling boys. She picked up her bag and lumbered past the lizard’s final resting place. “Come y’hear,” she said, beckoning Nola with her unbitten hand.
CHAPTER
5
Merlene’s Bar and Grill! She was actually standing on the grounds of the ‘den of evil’. Nola studied the side of the building on which the lizard had splattered. It didn’t seem as big as she’d remembered – only about eight yards deep. Two windows each were at the front and sides, but the one at the back was much larger. They were all sealed behind their shutters in their daytime repose.
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