Dew Angels

by Melanie Schwapp

  At first, she hadn’t even intended to go inside, just to pass by to see if the place had really existed and wasn’t one of the ‘miracles’ that had existed in that dream-happy land of Dahlia’s. But when Nola had seen it was all true, she felt a deep need to see the man responsible for chasing those two souls into her life. But he was not there. She went back a week after, and the week after that, and the week after that. He never showed up.

  One afternoon, Nola sauntered through the produce section where the shelves held their boxes of yams, plantains, onions and other vegetables.

  “What you want?”

  She spun around and blinked in shock at the smoking woman standing in front of her.

  “What?” Nola stammered.

  “You must need someting, cause every minute me see you watchin’ me like you give me someting to hold for you!” The woman crossed her arms and studied Nola’s shocked face. “You’re the schooler who come in here every day and just walk round, nuh? What you want in here?”

  “I just waitin’ for my mother. She work in the music shop, and she soon finish work, so I just waitin’ for her to go home.”

  The woman placed her hands on her hips, raising her eyebrows slightly.

  “She work in the music shop, eh? Which one of them is you mother, Donny or Rupert?”

  Nola opened her mouth, then closed it again. Damn!

  “Merlene.” Nola felt the name slip out of her mouth. It must have been because it was the name always at the forefront of her mind when she came into the supermarket. “My … my …mother name is Merlene. She new, just start to work there …round the back. She mop up at evenin’ time.”

  Nola saw the woman’s squint as her arms fell heavily to her sides.

  “Is Merlene send you in here?” She hissed into Nola’s ear, looking anxiously around.

  Nola shook her head quickly, shock gripping her chest at the woman’s hysteria.

  The woman hissed again, “Why you come then? You mad or someting? You don’t know him will kill her. Is fool you fool, or what?”

  “No … she … I just come to …”

  “What she want? Eh? She get everyting already! Tell her to be happy with what she have and keep her ass quiet!”

  “No, she don’t want nothing. She … she gone.” Nola fanned her hands wildly to emphasize the ‘nothing’.

  “Good! Tell her to stay where she is! What you comin’ in here for, callin’ her name like is nothin’? You crazy?” She grabbed Nola’s arm and pulled her towards the front of the store. “Tell her don’t send you back in here again!”

  And with that, she pushed Nola towards the front door and turned to go back into her cage.

  Nola left, her body shaking. She was so disoriented that she did not see the person coming in from the other side of the doorway, and only felt the pain of her wrist cracking against a hard, sinewy arm. She grabbed her wrist and looked up to apologize. It was the black Honda man.

  “Oy gal, why you don’t watch where you goin’, man? Look how you dirty up me shoes!”

  “Sorry,” she stammered, cradling her wrist.

  He didn’t even look at her, just pulled a hanky from his pocket and sucked his teeth as he bent to rub the tip of his shiny right shoe. Nola stared at the top of his head, at the hair clipped short but curling softly, glistening in the sunlight as if it had been coated in oil. His smell was strong—minty and musky at the same time.

  CHAPTER

  31

  That afternoon Nola’s mind was buzzing too much to face the confusion of the house. Kendra would be demanding a bottle with her hunger-pitched whine; Mrs. Lyndsay would be commenting on how the baby was getting so strong and boisterous; Nathan would be expounding on the miraculous healing powers of the Rockfort Mineral Bath and insisting that Petra take the baby there; Petra would be cussing that he was chatting nonsense, and poor Aunt May would be trying to quell the brewing argument with instructions to everyone to hush so as not to agitate Kendra. No, there was definitely no space in Nola’s racing mind for the chaos of Aunt May’s kitchen.

  She hesitated at the top of the road, pondering a way to sneak past the noisy kitchen and climb in through her bedroom window, when a voice called out.

  “Wha’ppen, African Princess, you lookin’ lost pon this nice evening here.”

  It was the Rastafarian who ran the shop at the corner. His locks were such an unusual colour, like bleached cloth. They were wound on top of his head like a roll of rope, tilting precariously to the right with their weight. Once, Nola had heard Papa tell Louisa that to get their locks matted, Rastafarians used cow dung to bind the shafts. When the rasta beckoned for her to come closer, she remained where she was.

  Like his locks, his face was also unusual—very wide, with cheekbones that jutted out like handles on a clay jar, parenthesis to the fine, pointed features within them. He reminded Nola of a round plasticine patty, with a finger-pinched nose and pencil drawn lips.

  “Wha’ mek a beautiful princess like you look like you carryin’ the world pon you back, eh?”

  Beautiful? Princess? Nola tried not to raise the other side of her mouth into a full blown smile.

  “Yeh, you! You look like somebody chasin’ behind you with a knife. You don’t know sey nobody can trouble you once you live pon this street? You safe, man! Safer than a Bible inna Jah briefcase with Abediah watchin’ over you! Abediah know every soul who cross them yah streets. I and I will always watch out for a beautiful princess like you!”

  The other side of her lip lifted disobediently to match its frozen half and Nola had to drop her head to hide it.

  “Dat’s right! Smile, man! The world not dat bad! But don’t hide it! Why a princess like you must always a hold her head down? Nah, man! A pretty sistren like you must hold you head up high and let the world bask in your beauty.”

  Nola’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle the giggle.

  “Come here, nuh. Come here since you lost, mek Abediah show you someting.”

  Nola felt her feet moving even as her mind screamed – Thief! Cow dung head! She walked towards the grinning face, the same face she’d turned away from so many times when it had nodded in greeting as she went to and from the bus stop. But this afternoon, her feet took her straight up to the shop window.

  He chuckled. “Dat’s right, you safe, man. Miss May know Abediah, you know? From before the I and I could walk! Me and Petra grow together, man. Petra is me bonified sistren.”

  The shop was a tiny square of a building, with a window on one side and a door on the other. All details purely functional. The Rasta and his mother lived in the corner house behind, with gates on both sides of the street so that one entrance was on Palm View Road, and the other on Preston Road. Nola had glimpsed them walking back and forth from the house with the pots of the vegetarian food they cooked and sold in the shop. The mother, also Rastafarian, kept her locks bound in woolen scarves that formed tall, colourful towers on her head.

  The shop was a lunch, and sometimes dinner, stop for many residents of the area. Even Petra and Nathan sometimes brought home the sweating cardboard boxes filled with steaming calalloo and whole wheat dumplings, or steamed fish and soft dasheen. Today, Nola could smell fish. She peered in through the window and saw a plate of crisply fried sprat beneath a meshed food cover on which flies pitched hysterically, teased into a frenzy by the scent. Most of the interior of the shop was occupied by a rusted chest freezer with the words, IRISH MOSS, BUILD UP YOUR STRUCTER written crookedly across it. On the wall opposite was a wooden shelf bearing a two-burner hot plate with two large, dented aluminium pots.

  “You know what is the right ting for a young princess like you?—The good, good, fish! Yeh, man. Keep your skin pretty. Nuh block up you system like meat! I can see you eat healthy, though. Your structure lookin’ good and healthy, man, just like Jah intend.”

  Nola laughed again, feeling suddenly careless. “No meat?” she asked, “But I love stew pork!”

  “Sey wha? You eat t
renton? Nah man! You jokin’! You musn’t put dem tings in your system, man! Trenton is an abomination to Jah! Come, mek Abediah give you someting dat mek you nuh want even look pon dat nastiness again.”

  He reached above his head and took a paper plate from a shelf and put three of the tiny, fried sprats onto the plate. Then he lifted the cover off a yellow pail and spooned two tablespoons of pickled onions and scotch bonnet peppers on to the fish. The spicy smell made Nola’s tastebuds brace beneath a rush of saliva. She took the plate gratefully from Abediah as he gave her a knowing nod.

  “Righteous ting for a princess like you!” he grinned.

  Nola stared at the mound of onions and fish and swallowed the saliva that streamed into her mouth. “I don’t have no money,” she whispered.

  “Nah, man. Abediah fix dis up for you! Rasta nuh tek back what him give!”

  Nola continued staring at the plate. “You have any fork?”

  He laughed, his teeth gleaming with fish juice. “Fork? Come, man, a nice African princess like you don’t need no fork! Look!” He used three wide fingers to scoop a chunk of flesh and fine bones from his own plate, then dropped it into his mouth with exaggerated flourish.

  Nola laughed and immediately imitated the action. The sprat was fried so crisply that the tiny bones were like chips, and Nola was able to chew every delicious morsel and swallow it all in one big gulp. Delicious!

  The Rasta gave a pleased chuckle in return. “Yeh, man, good ital food!”

  Suddenly, a voice called from behind him. “Ab, Patrick comin’ for six bag of coal. Put dem round the front for me, nuh?” The voice was gravelly and coarse.

  It was the mother. Nola saw the top of her black and green tam as she peered through the shop door. She blinked in surprise when she spotted Nola.

  “Is May chile dat?” she thrust her chin at the window.

  “Mams, look pon dis nice young princess who tell me dat she eat pork!”

  The woman’s turban shook sadly. “Dat’s why dis country can’t fix, Ab. Everybody doin’ tings them own way and not Jah way.”

  “We goin’ fix her though, Mams. See how she love the little sprat there? Nyamming it like is the first meal she eat in days! We goin’ fix her up, Mams. Put her pon the right track.”

  Suddenly the area was overwhelmed with a strong odour – perspiration and engine oil? Nola turned to see two men approaching the shop, their faces and clothing marred with the black stains of grease sealed in with an overlay of sweat. One of them leaned right onto her as he poked his head through the shop window.

  “Ab, beg you two spliff quick, Bredda,” he called through the window. “Me boss gone to airport to pick up him wife and me takin’ a little break before him come back. That boss man love to watch us work, while him just sit in him air condition office all day and give us orders, you see me?”

  “But don’t you tell me dat him pay you extra for every car you wash, Barry?” Mams asked the man as the Rasta put two rolls of paper into his outstretched hand.

  The man called Barry handed one of the rolls to his silent companion. Thankfully, he straightened off of Nola to light a match and suck noisily on his own roll. He leaned back against the shop wall and exhaled a thin stream of pungent smoke, looking Nola up and down with narrowed eyes. He took another draw, then, as he exhaled another stream, he offered her the roll. Nola shook her head and walked quickly to the corner, bowing her head low over her plate.

  “Yeh, Mams, so the boss sey. But man have to take a little break every now and again, Bredda, build back him strength, you see me?”

  The Rasta laughed. “Build up you strength for what, Star? All you do all day is lay under dat tree!”

  Suddenly, Barry’s companion began to dance. No music, no singing. Each time he took a long draw of the spliff he would slowly release the smoke from his nose, then do a dip, first with one shoulder, then the other.

  “Barry, warn Rat not to bother with dat bad behaviour him put down last week, you nuh! Him bruck up nine beer bottles dat I could’a exchange for good, good money!” Mams wagged a finger through the window.

  Barry smiled as his friend sidestepped across the road and back. “Rat cool, Mams. Him just chillin’ to the vibe in him head, you see me. Ab should’a know not to leave no bottle on the sidewalk when Rat under him cushungpeng!”

  “So what you sey, Princess? You not eatin’ no more trenton after dis?” The Rasta asked, nodding at Nola’s empty plate.

  Barry sucked his teeth. “Ab, stop tell the young jubie rubbish, Bredda! Pork is the sweetest ting to eat! You don’t see how her skin smooth and pretty? Is pork do that, you see me?”

  “Move from mi shop before Jah strike you with lightning and miss you! Why you think all of the world dyin’ from cancer and all kind of disease? Every year a new disease arise and everybody cry out to Jah and askin’ Why? Why? You don’t see dat is only Rasta live long and healthy? Cause Jah way is the only way, and Jah sey you NOT TO EAT PORK!”

  Barry sucked his teeth again and waved away Ab’s outburst. “Chu, stop chat nonsense, Bredda, and gimme a Irish mash. Pay you next week, you see me.”

  “How you goin’ pay me next week and you don’t do any work? You boss goin’ fire you backside when him come back and see dat you don’t fix no car since him gone!” But Ab took a plastic bottle of grey liquid from a small fridge beneath the counter and handed it to the man.

  “My boss can go wey! Him have big house in Beverly Hills while me have to rent one little room in one mash-down house. Every night me sleep on rotten mattress like me is some street dog, you see me.”

  The Rasta looked over at Nola and shook his head despairingly, his locks rocking emphatically from side to side. “Whose fault it is dat him don’t have big house? Nuh him not workin’ hard enough to get it?”

  Nola didn’t answer, but walked instead to throw her plate into the garbage drum.

  “Come, y’hear Rat. Make us go back to the slave work before the boss come back and tie us to the tree and whip us for runnin’ away!” Barry’s voice mimicked Ab. “You see dis informer here, sey him is Rasta, but him is just like everybody else, just want see the Black man work till him drop down and dead, you see me?”

  Barry nodded a farewell to Nola and flung his hand dismissively at Ab before he sauntered down Preston Road, while Rat jigged silently beside him.

  Abediah sucked his teeth and wagged a finger at Nola. “You see dat bwoy, don’t believe none of the rubbish dat him chat! Him just wastin’ him life.

  Abediah’s Ital Food became Nola’s regular stop on her way home from school. There Nola met the residents of Palm View Road and those from the neighbouring Preston Road. They all stopped by the shop, some just for a chat to break the distance in their journeys home from work.

  Abediah sat within the shop window like the king of the streets, passing out ‘spliffs’, cold ales, or steaming plates of food. Sometimes he would haul large crocus bags filled with coal from behind the house, packing them into the trunks of waiting vehicles as Mams collected the money and stuffed the bills into the huge front pocket of her apron. The two always shared in the cooking of the meals for the shop, although sometimes they were helped by one of the many ‘Empresses’ that streamed in and out of Abediah’s life. They always came with helpful hands, dark skin glowing and teeth grinning with adoration, and they left with their skin darker with rage and teeth bared in angry snarls.

  It was there at Ab’s shop that Nola realized that to some, black skin was a glory. To some, it was a sign of beauty. She watched the women as they paraded in and out of Ab’s house, some with hips as wide as Aunt May’s, some with noses that stretched from cheek to cheek, some with hair so kinky that it curled too tight to grow any longer than a few wary inches from their scalps, and all with skin so dark that it shone like polished steel.

  Nola watched in awe as Ab grabbed their waists and pulled them onto his lap, and she pretended not to look when the women flitted their sensuous fingers across the rocky boulder
s of his shoulders. Nola swore that each new woman would be the one to stay, but none ever did. Not for long, anyway. And no one ever seemed surprised when it was once again just Ab and Mams who carted the pots from the house.

  CHAPTER

  32

  Nola was failing everything in school except English. The report showed it—all Ds and Fs, with a C in mathematics. She dropped the report on the kitchen counter, leaving it for Aunt May to sign so that she could return it to the form teacher on Monday morning. She was not there when Aunt May opened it, but she found it lying on her bed when she returned that evening, with a note in Aunt May’s precise letters—“You can only achieve if you believe in yourself. Don’t leave until I get back home. I need to have a word with you”. Nola folded the report and put it in her school bag, then crushed the note and dropped it in the bin beside the toilet. Then she climbed out the bedroom window and made her way back to Abediah’s.

  It was Friday night, so the corner was more crowded than usual. Everyone welcomed Nola with surprised pleasure that she was back so soon, and Barry asked if she’d finally come to her senses and taken up his offer to be his woman. Nola sucked her teeth but gave a secret smile of pleasure. Barry was lazy and unambitious, but Grampy’s saying was true—after your mouth get lace with pepper, you would’a take sugar from a mongrel dog!

  Nola took a carrot juice from Mams and told her she’d pay her on Monday when she got her lunch money from Aunt May, who didn’t give her the weekly allowance until Monday mornings after all the weekend chores had been completed.