Misrez Singh, the driver hailed her from his open window. Rebecca recognized him from her market trips. Dem gyul and dem geh een ah accident wid de policeman. Meh juss pass dem on Wallerfield. Rebecca froze under the sun.
SOMEONE GOT TO A PHONE FOR THEM. An ambulance arrived. Pooja and Chandini flanked Arya behind someone’s car. They watched as the medics efficiently handled Dharmendra’s limp body. A collective tremble passed through the trio as he was strapped to the stretcher. Before Arya could shrug off the towel someone had tucked around her shoulders and run to him, the medics had already shut him behind the doors of the ambulance. They sped off.
The girls were checked, then double-checked. Luckily, they were told, other than cuts and scrapes, they were fine. Arya heard a creak, a whine, then a crash. Several men took it upon themselves to flip Dharmendra’s jeep right side up. The top and sides were caved in, the wheels askew. The men grunted and sweated as they pushed the broken vehicle onto the grass.
—When meh see it like dat, Krys, my mother says to me, ah couldn’t believe we was een dere atall. Let alone we make it out wid barely anyting.
Eventually the clusters began to disperse after ensuring the girls were all right. Cars pulled back onto the road more conscientiously than they would have done prior to witnessing the accident. They took the turn with caution until the accident faded from their minds.
MISREZ BECCA, the man said in a gentler voice, yuh gyuls an dem ahright. Meh see dem befoh ah leave. Boh me eh know bout de pohlice fella. E wasn’t lookin so good nah.
Rebecca nodded again, hoarsely said her thanks, and started wandering up the road to the house, wringing her dress in her hands. It had been two hours since they’d been gone. Shiva must be up and waiting for her in the kitchen. How was she to tell her husband that their daughters snuck away while he slept? Snuck away while they were supposed to be working. Snuck away with her permission. Without the last piece of information, he might beat them to death. Rebecca was resigned to sacrificing herself for her children once again. If she couldn’t entirely protect them, at least she could take the first of his wrath, tire him out before he dealt them their blows. For surely this would be the day he started beating her again.
The house was in view. She saw a shadow pass on the verandah. Squinting against the brightness of the sun, she recognized the familiar smudge of her husband leaning against the parapet in the gallery. The low wall pressed into his thighs.
Ruuuuuubbbbby.
IN A TIDE OF DUST, Shiva skidded to a stop. Bystanders were still scattered along the median. Arya, Pooja, and Chandini stood in the basin of a semicircle. They were being doted on before returning home to face the inevitable.
—We was dey ahready, my mother tells me, an dey givin we food and drink. Ah was hopin toh fin out wah appen toh yuh faddah, maybe geh ah ride to de hospital, yuh know, Krys, boh Mistah Shiva pull up papayo!
They saw their father’s contorted face as he slammed the jeep’s door shut behind him. All three of them dropped their soda bottles and fried chicken wrapped in paper towels and foil, food intended for someone’s beach picnic. His black skin gleamed under a film of sweat; his strides were long and purposeful; he snarled their names one by one starting with Chandini, the blackest of them and his least favorite, and ending with Pooja, his favorite because she was the fairest, leaving Arya in the middle, as ever.
The three girls turned and ran to the only sanctuary they saw—Dharmendra’s smashed jeep. They scrabbled through the driver- and passenger-side windows, pulling and pushing one another up. They jumped into the backseat. Once again Arya was in the middle flanked by her two younger sisters. They didn’t hear what their father hissed to everyone, but the group of helpers dispersed, disdain showing on the faces of some, while others glanced sympathetically at the girls.
—Everybody hah to mine dey own business, my mother says, nutten foh dem toh do now. Ah mahn come toh deal wid e dawtahs and howevah e wantah do dat is e right. Dah is how dey hah toh see it, no mattah how dey feel.
He turned to them and strode to the jeep. Pooja clapped her hand down on the knob; Chandini did the same. Shiva yanked at Pooja’s side first. Pappy, it eh wokin, Pooja said, it geh mash up een de accident. Though scared out of their minds, their attempt to avoid the situation seemed too horrific, so much so it was comical, and Pooja let slip a giggle. She started a chain reaction—Arya giggled too, and so did Chandini. They stifled the laughs beneath their palms. Shiva snaked his arm through the shattered front window and to the back where he grabbed Chandini by the head and slammed her face into the headrest.
Geh outtah de cah now.
Chandini, hand to bloody face, tumbled out of the car first, followed by Arya, then Pooja. Arya tried to shield Chandini by stepping in front of her, but their father cuffed her around the ears a few more times. Chandini screamed; he slapped her.
Geh een de jeep now.
They sat in the back of their father’s vehicle with the buckets and pails, sheets of metal and nails, axes and knives. By the time they reached home the rooster was crowing to signal six p.m. They leapt out of the jeep and cowered. Shiva looked at Pooja, and she started crying.
—Pooja always like dat eh, my mother says. All de mahn hah toh do is watch she and she done staht toh cry. And not juss cry, nah, is big big bawl like e done tryin toh keel she oh someting. And so e use toh leave she and move on toh we. Plus she was the fairest one ah we and Chandini was de blackess, so dat had someting toh do wid it too.
Pooja’s yowls ricocheted off the walls and echoed on the ground floor. She dropped down, covered her head, and started rolling back and forth as though he’d already whipped her. Standing right by Pooja, Chandini knew she was next.
—Dat day Chandini geh de woss lickin meh see in a long time, my mother says, e eh stop nah. E beat she til e tyad. Gyul was on de grung, done stop movin, and e din stop. Sometimes, back een dem days we din hah pad and ting, we hah we period and blood soak troo de rag, rollin down we leg, stain up we clothes, and dat mahn din stop, e juss keep goin.
Before Shiva had a chance to shift his gaze to Arya, she took off running. Without looking back, she ran as fast as she could, past the pomegranate tree, past the cocoa house, down the hill, past the chicken pens, and plunged into the thick bushes. She only stopped when the trees above were dense enough to block the sunlight. The greenery surrounding her glistened. She leaned against the trunk of a tree and held her chest. In the shade, a cool breeze dried her sweat. While running, she’d kicked off her heels; now the coldness of the earth where sunlight hardly reached felt rich beneath her bare feet. Arya sat and leaned against the rough trunk. It prickled her skin through the thin material of her clothes. She listened. Birds whistled and chirped, the leaves murmured, but nothing else.
The path that meandered around the property and back to the house wasn’t far off. For over an hour Arya sat with muscles pulled taut, ready to jump and sprint at any sign of her father. When she finally relaxed, her body ached; she slumped against the dark bark. For a moment she considered scaling the tree and lounging in its branches but banished that thought when she looked up. The leaves overhead spun an intricate pattern with the leaves of other trees, the branches spiraling big and strong. Snakes, she knew, were most definitely camouflaged in the web above.
Once when she was a little girl, Arya was stung by a scorpion. The longer she remained curled in the same spot, the more thoughts of venomous creatures seized her mind. She rubbed her skin where the scorpion once stung her and shuddered, thinking again of death and the many brushes she’d had with it in her short life.
Arya looked down at her short, beaded skirt and wispy blouse. Both were torn. Beads, like breadcrumbs, led straight to her. Fabric from her clothes was undoubtedly stuck in the bushes, her blood on the branches, her shoes left somewhere in the dirt. Her father was a hunter. If she stayed where she was, he would find her. If he let loose his hunting dogs, they would shred her.
—Now meh run away meh kyant evan ti
nk bout goin back nah, Krys, my mother tells me. How? If ah gone back dis time ah know e goh keel meh.
The only person who brought her solace, the one man who would do anything for her in that moment, was Dharmendra. She wondered if he was okay, if he was at home or at the Sangre Grande hospital, which was, coincidentally, right across the street from where he lived with his parents and siblings.
She walked with trepidation to the path. Even in the gathering darkness she could find her way through with touch and sometimes smell. With nothing to protect her feet, she stared at the ground praying she wouldn’t step on anything that would bite or sting.
Blackness came swiftly. She picked her way through the trees to the path, which was lit by a silvery beam of moonlight. She scampered to the house. Frogs croaked and crickets chirped. She crouched by the cocoa house; the tall grass trembled. This was the last sanctuary off the track. Arya planned just how to jump from the bushes and dart to the main road. Just as she was about to move, a yellow light slid through the blades of grass. She flattened herself on the ground and rolled slowly back until she was touching the wooden beams of the cocoa house.
Gravel crunched beneath heavy footsteps. Arya. Arya. Whey yuh dey Arya? her father coaxed her in the same saccharine voice he saved for her mother. She cringed, pressed a hand to her mouth, and held her breath. He stepped off the gravel path and into the grass. Ah see someting move hyah. Meh know is you, Arya. Come out. Shiva swept the flashlight to and fro, passing over her with both beam and eyes. Eventually gravel crunched beneath his boots again and his voice faded.
She didn’t know how long she lay there trembling, but it was long enough to see her father retreat to the house and extinguish the lights. Even then she didn’t move. Only after the house itself seemed to take a breath for the night did Arya make a dash to the main road.
DHARMENDRA’S HOUSE was miles away in the bustling city. The light of the moon paved the way in blue and silver streams. It was approaching full moon, she noted, not yet bloated and yellow, but sharp and thin like a spinning blade. After she’d traipsed a couple of miles, a van’s headlights flooded the lonely road, and Arya flagged the vehicle down.
—Een doze days it eh hah nutten like rape and murdah goin on een de country, my mother informs me, nutten we know bout anyways. Yuh need ah ride, yuh flag ah mahn dung. People moh dan happy toh take yuh whey yuh wantah goh an it eh hah nutten like offerin money an offendin dem nah. Is tank yuh and yuh gone yuh whey. De island done so small yuh goh probably bonx im up een de mahkit oh someting nex time yuh goh.
The man stopped in the middle of the road and beckoned her to get in the front seat; she did. Good night, suh. If yuh doh mind droppin meh off by de hospital on Ojoe Road ahgo greatly appreciate it.
They made small talk in the car, and she learned of his wife and kids and what he did for a living. Arya’s bare feet, ruffled hair with twigs and grass sticking out, and dirtied clothes didn’t go by unnoticed. He learned her story and said, Doh mind yuh faddah sound like ah high class madmahn—and ah doh usually puh meh mout een people business boh yuh young enough toh be meh dawtah—ah tink yuh should goh hwome when yuh done. Is de right ting toh do. Wah yuh goh do runnin away like dis? Wah kind ah life yuh goh end up wit?
At the entrance to the hospital, he tipped his hat, smiled, and continued on his way.
Arya stood across the street from the Sital residence. The familiar concrete wall of alternating green and white cement blocks bordered their shop and bar on the ground floor. A metal railing circled the gallery on the second. It was so different from the Singh home, half wood and half concrete, flimsy wire fencing haphazardly tacked into place.
She’d only met Dharmendra’s parents—Harry and Jaya—a handful of times. Showing up on their doorstep like this, as embarrassing as it was, still felt more comfortable than returning home. The wooden doors to the Sitals’ shop were bolted shut. Arya conjured images of brightly wrapped preserves and chocolates organized in their glass cases.
Tonight, noises belched from the rum shop next door. They’d continue until daybreak when patrons stumbled home to their enraged wives who sucked their teeth and screamed, Who de ass care bout Carnival Tuesday when yuh hah chilren toh feed and chicken toh mind.
Arya skulked to the side of the house, where she ran into Dharmendra’s younger brother Som.
Aye boi, Arya said.
Arya? Wah yuh doin hyah, gyul? he asked, rubbing his eyes.
Ah-ah-ah come toh check an see if Dharmendra ahright, she stammered.
Oh Gawd gyul, dat couldah wait till mawnin. Come come come. He led her upstairs. They tiptoed through the living room first, past his father’s room, and then past his mother’s. A clock chimed once. It was one a.m.
Dharmendra’s head was wrapped in white bandages stained brown with dried blood. Cuts and scratches marked his cheeks and arms, but he grinned when he saw her. He engulfed her in a warm embrace, and she wanted to break down and cry. Instead she scolded him, told him to keep it down before they woke his parents.
—Is ah shameful ting foh me toh be dey so wid a boi een de middle ah de night, yuh know, Krys, my mother confides. A gyul chile always hah toh tink bout she reputation no mattah wah she doin. Mahn an dem could do wah dey wahn, geh on bhad, geh lock up and all kinda ting boh ah hah toh watch mehself an ah wasn’t doin dat enough dat night.
But Arya had no one else to turn to, and she told Dharmendra everything.
Boh ah rheally wanted toh make sure yuh ahright, and it ease meh heart toh see yuh happy and good, Arya said, rubbing his shaven cheeks with her thumbs.
Arya. Dharmendra’s voice was calm and serious. He really looked at her, a gaze so deep she wanted to turn away but couldn’t. Lewwe geh mar-red. Come gyul, we eh goh trouble nohbuddy, nohbuddy eh hah toh know nutten, nohbuddy eh goh giwwe no problem. Lewwe goh an geh mar-red. He gathered her trembling hands in his and kissed the tips of her rough fingers. Come nah doo doo dahlin, sugah plum. We goh goh een de warden office een de mawnin.
They jumped apart when they heard the shuffle of footsteps and the sweep of a dressing gown flapping down the corridor. Dharmendra’s parents filled the doorway. It was past two a.m. Arya stared down at her hands. She hoped his parents had not heard the words he muttered to her only moments before. They were kind but curious as to why she was there so late. They assured her Dharmendra was well taken care of, asked her if she would be okay, and offered her a ride home.
The man who’d given her a ride to Dharmendra’s house, though a stranger, seemed to know her better than she knew herself. Arya could get married to Dharmendra tomorrow without telling anyone but, as the man said—Wah kind ah life yuh goh end up wit? As much as they might not think her a good fit for their son, if she married him the right way they could show no hostility toward her without losing him.
It took all of her, but Arya held back her tears and shook her head. Arya knew their offer was polite and obligatory; she also did not want them to see just how deep in the bushes she lived. They gave their son a pointed stare before leaving them alone again.
Dharmendra, ah hah toh goh hwome. We eh doin dis ting behind yuh parents’ back, Arya said.
He stared at her, this time with one question pulled taut between them. She shook her head. Without their parents’ blessings their marriage would be cursed. This Arya believed more than anything.
—Meh couldn’t do it like dat nah, Krys chile, my mother tells me. Is important toh do dese things de right way, de propah way, uddahwise it follow yuh and yuh chilren and yuh chilren chilren foh de ress ah yuh life. So dat night meh leff and meh gone back hwome. Pappy eh hit meh nah. Foh de fuss time e leff meh so, e eh lay one lash on meh. Ah eh know why boh ah was happy. Oh Gawd, foh once meh geh ahwhey scotch free. Yuh doh question dat nah. Yuh count yuh blessin and goh yuh way.
INTERIM
—WELL, YUH KNOW how Trinis does say—yuh faddah and me, continue we goin arung, my mother tells me as she stirs a pot of curried goat, then grinds split peas for
the roti next. She smiles when she isn’t cooking a meal for my grandfather, who usually takes up most of her thoughts; the act of cooking provides temporary respite. Nobody was suppose to know anyting, boh is blind dey playin dey blind, because ah don’t tink yuh faddah and me was de bess at hidin it nah.
In the months after the accident, Arya and Dharmendra fell into a rhythm of dodge and embrace. There were certain places where Arya leaned against Dharmendra and he slipped both arms around her. Sometimes they swayed to the provocative beat of reggae at a bar, their lips brushing, every part of their bodies in tantalizing motion in this dance of seduction. Then there were open places where their fingers strayed to meet but they walked one step away from one another, places where it wasn’t appropriate to be side by side, eyes trained to their every movement, vicious tongues lying in wait to destroy them.
Despite these complexities, Arya and Dharmendra fell into their own patterns, as precarious as some of them were. Even after the accident, Dharmendra maintained he was Amrit’s friend and frequented the Singh house, not just as much as before, but now much more. Though her father hadn’t seen Dharmendra on the day of the accident, he knew it was his vehicle. The local gossips were powerful, and Shiva had heard many versions of the story.
But it was as if parts of that day—her runaway disappearance from home, her late-night reentry—were sucked into a black hole, and her father continued to make no comments. She just prayed he wouldn’t snap when she least expected it.
—De only ting I could tink of, Krys, my mother tells me, is dat e di know. Mistah Shiva di somehow know bout yuh faddah de whole time, and de only reason e din say anyting chile is because e di approve.
One day not too long after the accident, Pooja steered Nollie to the sink to wash dishes unattended. Cruel enough as it was to assign her such a chore, for the sake of efficiency they needed her out of the way, and they all knew she’d stand there until one of them stopped her, even if it took hours.
Secrets We Kept Page 13