They stood outside. Lacey shut the door behind her. Rebecca could hold her anguish inside no more. Years of tears flowed. They held on to one another until Rebecca’s sobbing had subsided. Lacey waited until Rebecca had composed herself before ushering her inside.
The house was even smaller than it looked from the outside. The ceiling was low. There were only two rooms—a kitchen and a bedroom. From the flickering light of the oil lamp on a table, she saw a narrow bed shoved into a corner. Lacey seemed to have pressed everything into corners—stove, icebox, chairs, clothes. There were no windows.
Their children slept in the middle of the floor beneath a ratty cover. Jamal sat at the table smoking a cigarette. Lacey pressed a finger to her lips as they walked past the sleeping children.
Sorry Becca, meh eh hah blanket and pillow yet, juss ah ole ratty sheet. Rheal sorry, gyul. Yuh goh sleep right dey, is de only place we hah. She pointed to a spot just inside the door— other than under the table, the only available sleeping spot. Jamal flicked his cigarette outside and fell into the bed. Rebecca wrapped herself in the sheet and slid down to the floor. Lacey extinguished the flame. Rebecca was plunged into darkness once again.
REBECCA WOKE TO Jamal nudging her out of the way with his boot. He sneered at her before walking away. She pulled the sheet tightly around her shoulders. In the kitchen, three chipped enamel mugs were on the table. Settled at the bottom was Nescafé instant coffee mixed with sugar. Over the fire was a dented pan warming water. A cloud of heat rose.
Aye Becca, mawnin, gyul. Lacey’s voice was thick and hoarse. Whey Jamal gone, boi? E eh drink e coffee yet. Jamal reappeared, then disappeared again, fingers crooked around the handle of the enamel cup.
Lacey stirred both their drinks. Rebecca fixated on the swirl of bubbles spinning in the middle of the cup. A shroud descended on Rebecca’s thoughts. She wondered if Jamal could get in touch with Shiva today. Not wanting to ask him, she asked Lacey to do it for her.
Both women went outside and sat, Lacey smoking a cigarette, letting the end dangle from her mouth. They talked, whittling away their time. When the children woke, she ignored them. They ran around outside digging holes and flinging gravel at one another. They ate nothing because Lacey had nothing to cook. The only thing other than coffee Lacey could offer her was water.
They stuck together all day except when Rebecca used the latrine at the side of their house. As Rebecca walked down the steps onto their barren land, she knew that no matter how much it was tilled nothing would grow here, nothing could flourish.
Jamal didn’t return until late in the evening. Hungry, and spent from the heat, they sipped water and moved to stay in the shade of the house with the waning sun. It was difficult for her to tell the time, but when Rebecca saw Shiva’s car, time mattered no more. He was wearing a suit; she smiled. The children swarmed the car. One of them tried to touch it, and he barked, Doh touch dat. They jumped back, returning to Lacey and tugging the folds of her dress.
Jamal carried a couple of containers of food into the house. The children were scrawny. They batted at their father with their arms trying to get to the food. Though ravenous, Rebecca hung back from the meal as the whole family devoured what was in the boxes. Rebecca glanced away as they delved their dirty fingers into chicken, rice, and peas, tearing at whatever they could find until she was offered some food.
Shiva and Rebecca slept together that night. Wrapped together in the sheet she slept under the night before, in the same clothes she met him in, on the same spot she curled herself on. He was on top of her, around her, inside her. She was his now. He had taken ownership, and now he couldn’t leave.
THE MEN LEFT EARLY IN THE MORNING. No one mentioned anything of the night. Lacey persuaded Rebecca to try a cigarette. She told Rebecca to hold it in her lungs. She coughed and spluttered, but didn’t hate it and asked for another. Rebecca wanted to ask how they could afford cigarettes and flower-arranging classes, but not food. Even asking in the blunt way Trinis asked everything, she knew it would come out the wrong way.
As the day grew hotter, they sought the shelter of the cool room. They lit the oil lamp if they needed to see, as the place was dark. Jamal, Lacey told Rebecca, stole the oil from his job. Rebecca never learned what Jamal’s job was, and she wondered if Lacey even knew.
At midday, there was a knock on the door. Lacey hushed the children. A soft voice traveled past the crevices. Becca? Becca, is Mama. Come meh chile, opan de door. Rebecca made to go to the door, but Lacey grabbed her arm and whispered, No, she goh take yuh hwome an yuh goh neva see im again. Yuh wahn dat? Rebecca hesitated.
She shrugged off Lacey’s hold and walked to the door. Her mother walked around the house. At the back door, she pounded louder, calling for her daughter, then pleading with her to let her in. Rebecca looked from Lacey to the door. Jacinta’s voice pierced the shroud enveloping her, and for the second time she started to the door. Shiva’s face swam past her eyes. She thought of his shiny car, his well-pressed clothing, the smell of farm around his fingernails. All these material things came first, followed by the warmth of his skin on hers and the heat being lifted from their bodies as they lay down to sleep. She shut her eyes against the path to the door. She clenched her fingers into fists until her mother left.
—Krys chile, my grandmother tells me, it hut meh haht toh not ansah dat door dat day. Ah muddah searchin searchin foh she dawtah an me eh ansah. Meh haht still hutten.
The night rolled in. They were starving but forced to wait until the men returned, if dey come, said Lacey. Sometimes days passed before Jamal showed up again, and without groceries, Lacey was forced to go and beg for food. Sometimes Shiva’s mother sent food for them. Rheal nice Indian food, gyul, dat oman could cook! Jamal had another woman whose food they also ate. Lacey told her she loved to cook but only got a chance to when they had enough money to buy groceries. Meh juss sorry yuh come durin one ah we dry up times. It does be good eh gyul, it does be good.
They waited outside for the men to return. With a storm threatening the sky, the breezes were cool in the crooks and crevices of their arms and legs. The heat from the day left them parched for food and water. Rebecca could barely contain her hunger. When the men pulled up to the house, it took all of her self-control not to barrel toward them and grab their food.
Again Shiva stood in a corner while everyone dug in. Jamal didn’t extend an offer to him; Rebecca didn’t care why. Just as yesterday, Lacey gave her a plate. She was the only one to eat from a plate.
He stayed again. They slept together, but something felt different.
SHE CRIED. Lacey consoled her, but she continued crying, fat beads of tears squeezing between her fingers. They sat out front, and even after a cigarette, the tears kept coming. She was suffocating, and the only thing she could do was choke out tears. She wanted to go home. She didn’t. What she really wanted was to leave their desolate place behind.
The men came earlier than usual. Rebecca went to Shiva and explained to him as best as she could. She asked him to accompany her home. She needed clothes. His silence spelled no, and she steeled herself for his answer. It didn’t come. Instead, he nodded his head and gestured for her to get in the car.
In her father’s home, Shiva stood just inside the door. The two men eyed one another but said nothing. Her mother was standing in a corner in front of her siblings, forever protecting them. She watched Shiva, not a word crossing her lips nor an expression passing her face.
So dis is de mahn we hear yuh goan shack up wid? her father started. Is ah shameful ting wah allyuh doin. Is not right. Yuh muss mar-red meh dawtah. Do de right ting and mar-red she.
Shiva stared at her father. No, he said. Ah will do what ah wahn on meh own time.
—MEH STAY WID LACEY and dem seven days, chile, my grandmother tells me, and dem seven days di feel like ah lifetime. Aftah dat tird day everyting geh mix up.
Everything started to blend together. Rebecca entered a constant state of nausea. She
couldn’t live with them here, not like this, and though Shiva came to her every day, he spoke of no change.
—Ah was rheal fraid, Krys, says my grandmother, now e might wantah keep meh like some concubine lock up dere een dey house.
On the seventh day he told her he would take her to meet his mother. Rebecca looked down at her old clothes, broken nails, and uncovered feet. Ah doh tink ah should meet yuh muddah like dis, she said. He slapped her. In front of Lacey, Jamal, and the children. Yuh go see meh muddah if ah say yuh go see meh muddah. It stung—the strike, the embarrassment. She nodded her head; she would go. After all, she had no other choice now.
Shiva tried to say her name, but his tongue doubled up on itself. He rolled the R as though there was a succession of three R’s before he finally came to the E in Rebecca that he pronounced more as an O. It was funny but she dared not laugh. The sound of the E was like a retching in his throat, and though he only tried a handful of times to hack it out, none of them came close. Rrrroooob, he started.
Lacey interrupted him, Nah mahn Shiva, wah appen wid yuh? Reeee, Reee-beck-kah. It easy nuff toh get it.
Shiva shifted an imperious gaze from Lacey to Jamal, and Jamal chastised her, Mind yuh business, oman. Yuh tink anybuddy wahn yuh in dey business? Why yuh eh geh yuh fat ass up and cook some food oh someting?
Lacey steupsed and said, If yuh could buy food foh dis place ahgo cook. She waddled away, Jamal close behind.
Shiva turned his dark eyes upon Rebecca once more and said quietly, Ruby. Her gaze was inquisitive, but he didn’t offer to repeat himself, and so she was forced to ask, Wah yuh say dey? He pulled away from her and smoothed his hands over his suit, this one a powder blue, white ruffled shirt inside, shiny gold buttons twinkling like stars. Ruby. Meh kyant say yuh name so from now on meh cahl yuh Ruby.
Ruby like de stone? Meh like it, meh li—
No, like blood.
HE STEERED THE CAR along the mountains. They followed the road that led to his estate, vegetation on both sides. All dis yours? she asked. Yes. The two-story house loomed into view, and she fell in love. Never mind who she had to meet inside or all the deficiencies one could immediately detect, she knew she wanted to live here. She wanted to call his place her own.
—Is true, Krys, my grandmother says, de mahn hah house, lan, an motohcah. Wasn’t juss talk nah. Foh somebody like me to meet im oh gaddoi ah was rheal lucky. Meh was gettin outtah dat bush.
The land sprawled on for acres and acres—ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty acres around the house, away from the farm, in other parts of the island. Rebecca wanted to walk through the house slowly, absorb everything she saw, but he hustled her through to meet his mother. There was a garage for two cars, an open space downstairs, a kitchen, a bathtub out back, a drawing room, and at least three bedrooms.
His mother and one of the three sisters who lived with him were sitting on a couch upstairs. They were all dressed in traditional Indian garments woven from silk. Shiva exchanged some words with his mother in Hindi. Meh muddah doh speak English, he explained. She say why yuh doh poh some oil een yuh hair and comb it dung flat? Rebecca touched her hair. It doh do dat, she muttered. Meh try it befoh. While Shiva and his mother continued to talk, his sister wandered over to her and started playing with her face. She pinched her cheeks, rubbed her chin, and massaged her face.
—Dat sistah e di hah, she name was Nollie, my grandmother tells me, she wasn’t een she right frame ah min nah. She was nice, rheal nice, was evan alive when yuh was born, di hol yuh undah de pomegranate tree een de front boh someting di wrong wid she and nohboddy di know.
As family stories were often passed along the female line, Rebecca shared a morsel of Nollie’s history: Shiva’s mother, while pregnant, stood beneath a tree and tugged at a branch for fruit. A much larger branch overhead cracked and crashed into her belly, knocking her over, pinning her down until someone could get her out. They attributed Nollie’s mental state to that single accident. It meant taking care of Nollie for the rest of her life, and whoever did that once Shiva’s mother was gone also inherited her share of the estate.
REBECCA LEARNED HER WAY around the house—the ground floor with its garage, the open sitting area with only a chain-link fence separating her from the outside, and the kitchen that stuck out like an appendage. On the second floor were rooms upon rooms, a maze of bedrooms all linked to one another by a doorway, a living room, a verandah. Shiva slept in the only room with glass doors that opened onto the verandah. Stone steps led from the gallery that opened into the bedroom to the side of the house where his car was parked.
She slept in his room; they shared a bed. Every night she succumbed to his calloused hands tearing at her clothing, his grunts and groans as he sank into her, then collapsed next to her, sweaty chest heaving until his breath evened out and he fell asleep. She lay naked next to him, staring at the wispy floor-length curtains swaying gently before the windows and doors. Curtains, a luxury her parents could never afford. Sometimes the moonlight shone like mercury through the translucent drapes, and the silhouette of the dresser in a corner of the room conjured thoughts of dresses and pantyhose, things she’d soon own. She lay there with her arm tucked under her head, drinking in the richness of her surroundings.
Sometimes she threw on the ratty dressing gown she’d brought from home with her and left the bedroom to explore. She unlatched the doors quietly and strolled into the gallery. Her breasts swayed to and fro underneath her gown; she allowed the cool night breeze to caress her ankles, play at her toes. On a farm tucked well into the hills and mountains, the Trinidadian sky was brilliant at night. Though it was the same where her parents lived, hidden behind thickets where roads didn’t reach, never before had she just sat outside and reveled in the celestial beauty of a starry sky. She learned the moon in all its variance—bloated, crescent, purple, silver, clouded—until the month’s cycle was as familiar to her as the lines on the palm of her hand.
While Shiva slept, she slipped into the living room and sat on the couch; it was fluffy and soft. Rebecca traced the cabinets, the tables and chairs, her fingers trailing each thing as a lover would. She returned to their room sometimes hours later. She slipped out of her dressing gown, slid into bed next to him, and put his hand over her bare stomach. There she finally succumbed to sleep.
HIS MOTHER AND THREE SISTERS all spoke Hindi to one another, his mother having migrated from India late in her life. There survived no stories of her husband or how she came to live in Trinidad as such a wealthy woman, owning much of the island. She left the handling of all the day-to-day affairs to Shiva alone.
The stream of Hindi his mother shrieked scared her at first. This gnarled old woman circled her, her knotted fingers poking and prodding Rebecca in places she didn’t expect. Though she couldn’t understand the language, Rebecca grasped everything when his mother reached up and tugged at her hair, only to wipe her hands distastefully on her white sari. In the end she spat on the ground and walked away. His sisters swung in the hammocks squealing when her mother would do this. None of them ever spoke to her, with the exception of Nollie, the one who looked as though she could be Shiva’s twin.
—She couldn’t rheally tawk, Krys, my grandmother says. She use toh juss come up toh meh and play wid meh face. Once in a while she use toh pick flowahs and ting and wantah put it een meh hair. Boh when de muddah see dat is lix foh Nollie. And dat mahn too, e eh play de beat dah oman plenty nah. Poh Nollie, she eh do nutten wrong but e beatin she foh so when e geh vex.
Rebecca tried to talk to Nollie but realized she couldn’t respond; loneliness settled in deep once again. Shiva continued to talk to his mother in Hindi. He never offered to teach Rebecca, nor did he draw her close to his side when he and his mother conversed. His mother just glared at Rebecca from beneath the hood of her sari shawl.
Meh muddah go teach yuh how toh cook Indian food de whey ah like, Shiva told her. Ah does reach hwome dis time every day foh dinnah. She does usually prepare everyting
. From now on you goh do it.
He waited for Rebecca to nod.
Hah everyting ready when meh walk troo de door. Bring it upstairs on ah tray. And meh doh like plenty salt on meh food.
And so Rebecca was taken under the wing of this indomitable woman who sneered and spat constantly. Rebecca realized quickly enough that this woman had every intention of showing her things only once. If she didn’t commit it to memory, there would be no second chance.
One of the first meals she learned was tomato choka and roti, a staple meal of Indians on the island. His mother took her to a vegetable garden near the house laden with tomatoes and eggplants. Baigan and roti was another meal she’d have to learn to perfect soon. All the herbs she’d need to grind her own seasoning sprouted from narrow beds. Springing forth from the black earth were sprigs, knots, and wires of thyme, bandanya, celery, parsley, chives, and the tops of garlic. The fine array of greens against the rich earth pulled Rebecca like a magnet. Where she lived with her parents in Coal Mine, the surrounding land was barren, and to plant one had to venture far away from their village, deeper in the forest. Jacinta eventually did, but traipsing back and forth was no easy feat, and with no help, the garden struggled. If others found it, they trampled it spitefully or stole its bounty for their own.
Rebecca rubbed her coarse thumb over the thin skin of a ripened tomato, and her fingerprint left ridges on its surface. She turned it in her hand, and the red orb parted readily with its vine. The eggplants were so purple they shone black under the pulsing sun. When his mother turned her back to grab a basket, Rebecca, unable to help herself, gnashed her teeth into the tomato. Juice spurted, ran down her chin, hand, arm; seeds splattered her dress. It was warm and sweet, the fleshy insides bouncing from one side of her mouth to another. Rebecca tried to hide what she’d done, but the red mess wasn’t easy to wipe away, and the slap across the back of her head startled her into dropping the rest of the tomato. His mother shrieked Hindi at her; Rebecca cowered, though this frail woman was much smaller than she. His mother flung the basket at her and put up her ten fingers twice then, pointed at the tomatoes. Rebecca gathered twenty tomatoes while this woman tittered at her with arms folded over the pleats in her sari.
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