Strawberry Fields

by Marina Lewycka

  “Yeah, Ma, he’s so straight you could stick him in the ground and grow weed up him.”

  “Toby, your father is a very good man, and he works very hard for us. And if I had known you would get yourself into trouble in this way, I would never have let you go to Malawi for a year; I would have sent you to my family in Renfrewshire.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Ma. Is that the end of the sermon?”

  “And if your father finds out, Toby,” Maria continues, in her sexy Let’s Talk English voice, “he will blame me for encouraging you to go. Because I was the one who said it would broaden your mind and help you to understand the developing world, and your father was quite against it, because he said there was quite enough underdevelopment around here without going to Zomba, especially in Croydon.”

  Andriy is beginning to have some doubts about this family. The woman means well, and she does bear some resemblance to Mrs. Brown, with her tiny waist and insatiable tea-drinking, but her ideas about food are bizarre. And what is the significance of the purple toenails? Of course it is well known that married women are sexually voracious, but to make love to a woman under her husband’s roof would be asking for trouble, even though the man is drinking too much whiskey and talking strangely and setting a poor example to his wife. And this boy Toby—he speaks to his parents with disrespect, and Andriy wonders whether he will be a suitable mentor for Emanuel, who is young and impressionable and showing an interest in the wrong kind of sex.

  “Croydon?” Emanuel exclaims. “I think we went through that place today!”

  Dear Sister

  Today I was reunited with Toby Makenzi and I will tell you the outstanding story of our friendship for the first time I encounted him was at Zomba.

  But now these mzungus have sown confusion in me because I can see no likeness between Croydon and Zomba expecting the mission house which is tip-top and built of brick. Now this Toby Makenzi had brought from England an outstanding soccer ball made of leather the likeness of which we had never seen. For when the poor boys of Zomba play soccer we must inflict a balloon and wrap it in plastic baggages which is easily prickled on the prickly bush and many soccer balls perish in this way. And seeing my cheerful countenance when I beheld the soccer ball the mzungu said Brother I am greatly desirous to attain some Malawi Gold and in exchange I will give it to you.

  This Malawi Gold is so desirous to mzungus I think it is the main reason they come to our country. And I wonder if Toby Makenzi’s parents did not know this why did they send their son here at all? It is regretful also that some of our policemen are corrupted and incarnate the mzungus in order to magnify their income when with much weeping and wailing and a payment of one or two thousand kwachas the mzungus are set free.

  But the baggage of Malawi Gold I got for him exceeded any seen before in Zomba and the corrupted policeman who saw it demanded four thousand kwachas and this sum was out of Toby Makenzi’s reach. Then I took pity upon him and went to the police and confessed that the Malawi Gold belonged to me and they freed Toby Makenzi and incarnated me in his place. But these policemen have no reward from incarnating a poor orphan boy for whose freedom no one will pay even a hundred kwachas so after four days they set me free after first smiting me numerous blows. And Father Kevin also did chastise me extensively.

  And Toby Makenzi’s expression was exceedingly mystical for he said Brother you have endured Blows for my Blow. And being filled with outstanding gratitude he said thanks mate if my Ma and Pa ever found out we’d never hear the end of it which I understood to mean that they would be unendingly grateful. And he gave me a desirous green anorak and a good pair of shoes which I still have to this day alongside the soccer ball and he said listen brother I owe you one if you ever come to England drop around at my place and my ma and pa will look after you. Then he wrote his name and address on a paper though it was spelled wrong and we shook hands in the traditional Chewa way of brotherhood.

  But when I came to his place I was disappointing that the Ma and Pa had not been a praised of my Good Deed how I freed Toby Makenzi and the grievous blows I endured for his sake. For although I did not yearn for any reward still it would be joyous for them to know.

  For this Pa Makenzi is downhearted and partakes exceedingly of whiskey and he takes the name of the Lord in vain. For when the Ma set down his dinner before him he cried out for God’s sake Maria do we have to eat this rabbit food isn’t there a decent piece of meat in the house? And after some whilings a tip-top fragrance pierced the air and Dog leaped to his feet barking joyously and the Pa said good boy come here I’ve got a bit for you too.

  And when the door was closed again Toby said hey Emanuel did you bring any Malawi Gold with you? And I replied no Brother because I think in England police are less forgiving than in Malawi.

  After his dinner Pa Makenzi said to Toby Makenzi so in what useless way have you been idling away your day son of mine?

  And Toby said if you must know Pa I’ve been working on my project.

  And the Pa said what project is that?

  And Toby said it’s about the representation of opiates in the media.

  And the Pa clapped his hand upon his eyebrow and said son that will never lead you to gainful employment.

  And Toby said Pa who’s interested in gainful employment? And the Pa smote his eyebrow once more and said is there any more whiskey Maria?

  And Ma Makenzi said Toby don’t talk to your father like that.

  And after further excess of whiskey the Pa turned toward Andree and pleaded to let him accompany us on our huntings in the woods. And Andree who is a very good mzungu maybe even better than Toby Makenzi said in a calm voice that we were finished with the life of the woods but the Pa would be very welcome if he wished to travel to Sheffield. Then the Pa set down his whiskey and smote both eyebrows with his hands and began to weep and the Ma said in a cheerful voice now I think it’s bedtime everybody would you like me to show you to your rooms?

  I AM DOG I SLEEP MY BELLY IS FULL OF GOOD DOG FOOD MEAT I HAVE WON THE HEART OF THE GOOD VEGETABLE-SMELL FEMALE I HAVE SOOTHED THE MAN-DRINK-STINK MAN I HAVE CHASED AWAY THE TROUBLESOME CAT NOW I SLEEP I AM DOG

  Dear Sister

  In this house of Toby Makenzi is a miraculous bath which upon touching a switch swirls the water around as fullsomely as the Shire River though off course without crocodiles and whiling in this bath I fell into a worry about these good mzungus in their godless torment and wondered how to bring them consolation.

  For this Pa loves hunting and the life of freedom in the woods yet is confounded by the city. This Ma loves the Pa but is confounded by his whiskey drinking and blaspheming. Then I was smitten with a joyous thought. I will give Pa Makenzi the fishing rod of the Mozambicans and the red bucket. Thus he will hunt for fishes in the rivers and leave behind the whiskey drinking and blaspheming. And what could I give to Ma Makenzi? For everyone knows that a beauteous woman is hard to please and I am a poor boy with nothing to offer. And I was smitten with another joyous thought. This Ma is beloved of vegetables I will give her the carrots. This thought along with the fullsome swirling of the water caused me to open my heart and sing the song of praise which Sister Theodosia taught me Ave Maria Gratia Plena. And this was also joyous for the Ma’s name is Maria.

  Andriy Palenko, how can you in all conscience go off and leave your young friend Emanuel in the care of this abnormal family? What’s the matter with these people, in their massive many-windowed house? Two cars (yes, after the father arrived, he saw a nice fat Lexus squatting on the drive beside the little Golf ), three high-spec computers, four televisions, all with flat screens, five bathrooms, four en-suite (yes, he made a little tour of the house). Et cetera. What is the point in all this stuff if it doesn’t bring you happiness?

  If his own family had had a tenth, no even a hundredth of all this wealth, everything would have been completely different—and would these people even have missed it? “A man needs enough,” his father had said, “no less, and no more.” But
they hadn’t had enough. Poor Dad. Yes, his father knew better than anybody that to go underground in those conditions was risky. But when you haven’t got enough, that’s what you have to do.

  Andriy is lying stiff and fully clothed on one of the two beds in the room he is sharing with Emanuel, staring at the ceiling and trying to prepare himself for the conversation ahead. In the nearest of the five bathrooms, Emanuel is singing, filling the whole house with his exuberant music. Andriy has a sudden image of that moment in the cathedral; the pink open mouth, the closed eyes, the tears. The singing stops. There is a sound of water gurgling down a drain. Here he comes.

  “Emanuel, my father was kill in coal-mining accident. Your father was kill in canal accident, yes?”

  “Both killed. Mother and father.”

  “This is very terrible. To lose both parents at one time.”

  “Also my baby brother. This I cannot understand. To punish my little baby brother.”

  “Emanuel, this is not punishment, it is accident. Sometimes no person is to blame.”

  “But maybe my father is to blame for being unfaithful to my mother.”

  “And you think this canal accident was for punishment?”

  “No no. HIV sickness was punishment.”

  Hm. There may be some vital connection you are missing here, Andriy Palenko. But it’s no use worrying about something you don’t understand. You’ve only got tonight to get your message across.

  “Emanuel, my brother—do you know what is condom?”

  “Of course I know. It is an abomination in the eye of the Lord. In Chichewa, we have a saying: Only a fool eats the sweet with its wrapper.”

  Emanuel is standing in the middle of the room, drying himself vigorously on a fluffy white towel, as though buffing his small, lean, knotty body into polished ebony. Andriy has never seen him naked before. He tries not to stare, but he can’t help taking a surreptitious peep. Is it true what they say about the black man’s manly parts?

  “Condom will protect you life, Emanuel. With condom you can have plenty sex no problem. No virus. No organism. No HIV. No problem. After, you say prayer and God will forgive.”

  Mrs. McKenzie showed me to a room right up under the eaves of the house—such a pretty room, everything matching in blue and white, like in a magazine, and even my own little bathroom with a fluffy white towel warming on the rail and a new bar of scented soap still in its wrapper. I unwrapped it straightaway. It smelled spicy and expensive, not sweet and sickly like soap in Ukraine. I wondered if it would be rude to ask whether I could keep the soap when I left, or whether she would even notice if I just slipped it into my bag. After I’d showered I put on my nightdress, which looked crumpled and gray in that clean white and blue room, but I had nothing else. Then I sat in the armchair, smelling the soap on my arms and hands and wondering where Andriy was, and wondering whether he was wondering where I was. There’s something very romantic about attic rooms.

  Then there was a knock on the door. My heart started to beat like crazy.

  “Come in.”

  But it wasn’t him, it was Mrs. McKenzie.

  “Hello,” she said, in that soft subtle voice that was like the smell of the soap. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course. Please.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Have you got everything you need?”

  “I like this room very much.”

  It was true—I felt as at home as in my own little bedroom in Kiev. Why is it that when you think happy thoughts, tears can suddenly come into your eyes? Sniffle sniffle. What was the matter with me? I don’t know why, but all at once I found myself telling her about Vulk, and then the words just came pouring out: his creaky coat, his live-rat ponytail, his cigar-stinking car, his sly black hungry-dog eyes. When I tried to describe that night, the words got stuck in my mouth and made me choke.

  Mrs. McKenzie said in her kind voice, “You know, yoga is very calming when you need to relax. Would you like me to show you?”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  In my opinion yoga is a typical Western fad, but I didn’t want to offend her, and anyway I was still sniffling.

  “Do you miss your mother, darling?”

  “Yes, of course.” Then suddenly I blurted out, “In fact I am missing my father. Since he is no longer living at home.”

  “He isn’t living at home?”

  “He is gone to live with someone else. Someone much younger.”

  As I said those words, I felt my face turn red. I didn’t know if it was shame or rage. I felt so sad for Mama, all by herself in the apartment, talking to the cat, eating breakfast on her own and dinner on her own. Then I thought of the way she was always nagging him: Do this, Do that, do you love me, Vanya? When I have a husband, I will never do that.

  “You really love him, don’t you?” Mrs. McKenzie smiled.

  “No. Not at all.”

  Then I laughed, because I realized that she was talking about Papa, but I was thinking about Andriy Palenko, and wondering what it would be like to feel his arms around me.

  Suddenly there was a quiet knock, then the door opened. My heart jumped. But it wasn’t Andriy, it was Toby.

  “Ma, have you got any condoms?” he whispered.

  Mrs. McKenzie didn’t even turn her head.

  “Second drawer down, my side of the bed. Take care not to wake your father.”

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  Hm. Interesting. Strawberry Flavor Ticklers. These are not like any Ukrainian condoms that Andriy has seen, though probably the principle is the same. But how will they demonstrate it to Emanuel?

  “I suppose we could show him some porn.” Toby McKenzie looks glum. “That might get him horny. I could download something from the net. Paris Hilton and friends. Busty Biker Chicks. You ever seen that?”

  “Pornographia?”

  “Busty Biker Chicks. Unbelievable.”

  “I think for Emanuel pornographia is not good.”

  “Yeah.” Toby McKenzie nods. “He’s a bit of an innocent, isn’t he?”

  Andriy is sitting with Toby McKenzie on the red sofa downstairs in the TV room. Everyone else in the house is asleep. Toby is drinking beer from a can. He offers one to Andriy. Andriy shakes his head. He needs to keep his head clear. Then he thinks maybe it’s better to be a bit drunk in this situation. He accepts the beer and takes several gulps.

  “Toby, this my friend Emanuel, I am worry for him after I go.”

  “Don’t worry, mate, I’ll look after him.” His glibness is not reassuring.

  “Like you say, he is innocent. Maybe better is for him to stay like this.”

  Toby McKenzie gives him a sideways look. “You want him to stay innocent? What you giving him condoms for?”

  Andriy wants to say something deeply intelligent about how Emanuel must take the best of what the West has to offer while also keeping hold of the best from his own culture. But the thought is too complex for his limited English. Maybe the beer wasn’t such a good idea.

  “He is African,” is all he can mumble.

  “It’s up to him, innit?” Toby scratches the roots of his long plaited hair, examining his nails for evidence of dandruff. “He’s got to have the choice. Everyone’s got to make their own choice. That’s freedom.”

  “Sometimes we have freedom but we make bad choice. Look at my country Ukraine.”

  Toby McKenzie shrugs. “You make the wrong choice, you got to live with it. Look at my pa. Funny thing is, he thinks it’s me that’s making the wrong choice. He thinks it’s a choice between working for the system or being a slacker. But it’s not.” He crunches the empty beer can in his hand. “It’s just a choice between whiskey and weed.”

  This boy is not stupid. But why is he in such a mess?

  “Okay, Toby, maybe you right. With condom he has choice.”

  “At least if he makes the wrong choice it won’t kill him. Not like that bloody stuff my pa drinks.”

  “But how will we
make this condom demonstration?”

  “Maybe you’ll have to demonstrate,” says Toby.

  Hm. This could be embarrassing. Andriy takes another gulp of beer. On the television screen in front of them a troupe of almost-naked female dancers are tossing their hair and thrusting their hips forward rhythmically. Despite their frenzied activity they are having zero impact on his manly parts. Will they be arousing for Emanuel? Unlikely.

  Toby McKenzie takes the remote control and starts flicking through a few channels. There is politics, home improvement, a cooking program. Suddenly he stops. “That’s it. Vegetables!”

  Andriy struggles to picture some arousing scene with onions and cabbages. Really, these Angliski are quite original.

  “My ma’s got plenty of them. What size is he? Carrot? Banana? Celery? Cucumber?”

  Andriy tries to recall that lean black-skinned figure toweling himself dry with a white towel.

  “Not cucumber. No. Carrot, no. Maybe we try medium-size banana.”

  Dear Sister

  I have been thinking much about those long ago days before the convent and the orphanage and the mission house at Zomba when we lived with our mother and father and sisters in our mud walled cottage on the banks of the Shire River of the long days of my nakedness and river fishing and gathering of mangoes. In those days I had a different understanding of the world.

  But when aged twelve I was beloned and taken into the orphanage by the good Nuns there I discovered the Knowledge of Good and Evil. For Sister Theodosia said that God is Love and the Maker of all Good things but Sister Benedicta said that all the Evil that befalls us is a punishment for our sins such as the sickness that took away our parents. And the everlasting punishments that would happen after death she said were consideringly worse than death itself with roasting fires and boiling oils and lumps of scorched flesh torn off with pincers.