‘That’s great, Mambo. Quince able to afford it, then?’
‘Well, we’s on our feet a bit Arletta, with all my people comin’ back again, and Quince getting on so well in Baton Rouge. Got some men answerin’ to him now, he’s what ya call an overseer. We ain’t got a lot spare, but we doin’ okay, and I reckon we best do something to the cabin while we have it. Ya never know what’s round the corner.’
‘You’ll be having piped water and a bathroom next.’
‘People say the gov’ment gonna get round to laying pipes. Ya remember what things used to be like? Lord, we ain’t never have money when Pappy was alive.’
Neither did anybody else, but I’m saying nothing.
‘So how things goin’ with y’all, Arletta? Ya still got that beau, eh?’
‘Yes I do.’ Though wouldn’t exactly say he was a beau.
‘I bet ya studyin’ and readin’ like crazy. Well, I hope Mrs Archer-Laing don’t mind ya burnin’ up her oil.’
‘Well, that worried me ’cause I’m always up reading, so I asked her. I offered to pay for it but she says she’s pleased having a boarder reading all her dusty books. That’s why she put them in there in the first place, she says. It’s fine.’
‘Well, I’m glad ya gettin’ along. And how ya helpin’ Rochelle. She wants to learn. She’s just like y’all with learnin’, learnin’, learnin’.’
‘That’s great. They’ve started printing lessons on paper now. Even got a book shop in Marksville, can you believe that? Selling nothing but books. Used to sell hardware and household, now he’s just selling books.’
‘Well, I ain’t wantin’ ya spending hard earnings on any more of them books for our Rochelle, like I already said. Ya just tell us what ya reckon she’s gonna need and we gonna go get it.’
‘Okay.’
‘She’s gonna have to learn all she can. Things changing, Arletta, and I knows it. Seems ya always know it. She’s gonna need more than I’m able to be helpin’ her with. And he ain’t able to be helpin’ her either. Me and Quince ain’t got that kinda education to speak of, not like folks need nowadays. He still best at rollin’, far as I can see.’
I wince. She laughs.
‘That’s all he do. Like some kinda wild animal. No sweet-talk, no nothing, just goes like one of them runaway steam trains.’
‘Shush, Mambo he’s gonna hear, and Rochelle too.’
I lower my voice.
‘I thought you were gonna ask him to leave after all the trouble with that Pawnee woman. He’s still here, Mambo, and it looks like he ain’t going nowhere.’
‘Well, I thought about it good, for a long time too, y’hear. And I reckon with Rochelle needin’ stuff, and now that she got herself ambition like y’all got, I figure I need him round the place. I need all the help I can get ’cause I want her to have what she needs.’
‘I guess that makes sense, if you can put up with it.’
‘Then when I gave it up and all, he was about busting outta his pants and I had me the time of my life. What the hell. He let me do my thing. Then he quit liquor anyways. Scared as hell of them chickens, mind you. Won’t even feed them chickens, and clears right off when we go to the mule barn. So I still get me my bit of variety up there, if ya know what I’m saying.’
She throws her head back and laughs. I gotta laugh myself. I’m not sure we’re laughing at the same thing, but we’re laughing together and that’s something, even though I once busted the ribs on one of her variety.
When we’re done she nods her head and gives me a wink.
‘I’m gonna stop that, though. Now Rochelle comin’ on so good, I’m gonna give up on my variety.’
Things sure are changing, even down our track.
‘Scared of the bloody chickens,’ she says. ‘And how’s Safi? I saw her ma last week. I think she’s taken to goin’ to that new church for sure. She ain’t gonna be wanting much outta me no more. That’s how it’s goin’. Folks leavin’ old ways behind.’
‘Safi’s okay. She’s picked up some bug but she’s doing fine. Her beau, he’s a fine hard worker and seeing to settin’ up home for when they get married. Seems just work, work, work, with them.’
‘About time they got married. Ya best be tellin’ her it ain’t no good lettin’ him slip through her fingers. Good men ain’t thick on the ground. I’m tellin’ ya that for sure.’
She spends the rest of the day trimming out front and planting new corn out back. I read with Rochelle till Quince gets back, then head back to Marksville on the bus.
‘It wasn’t Mambo, Errol,’ I say when I see him taking the air in Mrs Archer-Laing’s courtyard that evening.
‘Where else she gonna go then?’
‘I don’t know.’
Safi started to give birth early, on a day the Louisiana rain had streets running like rivers. It’s roaring down on our tin roof, the wind is howling through the eaves and the shutters are rattling outside our windows. The sky is dark, there ain’t a living soul leaving home and Marksville Main Street is like a ghost town.
I wake early with the noise of the storm and the leaves lashing against our windowpanes. The rain is pouring down and Safi starts moaning softly in her sleep. She’s soon wide awake and moaning loud enough for Agnes to start banging the wall. I get myself downstairs to wake Mrs Archer-Laing, then out back for Errol. He gets water on to boil right away, and by the time we’re all back upstairs Safi is wide-eyed, tossing and squirming and moaning in pain.
‘Here, Arletta,’ says Mrs Archer-Laing, ‘help me put this rubber sheeting underneath her. I bought it for the purpose.’
The pains are coming quick. Errol reckons he can see the baby’s head and it probably won’t be a long labour. Mrs Archer-Laing says that’s a blessing at least, and I just hop from foot to foot, watching Safi’s agony. There’s nothing for me to do but wait.
Agnes is told Safi’s got appendicitis and the doctor is on his way over. Mrs Archer-Laing tells Agnes she needs to be going to work and it’s clear to see Agnes thinks she’s clean out of her mind, given the weather. Errol says a hurricane is coming, so Agnes stays put in the back parlour all day and says nothing about it. Mrs Archer-Laing wraps up and walks out in all that thunder to fetch the doctor.
The only one who knows anything about birthing is Errol. He’s delivered a couple of his own before now, and he says Safi needs to be pushing, but she won’t. She starts screaming and Errol doesn’t look happy about it.
‘That baby ain’t moving ’cause she ain’t pushing, it’s stuck in birthing. Ain’t good Arletta.’
We’re thankful when the doctor arrives and rolls up his sleeves, because by this time Safi is flailing about, that’s what Errol calls it. We get warm towels and boiled water at the ready but I feel sure Safi’s baby must be dead and gone already.
She starts pushing – the doctor says instinct has taken over – but then she falls back on her pillow and he looks worried. Suddenly she arches her back, it looks like a crab walking on all four legs, and lets out a long low groan I know I’ll never forget. I don’t know how it happens quick as it does, but suddenly that baby slides out of her belly and the doctor is holding the tiny little thing in his arms. Mrs Archer-Laing is ready with the towels, so I’ve got the only pair of hands left doing nothing. I end up the one holding that newborn child in my arms because the doctor needs to be attending to Safi.
‘She’s convulsing. Cardiac arrest. Errol, hold this towel to stop the bleeding, quickly, the afterbirth should come. Her heart’s stopped.’
He pushes on Safi’s chest.
‘One, two, three, push. Come on, Safi. One, two, three …’
She never took another breath. She’s gone. The doctor looks defeated and my heart nearly stops too. I hear him say there was nothing more he could do. Not even a hospital could have helped. He did all he could, so did Mrs Archer-Laing and Errol. Nobody could have done anything more.
‘I’ll need to get the death certificate, Dolly.’
&nbs
p; I push past him.
‘Safi? Look, this is your little girl. She’s just a beautiful baby. Look, Safi. Please look.’
‘She’s gone, Arletta.’
I don’t know who’s speaking.
‘No, there’s no way she’s gone. Safi? Look, it’s your baby girl. She’s so beautiful, please Safi … please …’
I hear my own voice fade away because I know my friend is gone. Somebody takes my shoulders and turns me away. Safi’s baby girl is lifted out of my arms and I think somebody bathes her, then wraps her up in a cotton shawl before she gets handed back to me. I sit on our sofa holding the child and whispering her name, ‘Safi, Safi.’ The rain lashes the street below and thunder rolls above Louisiana.
Mrs Archer-Laing cleans Safi and dresses her in the white nightdress she asks Errol to bring from her laundry. It makes my friend look like she’s wearing a shroud. One thing I can say is that Safi at last looks peaceful and she ain’t looked that way for months, long before she even got that poison inside of her. Looking back, it was all probably for the best, ’cause it’s likely she was never going to be the Safi we all knew anyhow, that’s how the doctor put it. But it sure is hard to think my friend is gone and I’m left holding her child.
‘Say goodbye, Arletta dear. You must be tired. You can stay in the guestroom downstairs till we …’
But I’m not tired at all. All I can think of is what we need to be doing for Safi and her baby. The first thing we have to do is tell Ainsley, and I just can’t think of what we’re gonna do for food to feed the baby. The child needs food and now Safi is gone, I’ve got no clue how we’ll come by that.
‘Errol and the doctor are seeing to all of it, Arletta dear. We have to contact her people now. Go down to see Errol, have something to eat and I’ll stay with Safi and the baby. You need something to eat; we’ve already had breakfast.’
I sit and watch Errol pour me a glass of milk. It’s all I feel like. He tries to get me to take more, food being the best thing for bringing folks round from shock that he knows of.
‘Well, I’m full of plenty shock. I just lost my best friend. She’s gone, Errol.’
He insists I try to eat creamed crab and cornbread with pepper. I can see he won’t be taking no for an answer so I force myself.
‘There’s gonna be some explainin’ to do here Arletta. That doctor, he needs to be tellin’ the sheriff’s office ’bout the death.’
‘What?’
‘The death certificate gonna just say Safi died in childbirth.’
‘She did. Ain’t no business of no sheriff.’
‘And he’s gone to see about a wet nurse. He delivered a baby a few days back. He reckons they’ll be willing to help out till Safi’s folks get here, with milk and all, if we run out in this weather. Don’t know how long this howling gale gonna last.’
‘Is the baby okay Errol? She’s okay, isn’t she?’
‘A baby girl, and she’s real fine, so far, anyways.’
‘Why the sheriff then Errol? We oughta go get her folks …’
Doctors have legal ways to follow if they want to carry on practising. That’s the law. Now Safi’s gone, the doctor’s gotta go by it, that’s the best way of making sure no questions get asked that nobody inside of this house feels inclined to answer. I hear Errol say folks die in childbirth all the time and, as far as the law goes, that’s what happened to Safi.
Monsieur Desnoyers comes with a priest but I stay right out of it. When they’re done, Mrs Archer-Laing takes the baby downstairs. I unlock the trunk and open the King of England. I count fifty dirty dollars and sit next to Safi in her shroud. Then I wait in full dread of Safi’s ma and pa coming to Marksville.
The storm raged on for twenty-four hours and no word could get to Safi’s ma and pa. But then they came, looking all wrung out with pain and sorrow. They want to know why they were never told about Safi getting with child. And they want to know what happen to Ainsley. Seems I get to do most of the answering.
‘Safi said she didn’t want y’all knowing she got with child.’ That much is true. Tears spill down my face and I’m finding it hard to speak at all. ‘She and Ainsley, they split up and the child, the child ain’t his. She said she didn’t want ya knowing about it.’ That’s true too. ‘She wanted to tell ya, she was planning on telling ya, in her own time. The baby, the baby, came early so …’
‘They split up? They were talking about gettin’ married. That’s what Safi said, that’s what he says too, last time I saw him in church.’ Safi’s ma’s voice just trailed off to nothing, like there’s no point in saying anything at all about it now Safi’s gone.
‘It didn’t work out.’ I can see they’re struggling, so I say, ‘He let her down badly, y’know. He let her down badly.’
Her ma is holding Safi’s baby in her arms like it’s her own child and I cry again when they’re ready to leave. I press the fifty dollars into her hand.
‘Take this; it was Safi’s savings, it’ll be a help with the baby. It’s for … for the baby.’
Her ma hands it to her pa.
‘This her savings?’ he asks, looking at the roll of bills. ‘She was saving to get married and get started with a home of her own. But this much?’
I’m wishing they’d just get on their way.
‘She wanted to surprise y’all, her folks. Have a nice wedding and a real good start.’ I’m lying straight off now. ‘She’s been keeping a bit back ever since we got here, and she kept all that overtime she was doing, never spent a dime of it, ever. She was going hard at it, working too hard sometimes, I think, for a better life. She was always working. That’s how y’all didn’t see her so much, she was working hard all the time.’
‘How much is this?’
‘That’s fifty dollars.’
‘Fifty dollars? Safi saved fifty dollars?’
Then the sheriff came and wrote down all about Safi’s passing in childbirth for some stuffy record.
Eight
With Safi’s folks going to the new church now, her service is to be held over there and it’s a real nice send-off for my friend. Though it’s still hard to think she’s gone.
Mambo and Rochelle come dressed in purple sashes. I wait for them then we sit together right behind Safi’s family. When Mambo reaches out and pats Safi’s ma on her shoulder, she grasps her hand and holds on tight. Neither is able to look at the other, there’s too much pain between them. Even though they’ve taken to churchgoing, the old ways are still strong, I can see that. Come time of trouble, the old ways are still there and I see Safi’s family are glad Mambo came. Rochelle’s a real good girl and sits quiet. She’s not like me at that age at all, she’s been well trained that way, but I wonder what she’s holding in that tidy little basket in her lap. Next time I look, she’s handing it to Safi’s ma.
Mrs Archer-Laing sure turns heads when she walks down that church aisle arm in arm with Monsieur Desnoyers and a bunch of flowers all tied up with pink bows. She walks straight up and lays the bouquet on top of Safi’s box. Then she steps back and gives a little curtsey. I remember the day we arrived at her boarding house for the first time we did one just like it. I reckon she must be remembering. The whole place is as quiet as a mouse. Everybody turns to watch Mrs Archer-Laing and Monsieur Desnoyers take a pew. Then the singing starts. The singing is the best thing about the service before folks take to the road for the march to the cemetery to cut her body loose. They sing an old mournful Creole marching song that has my heart as low as I ever knew it, but, like I says, it’s a nice farewell for my only friend.
Errol tells the family, ‘It’s just one sorry shame it ain’t work out with her and Ainsley. We sure was sorry when he stopped comin’ round and they ain’t courting no more. It happens that young uns get themselves caught out like that. I’m sorry for ya loss.’
Ainsley doesn’t come. That was one of the saddest days I ever recall and he didn’t even come and say a right goodbye to Safi.
‘We told them you spli
t up or they’re gonna think that’s your child. They found it all hard to believe, that you split.’
‘That’s ’cause we were talking about gettin’ married.’
‘I said you let her down.’
‘I let her down?’
‘I’m sorry, Ainsley. To tell the truth, I had no idea what to say about it.’
‘That’s okay, Arletta. Ya did it for the best, I guess.’
‘I hope her pa don’t come looking for you, Ainsley, if he gets to thinking about it. I hope they move on and think of that child like she’s their own.’
‘Arletta, I ain’t able to figure it. How my Safi, my girl, get herself knocked up with somebody ain’t none of us know nothin’ about. Ya’s living with her, Arletta, ya must have seen something ain’t right? She must have said something, the way y’all talking all the time. Y’all as close as any folks can be.’
Safi never said anything about it, and that’s a whole lot stranger to me than it is to Ainsley. I press on him again that it’s best he moves away in case her folks come looking for him. Her pa and her brothers are gonna get over the shock of it all and I reckon that’s gonna leave them wanting to come asking what happened with him and Safi. Errol reckons the same thing and Ainsley needs to be moving on, starting over someplace else.
‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m thinking about it,’ he says.
When I next go to see Mambo I sleep with Rochelle in her new room out back. It’s small and we share the tiny cot Quince paid one of his pals for. My old cot is gone. I don’t ask about it, but I sure wish I had that back room when I was growing up. Rochelle gets me telling stories and she stays awake till we both fall asleep at the same time. Her arms find their way round me anyhow I turn. Rochelle’s the best thing that ever happened to me; she’s got Pappy’s love in her.
I wake up in the night with Safi on my mind and can’t get back to sleep. When daylight starts coming up I head over Sugarsookie Creek way. It don’t look the same now that loggers been up and down the tarred road and out there felling trees. The banks of the creek have been cleared and now there’s a new track beaten all the way alongside of it. Across the bayou new cabins are going up, some already have folks living in them and there’s a man fishing out of a canoe. It’s not a place Pappy would ever want to be going to smoke his baccy by himself, and I can’t see Nellie singing her sad song out here, neither. Things, and times, have changed.
What the River Washed Away Page 17