Here Comes the Sun

by Nicole Dennis-Benn

  19

  CHARLES HAS AGREED TO RETURN TO HELP OUT AROUND THE yard, uprooting weeds and washing the discolored walls and walkway. All morning long he has been working. He never pauses for a break, and declines Verdene’s offers for food and water. Finally she convinces him to come inside for tea.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not poison.” Verdene lowers a tray with the teacups and saucers her mother once reserved for special guests. Charles watches her pour the peppermint tea. Her hand shakes a little as the liquid fills his cup, a plume of steam rising from its surface. He doesn’t drink until she puts her cup to her mouth.

  “You’re not a talker,” she says, sitting across from him at the dining table.

  “Not when I’m working.” He lowers his cup into the saucer. She notices that he doesn’t look anywhere else like people tend to do when they are inside a place for the first time.

  “So you’re a hard worker.” She regrets this statement as soon as she says it. She sounds pompous, condescending. She wishes she could take it back.

  “I get di job done,” he says. “My father always used to seh dat how ah man work is ah reflection of his character.”

  “Who is your father? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Asafa.”

  “Lobsterman?” Verdene asks, remembering the fisherman. How could she not have known that this is his son? They look exactly alike—same sepia-colored eyes, same nose, same chin with the slight dimple. Asafa was just a youth when Verdene left. A youth her age who, like his father before him—a man people called One Eye Barry—started fishing from an early age. “Lobsterman is your father.” This is a statement, a declaration, as the image of Asafa appears across from her like a blueprint. “You say used to? Where is your father now?”

  Charles puts the cup to his face again, completely burying his nose. She watches the rhythm of his throat as he swallows. When he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand he says, “Gone.”

  Verdene plays with the rim of her cup. “I’m sorry.”

  Charles shrugs. “It is what it is.”

  Verdene picks up her cup and holds it to warm her hands.

  “I’m still getting over my mother passing. So I can just imagine how you feel.”

  “He didn’t die. He left.”

  “Oh.”

  A slick of blue sky frames his head. Usually when Verdene sits at the table this time of day she sees nothing but the sky. This only makes her want to do everything in her power to keep him there, her first real company besides Margot. “More tea?” she asks, hoping to change the mood. He nods. She pours more tea into his cup and rests the teapot at the center of the table. Charles inspects it. “Dis remind me of something I would see at Buckingham Palace,” he says.

  Verdene chuckles. “Have you ever been?”

  “No, but dat’s di kinda teapot ah imagine di queen would have in har cupboard.”

  “It was a gift my aunt sent my mother when she first moved to London.”

  “What is it like ovah dere?”

  Verdene pauses. Her time in Brixton is a period she doesn’t talk about.

  “It was all right,” she says.

  “Jus’ all right?”

  “I didn’t exactly move there by choice.”

  “Did you evah meet di queen?”

  “No. In fact, I didn’t go out much. Just work, home, and church. Every now and again I’d go dancing. My job as an editorial assistant for my uncle’s small press was too demanding anyway.”

  Charles’s eyes widen. “Yuh went to church?”

  “Why is that surprising?”

  “Well . . .” His voice trails off.

  “I’m not a heathen. I’m just like you.”

  “You’re nothing like me.” He says this too quickly. Verdene must have looked hurt, because he corrects himself with, “Ah don’t do church.”

  “Do you go to school?” she asks, glad to change the subject. “You seem smart.”

  “Don’t do that either. Not since my ole man left. Ah had to take care of my mother.”

  “That’s very responsible of you.”

  “If ah continued school ah woulda be ah architect. Yuh know, design buildings an’ big hotels like di ones here on di North Coast. Ah woulda mek sure not to move people outta dem homes.”

  “It’s not too late, you know.”

  Charles shakes his head. “For me it is. People like me can’t afford all dat schooling.”

  “There are scholarships. I can help you apply.”

  “Wid all due respec’, miss, me is not yuh charity. Me come here fi work. Chop yuh grass an’ wash yuh walkway. I’ve always made my own way wid nobody to help me.”

  “Fine. All I’m saying is you can do so much. You’re still very young. You wouldn’t want to wake up one day and realize that you’ve wasted your whole life. It’s not a good feeling, trust me.”

  “Yuh t’ink yuh waste yuh life?” he asks, cocking his head to one side.

  “There are many things I would’ve done differently.”

  “Gimme one t’ing you woulda done different.”

  “I wouldn’t have gotten married so young.”

  “Yuh married?”

  “Yes. For five years.”

  “To a man?”

  “No. A woman.”

  There is movement under his skin as his muscles give, slackening his jaws. That’s when Verdene bursts out laughing and says, “Yes, silly. A man.” He laughs too, but only a little, looking both relieved and confused.

  “So is it true?”

  “What?”

  “What people seh ’bout yuh.”

  “They don’t know me.”

  She gets up and lifts the teapot. “Let me warm more water. This is getting cold.”

  Charles leans back in his chair. He spins his saucer around but doesn’t say anything—as though the questions that Verdene sees brewing in his mind are too much to ask all at once. The tea and small talk are good enough for today. Though Charles has proven himself to be more open-minded than other young men in River Bank, Verdene is unsure of what he can take and what he cannot.

  “What made you help me that day?”

  Charles shrugs. “’Cause ah know what it’s like to be scorned. To be di talk ah di town. To feel like di whole world turn dem nose up at you ’cause dem t’ink dem bettah than you.”

  “Your mother raised a good son,” Verdene says, almost reaching her free hand to touch his, but deciding against it.

  20

  SKETCHES OF THE NEW HOTEL ARE SPREAD OUT ON ALPHONSO’S dining table. It will be bigger and grander than Palm Star Resort, with butler service, a Jacuzzi in every room, a spa and wellness center with a range of different massages from hot stone to erotic, a sports bar, a poolside restaurant, and a gigantic ballroom. Margot studies the sketches and realizes that River Bank will be completely taken over. The Y-shaped river will be used for rafting or water sports, and the white sand beach will be transformed into a nude beach. Margot doesn’t say anything in the midst of the excitement around her.

  “Not sure what we’ll call it yet, but whatever we call it has to have a good ring to it,” Alphonso says to a group of private investors. “The brand is as important as the features.”

  “I agree,” one investor says. He has an oddly shaped mustache.

  “We have until August to figure it out. Right now we should be more concerned with the development. We’re losing money with this government contract. NEPA hasn’t given us the go-ahead yet.” Alphonso’s voice booms like thunder. He has been drinking scotch and his face is flushed.

  “Why do we even need their approval?” one investor asks. He’s the most serious, only pouring himself water despite all the liquor offered. “We can do it the easy way. Get property owners to sign off on it. If we get their blessings, we’d be good to go.”

  “Yes, I hear what you’re saying, Virgil,” Alphonso replies. “But even with property owners giving us permission, it would cost us. Don’t we have to give th
em something? It’s been hard getting people off the land. We need a government contract to protect us.”

  “That’s complicated, waiting on those snails in Parliament to give us their signature,” says Virgil. “While we wait, our materials are wasting away in the elements. That’s a lot of money down the drain. More money than it would cost to give those property owners a small compensation and get the others out by force.”

  “Force?” Margot asks, speaking up for the first time since the gathering. “They lived there all their lives. Don’t you think they deserve the decency of a warning?”

  The men halt their bickering and look at Alphonso because, of course, only he can explain why she’s there and why her opinions matter to their thirty-plus years of mergers, annihilations, forceful displacements, monopolies, and extortions. There is enough room to back away. But she stays.

  “Don’t worry ’bout that.” Alphonso puts one arm around her waist. “You’ll be taken care of.” He kisses her neck.

  But Margot stiffens. “What about the others? What about my . . .” She pauses to catch her breath. “My family lives there.”

  The other men avert their eyes, shaking their heads.

  “Don’t worry yourself,” Alphonso repeats. He chuckles with the men in the room. Alphonso still hasn’t made his offer to promote her. Yesterday in the boardroom he only spoke to the administrative staff about working overtime to pick up where Miss Novia Scott-Henry left off until he hires someone new. She should keep her mouth shut if she wants him to choose her to run the new property. She always wanted to leave River Bank anyway. With the new promotion she can send Thandi to sixth form in Kingston and then to university. She can buy that house she has been dreaming about in Lagoons and convince Verdene to come and live with her as a housemate. They can be together without anyone questioning them. She might find a golden-age home for Grandma Merle. And Delores? Delores will just have to fend for herself.

  But maybe it’s too late.

  Alphonso doesn’t let his hand linger on the small of her back like usual. He ignores her the rest of the evening as she slowly sips the glass of wine she poured herself.

  “I haven’t yet figured out who will manage the new resort,” she hears him say to one of the gentlemen who is sitting on his right. Margot, who is sitting on his left, leans forward, nearly slamming her wine glass down on the coffee table. When the night winds down, she waits patiently as the men shake hands. They make their way to their luxury vehicles with bright faces flushed. Behind them, Alphonso is bowing his head as each man pats him on the back. “Good doing business with you.” Meanwhile, Margot folds her arms across her chest and waits on the sofa as he finishes his last conversation. She was the one who made it all possible. She was the one who got Georgio, the biggest investor, to sign the check. Presently, Alphonso is about to destroy River Bank to complete his dream.

  Alphonso turns to Margot and waves her over. “Come say goodbye to Martine!”

  She gets up and moves to the front door, where both men are waiting. Alphonso grandly gestures with his hands. “She’s my right-hand woman and the one I’ll put in charge of all the extracurricular activities at the new resort,” he says to the man.

  The man looks at Margot. “Can I get a taste?”

  “A taste of what?” Margot asks, pretending ignorance.

  “The specials.”

  “Martine wants to sample the goods we’ll be offering at the new property,” Alphonso says with a grin. He turns to the man. “Trust me, yuh haven’t had good sex till you try one of these girls. At the new hotel, all of them will be hired as workers there, from maids to bartenders to clerks to lifeguards to massage therapists.”

  Margot knows what’s at stake, so she obliges. “I’ll give you a sample tomorrow.”

  “How about tonight?”

  Alphonso nods, but Margot refuses to play this game. “Will you excuse us?” she says to the man. “Alphonso and I need to talk.”

  “Be my guest! I can wait all night for you.”

  Once she and Alphonso are out of earshot by the palm trees, she says, “You got what you want, so what about what I want?”

  “What is this in reference to?”

  “The new hotel. You promised.”

  He cups her face gently. “Why not focus on what you’re really good at? You’re excellent with the girls.”

  She pulls her face away. “You think I want to spend the rest of my life doing this?”

  Alphonso chuckles. “Oh, Margot, yuh nevah fail to amaze me. I give you an opportunity to shine and you complain.”

  “I want a promotion.”

  “You don’t have what it takes, Margot.”

  “What does it take?” Margot doesn’t suppress the slight tremor erupting inside her. “You promised me.”

  “But Margot, it doesn’t work like that. You know the criticism I get for running the hotel differently from my father. I want to build my reputation back. You know people will inquire about your training and experience. I can’t let that happen, that’s why I brought Novia on. Not only because she’s brilliant, but she brought people. She’s Jamaica’s first real ambassador.”

  “An ambassador who sleep wid underage girls.”

  Alphonso pauses and closes his eyes for a brief second. “I know Novia. She and my wife are best friends.”

  Margot snorts at this and rolls her eyes. “That explains it.”

  “She’s a good person. Her indiscretions can be forgiven.”

  “Now yuh sound like a damn politician, or a priest.”

  “It’s business.”

  “I showed you the plans. I fed you ideas. And now yuh saying I don’t have what it takes to run a resort?”

  “Margot, you are missing my point.”

  “Yuh made it loud and clear. I have news for you. You hire anyone else and I’m going to the authorities about the prostitution ring. Not only that, I have pictures to give to the press of yuh beloved ambassador fucking a prostitute. A female prostitute.” She hurls this like a stone. Alphonso blinks. His mouth opens and closes before the words come out.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Watch me.”

  “You’re a coldhearted bitch.”

  “You made me that way.”

  “Margot, don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do what? Let people see yuh fall from glory? Let dem see how yuh drag di Wellington dynasty down di gutter? Ha! You were always the incompetent one, Alphonso. A fool who depends on the brilliance of others.”

  “I never trusted you.”

  “Makes two of us. You either keep yuh promise or get yuh name dirty in di press.”

  “You’re a nutcase if you think it’s that easy.”

  “A nutcase who yuh continue to fuck. Time to pay up. You know I’m not fah free.”

  “I paid your sister’s tuition. You seem to have forgotten.”

  “Still not enough.”

  Alphonso steps closer to her with his fists clenched. “You are a power-hungry whore who would fuck anything, Margot. I was surprised that it wasn’t you they found with Novia in bed that morning, though I think my wife has given her better pussy.”

  Margot slaps him across the face. She slaps him so hard that the sound echoes, unexpected like a gunshot. But he only stands there, a smirk on his face.

  “I think you should go,” he finally says, holding his left cheek.

  “You have one day to think about what I said,” Margot says.

  “I won’t budge.”

  “Then I’ll send it out tonight. It’s that simple.”

  “All right, all right.” He holds up both hands. “I’ll announce your promotion as hotel general manager for the new hotel on Monday morning, eight o’ clock sharp. Now see yuhself out.”

  Although she’s standing, Margot feels like she’s on her knees. She gathers her things and leaves in the cool darkness of the night. Martine is no longer in sight. The taste of victory is bitter on her tongue and reminds her of the day she
gave her Uncle Winston the six hundred dollars that Delores received from the stranger at Falmouth Market. She handed the money to him, thinking he would leave her alone. The victory was short-lived, because Delores only got meaner, hungrier, subjecting Margot to more strangers to make up for the money she lost. Margot realized too late that when she gave Uncle Winston the money, she was giving away herself.

  21

  OUTSIDE, THE HUMID AIR HANGS LOW LIKE THE MANGOES ON the trees. It’s June, the tail end of mango season. So the little breeze, if any, carries the sweet, battered smell of rotting mangoes. The school compound is empty, since classes have begun. The sun plays on the well-manicured lawn that is surrounded by quaint two-story buildings built by the British founders of the school. The walkways are lined with manicured hedges of bright red and pink hibiscuses, all leading to the Victorian architecture of the administrative office—a place where Thandi imagines girls with pale skin wearing broad hats used to sip afternoon tea back in the day before black girls were admitted. She is finding it difficult to focus on her studies the way she should, dawdling between classes.

  “Young lady, why are you not in class?”

  Thandi turns around and sees Sister Benjamin, a wiry-thin nun whose pointed nose resembles a beak. She’s the school nurse. “Uhm . . . ah . . . I was sent to . . . I feel sick,” Thandi blurts out, surprised at her ability to manufacture such a lie on the spot while staring straight into the eyes of a nun.

  “Come with me,” Sister Benjamin says with authority. Thandi follows behind her into a more shaded area by the physical education building—a newer building with a gymnasium and a swimming pool—where Sister Benjamin’s office is located. Once inside the nurse’s office, Thandi sits ladylike, back straight and legs crossed at the ankles, in the cold metal chair by the desk. There are plastic molds of human anatomy on the shelves inside the office—various parts like the eyes with squiggly blue veins drawn on the cornea, the intestines that zigzag all the way to the mannequin’s bottom half, and the womb that is shaped like the horns of a ram. The air-conditioning in the office feels like opening Mr. Levy’s deep freeze, revealing the bottles of soft drinks inside. These white nuns would never survive in Jamaica without air-conditioning. Thandi imagines that they would melt like candle wax.