Millie sucked her teeth. ‘I don't want you risk getting a tan,’ she said, without bothering to turn around. Then she moved off to the right, letting the light flood back into Leila's face. Leila quickly shielded her eyes with both hands. She knew now that something was the matter, for Millie was acting like a sullen child, something she was seldom prone to do despite the fact that she looked like one.
It was Millie who had insisted that they come and sit halfway up the hill among the nettles and long razor grass and have a talk, but that was some hours ago now. To begin with Millie had sat by Leila and looked out to sea, saying nothing. Leila had assumed that she just wanted to take in the view of the island, which from this height unfolded before them like a fully blossomed flower, then wander back down to the village. But then Millie had stood up without saying anything. Then she had sat down again. Now she was standing. Leila said nothing. What it was Millie was playing at, what it was she actually had on her mind, Leila was unsure, but she felt it might be to do with Michael who she knew (nobody had told her, she just knew) would soon ask her to marry him.
Millie bent and picked a piece of grass. She tore it apart as if her life depended upon it. In the far distance a small fishing boat (a charred splinter floating in the sea) drifted towards the island, slowly, as if laden down with fish, but it was probably empty and slow simply because there was nothing to hurry back for. They both looked. Up above the sky was clear and not even the merest rag of a cloud swirled into view. Out on the horizon, beyond the boat, where sky met sea, the world split in two, the lower half made up of metallic silver, the upper half of some softly spun, precious blue cloth.
Millie turned around, alarmed, her mouth half-opened as if the words would never come. She swallowed lumpily, then seized the moment’.
‘But Leila, the man already done put one woman with child and I sure he don't tell you it's so he do, so I telling you.’ Again she swallowed. ‘He tell you?’
Leila dropped her eyes and fidgeted.
‘I know about the woman and the child. It's just his way.’
‘What you mean is just his way? He think you is a dog or what? He think she is a dog? He think he can just go put whatever woman with child he feel like and then go walk out with a next one like nothing is the matter, or he be a saint or something?’
‘But he's told me about her and how it is she feels and all the rest of it.’
‘You think she don't be nothing because her man done leave she?’
‘What are you talking about, Millie?’
‘You think like man now, you think she just be something he can go mess around with when he do feel like it?’
‘I don't know what you're talking about!’
‘I don't know why you do lie to me so, Leila, I don't know why, for the only thing wrong with you, and it's going get you in trouble, is the fact that you is a coward, you too damn scared to come out and admit when you done something wrong or when you do make a mistake.’ Millie paused, lips pursed, then went on, ‘I know for true that Michael don't tell you nothing about she for Bradeth say he always joking to him about what he do say to woman and what he don't say, and how it's up to woman to figure this out and to figure that out, so why you can't be real with me, Leila, why you can't just say to me the man don't tell you as yet and that's all there be to it, why you can't say that?’
‘I can.’
‘Well, say it then, be honest with me, don't pretend, don't be a coward with me if I'm really your best friend, don't pretend to me, alright! Don't pretend to me!’
Millie spun around and ran back down the hill. Soon she disappeared from view. Then Leila looked up and watched the sun begin its long slide into the sea. Michael had not told her. She had lied. But she knew about the child for it was easy to find out these things, even if you did not want to find them out. In fact she knew even before Arthur left that this man who had been paying so much attention to her had been harbouring a pregnant woman, a woman who now had a child, but she felt that the woman was a nothing woman to him and it did not worry her. He did not even mention her. Maybe she should have said this to Millie. But then she might have looked a fool and angered Millie even more. She lay back, hands behind her head, and thought of Michael.
It was only a few months ago that he had roared into St Patrick's, hugging the tight curve with the bike like a child tracing a circle with a pencil. Leila heard the low buzz of the horn, but she continued to squeeze the lemon into the glass jug. A pip squirted out and scuttled across the floor. Leila crossed the room, bent over and picked it up. As she straightened up the horn sounded out again and this time she went to the door to look.
Michael sat casually on the bike, one foot resting flat against the ground, the other tucked up into the belly of the machinery. It was late afternoon and the sun caught the chrome and reflected short, intense shafts of light, scattering them in all directions. A large cloud of dust tumbled down the street. Michael did not move, neither did he turn his head or lift up his hand to protect his eyes. It passed by, leaving Michael a little dustier but the image intact.
‘Come, I going take you for a ride, so put down your things and let we go, nuh.’
Leila pivoted slightly, wondering whether she should tell her mother, but she thought otherwise. If she was awake then she would have heard anyhow. Leila dashed inside, put the stray pip on the table and wiped her hands on a cloth. She rushed out as she was.
Leila had never been on a bike and the sensation shocked her. It was the freedom which struck her most, the idea that for a brief moment you could escape behind a wall of sound and speed, unsure as to whether you would ever emerge from it. As the cane and trees and shrub went spinning past she clung tightly to Michael, playfully digging her fingers into his firm flesh.
‘Where we going?’ she shouted. ‘Where you taking me?’
‘Black Rocks,’ bellowed Michael. ‘Black Rocks! We can just ease off and talk when we get there.’
The wind lifted his voice from her ears but she heard most of his words. It was all part of the thrill. She tightened her arms around Michael in a warm human belt.
He parked the bike and lay down in the late afternoon sun. Leila climbed off and lay next to him. She looked up and breathed deeply and regularly. But by the time she had relaxed from the ride and was ready to reach over and touch Michael, he had fallen asleep.
Leila looked at his face and began to worry. In the rush of it all she had not noticed how tired he looked. She had never before seen him asleep, and his face looked like a bridge that had collapsed into a pile of rubble. Beneath his eyelids his eyes still darted left and right, and his lips kept parting, quietly at first, then with more vigour as he begun to mutter to himself. As she rolled over on to her back Leila realized he had not yet explained about the bike, or why he wanted to bring her here. In fact he had not explained about anything. For a moment she thought about waking him up but she knew it was unfair. In reality Leila was convinced that Beverley must have bought the bike for him. The sea continued to smash into the Black Rocks and Michael continued to sleep; Leila's thoughts became twisted and difficult. She did not know the woman. She had seen her close-up, just once, but she had never spoken with her.
It had been a Monday, the slow traffic of the capital had begun to tire, the school buses had been and gone and even the stealthy cars seemed to have ground to a halt. Only the odd bicycle flew past, its furious master inevitably young, barechested and vociferous. The only other activity in Baytown was in the open gutters where the waste ran smooth and yellow like melted butter. Leila kicked lazily at the road and watched the granular spray fly in all directions. As it was a warm afternoon she had decided to walk back some of the way home rather than catch a country bus.
She ambled along the straight road that led out of the capital toward St Patrick's. Then she saw Beverley holding her newborn child like a bundle of rags. She was standing as if waiting for a lift of some kind. To Leila it seemed more likely that drivers would stop to ask after her sanity, rath
er than her destination, for she stood with her head uncovered. Leila panicked, realizing that she was nearly on top of the woman. She did not know what to do and it was clearly too late for her to turn around or to go back. She pressed on, her heart thumping heavily.
Beverley, small and plump, her face freckled, her breasts large, milk-filled; turned to look at Leila as she passed her by. She stared at her as a native stares at a tourist, and Leila pretended she did not realize she was being mocked by somebody's silent eyes. She tried desperately not to quicken her pace or change her posture. She just walked and walked and walked, suddenly feeling the full fire of the sun. The baby's face was all she had managed to see and it looked like Michael. The same deep colour, the same eyes that said nothing, the mouth, everything.
Once out of sight Leila stopped and felt the perspiration gushing down her face. The baby was still haunting her and she took a deep breath. She wiped her face on a handkerchief and dabbed at her nose. Then she began to move off again, this time at a quicker pace, then she slowed, realizing she did not even know the name of Michael's child, and there was nobody she could ask.
The second day followed the same depressing pattern. Leila woke, lay in bed, thought and listened. She had dreamed, and she had little difficulty in remembering what it was she had dreamed about. As she listened, only the voices from the street disturbed the silence of the house. Her mother did not get out of bed. For Leila the birds stopped singing at the right time, and the sun burned its predictable way down towards the next night, and again she was tired.
Night fell and dampened the noises in the street. Only the occasional human voice dared compete with the shrieking insects. Man's interest in the day was coming to an end. Inside Leila's room the shadows were still, and after two days the air heavy and making her want to cough; but she held back, not wanting to wake her mother. She swallowed deeply, then, waiting until she heard her mother's irregular breathing attain some semblance of normality, she threw back the sheet and crept out of bed. She dressed quickly, passed out of the bedroom into the neglected front room, and from there into the moonlight.
Michael's wedding present lay against the side of the house. Leila was unsure if she would be able to push it, but she would try. She peeled back the noisy tarpaulin covering, knocked the stand away and struggled to keep it upright. The moon caught its long silver tubing. Leila was sure that as long as she could keep it balanced she would manage. She lowered her head, dropped her shoulders, leaned forward and began pushing with large strides.
The road was empty and dead. Even the fine dust beneath her feet and the dust beneath the reluctant wheels remained undisturbed. To her right a cool breeze blew in off the sea, whose whisperings she could hear, though she knew not what was being said. She pushed on, her slender arms growing quickly numb. Then the moon unwrapped itself from a cloud, the night softened a little and Leila paused to catch her breath. Then she pressed on again.
Off to her left and trapped in a mesh of cane, Leila saw the rusting bulk of an overturned car. It made her feel uneasy. She began to think aimlessly, and her mind blundered upon her father, and her head turned slightly as if avoiding derisive eyes. It was his money that had bought the bike, and though Leila had always presumed him dead there was no reason for this to be so. The money that was paid to her mother might be from his will, or from the revenue of his estate, if he had an estate. She had always thought that he must have one, but then again perhaps he paid the money in himself. Perhaps he was still alive? Leila stopped and listened to the insects, knowing that she had to empty her mind of these thoughts for they embarrassed her now as they had always done in the past. ‘Mulatto girl,’,‘Mulatto girl,’ was what her friends at school used to sing at her, and Leila used to run away and hide and wish that her mother would tell her it was not true. But her mother never said anything, and Leila used to look at her and wonder if her mother had ever been in love with her father, whoever he was.
Leila arrived and pulled back the bike on to its stand. She looked up at the crooked outline of the building. From Beverley's house there came no noise. The simple frame cast a deep shadow. She felt her skirt sticking to her legs, and for an instant she thought the bike must have leaked some petrol. She reached down and realized that it was just more perspiration. Leila prepared herself to walk back the 6 miles she had just come, knowing if she was going to get there before dawn she would have to forget her tiredness and start walking now. Then, from inside the house, a baby screamed and Leila's heart tumbled down a flight of stairs and she ran.
She arrived exhausted but relieved in front of her mother's house. In the warmth of a clear Caribbean dawn, the sea and sky were once again a life-supporting blue. But she did not linger to look. Leila went through into her room, took off her clothes and slid into bed as the cock crowed for the last time.
She was awoken by the sound of a motorbike, and from the light she could see that it was now late afternoon. Michael announced his arrival by roaring the engine of his new bike, then skidding it to an exaggerated halt. He climbed down, dusted off his clean clothes, then adjusted his royal blue tie. He folded his hand in readiness to knock lightly on the door, but Leila had already crawled out of bed and rushed to open it. She stood before him and flinched when she saw his raised fist. Seeing her reaction, Michael lowered his hand and looked at his wife. ‘You just get up?’
Leila nodded and pulled her dressing gown close.
‘And it's you who bring down the bike?’ She nodded again.
‘The old one only good for spare parts now,’ said Michael.
They stood and stared at each other, then Michael shuffled his feet and spoke clumsily.
‘Well, it's no wonder you tired, then. Maybe I should go and let you have some peace and quiet.’
He made a slight move to leave but she was quick to catch him, her own words equally clumsy.
‘No, come in.’
She stepped back and to the side, and Michael slipped past her and sat down at the table. Leila left the door open and moved over to pour him some ginger beer from a tall glass jug. She set both glass and jug before him, and as she pulled back her hand he grabbed at it. They looked at each other. Then Michael spoke.
‘At the wedding. I was drunk and acting the fool.’ He paused. ‘I feel I ought to make a new start.’
Leila slipped away.
‘You hungry?’ she asked, lifting a heavy pot with her two thin arms.
‘Yes,’ said Michael.
Leila cooked him the food and he ate in silence. He pushed the plate away and again he looked at her.
‘You want to help me make a new start or we done finish before we even really begin?’
Leila looked closely at him, his face clean shaven, the area around the upper lip having been shaved a little too close as the pores there seemed almost cavernous.
‘I don't think we've finished before we've started,’ she said. Michael leaned over and kissed her firstly on her cheeks, then on her slightly parted, already dampened lips. They were in their third day of married life.
Leila moved cautiously away from the table. She sat on the doorstep and began to soak up the sun. Michael joined her and for the rest of the afternoon they sat, talked and looked the part. Then, as their short day drew to a close, they got up and went through to Leila's bedroom.
*
Leila woke up alone and feeling sick. Her body had slept but her head had not had a moment's peace. Her face felt old and crumpled, like a once-read, now-discarded newspaper. Outside a cock began to crow, unsure of whether it wanted to go through with another day in this powerful heat. The days were lengthening and again the island was preparing itself for a small rebirth. It was that time of the year. It had already rained, and the mushlike vegetation had rotted and devoured itself, and the winds had blown, and the hurricane warnings had been sounded, and the crickets had screeched in fear, but there was nothing to fear.
The afternoons had begun to get hotter, the sun had blistered and the swoll
en clouds started to appear in the sky, initially just the one, later whole flocks of them. Then a gust of wind picked a dry leaf from a tree and sent it spinning to the ground, and in the distance, over the sea, a dark grey roof of cloud supported by vertical columns, their foundations in the heart of the ocean, brooded ominously. The rains were coming.
Then a great clap of thunder had cleaved the earth clean in half. The huge metal spike appeared in the sky for two, three seconds at a time and the first few lazy drops were released. A dry, low patter of rain, and everybody could pretend it was winter. Then came the blinding rain and the children ran crazily, getting heavier and heavier, until that one vast and final crack and flash shook their growing bodies and their limbs began to move with a new freedom and ease. They danced round and round, arms thrown up, fingers outstretched, their faces streaming, and they were happy knowing they could not get any wetter.
Then later the whole sky became grey, and the dull incessant beat began to drain the spirit. The cars swished uncaringly by, and the bullets of rain no longer stung. The individual sounds began to distinguish themselves, the rain beating on leaves, on puddles, on grass, on rain itself. Over the hills the mist hung thick and bold, and the wind rushed into the trees which shook off their water only to be drowned again.
And then a light, almost breathless wind brushed aside the heavy clouds, leaving only drifting balls of feathery wool, too young to hold rain; and soon after God's hand fashioned the perfect arch of the rainbow.
And later the cane leaves turned brown, the earth grew dusty and the juice ripened through into the shorter days and cooler evenings of December and January. February was uneventful (it was not a leap year). Now it was March and the confident days were quick to seize the morning light, reluctant to give way to the peace of the evening. It was that time of the year.
After two weeks of relative stability Michael had again started to go around to Beverley's. Then, when Leila's pregnancy reached its middle stages, and her swollen shape no longer held any mystery, he started to spend nearly all his time with Beverley. These days Leila seldom saw him, but she tried to think of him even less. A few weeks ago he had called by to collect some clothes and she had let him in. He looked well and only his hair, usually short and wiry, seemed a little matted and out of place, but Michael would have no doubt already taken note of this. They said nothing, and he gathered up his clothes and left. That evening Leila sat angrily and cursed herself for not having had the nerve to have said something to him. But she could think of nothing that would have made any impression upon him. In fact he did not even seem to have noticed her.
The Final Passage Page 6