by Di Morrissey
Madison dropped her jeans and T-shirt on the spare bed, picked up a towel from a chair, found the bathroom and washed her face, too tired to bother with teeth brushing or careful make-up removal. It was 1.30 am. Connor had left her bag inside the door. She unlocked it and groped for a clean T-shirt or anything near the top that she could wear in bed. There was a tap at the door just as she was finishing dressing.
‘Here. Welcome to Guyana.’ Connor burst in offering a china jug which held magnificent bird of paradise flowers and two stems of white ginger. Their perfume was overpowering and exotic. He stood the jug on the dressing table. He was dripping wet and she realised he had been raiding the garden to gather the flowers for her.
‘Things will look brighter tomorrow,’ he grinned. ‘The rain will be gone and Matthew should be back by lunchtime.’
‘Thank you so much for picking me up and waiting . . .’
He reached out and intimately rubbed his thumb under her eye. ‘Smudged mascara. You look like a raccoon. Good luck, Madison.’
He headed for the stairs as Madison lifted up a corner of the mosquito net and fell onto the bed, wondering what to make of this man, so domineering . . . yet apparently still soft enough to smell the flowers.
FIVE
Madison slowly awakened but did not open her eyes. She lay listening to unfamiliar birds, the soft clack clack of the overhead fan, the rhythmic scratching of a handheld twig broom, voices in the street, the cheerful lilt of an unfamiliar accent. There was the drag of a metal gate across concrete, then it slammed shut.
‘Good day, Singh.’
‘How be it, Hy’cinth?’
‘Adeh, man.’
A dog barked. Other dogs in the street chorused and Singh bellowed at them to hush up.
Madison rolled over. She opened one eye and saw the jug of flowers through the veil of mosquito netting. Sunlight streamed into the room and a breeze wafted the perfume of the ginger towards her and faintly rattled a glass louvre.
The rich perfume of the white ginger brought back memories of the previous night and Connor, damp from the rain and wet garden, handing her the heady flowers. That gesture had shaken her first impression of him as a confident, slightly cynical, career-oriented achiever. The fact he was prepared to drive an hour in the rain late at night to meet his friend’s sister meant he and Matthew must be good friends. She supposed he was typical of the kind of man Matthew mixed with overseas—ambitious, adventuring types working their way up the international ladder of business. He was good-looking in that open Aussie kind of way, red gold hair and frank blue eyes, not so tall but with a broad chest and shoulders. She had no doubt he’d have a killer charm with women.
Madi sat up and ducked out from under the mosquito net, annoyed with her straying thoughts. She was here to see her brother, experience a very different country and she was certainly not looking for any kind of relationship. Connor Bain was one of her brother’s friends, and she hoped they’d all get along without him or anyone else making sexual overtures.
The shower was a mere trickle and cold so Madison decided against struggling to shampoo her hair. She walked into the kitchen to find a buxom black girl with an electric frizz of curls busy kneading dough on a floured bench. She wiped her hands on her apron and gave Madison a happy smile.
‘Welcome, mistress. I be Hyacinth. You sleep good?’
‘Yes thank you, Hyacinth. I’m Madison Wright.’
‘Ah, you sister to Mr Matt. You want I show you how tings work?’
‘Yes indeed. What’s wrong with the shower? It was fine last night.’
‘Oh my, you have to learn ever’ting.’ Hyacinth unpinned her apron. ‘Come, I show you.’
Forty minutes later Madison had washed her hair and mastered the diabolical routine of the Georgetown water supply and a few other domestic complexities. Her mind was buzzing with the water pump instructions: when to turn it on, off; how to prime and start the diesel generator that provided electricity when the public power system collapsed, which was almost daily; where to find the large portable gas bottles for the stove; and how to unlock the padlocks on the gates.
Inside the house she understood why Connor had referred to Fort Knox. Folding metal grilles were pulled across the bar area that housed liquor and the stereo and CD player. With a ringing clank Hyacinth showed her how the hallway to the bedrooms was sealed off at night by yet another grille. In the bedrooms, safes held personal effects. ‘Mr Matt and Mr Kevin got the numbers for the dials, I no know dem.’ And with a flourish Hyacinth produced a bunch of keys from her pocket. ‘Dese be keys to pantry and food stores. And doubles for gate and so on.’
‘I see, I think. Why so much security in the house? It makes me a bit nervous.’
‘Teefs no can take away tings, eh? All dis Guyminco company idea. Other houses same way.’
‘Who lives around here? Are all the people from the mine?’
‘No. Down road reech, very reech, Portugee and Indian people. Business people. But some of dem one time just simple folk like me.’ Hyacinth headed to the kitchen.
‘So how did they get so rich?’
Hyacinth leaned down and pulled a tray smothered in freshly roasted coffee beans from the oven. ‘Well, I couldn’t say anyting ’bout dat.’
‘That coffee smells delicious. Could I make some? Where does it come from?’
‘I do for you. Dis be local coffee.’ Madison was shooed from the kitchen.
Matthew rang a short time later. ‘So you’re really here, sis. I can hardly wait to show you this amazing country.’
‘I’m sitting on the balcony with fabulous coffee and homemade coconut cookies. When am I going to see you?’
‘Tell Hyacinth not to bother with lunch for me. I’ll be there about three. I have a meeting. See you then. You get settled in. Has Hyacinth shown you the water pump and so on?’
‘God yes! Rather quaint.’
He laughed. ‘Local colour, Madi. We’ll hit the town tonight, okay?’
‘Sounds fun. See you when you get here.’
Madison unpacked and Hyacinth hovered. ‘You got some washing, ironing?’
‘Not really, thanks Hyacinth. Only my travelling clothes.’ Though with the heat and humidity already high, Madison could tell she was probably going to change outfits more than once a day.
‘Primrose come and do wash and iron, help me. She my sister. She work for Mr Bain so she have only one person to look after.’
Madison was almost going to ask just how many more servants were going to materialise but thought better of it. ‘Oh, I look forward to meeting her. Do you have brothers too?’
‘No, just be me, Primi and Rose.’
‘Your mother liked flowers I think.’
‘She like English tings. She give us girls fancy names, but we no turn out English!’ Hyacinth laughed at her joke. ‘Guyana not England, dat’s for sure,’ she added as she turned, swaying her hips, giving a saucy laugh and singing a snatch of a calypso ditty as she went to the kitchen.
Later in the morning Madison marched downstairs carrying a shoulder bag and wearing a hat and sunglasses. Hyacinth introduced her to Singh who was sitting on a shaded bench outside the kitchen in his singlet and shorts. He rose and shook her hand, giving her a warm smile, not at all uncomfortable about his informal attire. ‘You going somewhere, mistress?’
‘Yes, I thought I’d go downtown, change some money, get orientated. I need a map of the place. When I asked the cambio money change lady in Miami for Guyana dollars, she hadn’t heard of them. So much for international money exchange.’
‘How you go, mistress? You have a friend coming to drive you?’
‘No, I called a taxi. There are a couple listed in the phone book.’
Hyacinth looked concerned. ‘You go to town in a taxi? Why you don’t wait for Mr Matt? What taxi yo ring up?’ she asked, a cautious note in her voice.
‘I don’t know, the first one I saw. Speedy Taxi, I think.’
‘Ee-eio,
ooh, ma’am!’ Hyacinth wailed and clutched her head and Madison stared in astonishment. ‘Eeah, dem is bad men. Bad men. Dey cheat you, dey take you bad place. No good taxi.’
Madison found it difficult to share the flamboyant concern. ‘Dear me,’ she said with a smile as a car pulled up at the gate. ‘Well, it can’t be helped now. Here it is. Singh, open the gate please.’
‘You take care, mistress. Hang on to yo purse,’ Hyacinth warned.
Madi walked boldly to the car but underneath she felt intimidated and nervous as she reached the driveway. She slid into the back seat of an elderly, forlorn Hillman. Calypso music blared and the driver hid behind large dark glasses. A striped T-shirt was pulled tightly across muscular shoulders which rippled as he glanced up at her in the rear vision mirror, with a look that was a question. ‘Where yo go?’
‘I want to go to the bank, and then a bookshop, I guess.’
‘Which bank?’ He reached over and turned the music lower as he pulled away.
‘Oh, I don’t care.’ She hesitated to give her reasons.
‘Yo want to change money?’
‘Why do you say that?’
There was a flash of white teeth. ‘Yo look like yo be a new visitor.’
‘You mean I look like a tourist?’ Madison had hoped she looked like an expatriate wife.
‘Are yo from Australia?’
Madison sank back in the seat. ‘I guess my cover is blown, huh?’
The driver chuckled. ‘I’ve met a few Aussies here. I recognise the accent. So, yo want me to wait at de bank and den take yo to de bookshop?’
He glanced at her over his shoulder and Madison saw that his smiling face was a mixture of Indian and African. Like so many people here he was ‘all mix up’ as Hyacinth had put it during the tour of the domestic arrangements. The driver was a handsome and tidily dressed man and he exuded a cheerful confidence. She felt her fears melting. Certainly she had no experience of this strange country yet, but this local didn’t look ‘a bad man’.
Madison couldn’t believe how long it took to change her money even though the bank had the outward appearance of a modern financial institution. Its efficient architecture belied the languid approach to the business of banking by its earnest multitude of staff. Madi went through three different queues before reaching the cashier. She was finally handed a slip of pink paper. ‘Where’s my money?’
‘Go to the teller. Give them this.
She sighed. Four people in four different sections had calculated on four different pieces of paper the exchange rate for US to Guyanese dollars. At last the teller finished counting the notes and handed her a giant wad of money. Madison burst out laughing. ‘Good grief. Have you given it all to me in one dollar bills?’
The lady teller gave her an icy stare. ‘No.’
Madison peeled off the top five hundred dollar bill. ‘Can I break this? Give me some small change.’
‘We do not have coins in our currency.’
Madison gave up. The newsagent or bookshop assistant would have to cash the bill so she could pay the taxi.
Outside she looked up and down the street before spotting the taxi with the driver waving to her from halfway down the block. Clutching her bag she hurried along the footpath. When she reached the car she was already perspiring freely, the humidity and heat seemed to have soared while she had been inside the air-conditioned bank. The driver was leaning against his cab, chatting to a man whose head was crowned with dreadlocks and a coloured beanie, and who was carrying a string bag of wooden carvings. The driver waved. ‘Sorry I couldn’t park close to de door. No space. But I watch out fo yo.’
Madison held her shoulder bag close to her body, feeling she was carrying a fortune.
‘Yo want to buy a carving? Dis friend of mine, he do good work.’
‘No thanks.’ But then glancing at the carvings through the string bag she was struck by their craftsmanship. She fingered one the artist held out and glanced at the carver with admiration that was not just for his work. He was a giant African who looked as if he too had been carefully carved from the finest ebony.
‘All Guyanese wood, me do de work ma’self,’ he said, offering another carving to her to examine.
‘It’s very good. But I’m not ready to start buying anything yet.’
‘But dis de best. I no come t’town. I be in de bush. Dis mean is good time fo yo to buy from me,’ he cajoled.
‘No. Not today.’ She shook her head.
He slapped his head with his free hand. ‘Man, yuh ’ard ears.’
Madison glanced at the driver, who chuckled. ‘He say yo is stubborn, ma’am.’
‘You don’ even ask de price. I make very good price. Listen, I have something I know I mek it jist fo yo.’ He delved into the string bag looped over his shoulder.
‘No, really,’ Madison reached for the taxi door which the driver opened and she slid into the seat. The wood carver thrust his hand through the window and opened his palm. A small frog nestled in it. Madison glanced at it, then looking more carefully she picked it up as if it were a fragile treasure.
It was made of pale polished wood, gleaming like gold. Its legs were neatly tucked beneath it and the texture of its skin was hinted at in the artist’s fine strokes. But there was a strength and a liveliness to it and for an instant she felt it could leap from her hand. Its wooden face was expressive, a slight grin lurked at the wide mouth, a faint amusement in its round carved eyes which surprised her. It appealed to Madi immediately. She looked into the quizzical dark eyes of the artist through the window. ‘You know dat I mek dis fo you. Dis be yo luck. Dis frog be yo destiny.’
‘How much?’
‘One thousand. He only a small one. But he be a mighty spirit.’
‘Five hundred.’ Madison reached into her pocket and showed him one of the bills she’d tried to change in the bank. ‘This or nothing.’
She hoped he’d take it. Suddenly she desperately wanted the tiny frog.
The man took the note. ‘I only take dis because I know dis one belong to yo.’
‘Be seein’ yo, bro,’ said the driver starting the engine. And as they swung into the traffic he went on. ‘Dat man is good. One of de best I know. He hardly ever come down to town. Yo lucky day eh?’
‘I just love it. I feel this little frog is symbolic for me.’ She recalled the carver’s words that she had ignored as the spiel of a salesman. Strange he should say that, she thought, repeating the words to herself. ‘You know dat I mek dis for yo. Dis frog is yo destiny.’ She wondered how that could be.
‘It ain’t just any frog. Dat one is gold Kaieteur frog. He be . . . what yo call it . . . not many left now.’
‘Endangered? This species is in trouble like America’s eagle and Australia’s koala?’
‘I couldn’t say about dem. But our gold frog is a rare creature. Most beautiful in de world. But all de frogs is disappearing everywhere in de world.’
‘I think it’s the same back home. Why is it, do you suppose?’
‘Dey say de water, de air, de land, all be poison. Here de jungle is being wrecked many many places. Government has let in logging companies and now dere’s a big gold mine called Columbus. All dat sort of action. No good for de Amerindian people or de forest where dey live. But dis country got ta make money somehow. Like all of us.’ He returned to his recollection. ‘Man, seeing dat little frog was someting. It got eyes like diamonds I saw once.’
‘Where was that?’
‘On a tributary of de mid-Mazaruni River.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘I’m really a pork-knocker.’
‘What’s a pork-knocker?’
The driver laughed. ‘He be a man who looks for diamonds. Used t’say dey lived on wild pigs. Most are up de big rivers. Some of dem are wild men, dey don’ come out much. Dey meet in camps and de buyers fly up. I do a bit of gold prospecting too. I got malaria so I’ve bin workin’ in town doin’ dis while I get better. I’ll be goin�
� out again. De interior calls yo. I like bein’ in de forest and on de river. And I hope I make a big find and den I can send my boy Denzil to a good school. Now, here’s de bookshop, what yo looking fo?’
‘Maybe a book or two about Guyana. And I need a couple of maps. One of the city and one of the interior. Who knows, I might go exploring.
Everyone keeps telling me how beautiful the interior is.’
‘But it’s hard to get around. Especially for a lady. I don’t tink dey’ll have de sort of maps yo mean.’
The Universal Bookstore was a small shop by Australian standards and there were few books about any subject beyond the Americas. Madi was interested to see a wide range of locally produced poetry books and novels by Caribbean writers. She picked up two novels by Roy Heath and V.S. Naipaul. Next to them was a book by Shiva Naipaul. She opened it at random and her eye fell on his description of the thinly disguised fictional country he called Cuyama . . . ‘a mongrelised ghost of human beings living in a mongrelised ghost of a country . . .’ Did this apply to Guyana today?
She went to the boy perched on a stool in the doorway, and asked if they had maps. He directed her to a girl behind a counter who looked blankly at Madi. She went to another girl leaning by a stand of school supplies and repeated the question. The girl slowly shook her head as if this seemed to be an odd request. ‘Then I’ll just take these.’ Madison handed her the three novels and was immediately directed back to the girl behind the counter. The blank-eyed girl laboriously wrote out the names and authors of each book in full, copying the detail carefully, before writing the price beside each one. She handed the paper to Madison who looked at it, clearly puzzled.
‘So what do I owe you?’
‘Take it to the cashier, please,’ said the girl, pointing at yet another girl ensconced in a small cage-like structure. This cashier added up the cost of the books, wrote the amount in the space on the docket and showed it to Madison. ‘Three thousand and twenty, please.’