by Diana Evans
“Can I come in?” she called. She wanted to be a part of the good-bye.
“Come back in a minute,” said Bessi.
The footsteps sank downstairs.
They did not speak.
Bessi put her arm around Georgia. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes,” whispered Georgia, then louder, “I’ll be fine.”
“See out there?” Bessi pointed to the tree.
“Yeah,” said Georgia.
“I’m taking it with me. And you as well. So if you ever want to dream together—meet me by the evergreen tree.”
“Oh Bessi, you have to take care, please be careful!”
Face-to-face, touching eyes and touching hands, they became the only ones again, like before they got here, before the headlights. Georgia kissed Bessi softly on the lips.
“Nectarine?” she said.
They shared it, alternate bites.
“It’s good, eve,” they said.
Kemy knocked on the door again. “Can I come in now?”
She stood between them at the window looking out. She held a hand each and imagined one of them missing. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said.
The whole family drove Bessi the hunter to Heathrow. It was a daylight drive. When they arrived, Aubrey grabbed a cart and savored the moment; and it occurred to Bel, who was used to slowing down to wait for Ida, that her mother was walking faster than usual. They all followed Bessi as far as they could.
She left. She vanished.
This is how it went, as Georgia knew it would: They had arched their backs and opened their arms and embraced for a very long time. Bessi had whispered, “I love you, okay? Don’t forget.” And Georgia watched her walk away, through the glass, into the dark. Something reached for her, overhead, behind her, while Bessi turned back once and waved.
9
Selected Letters
August 26, 1991
Trinity Village, St. Lucia
Dear Georgia,
Here I am. In a little blue house on a hill. Mrs. John lives here on her own and I’ve got her son’s old room, which is separated from the parlor, that’s the living room, by a curtain. It’s got two big wardrobes full of old stuff and the bed creaks—can you hear it? I’m sitting on it now drinking a glass of ginger ale and talking to you. Everything’s strange and different. Fancy this, me being halfway across the world and you being there. It feels odd.
The village is tiny. There’s one road all the way through it with brightly colored houses on each side. At the bottom of the road then a few steps down the main highway, there’s a beach with black sand, because of the volcanoes. Black sand, imagine. I take off my shoes and sit down on the black and blue shore and let my feet get wet. And all over this place the plants are a lush green, the leaves and flowers are swollen with it, I’ll dry some orchids for you and bring them back.
Most of all it’s hot, I mean hot, like Sekon, maybe hotter. Everyone in the village stares at me wherever I go as if I had an orange head with squares on it. It reminds me of Aruwa. The children whisper as I walk past sweating through my vest. Mrs. Monk, who lives around the corner from Mrs. John, sits on her porch and says, “Walk so fast, something burning?” So I’ve slowed down but they still stare. It makes me want to go home and be around people who understand the inside of me.
I don’t start working at the school until next week, so for now I’m sleeping, sweating and eating a lot. Mrs. John thinks I’m a rhinoceros. She gives me tons of rice and peas, and chicken, she even tried to give me the bum but I wasn’t having that. I’ve told her I can’t eat eggs or spinach and I don’t like bananas. She’s fine with the eggs and spinach, but she doesn’t get the bananas bit. Her son Mervin is a banana farmer. In fact, most of the men in Trinity are banana farmers because it’s a banana village. There’s a plantation not far away up the mountain where they all go in the mornings with their knives. Mrs. John keeps putting sliced bananas on the table at breakfast. She sits down and watches me not eat them, then she says to me, “Why not try the banana, it’s good for you?” And she’s arranged for Mervin to take me up to the plantation because she thinks it will cure me. I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, if I must go I’ll have to hold my breath to hide from the smell.
They have good nectarines here, the biggest and juiciest I’ve ever seen, they look like oranges. I’ve been eating them a lot because my flapjacks are running out. How are you flapjack-wise? How are you everything-wise and what’s it like in the loft without me? How are the others? Tell Kemy she’s a silly cow.
Georgia, what I love best is the music in the air. All day long it plays at me from the open doors and I feel like dancing. It’s mostly reggae, lovers, some ragga, lots of Dennis Brown, Lucky Dube, Gregory Isaacs, and my favorite, a song called “Cottage in Negril” by Tyrone Taylor. So I’m getting lots of singing practice, and tomorrow night I’m going dancing at the Trinity disco with Ainsley, a guy I met on the beach. He and his sister took me for a walk in the palm-tree forest and I sang “Cottage in Negril.” They said I have a good voice.
It’s dark now. It gets dark at seven and only takes about ten minutes, just falls down like a blanket on top of us. Mrs. John’s put out some more food, so I better be going (I’m getting fat). Write me back soon, okay, I hope you’re looking after yourself and eating properly. Love you, sweet.
Bessi
Thursday 9/12/91
Dearest Bessi,
Life is bananas, isn’t it. You go all that way away and come face-to-face with the devil. Tell that Mrs. John you have an incurable psychological allergy and there’s no telling what could happen if you ate one. Tell her she’s playing with fire.
I am so glad you’re safe and sound and I have a picture of where you are because I’ve been fretting about it, the thousands of miles of water, you out there in the abyss. I get worry attacks every so often and think, Oh my God, Bessi (oh oh oh) oh dear, I hope she’s all right, oh dear! But there you are, in the blue house, and don’t worry about the staring, I understand completely that feeling of being different—they will melt to you very soon, because people do. And please don’t swim out too far from the black shore.
I’m sitting on the mat in the garden because I think these are the last days of the sun. It’s warm enough for shorts and orange juice with ice. I’ve just watered the roses, they’re looking fine, and I’ve been thinking about starting an allotment next to them, not a proper one, just a small patch for fruit and veg. It came to me in a flash of lettuce leaves after a conversation with Bel (I was a bit low, I think it’s that gloomy autumn light creeping into the weather) and she said why not grow something? So I might.
But, Bessi, there’s other news, from Nigeria. We got a letter from Uncle Joseph the day after you phoned and Mum said to write you and tell you. Baba died a couple of weeks ago. Joseph said his heart had been getting worse for a while and they were expecting it. Mum’s really upset. She keeps crying and saying she should’ve gone home more often, that when your parents die you are like an orphan. She says you should be here with us. Her and Bel are going to Nigeria next week for the funeral in Aruwa and it looks like they’re going to stay there for at least a fortnight. It’s going to be strange around here with just me, Kemy and Dad.
Apart from that not much else except applying for jobs that I’m not sure I want to do and thinking more about university and which one where what when why and it’s turned into a bit of a crisis actually. Dad keeps asking what my plans are and I think I’ll probably do history but I haven’t decided where yet and he says, ‘Well, you better decide soon.’ So I’ve been thinking about all this, the future, everything, crowds of it, and the autumn coming, and last Wednesday I was filling in an application form and my hand just stopped writing in the middle of Waifer. It wouldn’t move, it was spooky, I felt myself tumbling, like I’d fallen off a tightrope, so I put the pen down (do you like my pen by the way? it’s a present from Bel) and signals went off in my head, like fire drills (the pen I
’m using now is different from that pen, though—I’ve thrown that one away in case it was an evil pen) and I couldn’t do anything else for the rest of the day except watch telly, then I broke a mug while I was drying up and Mum said, “That’s Georgia,” and I wanted to hit her.
I’m fine now, so don’t worry. Bel and Jay came over and spent a few days and we went for a long walk in Gladstone Park. That’s when Bel suggested growing things again and I thought about the lettuces. It got to dusk as we were walking (don’t you love that color, dusk? what color is it there?) then later Jay fell asleep on the sofa and Bel massaged my temples because I had a headache. Jay is so cute, I would love to be in his head for a day or a year. Hang on a minute, I’m just going to get a Viennese whirl—
I bet you think I’ve got a butter shortcake biscuit with a cream and jam center in my hand, don’t you? Well, you are mistaken, because I haven’t, it’s a fag. That’s the latest Hunter joke you need to know about. It started when I said to Kemy, “Shall we have a roly-poly,” then she said “Swiss roll” and I said “Viennese whirl” and so on and so on. I was laughing all over the loft and Kemy went to make me some tea and I missed you because you’re the only one who understands how hysterical everything is. I’ve finished my chocolate gâteau now.
Kemy wants to say hello so I’ll be off. Write back as soon as you can and don’t worry about the evil pen and all that, I’m sure I’ll be clearer about things in a couple of weeks. I love you very much. And the loft? How is it without you? It’s cooler at night and a little barren during the day.
Yours ever,
Georgia xx
Hi Bessi,
You’re a sillier cow. Just a quick one to say I’m applying for a job at Safeway and not missing you at all. I got my GCSE results. I got an A for art. And I’m going out on Friday evening with a guy called Lace but I’m not telling Dad. Have you met any possible boyfriends yet?
Georgia told me to tell you she’s decided to grow strawberries first then lettuces. I hope this allotment idea doesn’t mean we’re going to have to start eating dodgy tomatoes and things. She also said to tell you that flapjack-wise she’s fine (whatever that means).
So take care, bye,
Love Kemy
October 13, 1991
Trinity Village
Georgia sweet,
Thank you for the flapjack. I miss you loads but it’s good, eve, because I’m having the time of my life and I wouldn’t change it for anything. Yesterday I jumped off a very tall rock into the ocean. I was a rocket and I shot to the bottom of the sea. It’s a white-sand beach near town and you have to get a bus there—I’ve told you about the buses, haven’t I, how it’s like suicide taking one, but I’m used to it now. When it gets to my stop I shout STOP THE BUS quite easily. My voice is getting louder.
Across from the beach there’s an island and I swam to it. The sea got prickly halfway across, little sea creatures biting my skin. But it was worth it because reaching the other side was like winning, just me and my body getting me there. I met a boy on the island. His name is Pedro and he had swum there too. He is superdishy he is and we spent hours there talking as if we were the only two people in the world. He’s eighteen, he works for his dad or something, and he has a good chest. I gave him Mrs. John’s number and he phoned me the next day (Mrs. John gave me that “aren’t you going to eat the banana?” look) and invited me out dancing, and I said yes. So you can tell Kemy I finally have a possible boyfriend.
But Georgia, how now. It sounds like the job interviews were getting you down. You shouldn’t feel bad for wanting to walk out, I’m sure most people feel like that, and at least you stuck it out and got there in the end. Congratulations, then, you’re in insurance—and in Bond Street too! You probably would’ve started by now, so how is it? School is going well, the kids call me Miss Bessi. We’re taking them on a trip on Thursday to the Twin Piton mountains, which are two mountains who are twins, Gros Piton and Petit Piton.
They took me last Tuesday, to the bananas. Mrs. John said no more excuses and they came for me at dawn in Mervin’s truck with knives. They drove up the mountain and they led me into the green banana prison and I held my breath. Then Mervin and his mate chopped one in half, and peeled it. Mervin said, “Try it.” Georgia, they made me, they said Mrs. John said I must try it, so I ate and it was horrid smelly banana filth. I was surrounded by bananas dangling and the smell got me overwhelmed and I was sick all over the chopping board and Mervin’s mate laughed at me. I told them, I have an incurable psychological allergy, like you said, but they just kept on laughing. It was the worst experience of my life.
That night I dreamed we were at the evergreen tree sitting down. We were watching birds and I think we saw an owl but it was a bit dark so we weren’t sure. I woke up missing you and I wanted to get on a plane and come home to pluck you away with me. It’s frightening sometimes, being out in the world among strangers and bananas.
I’m glad Baba had a good farewell and that Mum could be there for it. They know how to throw a party in Aruwa, don’t they—it seems right, somehow, that he was buried by the vegetable plot. It means he’s still a part of things, especially with Mum getting his walking stick too. Please give her a kiss from me.
Let’s go to the evergreen again soon. Eat well, be happy, just be. And beware of evil pens.
Lots of love, Bessi
Monday 11/11/91
Lint Insurance, Bond Street
It’s me.
I’m at work next to the filing cabinet and I’ve been thinking about happiness. Does it mean bouncing about and smiling a lot or is that charge in the heart and wanting to cry? Does it stay always? I wanted to ask you this last night at the evergreen but I couldn’t find you—you must have been busy, or in some other dream.
Because I’m beginning to think happiness is a sensation, or a visitation, not a way of being. It goes up and down up and down it goes and sometimes there are bruises. I’m not sure how much longer I can get on the tube every day and come here. There’s too much noise and I feel as if my life takes place in boxes full of faces watching me, and the faces are not kind like yours, Bessi. The city is a beast and it is inhabited by beasts. I would like to be where you are now in the lush green and the music.
I’m sorry, it’s not a good day. Mr. Hyde was on the prowl again last night waiting up for Kemy. She was out with Lace all night and she got back at eight o’clock this morning and they started arguing (she should’ve phoned, it was selfish of her) and Mr. Hyde looked half-dead and there was red around his eyes. I don’t like that color, red. Tania’s not in today, with her slowly blinking eyes looking at me from the other side of the filing cabinet, so the office is particularly dull, and all I want to do is go home and turn the soil in the garden. Tania bought me a book called Green Fingers for a Greener Mind and it shows you how to grow herbs from hanging baskets, which I’m going to try. Everyone here says me and Tania are joined at the hip. I think they all think I’m weird, apart from her.
It was wonderful to hear your voice on Saturday and I felt stupid for sobbing like that, I was just a little overwhelmed because I haven’t seen you in so long and it doesn’t seem right. Life is less alive without you, so hurry up and come home, will you. The loft is very still.
Guess what, Mum has started taking cookery classes at Willesden College. She goes once a week, on her own on the 297. And Kemy’s got some news, which Mum isn’t happy about, so I’ll send this when she adds her note. I’ve decided to apply to Middlesex for next year—do you know what you’re doing yet?
Try and get to the evergreen again soon, and beware the bananas.
Yours,
Georgia xx
Hi Bessi,
I’ve decided to grow dreadlocks like Lace. That is my news. Good innit. Merry Christmas in advance.
Love Kemy
December 13, 1991
Trinity
Dear Georgia,
Sorry I’m late writing back. I’ve been hectic with the kids’
concert and your letter didn’t get here until the 28th. You don’t have to apologize for telling me if you feel bad. I want you to come to me for anything you need. Is work any better now? Is Mr. Hyde still about? I worry about you all, we have to get out. I’m not sure about Middlesex, though. I haven’t even thought about university at all, except that I might skip it altogether. You don’t need to have a degree to be a singer, you just need to sing and meet the right people. Anyway, right now, tomorrow is not my concern. Not when I have stood at the edge of a volcano.
Georgia, I must tell you. Me and Pedro—I think I may be in love, he is the most gorgeous thing on earth, I’ve enclosed a photo to prove it, look…see, isn’t he?—we took a truck up to Lud Point and then walked up the mountain. It got colder and colder the farther we got, and the wind picked up. The ground turned to dark gray and there was lots of dust. It looked like we were just walking toward a mist because that was all I could see ahead of me. I kept saying to Pedro, “Where’s the edge? Will we fall?” But once we were inside the mist, it disappeared. I looked down. And what I saw was rainbows down there, in a huge scoop of earth shaped like a mountain upside down. It paralyzed me. It was quiet and I couldn’t speak. I imagined walking down the rainbows like we used to in Sekon by the window. I wish you could’ve seen it. The most beautiful thing. We sat there for ages in the mist, and Pedro had his arms around me, and that was happiness.
It was dark when we got back to Trinity. Pedro walked me up to Mrs. John’s and the stars affected me. I mean, I looked up, and there were thousands of them. It was difficult to see the darkness behind. The volcano and the mist, perhaps it was magic, because Georgia, I was like an angel. I was silver. Do you remember that story Baba told us in Aruwa, about the twins? I don’t know why I thought of it at that moment, walking up through Trinity in silver, but it all came back to me, the forest and the witches and the fire. I was ten years old again. We were sleeping. We could hear fire.