by Amanda Smyth
I knew what she’d say; the same thing she always said.
“One soul flies in, another flies out.”
“Did she really see me?”
“Yes, of course. She said what a beautiful child I have.”
I had never heard this part before. “She said that?”
“Yes.”
“That I was beautiful?”
“Yes,” Aunt Tassi said.
“Did my father see me, too?” I already knew the answer, but thought she might suddenly remember some other detail about my father.
“Your father wasn’t here. How could he see you?”
“Was he in Southampton?”
“I suppose so.”
Aunt Tassi looked out the window where the wind was blowing so hard the coconut trees beyond the bay were bending as though they might break. She got up and pulled the shutters in tight. That day, even though the sky was black like bruises and the wind took away some of the rooftops in Scarborough and we were scared our own house might be ripped up in the tail end of the storm, behind my thoughts I was glad, as though Aunt Tassi had given me a diamond to hold.
Lying beside her that night, I stared at the mountain of her soft back, and wished it was only her and me in the world; wished that the thunderstorm would find Roman and my cousins in Charlotteville and lift them from their beds and drop them in the stormy, dark sea.
THREE
AUNT SULA VISITED TOBAGO WHEN I WAS FOUR, AND then again when I was twelve. I don’t remember too much about her first visit, though Aunt Tassi told me we had a good holiday because Aunt Sula rented a cute little house on the other side of the island, near to the airport. Every month she sent a large parcel from Trinidad: material for dresses, crocheted things for the house, and always a little money to help with schoolbooks or other extras. In her letters, there was usually news of Tamana, the estate, and the Carr Browns who owned it. She always asked for me and sent her fondest love.
But Aunt Sula’s second visit I remember very well. Aunt Tassi spent three weeks fixing up the house. She got Roman to paint the walls inside and out, and then to paint the steps. We emptied my room and moved the three small beds into the back room. Aunt Tassi got the dressmaker to make new outfits for Vera and Violet and me. In Scarborough she bought a little expensive lamp with shells around the base that had been made in China. In the evenings it gave the living room a nice glow. We put all the white things—tablecloths, sheets, rags—out in the sun to bleach. The whole yard was covered in white cloth and I watched from the window and I imagined from the picture I had seen in the library that this was how snow must look.
Roman clipped the hedge and the grass and axed away all the dead branches from the breadfruit tree and the orange tree and put them on a heap to burn. He took stones and pelted down the Jack Spaniard nests from under the eaves and we all ran inside and closed up the shutters. The week before Aunt Sula arrived, Aunt Tassi hardly ate. She said she wanted to feel slim. She even had her hair fixed in a new style, pulled back from her big face and puffed out in the front. She looked like a cockerel.
The night before Aunt Sula arrived, Roman started to complain about how expensive these preparations were and how he could think of other, better ways to spend that kind of money. It was obvious to us all that he had been drinking. Aunt Tassi carried on serving dinner as if he wasn’t there, or as if she was deaf, and he got angrier and angrier. He said no one made any effort for him these days. Sula was nothing more than a white meat-loving nigger. “Fuss, fuss, fuss,” he said, in a high voice. He was standing over the table wearing his old brown trousers held up by a piece of rope and a vest with a shirt on top. His nostrils were broad and flared.
“Who we putting on this show for?” he shouted. “Like the queen of England coming to stay! If she is a queen, then I am God.”
Aunt Tassi got up from the table, walked over to the kitchen, and for the first and only time in all the years I lived with her, she answered Roman back.
“Everybody say you think so. Why you think they call you Allah?”
Roman threw his dinner plate across the room so fast I never saw it leave his hands, and hit Aunt Tassi hard in her head. Everybody was silent and still. Then, slowly, like in a dream, Aunt Tassi put her hand up to her forehead and dabbed at the bright red gash. Then she looked at her fingers as if she had never seen blood before.
“What you did, Roman?” Her voice was small and cold.
Roman yelled, “You look for that! You look for it!” and he ran from the house and down the steps into the night. Violet started to scream and pull at the bobbles in her hair. Vera began to scream, too. I got up and put my arms around the two of them, and tried to hold them steady.
After she had cleaned up Aunt Tassi came into our room and lay down with my cousins. She lay still like she was dead, but her eyes were open and staring at the ceiling as if she thought it might fall in.
In the morning no one mentioned the incident and I wondered what Roman had said to make it up to her because by that afternoon they were talking as if nothing had happened. At one point, Roman put his hands around Aunt Tassi’s waist while she was stirring something on the stove and I heard her say, “Roman, leave me alone,” but she didn’t sound as though she meant it. When she saw me standing in the doorway she pushed his hands away. He laughed and said, “Celia like a policeman,” and saluted me.
WE WENT BY bus to Scarborough; the boat was due in late afternoon. It wasn’t so busy at the docks, not like in the mornings when the whole world was there. At the meeting point, there was a little seating area, and myself, Vera, and Violet sat on the green wooden seats, wearing our new dresses.
Aunt Tassi said, “You have to look out for a tall white man.”
“Why?” I asked, pushing out my chin.
“He’s the man she works for.”
“Why is he coming?”
“He has business here.”
“What kind of business?”
“I don’t know, child. He has business in Charlotteville.”
“Does Aunt Sula have to go with him? To Charlotteville?” I suddenly felt troubled by this news.
“Of course not! She is staying with us at Black Rock.” Aunt Tassi said this in a way that I knew not to ask any more questions.
• • •
THE FIRST TIME I saw Aunt Sula, I thought she really did look like a queen. Her hair was ironed and oiled so all its fuzziness was gone, and her cream dress was stylish and perfect. When she kissed me I smelled her powdery scent. She put down her bag and I saw the delicate lace of her slip. She stared at me for a long time and I thought how glittery her eyes were, like night. I smiled but she did not smile. She looked at my face as if it was a map she needed to follow to get somewhere. Then she checked my hands and my ears; she glanced down at my feet inside my slippers. In the end when she smiled, it was as if something had become clear to her. All this time, Vera and Violet were holding on to their mother. Aunt Tassi told them to say hello but they ran behind her and hid. Aunt Sula nodded and gave her sister a look as if to say, Ah yes, it’s you. Then she saw the little plaster on her forehead and said, “What happen here?”
Aunt Tassi gave her a bright smile.
“You know me,” she said, “clumsy like a clown. And when it rain it slippery like glass.”
Then the white man came striding over. I hadn’t seen him coming. He was tall as a tree, and his shoulders were broad. He wore a planter’s hat and it was wide and made of straw. I remember him taking it off, then putting out his big hand, and Aunt Tassi saying, “Come, Vera and Violet, shake hands with Mr. Carr Brown, shake hands with Mr. Carr Brown.” But they wouldn’t. I remember thinking they were stupid; he seemed to me to be an important man, so I moved in front of them and stuck out my hand. Aunt Tassi gave me a look but I didn’t care. The man said, “And what is your name?” I said my name, and he said, “Pleased to meet you, Celia.”
• • •
AUNT SULA STAYED for a week. I feel if it had
n’t been for Roman hanging around the house she would have stayed longer. One day we went to the river, just her and me. We sat on a stone with our backs to the sun and dipped our feet in the cool water. For a while she played with my hair; she plaited it on both sides and then folded it over the top of my head like a tiara. She asked me if I was happy, and I said sometimes yes, and sometimes no. I told her that one day I would like to leave Black Rock. I mentioned that Miss McCartney had said I should go to university, and she looked surprised.
“That’s wonderful.” Then, “Where would you like to study?”
“My father’s in Southampton. I’m sure there’s a university nearby. Or maybe in London.” She didn’t say anything, so I asked, “Have you ever been to England, Aunt Sula?”
“No. But I’ve heard a lot about it. I hear it’s very cold. Cold enough to see your own breath. London is a big city, you know, a place you could get lost in.”
“I wouldn’t mind getting lost for a while.” I smiled, and there was a dragonfly hovering just above the water, its rainbow wings glistening like jewels. Miss McCartney had said that a dragonfly’s wings beat 1,600 times in a single minute, yet these didn’t look like they were moving at all.
“Before you go, will you visit me?”
“On the estate?”
“Yes, at Tamana.” Then, “Promise me you’ll come.”
“I promise,” I said, and my heart felt full and warm.
Now she was smiling and I thought how beautiful she was: her high cheeks plump like two round fruits, her eyes very slightly slanted, her small full mouth.
Just before we got up to leave, Aunt Sula put her hand in the pocket of her dress and took out a thin gold chain with a small cross. She fastened the chain around my neck. “To keep you safe,” she said, and then she kissed the top of my head. For some reason, it made me want to cry.
ON THE WAY home we found a manicou lying in the road. A baby manicou had fallen out of its pouch and was wriggling next to it. The baby was tiny like a spool of thread. The mother was trying to get up but couldn’t. Something or somebody must have hit it, Aunt Sula said. When I bent down to look closer, the mother drew back her lips and hissed. She had small teeth and they looked like they could bite hard. Somehow we got a box and put them in it and took them home. Roman was pleased. “Manicou!” he said, and clapped his hands. He wanted to kill the mother at once and eat it. Aunt Sula said no, and I thought there was going to be a fight but Aunt Tassi soon calmed things down. She gave Roman some money and told him to go down to Jimmy’s bar.
For a while, we kept the manicous under the house. I don’t know what happened to them.
AUNT SULA’S VISIT was a big thing. Mostly, life in Black Rock did not change from one day to the next. Every day I woke early and washed my face outside in the pipe. I lit a fire and heated milk. I put bread and jam and cheese on the table. If my aunt was making fried bakes I kneaded the dough and put it on a plate to rise. I washed myself in the tiny hut where the soap and bucket lived. Then I put on my turquoise school uniform with white trim around the sailor collar and I combed my long hair. If they weren’t up already, I shouted, “Vera, Violet!” and my aunt told me to go quietly because if I woke up Roman too he would have a long face for the day. She peeled oranges and cut them in half and I sucked on one half until it felt like straw in my mouth and I held it over my teeth so that I couldn’t speak. This irritated her and she would say, “Celia, take that orange out of your mouth.” Sometimes I read at the breakfast table, but my aunt said this was bad manners and told me to put the book away. I tried to leave the house early so as not to have to walk to school with my cousins.
We sang hymns at school and I stood at the back because I was tall. In the mornings we studied geography or history or religion or arithmetic, and English. At lunchtime I ate a sandwich under the samaan tree and there were usually other girls sitting there too and sometimes they included me in their talk. In the afternoons, after class, Miss McCartney read out poetry or part of a story. Then at three o’clock I walked home; sometimes alone, and sometimes with Joan Maingot. But she often left me before the turn in the road, with some excuse or other, and I guessed that she didn’t want to walk with me. At home I changed into my old clothes. There were usually chores to do around the house, some washing or preparation for dinner or darning. If I had a lot of homework I got less chores, and sometimes I lied about the homework I had to do. If my aunt wasn’t home, I went under the house and I read a book or took out my treasure. After dinner, I cleared the table and said good night to my aunt and to Roman, if he was there, and I was glad if he was not because he would lean his cheek toward me and I would have to kiss it. I went into the room I shared with my cousins, who by now were usually asleep, and I blew out the light. This is how it was in Black Rock, day in, day out.
Then on February 12, the day after my sixteenth birthday, everything changed.
FOUR
IT HAD BEEN RAINING HARD LIKE STONES ON THE ROOF and the yard smelled of damp earth. Soon it would be dry again, but not for long. At that time of year the rains came quickly and often. Vera and Violet had gone with Aunt Tassi to pick up coconut cake and sweet bread buns from the baker’s in the next village. When my aunt asked if I wanted to go with them I said I had homework to do. She said, “You always have your head buried in some book. One day you will disappear inside a book and we won’t know where to find you.” Vera and Violet laughed as if this was funny. They were both wearing green and white shift dresses.
I said, “If only I was so lucky.”
When they had gone, I didn’t bother to change, I went straight downstairs with a piece of bread and a glass of milk and my school-books. It was hot and sticky, in that way where you feel you can’t breathe. There were a lot of mosquitoes about.
I liked sitting under the house. Hens ran around and pecked at the ground and the two goats, Antoine and Antoinette, lay under the lime tree or grazed on the thick grass. Once I thought I saw a deer enter the yard and sit with them. It was night and I could not see very clearly. But five months later when the young ones came they did not look like goats, they were pretty and had speckles on their backs. They soon died. Roman said that I was lying, that Tobago didn’t have deer.
It was four o’clock and I knew they would be gone for at least an hour. I wondered where Roman was, probably up at Ruth Mackenzie’s house.
I lifted the Coca-Cola crates and pulled out my secret bundle, which was full of dust. Then I unwrapped it and took out things I had collected from the beach. I began to place the objects from my collection around me as though they were in a museum and people were paying to see them. That day I had some small pieces of glass to add, soft and worn by the sea, like jewels, and an old fishhook and a piece of string. I bound the string around a chunk of glass so it became a noose. I thought it might make a necklace.
I could tell Roman was drunk by the way he climbed the steps. In a high voice he said, “Good afternoon,” and peered down to where I was sitting.
“Where’s Tassi?”
I said, “They went to the baker’s in Buccoo.”
“What for?”
“Coconut cake and sweet buns.”
“Oh, for the birthday girl!”
I wondered if he was going inside to lie down, or if he would eat and then lie down, as he often did. It depended on how drunk he was. I knew there was a large pot of pelau still warm on the stove; pelau was one of his favorite meals. I waited for his footsteps above my head. But I didn’t hear anything except a loud kiskadee, which sang “Qu’est-ce qu’elle dit! Qu’est-ce qu’elle dit!” So I was surprised when I looked up and saw him stretched out like an animal on the steps, watching me.
“What you have there?” he said. “You have something for Uncle Roman?”
“Some old junk from the beach.” I started to put everything away.
“Celia always so secretive,” he said, and he rolled back his head as though he was talking to the sky. And then I don’t know wheth
er he tripped or slipped or meant to come down the steps to where I was almost standing and dusting off my school dress, but he was suddenly there in front of me leaning against the pillar and swaying as if he was on a boat. When I tried to pass him he took hold of my arm.
“Tell me a secret, Celia. Tell me something.” His breath smelled of rum. His eyes were trying to focus. I thought he looked sick and turned to climb the steps but he kept hold of my arm.
“You don’t have any secrets?” Roman was grinning like a fool.
“Your breath stinks,” I said in a whisper. “That’s my secret.” And I tried to pull away.
“You’re full of shit,” he said, gripping harder. I felt his other hand move under my dress.
“Get off me,” I said.
His fingers crawled higher.
“You want some prick? You want some prick, Miss High and Mighty?”
Before I knew what was happening he had thrown me down and I was half lying in the dust. I said, “Uncle Roman,” and tried to get up. I thought, Jesus, help me, but I couldn’t feel the presence of Jesus. Roman’s eyes were wild and tiny and he pushed me back. I said, “What are you doing, what are you doing?” I said, “Please, Uncle Roman,” and I tried to get up again. He kicked me hard in my side and I curled over. He kicked me again. I thought he has gone crazy. Then, when I looked up, he was standing over me and fumbling with the zip on his filthy trousers. I said, “Oh God no.” And I looked away, and saw the sun shafting through underneath the house. If I can get up, I thought, if I can get up and run through the yard, down the road and into the village. But I couldn’t get up. When I looked again Roman’s trousers were around his knees.
“Take off your panties.”
Something in his eyes told me if I did not take them off I would die. I took them off. I began to cry, not cry as I was used to crying, but whimpering like a beaten cat. He was kneeling over me and I was looking at a nest and sticking out of the nest was an upright snake. I said, “Please, Uncle Roman, please.” He was trying to push it in my mouth so I turned my head away and for a moment he looked confused and took it in his hand and started to jiggle it. I thought maybe this is it, and this is all he will do, but then I knew it was not all he would do, because this was something he had wanted to do for so long, and with one hand on my chest he pressed me down into the ground and with the other he pulled my dress up, and with his legs he pressed back my knees. Our father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name thy kingdom come thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. He fed his hand inside me. His hand was enormous, like the branch of a tree.