by Amanda Smyth
“So where exactly are you from, Celia?” he said one evening, when he came home. We were sitting at the table and had just finished eating dinner. “William say you have family in England?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And your aunt live in an estate right here in Trinidad.”
“Yes, at Tamana.”
“I have a friend up there who work in Four Roads. Estate life is a sweet life, you know. All those fruits and provisions. Some of them pay real well.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Board and food is taken care of.”
Mrs. Shamiel got up from the table, and in a lighthearted way, said, “Solomon, why are you minding the girl business? Go inside and fix up yourself. You look like you need a bath.”
Next day, he brought home a bucket of large white eggs which he put in the sink at the back of the house. No one mentioned them, and I forgot, until one afternoon soon after, when I heard some strange clacking, cracking noises. I ran outside to find baby alligators bursting out of the eggs. Some of them were as long as my fingers, their jaws were snapping and their legs were wriggling, trying to climb out of the broken shells. Their skin was smooth and shiny, and more like the skin of a snake. Something about the way they crawled over each other frightened me.
I quickly took a piece of wood and covered up the sink. When Solomon came home, in front of his mother, I told him what had happened. He narrowed his eyes at me, and then went outside; Mrs. Shamiel followed him.
“How could you bring these things here?” she said, her voice sharp.
“I’m going to grow them and sell them to the taxidermist. They don’t have to get big to make a profit.”
“If you want to breed alligators, get yourself an apartment near the zoo.”
Next day, the alligators were gone.
NINE
ONCE I WAS WELL, I STARTED THINKING ABOUT WHAT I should do. It was okay to stay in Laventille for free when I was sick, but not now. Solomon made that clear when, to me and only me, he referred to the house as “Hotel Shamiel.”
When I left Black Rock, I had wanted to go straight to the estate where Aunt Sula lived. I knew the estate was called Tamana, and I knew she worked for Joseph Carr Brown. William said it would take about a day to get there by bus. But when to go? I wanted to see Aunt Sula, yet at the same time, I didn’t want to have to explain myself to her. Right now, William said, passing through the El Quemado road to Tamana was difficult; last week a heavy landslide had brought down half the hill. I would have to wait until the road was clear.
At night, Roman came into my dreams. We were always under the house, and the goats were sitting right there by the steps. He took off his clothes and showed himself to me. Then he told me to take off my clothes and I did. My body was made of short brown and white feathers, like chicken feathers. He grabbed handfuls of them and threw them all over the yard, and I chased after them, trying to stuff them back into my clothes. I woke in a cold sweat.
• • •
SOME DAYS, WHEN I thought a lot about my life, I felt as though my head would burst. From the porch, I watched the sunlight flicker on the rooftops below—it made sharp, bright silver flashes—and I tried hard to understand why things happened in the way they had. I always came back to the same place: there were no answers. And I realized, too, that I had nothing. It was like living in a world where there was only heat and the bright, white light that makes that kind of heat. There was no shade, nowhere to rest, nowhere that the sun was not. This was how it felt to have nothing. And in Laventille, standing back from my life and looking at it as if it belonged to someone else, someone I would pity, not someone I would envy, I imagined it could always be this way. And one morning, when the house was empty, this idea of having nothing made me feel terrible enough to want to die, to take my own life. And that’s when I got down on my knees before the Virgin Mary and prayed with all my heart. I knew that it would take a miracle.
NEXT DAY, AROUND four o’clock, I was woken from a light sleep by the sound of a car. I got up and looked down the hill. A blue car was parked where Solomon usually left his truck. I saw William get out and then a white man got out, too. William waved and I waved back. Who was with him? A visitor? For a moment, I thought he might be a policeman, but then I realized he wasn’t wearing a uniform. I ran inside and freshened my face with water; I straightened and smoothed my thin cotton dress.
WILLIAM LED DR. Emmanuel Rodriguez onto the porch. I recognized him, now. He was not tall and he was not short. His dark hair was pushed back from his tanned, narrow face. He wore navy trousers and a cream shirt.
“Well,” he said, “she certainly looks better than the last time I saw her.”
William looked shy and proud at the same time, as if my good health was only because of him, which in some ways it was.
The doctor put down his bag. “Are you feeling like yourself again? No fever or sickness?”
“Yes, sir, thank you. I feel like myself.” This was almost true.
“Excellent,” he said, and rocked a little on his heels. “William said you were better, but I wanted to make sure.” He looked around the place; the cushions on the floor where I had been sleeping, my sheet dropped there. “He’s told me a bit about you. He said you come from Tobago. You have an aunt here in Trinidad, is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And now you wish to find work in Port of Spain?”
“I’m not sure yet, sir. I’m going to visit my aunt in the country.” My voice sounded small, like a child speaking.
William offered Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez a chair. He preferred to stand; he wasn’t staying long.
“Actually, Celia,” he said, and glanced at William, “my reason for coming here today isn’t entirely selfless; I want to ask a favor of you.”
I wondered what “favor” I could possibly do for him.
I looked over at William, who was smiling; I was sure he knew what was coming.
“Our maid left in a hurry this morning, and we’re pretty desperate. My wife needs help with the children. At least until we find someone else. Is that something you might be interested in?” He added, “I’ll pay you good rates.”
I must have looked blank as a board, because he then said, “Don’t make up your mind now. Why don’t you come to the house tomorrow? I can show you around. You can meet my wife and the children. They’re a little noisy but mostly well behaved.” He smiled. “And we can arrange for you to see your aunt very soon.”
I found myself nodding.
“I’m sure it’s a lot to think about.” Then, to William, “You can bring her with you in the morning, William.”
“Yes, sir,” William said, looking pleased.
AS SOON AS Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez had left, I washed my blue dress and hung it on the line at the back of the house and when it was dry I used the iron to press it flat. Mrs. Shamiel said she never saw anyone iron like me, with so much fingers and thumbs, and why didn’t I let her do it. I said I needed the practice because someday very soon I might be ironing a lot! That night I wrapped up my hair so it was smooth when I woke and unpinned it. I hardly slept. It seemed to me, my miracle had come.
“You put on a little weight,” William said, his face lit when I walked into the kitchen early that morning. Mrs. Shamiel said, “It’s a good thing. You look well.” Then, “Mind you don’t look too well or the English madam won’t want you in the house.”
IN THAT PALE morning light, when everything looked soft, William and I walked together down through the lower part of Laven-tille, past the shabby little houses where people were moving around inside. Some of them were washing right there in their yards with a bucket and soap. Stray dogs were barking. I could hear a radio playing. We walked down the track to where the taxis pulled up near a small row of huts that sold fruits and vegetables. William usually took the bus, but today, because I was traveling with him, he decided to take a taxi. While waiting, I looked back up the road at the Shamiel house
. It was teetering on the hillside with all the other houses that looked like they might fall down.
The Savannah seemed huge as we drove around it. There were men dressed in white uniforms riding horses across the grass. The hills behind were blue-green and the Poui trees had dropped their pink blossom so it lay like a carpet around them. I saw a young woman dressed up in a striped skirt with matching blouse and high heels. She was walking into a building I thought I recognized. The sign above the entrance read QUEEN’S PARK HOTEL, and I remembered it from the night I arrived. There was a big red building, and then there was a square white house like a palace, and a white and black house that made me think of a wedding cake, with fancy railings like icing. On the corner, I saw a castle straight out of a fairy-tale book. Then we turned away from the Savannah, and into a small street lined with short trees; their thick branches grew above us like clasped hands and made the road into a tunnel.
Soon there were tall palm trees, and there were large houses on either side of the quiet road. The houses had a lot of space around them and some of them had fences and gates so I couldn’t see inside them so well. I wondered what kinds of people lived there. People with a lot of money, I thought.
Then William said, “Right here.”
TEN
THE RODRIGUEZ HOME WAS A LARGE AND PALE GREEN colonial house. The fretwork and shutters and railings were a bright white. Casuarina trees lined the wide driveway that curved in front of a veranda with two sets of stairs leading up to the front door, the formal entrance of the house. On either side of the entrance there were two huge pots with white flowers, and hanging from the eaves were ferns, round and full. The front garden was very neat and tidy; I had never seen a garden like it. There were red and orange flowers shooting up like flames, and a wall of bougainvillea with purple and pink flowers. Everything looked alive. The grass was cropped short and all the edges were razor sharp. I followed William around the front of the house and to where he said there was a servants’ entrance.
“You can come this way if you like.” Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez was looking over the rail of the veranda. “No need to go around.” A small boy was holding on to his legs.
William said, “Yes, sir.”
Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez said something like “Welcome to our home.” William looked happy, and I smiled at the doctor. Then I smiled at the boy, but he ran away into the house.
“That’s Joe,” Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez said. Then, “Come,” and he walked across the veranda and into the dining room, the table of which was right there: a large mahogany table with six chairs and feet like brass claws. My shoes sounded heavy on the wooden floor. I looked at the pictures on the wall: there were flowers in a glass vase, and in another, a white lady in a long dress; I wondered who she was. There was a gold light shaped like an upside-down umbrella with glittering drops like diamonds hanging down from it, and on the opposite wall from the paintings were two large brass plates, and a tall drinks cabinet. It was dark and cool in the dining room and there was no need for a ceiling fan even though the doctor switched it on. I looked behind me. William had gone.
He led me into a sitting room which had a modern sofa and a circular rug in the middle of the floor. There were shelves with ornaments and small framed photographs. “Celia, please sit down,” he said, and I did. Through the shutters I could see part of a large rear garden; the sun was shining on it. Then he asked if I could read and I said, “Yes, of course, sir.” From the pocket of his starched white shirt he brought out a piece of paper, and he leaned over and gave it to me and I caught the fresh smell of Bay Rum in his hair. On the piece of paper was a list of duties and tasks. There was nothing on the list I could not do. Again I said, “Yes.”
“Do you like children?”
“Yes, sir, I used to care for my twin cousins.”
“Good. William has said very nice things about you. Usually we would need a reference, and perhaps that’s something we can do when you have settled in. You could get a reference, presumably?”
I nodded.
“Your room is downstairs. I can show you if you like.” Then he laughed. “I’m hoping you will take the job? My wife is beside herself. Since Brigid left six months ago, we’ve been unlucky finding a replacement; the last girl was useless. You’ll meet Mrs. Rodriguez in a moment; she’s bathing Consuella.”
• • •
THE ROOM WHERE I was to sleep and spend my free time (“You will have a fair amount of free time”) was at the back of the house. It had a single bed and a wardrobe, and it also had its own bathroom. “You have running water.” Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez twisted the metal tap on the little sink and clear water gushed out. The window was next to the bed; it had jalousies and flowery curtains. There was a chest of drawers. When he opened the top drawer, I saw that there were clothes inside.
“The girl will probably be coming back for these things,” he said. “For now, we can put them in a box and leave them out in the toolshed. She left in a little bit of a hurry.”
The room had its own door with access to the yard, which meant that it was slightly separate from the house. I had never had my own room before, far less a bathroom and a proper entrance. It was like my own house.
“This is where Brigid often used to sit in the afternoon,” he said, and showed me a wooden bench on the other side of the door. “I am sure you will be comfortable here.”
There was a full view of the garden. I could see a lot of different trees: lime, orange, mango, five finger, and guava. I had never seen so many different fruit trees in one yard before. The grass went on and on, like in a field.
I DON’T KNOW how long Helen Rodriguez had been standing in the doorway of the kitchen when I eventually realized she was there but when I looked around and saw her I was taken aback. Then Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez saw her too.
“Helen,” he said, and walked quickly over to where she was leaning against the outside sink. He took the baby from her.
I don’t know what I expected her to look like. Her hair was blond and pinned back from her face. She had small eyes and they fluttered a lot in the sun. Her skin was very pale and freckled. She looked as though she came from another world, as though she shouldn’t live in the tropics at all. Through her white dressing gown, I could see her chest bones and her hip bones. She didn’t seem to have any breasts; I wondered how she fed her baby.
“This is Celia. She is going to start at once, so there’s no need to fret.” His voice was clipped and yet warm.
Then to me, holding the baby up: “This is Consuella and she’s only one year old, aren’t you, Consuella.” The baby was long, her hair was light and soft. I looked into her delicate face and smiled.
In an English accent Helen Rodriguez said, “Do you have your things, or do you need to go to Laventille to collect them from the house?”
I looked at her husband.
“I will ask William to go with her so she can move in here this afternoon.”
She didn’t say anything.
“You can manage until then, can’t you?” Now he sounded a bit impatient.
She nodded, and stepped back into the shade of the kitchen from where there were sounds of someone handling pans or pots. I wondered who was there. I still hadn’t seen inside the kitchen. Her husband gave me the baby and she started to cry at once. I said, “Consuella, I am Celia,” and I rocked her in my arms in the way I had seen women in Black Rock comfort their babies and I was surprised at how quickly she stopped crying. For a moment they watched from the kitchen and I was glad they had seen this happen. They disappeared inside the dark house.
I took the baby away from the direct sunlight and into the shade that came from the eaves of my room. I sat on the bench and looked up the garden, and I turned her little body around so that she could look at the garden as well.
“Consuella,” I said, “I am going to be looking after you and your brother. I hope we can be friends.”
When William appeared in front of me, he looked surprised. H
e said, “You start the job already?”
I WAS SITTING on the bench drinking a cup of water when Helen Rodriguez came to my room that afternoon. William and I had just returned from collecting my things in Laventille and I was putting them away. When I saw her I got up at once. She was still wearing her dressing gown, and the shadows from the lime tree leaves made patterns on it. She looked brighter than before, as if she had put on makeup.
“Please make the room your own. We want you to be comfortable.” She smiled in an awkward way. “Put pictures on the wall, whatever you like.”
I thought how much her eyes moved around when she spoke. They were pale like the river where I nearly drowned. I said “Thank you,” even though I did not have any pictures.
“I have an old radio you can use. We pick up BBC World Service and there’s a rather good local channel with religious music which you might enjoy.”
She offered me citronella candles and special coils to burn to keep away mosquitoes. She knew that I’d been sick.
“My husband thought you might die. He said that when someone is about to die they have a certain kind of look. Something in the eyes of the person. You didn’t have it, but he thought it was coming. You were very lucky.”
I was surprised when she said this. I thought a doctor’s practices were supposed to be confidential, and also, I never for one moment believed that I might die in Laventille. Underneath the house in Black Rock, yes, but not in Laventille.
“Yes,” I said.
She said it was good to light candles, even citronella candles, because it kept the demons away and reminded us of the light from which we came. Trinidad was full of ritual and obeah and sacrifice, which is why she always carried a string of rosary beads. She opened her hand and there they were.
“My sister had them blessed by the pope in Rome,” she said, holding up the little beads. “She mailed them from London and they arrived a day before Consuella was born.” She worried for her children and prayed for them every day, living in this place. She hoped I would take good care of them.