by Amanda Smyth
Farther down the hill were outbuildings with galvanized roofs, and below were three raised and exposed platforms. “That’s where they dry the cocoa,” he said. On the highest one of these platforms, I saw a tall, white man. He wore beige trousers and a white shirt, boots high to his knees, and a planter’s hat. He was looking out, his hands on his hips. He was exactly as I remembered him.
“Joseph Carr Brown,” Solomon said. “You could get a job here and be better off than working for Rodriguez.” Then, “Carr Brown not easy; if he like you he treat you good. But if you do him something, you soon know about it.” Solomon waved, but the man didn’t wave back. Instead, he sent a young boy running down the hill, shouting for us to stop. We pulled up at the side of the track.
“Hello,” I said. “I’ve come to see Sula D’Abadie. Do you know Sula?”
The boy pointed. “Yes, miss. She lives off to the right, past the big house, near to the river. She has a yellow house with a coconut tree in the yard. You won’t miss it. Mr. Carr Brown want to know who you are.”
“Tell him I am Celia. Sula’s niece, and I’ve come to visit her for the afternoon.”
SOLOMON SLOWED DOWN as we drove past the plantation house. It was a large wooden house, raised off the ground and built on stilts. It had two stories and it sprawled over the land, with a long veranda and steps leading up to it. It was bigger than the Rodriguez house, although it wasn’t as well kept. There were baskets hanging from the eves with huge ferns growing in them. Some people were sitting on the porch. They watched as we passed, and one of them stood up; a tiny woman who I imagined to be Mr. Carr Brown’s wife. Some white children were running around the underneath of the house, chasing a cat. They stopped playing and looked at us. Even the cat was looking at us.
I asked Solomon to drop me at the bottom of the track and I would walk the rest of the way. Now he was going to look for his friend, Nathaniel, who worked in the cristophene fields at Four Roads. “I’ll come for you before sunset,” he said. “Look for me around five-thirty.”
• • •
AUNT SULA WAS in the yard picking ginger lilies when I saw her. She turned around, and I wondered if she had heard the truck. “Celia,” she said. Then she rested the flowers on the ground, wiped her hands on her apron, and started toward me. She looked a little older, and she was thinner, too; though her hair was oiled and ironed just as I remembered it.
“Welcome to Tamana,” she said, and cupped my face in her hands. “You’ve changed so much since I saw you last.” Then, stepping back, “You’re so tall. You’re a tall and beautiful woman!”
“Am I?” I said, and then suddenly felt foolish.
“Of course!”
When she put her arms around me, I found myself smiling, not in the way I was used to, but from right inside the center of myself.
HER LITTLE HOUSE was spotless and carefully decorated. While she arranged the flowers in a shiny vase I looked around. There were many paintings on the walls.
“That came from Venezuela,” Aunt Sula said. The portrait was of a Spanish girl with her hair draped over her shoulders. “It used to be in the big house, and I always liked it. Mr. Carr Brown gave it to me one year for Christmas.”
Although the house was small, it didn’t feel stuffy or claustrophobic like Aunt Tassi’s where I always wanted to get outside to breathe. On the one hand, there were old things that I could imagine where they might have come from, like the woven mat on the floor, the lamp like Aunt Tassi’s, and on the other, there were things that surprised me, things that cost money. Like the pretty plate with the gold rim mounted on the wall, the polished rocking chair, and the beautiful mahogany tea chest.
In the corner, on a side table was a gramophone player. A stack of records were next to it. I said, “This is a new model. I’ve seen it in Stephens.”
“Music always lifts up my spirit, don’t you find so?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you like my little house?”
“Yes, very much. It’s unusual.” I realized I had been walking about as if I was inspecting it. I sat down at the table, covered with an immaculate white tablecloth. There were proper china cups, saucers, and napkins. She had made sandwiches cut into triangles, and there were cheese puffs, and little guava squares. In the center of the table was a perfect chocolate cake.
Aunt Sula poured tea. “Tell me, how is it in Port of Spain?”
“It’s okay. I have a nice room and I look after the children. So there’s not so much housework to do.”
“Who’s the family, Rodriguez? And he’s a doctor? I think Mr. Carr Brown knows him.”
OVER TEA, AS if she knew that I didn’t want to talk about Black Rock, Aunt Sula spoke about the estate and how she had worked there for more than twenty years. She used to work up at the house, and look after the children. Mrs. Carr Brown had six children and they had all left home. These days she did a few chores; she swept the ground floor, polished the brass, mended clothes. Sometimes she ironed. She hadn’t been feeling as well as she used to; she got tired quickly these days. When you live on a plantation, you don’t need to go anywhere, really. Your food is right there on the land, and you keep company with people you work with. You have a different kind of life. She never wanted to live in the city. “Everybody there looking for something, they’re restless.”
We walked around her little garden. Orchids hung from the lower branches of a large mango tree in the back. “These mangoes are sweet; next time you come they should be ripe and you can taste them.” There were ferns with little flowers like tiny red bells, where, she said, hummingbirds liked to come and feed. “We have the baby hummingbirds too. Did you ever see them? They look like big bees.” She showed me a large bush of white flowers. “These are Lady of the Night. If you were to stay after dark, you would smell them.”
A hedge with pale blue flowers gave the yard a border. She got a boy from the estate to bring water every day and she watered the plants. “Lord knows this place needs rain,” she said.
“Port of Spain is just as bad,” I said. “The Savannah looks like a desert.”
“I like the Savannah. It always makes you feel good when you look at it.”
For a while we sat on her porch. Aunt Sula had special chairs with arms that folded out so you could rest your drinks on them. And there were two little stools to put your feet on. I hadn’t felt so relaxed in a long time. When I heard the clock chime, I couldn’t believe how quickly the day had gone. Solomon could wait; I wasn’t ready to leave. Everything was still—as if it was waiting for something. I could see the roof of the big house; the outhouse; some sheds farther up.
“Can you stay here in this house for as long as you like?”
“Yes,” Aunt Sula said. “For as long as I’m alive. Which will hopefully be for a little while longer.” She smiled, and I noticed her round high cheeks. She was still beautiful.
“And what about you? Do you want to stay with the family?”
“Right now I will. I can see what comes up.”
“I hope they’re paying you well. You could get a good position anywhere, Celia.” She was looking at me closely. “Tassi said you were good at school. Remember when I came and you told me your teacher had said you should go to university.”
“I don’t have time for that now. I have to earn a living. No one will mind me if I don’t mind myself.”
“Tassi says you could go back to Black Rock and pick up in school again. It might be late, and you will be older than the other children, but you could do it.”
“I will never go back there. Aunt Tassi didn’t care for me like she should have. You don’t know the half of it. She believes Roman’s lies. I curse his soul every day. I curse him and hope he rots in hell.” I didn’t expect my words to come out like this; like when you taste something rotten and spit it from your mouth—spit, spit, spit—until it’s gone.
Aunt Sula looked down at her hands folded in her lap. There was a long pause; neither of us said a
nything. I fixed my eyes on the sky; it was empty, not a cloud in sight. Now I could feel her looking at me, and I wondered what she was thinking. I wanted to cry.
“I’m sorry, Celia. I’m so sorry for whatever it is you’ve gone through.”
I heard a yellow bird call, loud like it was right there. Yellow bird, up high in banana tree, yellow bird, you sit all alone like me …
“Come, child. Come.” Aunt Sula got up, and gently put her hand on my shoulder.
IN THE LATE afternoon, when the light was pink and creamy and soft like in a dream, we walked slowly in silence along the path. Apart from a cock crowing, it was quiet as if the world was sleeping. Bushes and shrubs covered parts of the ground; some were fine with leaves delicate as lace; others had long green leaves like tongues and some of these tongues were spiked and pointed. The land spread out and the tall trees ahead looked strong and old as if they’d been there for hundreds of years. Farther up on one side, there were clusters of bamboo and a stream where, later, Aunt Sula told me, the Carr Brown children used to play when they were small.
I saw him first from the cotton tree. Joseph Carr Brown rode through the cocoa trees, slowed at the open ground, and then jumped down from the horse. He patted its neck, and took something from his pocket and gave it to the horse. I was sure that he had seen us but he carried on taking up the saddle and loosening the bridle before starting in our direction. There was a dog at his heels. “Good afternoon, Sula.” His voice was friendly.
“This is Celia, my niece.” Aunt Sula stood to one side.
“Hello, Celia. We’re glad to have you here at Tamana. I saw you earlier in the truck.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“I met you before. In Tobago.”
“Yes, sir. I remember.”
“You do? That’s a good sign. It’s always nice to be remembered.”
His blue eyes were deeply set and his fine-boned face was long. When he took off his hat, I was surprised to see such thick white hair. He was probably older than he looked.
“This is Shadow,” he said, and the dog’s ears pricked up. The dog’s coat was black and shiny.
“Whenever we’re looking for Mr. Carr Brown, we look for Shadow first.” Aunt Sula put out her hand and stroked his head. Then the dog lay down and rolled on the dusty ground. “He loves to be stroked,” she said, and rubbed his belly.
“Your aunt tells me you live in Port of Spain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going into town tomorrow. I’ll be leaving after breakfast if you’d like to get a ride.”
“Thank you, sir, but my driver’s coming to collect me soon.” I said “my driver” like I was an important person.
“It’s up to you,” he said, “You could always give your driver the evening off.” He smiled, and I looked at Aunt Sula and she smiled too. “I’m sure your aunt wants you to stay. She’s been looking forward to your visit for weeks.” Something about the way he said this made me think I didn’t have a choice.
I FOUND SOLOMON parked up at the bottom of the track, smoking a cigarette. When he saw me, he started up the engine.
“Sorry,” I said,” I’ve decided to spend the night; go on without me. I’ll get a lift tomorrow with Mr. Carr Brown.”
He rolled his dead eyes, and then flicked his ash in the grass. “You could’ve told me, Celia. I was ready to leave an hour ago.” Then he revved the engine, and without another word took off back up the track.
AFTER DINNER, AUNT Sula and I listened to the record player, and then, surprisingly, I fell asleep. I slept well in her little house. This place was silent like Black Rock, only more so; there was no Roman. There was nothing to fear.
IN THE MORNING, after breakfast: grapefruit, eggs, and fried bakes, we made our way up to the yard where Joseph Carr Brown kept his motorcars. There were two large sheds, one for the truck and tractor. Leaning against the workbench, Aunt Sula asked if I would mind if she gave Aunt Tassi my address.
I turned and looked at her. “Roman was bad, and Aunt Tassi is bad for standing by him. He’s done some things you won’t ever know about.”
She shook her head. I knew that this was very disappointing to her.
“I don’t have to tell her anything but your address. I know she wants to write you.” Then she said, “I am just so glad you came,” and she pushed five dollars into my hand. “Please use it to come back.”
I HAD THOUGHT there might be a driver, but it turned out Joseph Carr Brown liked to drive himself. The big Ford motorcar was white and quite new. It had pointed lights and large shiny wheels. There were red leather seats and the steering wheel looked like it was made of special polished wood. I liked the smell of leather, the large padded front seat was comfortable. At first I felt nervous and a little shy, but then I told myself there was no need to feel this way.
Joseph Carr Brown drove slowly through the village, whistling a tune I thought I knew. “You’ll have to put up with it, I’m afraid. My wife tells me I even whistle in my sleep. It’s an old habit; I’ll probably be doing it in my grave.” Passing the church, a large, striking woman with a basket on her head put out her hand, and he stopped the car. “Thank you, Mr. Carr Brown,” the woman said, opening the back door. She climbed in, resting the basket on the seat beside her. Shadow shifted over to the window. “That sun out there hot today already.” Then, “Morning, Shadow,” and she patted the dog.
“This is Celia,” he said. “Sula’s niece from Port of Spain.”
“Good day,” she said, looking at me from the corners of her eyes.
Then the woman, whose name I learned was Hazra, and Joseph Carr Brown started to talk; they talked about the rains and the landslide that took away three houses. They talked about the Toco boy who hanged himself in the lighthouse. They talked about the new telephone line at the post office where the woman worked in Four Roads. “At last, people can get hold of you when they need to,” she said. “That’s if the telephone line’s working. When the rains come we’re in trouble.”
Hearing their voices, and looking out at the open road and the tall bamboo on either side of it, I suddenly felt a lightness, as if a breeze had passed right under my heart. And it came to me then that there were things I might look forward to; that life was not so hard as before, as it had been in Black Rock. And I felt glad to be riding in this big car with Joseph Carr Brown, owner of the Tamana estate, all the way to Port of Spain where I had a job and a room of my own and people there who seemed to like me. And I felt glad to know that Aunt Sula was there; that I could come back and visit when I wished to.
WE DROPPED HAZRA at the market in Arima, and then carried on toward Port of Spain. Along the main stretch, the clouds were gathering over the hills and I wondered if the rain would start before we reached.
“Do you like Port of Spain, Celia?”
“Yes, sir. I like St. Clair.”
“But you used to live in Tobago, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“With Tassi in Black Rock?”
“I didn’t like Black Rock so much.”
He looked surprised.
“Sula tells me you want to go to England?”
“Yes, one day, when I have enough money.”
“England is a long way from St. Clair.” Then he said, “We have friends who know the Rodriguez family well. I’ve met them a couple times myself. Actually, I didn’t meet the wife, but I was introduced to the doctor at a house party in Bayshore. She’s an English girl, I hear.”
I said, “Yes,” though I had never thought of Helen Rodriguez as a “girl.”
“I always say this: Better to marry someone from your own town. And if not from your town, then someone from your country. If you can’t marry someone from your country, then find someone from your part of the world. I used to tell my children this, and so far so good. Both my daughters married Trinidadians.”
“But just because they come from the same village doesn’t mean they’re right for you.”
&
nbsp; “No, that’s true.”
And then I don’t know why, but I said, “Aunt Tassi lives with a man and he’s from the same place and I wouldn’t wish him on anyone.”
“That’s a shame.” Then, “Does he drink?”
“Yes, sir. He drinks.”
Before I got out of the car, Joseph Carr Brown nodded as if he had understood something.
“Well, let’s hope you don’t end up with someone like that. Not that we ever decide these things. I believe you follow your life, Celia. You don’t lead your life. It’s a mistake people make. We’re not that powerful or important.”
“Yes, sir.”
He waited until I was inside the gate. Then he waved, and I watched him drive slowly away. By now, Shadow had jumped into the front seat; he was leaning out of the window, ears pinned back like two black flaps in the breeze.
FOURTEEN
DURING SCHOOL HOLIDAYS THE RODRIGUEZ FAMILY stayed at Avalon, down the islands. We set off early on Saturday morning. Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez drove the blue Hillman car along the coast, through St. James, Bayshore, and out toward Carenage. I sat in the back and held Consuella, and Joe sat on the other side. If her husband drove too fast, Helen Rodriguez complained. She said we would all end up in Port of Spain General Hospital and people only go there to die. I always wanted him to go faster; not because I wanted to go to the hospital or I wanted to die, but because I liked to feel the warm wind blowing on my face as it rushed through the window.
At a certain place in the road we came to a checkpoint, and we stopped. The American guard was always polite and immaculately dressed. He said good morning, and then he peered through the windows, checking the back, and made a note of the registration number. Joe always liked this part of the trip. There was never a problem; the guard raised the bar, we drove through, and Joe turned and saluted. And if the guard was friendly, he would salute right back. Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez didn’t care for the Americans; he said they weren’t to be trusted, and all that land they were using in Chaguaramas would be someday lost forever. The only good things the Americans brought to Trinidad, he said, were hamburgers and Coca-Cola.