by Amanda Smyth
I smiled at Mr. Scott, who gave me a funny, sideways glance.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I was sad. All day I went about the house with a long face. No one seemed to notice, not even William. I hardly spoke to anyone.
That night, after we had been together, I sat up and leaned against the wall. There was a firefly in the room, its tiny light flashing on and off.
“What is it, Celia?”
“It’s my birthday. I’ve never had it go by like this before.”
Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez put his hand on my cheek. “Why didn’t you say, you silly girl,” he said, climbing out of bed. He started to put on his clothes. At first I thought he was cross but then he said, “Get dressed, I’m taking you somewhere.”
“Where? It’s too late to go out. What will you say to madam?”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Someone might see us.”
“Don’t argue with me.”
NEXT THING, WE were racing up the Saddle Road and the windows were down and the wind was blowing back my hair and I still didn’t have any idea of where we were going. There were hardly any cars around, and apart from a couple of dogs barking, it was very quiet. By the time we reached the top of the twisty road that led up from the Long Circular Road, past the little tiny houses in the valley, and past the thick trees and the dark bush that covered most of the hillside, I had no idea where we would end up and I didn’t care. And the steep road made me scared at first, and I wondered how we would get up it. But soon we were there, up at the top of it, and parking under a tree. He switched off the engine.
“Don’t look,” he said, “keep your eyes down.” And with a torch that was barely needed in the moonlight, only where the branches of trees kept it hidden, Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez took my hand and carefully led me over a small stone wall, and then up a narrow path. We crossed the grass. And then we stopped. It felt like we were on the edge of something. The breeze was cool like at Christmas. He put his arm around my shoulders and held me steady. “Now you can look.”
The lights of Port of Spain were spread out and sparkling like a million diamonds on a black cloth and the sea beyond lit silver by the huge, white moon hanging there. I had never seen such a view. “This is your country,” he said. “Isn’t it something.” Then, “Happy Birthday, Celia.” Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez put his mouth on mine and kissed me hard. Then he opened a paper bag I hadn’t seen him carrying, and there was a bottle of something which he said might make me dizzy, but I had to try a little. “It’s not quite champagne,” he said, pouring it into a cup, “but it’ll do.
“You never can tell what the future holds, Celia, but I’m sure you’ve got a lot to look forward to.”
Yes, I thought, miracles can happen, they’ve happened before. I am living proof.
SIXTEEN
HELEN RODRIGUEZ DIDN’T SEEM TO NOTICE ANYTHING different in her husband, which I found strange. On Sunday afternoons, for instance, she never questioned him when he said he was going to the office or the Portuguese club. Now and again, he made the excuse that he had to be at the hospital. This was sometimes true. A sudden burst of emergency operations and the hospital would telephone and ask for his help. Once and only once, I heard her ask in a suspicious way what time he would be home, and he said, “Oh Lord. I really hope you’re not starting that nonsense with me again, Helen. What does a man have to do?” and that was the end of it. It didn’t seem to occur to her that we were both out at the same time, or, if it did, she never said anything.
Sometimes I felt her watching me, or looking at me, when she thought I didn’t know. She encouraged me to go to Tamana. “You had such a nice time with your aunt, Celia. You came back so refreshed. Please don’t feel tied here every weekend.” Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez said I mustn’t get paranoid. To me, she was like a person split in two; as if part of her soul was in Trinidad and the other part was living in another strange world I had no idea about. And that other part I didn’t understand or trust. I never asked Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez how he felt about her. I didn’t feel I had the right.
There was nothing for her to do in the house and I imagined that she was bored. She liked to sew and sometimes spent a whole morning in her sewing room making things—cushion covers, dresses for Consuella, shorts and shirts for Joe. The elaborate flowery patterns she embroidered onto Consuella’s dresses made them look like dresses you would buy in a store. She always stitched Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez’s initials on his handkerchiefs, and onto the pockets of his shirts. If I went into the room to call her for lunch, or to ask her something, I would see these things laid out on her cutting table.
One day, I said, “I wish I could sew like you, Mrs. Rodriguez.”
And she said, “I’m sure you could if you put your mind to it. It’s not so difficult. Any fool can sew.”
The only time she was sure to be out was on Friday afternoons, when she went to the Queen’s Park Hotel, where Gladys Richards washed and set her hair in the hotel beauty salon. On the way home, she might have tea with Mrs. Robinson from Barbados, who lived in St. Ann’s, but that didn’t happen every week because Mrs. Robinson was often busy. Now and then, she drove into town, shopping for material or patterns, or she’d go to the bank. In the early days, I’d often go with her. But later on, when Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez started closing surgery early (Fridays, only), I made an excuse to stay at home. It was easy; there was always a lot to do.
As soon as William and Marva had left, he came to my room. We did it with the door locked and the louvers shut so it was dark like night. We didn’t turn on the fan in case someone came and we couldn’t hear them and that meant it was very hot. When the bed got damp with our sweat, I lay on the cool, hard floor. But the tiles were soon sticky and caught my skin, so we threw a sheet down there too and I lay on that—my legs up and out for him. Afterward the room looked wrecked. By the time Helen Rodriguez returned— pretty and fresh with her hair groomed like a model in one of the American glossy magazines she sometimes brought home—her husband was bathed (the smell of me completely gone), dressed, and working in his office; I was upstairs getting Consuella ready for her afternoon walk. At first I found it hard to look at her but then I got used to it.
SEVENTEEN
TAMANA WAS DIFFERENT IN THE WET SEASON; THE ESTATE was very green and wild, as if it was exploding with life. Even Solomon seemed to think so. “It nice up here at this time of year,” he said as we drove through; the grass was long and the trees were thick and full. He dropped me off in the same place as before. “Wish me luck,” he said. Nathaniel was taking him hunting.
“What kind of hunting?”
“Agouti, wild pig, manicou.”
The idea of it made me feel uneasy.
“With a real gun?”
“No, Celia, with a toy.”
“Well,” I said, “I hope you’re a good shot.”
“I never miss my target.”
AUNT SULA GREETED me at the bottom of the steps, and she put her arms around me. She had prepared a hot and delicious lunch, and while we ate, she asked me about the Rodriguez children, and about Helen Rodriguez, and the doctor. She wanted to know about the fashion in Port of Spain. Did I ever get out to restaurants or dance halls? It had been a while since she had been there. I knew that she was trying to keep the mood light and cheerful.
After we had eaten, she went inside and lay down, and I looked through some old Reader’s Digest magazines she had there. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I fell asleep. Aunt Sula said I should always rest after lunch. “Conserve your energy, child. You only have so much. One day you’ll be old like me and you’ll wonder where your life went.”
While the cool breeze blew through her little house, I thought about Dr. Rodriguez. He had told me not to stay away too long. What would he do, especially in this rainy weather. I was his sunshine, he said, his light in the dark.
FOR THE FIRST time, Aunt Sula showed me properly around the estate. The main house where Mr. and Mrs.
Carr Brown lived was much bigger than I had first thought. The windows were all open at the top, and the downstairs windows were also open, but I couldn’t see inside. There was a small balcony that led from one part of the house to the other. A woman in uniform hurried across it. I wondered how many people worked here. The house needed paint and some of the fretwork was tatty but it was impressive. I liked the crocheted hammock strung across the large veranda, the planter’s chairs with their flowery cushions. There were two huge pots on the side of the steps and they held palms with bright red trunks. A young, light-skinned girl was wiping them down. She looked up at us and waved.
“That’s Cedar,” Aunt Sula said. “See how her dress is always falling off her shoulder like a waif and stray.” The girl looked like she was in a dream. “Her mind is peculiar. In some things she’s dumb, and in others, sharp as a tack.”
Then Aunt Sula took me around the back of the house and showed me the water well, and the three big outside sinks. We went into the cold room, where they kept ice, meat, butter, milk, and cheese. An overweight woman bustled through the door humming a familiar tune. “Morning, Sula, and who we have here?” She had a round, pleasant face.
“Dolly, this is Celia, my niece.”
“She tall like you!” She looked me up and down in a friendly way. “How you feeling today, Sula?”
“I’m getting old, that’s all that’s wrong with me.”
“You should take it easy; let your niece look after you.” Then, to me, “Did you know your aunt was very sick just the other day?”
Aunt Sula rolled her eyes. “I had what all women have when they get to my age—aches and pains.”
I said, “Did you go to the doctor?”
“No,” said Dolly, and put her hands on her hips. “She didn’t.”
Aunt Sula sighed. “I didn’t have to.” Then, cheerfully she said, “Come, let’s go see the chickens.”
TWO CHILDREN WERE cleaning out the shed. All the chickens had been shooed to a corner and fenced in with a large piece of board. The boy and girl had brushes, brooms, and a bucket of water. I remembered the boy from my first visit to the estate. “This is Ruth and this is Tatton,” said Aunt Sula, and they both stood up straight in their raggedy shorts and shirts. Ruth started to giggle.
“What is it?”
The little girl put her hand over her mouth. Then Tatton started giggling too.
“You haven’t seen such a pretty lady in a while, huh?”
I didn’t feel pretty, standing there in my housedress and the ugly boots Aunt Sula had given me.
In a whiny voice like a little cat, Ruth said, “Where you from, miss?”
“Port of Spain. I live in Port of Spain.”
As if I’d said Paris or New York, her eyebrows shot up.
Aunt Sula said, “Maybe Celia will tell you about it someday. Not now because we have to go up to the stables.”
We left them there, with Ruth staring after us.
ON THE OTHER side of the house there was a row of orange trees; their branches were full and heavy. This was the start of the small orchard, the one closest to the house. Apparently, there was another area of citrus which went on for three hundred acres. The workers picked and boxed the grapefruits and oranges and Mr. Carr Brown had them delivered to Port of Spain for distribution. I hadn’t realized the estate was so enormous. Cocoa used to be the most important crop, but that had changed now, Aunt Sula said. We kept walking up, up, up, toward the land in the back. Some of the grass was long here; it was where the horses were brought out to feed. Now I was glad of the heavy yard boots.
“You can’t walk about the place in sandals,” Aunt Sula had said. “If a snake doesn’t bite you a scorpion will.”
“Does Mr. Carr Brown have a lot of money?” I asked.
“He used to. But these days cocoa hasn’t been selling so well. He’s put a lot of time and money into citrus fields. They export them now all over the place.”
And then, as if he had heard us talking about him, he was suddenly there, cutlass in his hand.
“I was just showing Celia the chickens, and letting her meet everybody.”
“Very good, very good. There are plenty of people to meet.” Then, “I could show her the grapefruit fields. You’d like to see them, Celia?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m assuming you know how to ride.”
I didn’t tell him that I had only ever ridden a donkey.
TATTON SHOWED ME how to climb onto the horse’s back by using a small wooden block that the children used. Milo was the smallest horse. I hooked my boot into the stirrup and swung myself over. “It feels very high,” I said quietly, looking down at the little boy. “I hope I don’t fall off.”
“No, miss,” he whispered, “you make sure and hold on tight. Milo like the ride up there, he’ll behave himself.”
Joseph Carr Brown watched from the stable door. “Good,” he said, climbing onto his horse, Seafer. “Keep your arms relaxed, so the reins stay at the same tightness. That’s it.” He rode alongside. Then, “Now, follow me.”
He led the way, his back straight and broad, his right leg kicked gently against the belly of the red horse, and they started the climb up the side of the hill, passing through the cocoa trees where everything seemed darker. Shadow raced ahead, I could see his shape darting through the undergrowth. I tried to stay upright and get into some kind of rhythm, allowing myself to move with Milo, who seemed to know exactly where we were going. “Listen to the beat of his hooves,” Joseph Carr Brown called. “One-two, one-two, one-two.” We cut through tall bushes, and onto an uneven path, worn and rocky and muddy. Vines grew on the trees and there were huge black termite nests stuck to their trunks. I could see a strip of the stream and hear it as it trickled down the hill. “Don’t let Milo near the water. He won’t want to leave.” When I looked up I saw the tops of the trees and the patches of sky in between, little slithers of gray and blue.
Soon we were out on the open space where the groves began, rows and rows of trees, and the horses slowed right down. “I don’t know if your aunt told you, we have three hundred acres.” He got down from his horse and examined the bark of a grapefruit tree, heavy with green, unripe fruit. He picked one of the leaves and handed it to me.
“See how it is. A perfect leaf. When they’re diseased their leaves look mottled like cork. I come out here every afternoon to check on them.” Then, “Did you try our grapefruits yet?”
“Yes, sir.”
“They were sweet?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So sweet you don’t need sugar, right?” He smiled.
“Yes,” I said.
He rode slowly in between the trees and I followed closely behind. I liked it out here, the huge rolling open field and the trees in neat and even rows; the silence. “Why don’t you check the other side,” he said, and pointed ahead.
I didn’t know quite what to look for, but I went anyway. I rode along the edge of the field and stopped and looked at the branches and the leaves. From what I could tell, nothing was there that ought not to be there. Milo walked slowly, and I was grateful to him. Thank you, I said, and patted his long, shiny neck.
We made our way back through the forest. It was hot and still and the air was heavy with moisture. I was mostly behind him, but now and then, when the narrow path allowed it, Milo sidled up to Seafer and I found myself riding alongside Joseph Carr Brown.
“Nothing beats riding in this forest,” he said. “Trinidad is a wonderful place, Celia. Everyone who lives here can’t wait to leave. But once they go—to England or Canada or the U.S., they spend their whole lives trying to get back. I’ve seen it happen again and again. You might find that when you go to England, if you’re still planning to leave. No sooner than you get to London, or wherever it is you want to go, you’ll hear Trinidad calling you home.”
“I hope to go one day, sir.”
“And I’m sure you will. We usually get what we want most.”
&
nbsp; THAT NIGHT, THERE was a party in one of the little houses at the back of the estate. There were a lot of candles burning in the yard as it was dark and there was no moon. Dolly’s son had returned from Sande Grande with his new wife and baby. Everyone who worked on the estate was there. I recognized some of the workers and they were friendly enough. Aunt Sula introduced me as her niece-from-Port-of-Spain. Cedar stood stiff as a post in front of me and in a stern voice said, “Good night.” She stepped forward. “We have the same name.”
“No, mine is Celia. Yours is Cedar like the tree.”
Then she bowed like a tree, bowing in the wind.
“You’re Sula’s daughter.”
“No, Cedar, I’m her niece.”
Later, I watched her tie a white sheet around her shoulders and fly around the yard chasing the younger children like a ghoul. When they screamed Dolly clapped her hands and shouted, “Ce-daaaaar!”
There was a large pot of stew that someone said was agouti. I had never eaten agouti before and the meat was tender. There was curried turtle, which reminded me of curried beef. Aunt Sula said they must have caught it up at Grande Riviere. There was breadfruit, trays of buttery dasheen, large bowls of rice and peas. After we had eaten, someone started hitting drums and there was singing from one of the women. She had a deep, rolling voice that sounded like it came from under the ground. I wasn’t sure I liked it. But then the music changed and people started clapping and singing songs more like the ones I knew in church.
I didn’t expect to see Joseph Carr Brown. He arrived after dinner, with Shadow, and a bottle of sorrell wine which he gave to Dolly’s son. He patted the young man on his back. “To wet the baby’s head,” I heard him say. “Mrs. Carr Brown sent this,” and he gave him something, which I later learned was a christening gown.
Aunt Sula told me that Joseph Carr Brown had helped Dolly with a small loan to send her son to study in San Fernando. “That’s how the boy come to be an engineer,” she said. “Mr. Carr Brown help a lot of people. His heart big like Trinidad.”