Lime Tree Can't Bear Orange

by Amanda Smyth

  EVERYWHERE WAS HOT and dry. Dust blew through the windows and fell on everything—shelves, furniture, crockery. The skies were clear: a bright, holy blue; the land was splitting and cracking with heat. All day cicadas rattled their song so loud I felt to scream. Meanwhile, The Gazette reported terrible fires raging through the hills.

  AT THE END of the week, William came to where I was washing clothes in the outside sink. He leaned against the wall. “I have a plan,” he said, and half smiled.

  “What plan is that, William?” I carried on rinsing the garments, swilling out the water, filling up the bucket.

  “It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to know what it is.”

  “Does it involve Solomon? Because if it does, I can tell you right now I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  “I don’t want you to worry about him.”

  For the first time in days, he looked calm and sure. He turned off the tap. He was closer now; I could smell the lime cologne he had taken to wearing. “I’ve been trying to find a way for us to be together. I’ll do all I can to take care of you, Celia, whatever it takes.” His eyes were full of tenderness.

  “You’re not going to steal money from somewhere? You’re not going to kill anybody.”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said. “I want us to have a new start. I want this baby to have a proper home.”

  For some reason, I felt the opposite of calm.

  “Remember what you told me the other day. You can’t start a new life with nothing. That’s the truth.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but I don’t want anybody getting into trouble.”

  “No one is getting into trouble, Celia.”

  From his pocket, William pulled out a travel brochure. On it was a photograph of a ship and a small map of the Caribbean islands.

  “We can buy a ticket to England. We can go wherever we want. The travel agent told me a ship sails to Plymouth every week.” William was excited.

  I was looking at the pictures and I was about to ask how much a ticket would cost when we heard: “Good afternoon,” and Mrs. Shamiel appeared in the doorway. She was wearing her uniform dress, a green scarf over her silver hair. “The power went so the boss sent us home early. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

  “Just a little,” I said, catching my breath. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

  William gave me a look, and then followed his mother inside; I heard her ask him to go to the store to buy some milk. “I don’t know how I forget it.” She was going now to wash and change. “Pick up some tea, too,” she said, her voice trailing off.

  I FINISHED WRINGING out the clothes, carried them into the yard, and started to hang them on the washing line. The light was softer now, and there was a warm breeze. The clothes would soon be dry, and then I would iron them. And while I was putting the wooden pegs in place, I was thinking about all that William had said, and wondering if there really might be a way to leave Trinidad and start over. And if so, where would we go? And I was wondering, too, if it would ever be possible to love William.

  “So the baby is William’s or Rodriguez’s?”

  Mrs. Shamiel was standing on the steps.

  My face flushed with heat.

  “Don’t pretend with me. You’re taking a long time to answer, that tells me all I need to know.”

  I could see through the underneath of the house to the gate; I would have to pass her to get to it.

  “I warned you, Celia.”

  “William wants to be with me. I can’t help that.”

  “Then he can be with you somewhere else. But not in my house. Not under my roof. Not as long as you’re pregnant with another man’s child.”

  She was looking at me as if she hated me.

  “I want you gone by the end of the week. You understand?” Then, “And if you care about my son at all”—and these words came like knives—“don’t tell him about this conversation.” She suddenly looked dismayed. “Trouble seems to follow you around like a bad smell. I don’t know why that is. But I don’t want it destroying my son’s life.” Her voice was breaking now. “He’s all I have.”

  Mrs. Shamiel walked back up the steps and into her house.

  ALL NIGHT SHE stayed close. William didn’t seem to notice, although at one point, he asked her if she was going to see Ruby. Mrs. Shamiel said no, Ruby had visitors from San Fernando; she wanted to stay home and finish some chores.

  Mrs. Shamiel served corn soup for dinner. There were dump-lings in between bits of meat and bone in the yellow liquid. I didn’t want to eat it, there was something about the soup that tasted odd. I remembered Aunt Tassi telling me how some people put human bones in their soups to make unwanted guests sick.

  I made an excuse to leave the table, saying I would eat the soup later. I went to my room, lay on my bed, and stared at the ceiling. I felt anxious, as if something very bad was about to happen. It was hot and still. I got up and stood by the window, hoping for a little breeze. Outside, I could hear a hissing noise, and I was sure it was a snake. The yard was filled with strange, black shapes.

  LATER, WILLIAM KNOCKED on my door. He had brought a glass of sorrell juice.

  “Are you okay?”

  I sat up and took the drink. “Yes,” I said, knowing his mother was probably listening. “I’m feeling so tired; it must be the heat.”

  “The heat getting to everyone tonight.”

  He glanced down at my stomach where my hands were folded.

  “You shouldn’t live in a place like Trinidad. You belong in America or Europe. Somewhere else. Somewhere with a real future. I’ll help you.” Then, “I believe I was born to care for you.”

  William looked at me with such kindness, I almost felt ashamed. I had always known that his affections were strong, but hearing “I believe I was born to care for you” made his feelings more real and somehow, shocking. And I felt dizzy with this realization. Like when you start up a hill, and you climb higher, and higher, then you look back and the ground rushes up toward you. And I knew in that moment, that I would never love him as he loved me now. I had loved only Dr. Emmanuel Rodriguez. His mother was right; Mrs. Jeremiah was right.

  I was suddenly very afraid; I could not stay here anymore.

  What to do. What to do.

  THIRTY-THREE

  I TELEPHONED AUNT TASSI AND TOLD HER I WAS COMING home. She was thrilled. “I was hoping you’d come. I had a feeling. I must fix up the place; if you see how bad it looking. Since Roman I haven’t felt to do anything. What would you like to eat? I will get something nice ready. And tell me exactly what time the boat getting in. Violet and Vera will be so excited,” she said. “Wait ’til you see how grown-up they are.”

  THE BOAT WAS leaving at 9:00 p.m., which meant checking in at 7:00 p.m. I was glad to be traveling at night, it would be cooler. We arrived at the docks in good time. While William went to the ticket office, I stood in the queue of passengers. A large ship from Miami was moored and there were some American guards gathered at the gangway. Strangely, I thought I recognized one of them; his tanned and pointed face was familiar. It was the guard from the security post at Chaguaramas. A dark-skinned girl was on his arm; she looked no more than fifteen years old. A song floated back to me: If Yankees come to Trinidad, Some of de girls go more than mad, Young girls say they treat dem nice, Make Trinidad like a paradise …

  Passengers for Scarborough were told to get in line. William and I waited near to where a lady was selling popping corn.

  “You want some, Celia?”

  “No, I’ll get something on the boat.” Then I said, “You know what, maybe you should go now. We’ll be leaving soon, anyway.” I could make out Solomon’s truck parked outside the gates.

  “I’d rather stay here with you.” His eyes were dreamy and sad. “I still don’t know why you have to go. It seems so rushed.”

  “I need to see Aunt Tassi. I want to see my cousins, swim in the sea.” I smiled as if I was happy about it.

  “Everything w
ill work out, please God. I’ll come to Tobago as soon as I can.”

  “William,” I said, looking straight at him, “whatever it is you’re doing, please don’t do it for me. I can’t promise you anything. I don’t know what I want anymore. I wish you’d forget about me.”

  And with that, I kissed him quickly goodbye. “Go, William,” I said, “please be careful.” For a moment he looked confused. But then he smiled, made his hand into a fist, and pressed it to his heart. I watched him slip into the crowd and disappear in the darkness; I didn’t feel sad or fearful, I felt numb.

  THE BOAT WAS almost full. People were traveling back to Tobago after the holiday weekend. I found a quiet place upstairs where the breeze was blowing and I propped myself up against the side of the boat, looking back through the railings at the island I’d come to know as my home. I watched its lights twinkling, and I watched as Port of Spain got smaller. I hardly knew this place. What had I seen: Port of Spain, Arima, Tamana, Pointe-a-Pierre. What about the wild parts beyond the American camp? And the beautiful North Coast that everybody talked about? I was thinking about this, and then Port of Spain was suddenly gone and there was nothing but blackness.

  Inside, I bought a rum and soda and sat on a chair at the bar. Nearly everyone was asleep. There was a row of children lying side by side; they must have been on a school trip of some sort. A couple of older men were talking nearby, they looked drunk and I thought they might try to speak to me, so I went outside again and lay down on the upper deck. I pulled out a blanket from my bag and put it over me. The boat was rolling. I listened to the drumming of the engine. I soon fell asleep.

  I dreamt of Aunt Sula; she was young and pregnant. She was sitting in her chair, in her little house at Tamana. I was trying to talk to her, but she couldn’t hear me. She kept smiling until I realized she was just a picture on the wall in somebody else’s house.

  By the time we reached Tobago, the sun was coming up. I could see the familiar coastline and the place I knew to be Scarborough. And as we got closer, and closer, the blur of things started to take shape, the buildings and the trees and the long road along the beachfront, and I could see the hill that led up to the hospital and the row of shops that ran along it. I could see the spire of the church where my mother was buried. I could see Bacolet and the hotel perched there. And to my surprise, at the sight of these things, I did not feel dismayed as I thought I would; I felt something almost like relief. Like when you’re tired and you put your head on a pillow. Like that. So that when I saw the Port Authority building and it was time to gather my belongings, I got up and did so more easily than I had expected, and with a slightly lighter heart.

  I NEARLY WALKED by the three women waiting on the other side of the ramp, and if Aunt Tassi hadn’t called out, I probably would have. Aunt Tassi looked a lot older than when I had last seen her; she had put on weight and her hair was completely gray.

  “Oh my good Lord, Celia!”

  She put her arms around me and kissed my cheek. Vera and Violet were dressed up in simple cotton dresses; with their hair plaited and pinned up at the back in the same way. I thought how old-fashioned and serious they looked. They were carrying handbags!

  “Sula told me how you had grown up but I never thought you’d get so tall!”

  I went to Violet and Vera, and I hugged them too. They were staring at me as if I was a movie star, their faces open and admiring. I didn’t want them to see me in that way, I didn’t want them to feel insecure. “Look at you,” I said. “You must have all the boys chasing you.” Vera giggled and I could tell that they were both pleased. They were looking at my sandals, my hair, the elegant, shiny belt I had taken from Helen Rodriguez. Violet, without thinking, felt my skirt between her fingers. The floral pattern was unusual, the cotton crisp.

  “I like your dress,” she said, beaming. “It’s very modern.”

  I said, “Well, Trinidad has a lot of good stores and you don’t need so much money to buy nice material.”

  “Will you help me choose some material? I have a party to go to in two months.”

  “Yes,” I said, “of course.”

  Suddenly there seemed to be a lot of people wanting to pass and I realized we were blocking the way. Aunt Tassi said, “Let’s go get the bus.”

  “HOW LONG CAN you stay?” Aunt Tassi was settling herself into the seat. “You can stay for a while I hope. There’s a lot to catch up on.”

  I said, “I don’t know. A little while.”

  She touched my arm. “We’re so glad to have you home, Celia.”

  THE ROAD WAS quiet and empty, but for a few cars here and there. Some people were walking on the side of the road with baskets on their heads; I guessed that they were going to market. A herd of goats was coming down the hill with a barefoot man. He looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Aunt Tassi said I was lucky because Vera and Violet didn’t have work today. They had told their boss they were meeting their cousin from Trinidad, and everybody in Black Rock was talking about it. “Mrs. Maingot is coming over later for a drink. She said you must stop by and see Joan. If you see her tiny baby how sweet.”

  I put my head back, suddenly feeling exhausted.

  “We’ll be home just now,” Aunt Tassi said.

  I closed my eyes.

  THE HOUSE FELT bigger without Roman. And yes, it was in need of paint, but it was brighter than I remembered. It might have been the breeze blowing through the shutters that made me feel this way, as if there was more light, somehow. There were new pictures on the walls; it turned out that Violet liked to draw. She had painted the beach with a sailboat on the water, and sketched two parrots sitting in a tree. When I told her she was gifted, she said, “Do you really think so?”

  While everyone was in the kitchen, I went down the steps and looked underneath the house. I checked where the Coca-Cola crates used to be kept and they were still there. I looked for my things, wrapped inside the old curtain, and they had gone. There was the place where I liked to sit and watch Antoine and Antoinette. And in that quiet moment, I made myself look out at the yard and the frangipani tree, still white like old bone, and the long grass, and beyond that to where the road began, the road I took to school, the road where I found the dead kitten, and at the side of the road—the huge breadfruit tree.

  • • •

  I ASKED VERA about the goats.

  “One of them died, and then the other died too. Probably of a broken heart.”

  I was sorry to hear this.

  “And what happened to the vine, it’s gone from the tree?” I said, pulling out a chair.

  We were gathered around the table and Aunt Tassi was serving lunch. She had fried bakes and saltfish cakes. There was callalloo, cooked-up rice, and cristophene. There was a jug of ginger beer, and another of sorrel. She had made a special effort.

  “Yes, the vine has gone! Violet has a nice boy who comes looking for her, and he knows about trees and plants.”

  Violet put her hands up to her face. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Oh yes he is,” said Vera. “If he isn’t, then he’s making a very good impression of one.”

  Vera and Aunt Tassi laughed. Then Aunt Tassi asked if I had a boyfriend.

  “No,” I said. “If Mrs. Jeremiah’s right I won’t ever get married.”

  “Mrs. Jeremiah told you so?”

  “She told me other things, too.”

  “What things?” said Vera.

  “This and that,” I said. “Things best forgotten.”

  Aunt Tassi let her eyes settle on mine. “Mrs. Jeremiah died last year; you probably didn’t hear.”

  “No,” I said, taken aback.

  “She was hunting for crabs in the moonlight, when a branch from a coconut tree fall and hit her on her head.” Aunt Tassi thumped the heel of her hand and made a thudding sound. “There was a proper funeral, with a lot of singing. But everybody want to know, if she was so clairvoyant, how come she never saw it coming.”


  • • •

  AFTER LUNCH, VIOLET and Aunt Tassi were making up the bed in my room, and Vera and I were putting away the dishes. I was thinking about Mrs. Jeremiah, how strange it was that she had died so suddenly. And I wondered if she had in fact known the end was coming, but never told anybody. It must have been quick, without too much suffering or pain. There were worse ways to die. Then I thought of Roman, and I asked Vera about him. I wanted to know exactly what had happened. Vera didn’t seem surprised; she looked down the corridor to check for Aunt Tassi, and then she sat down at the table and spoke in a low voice.

  “He went to visit Ruth Mackenzie. You know how he liked to do that.” Vera rolled her eyes. “Well, she had to go out to get bread and he said he would stay and mind Clara.”

  “How old was Clara then?” I remembered the little girl being very young.

  “She had just turned nine.” Vera sighed, and shook her head. “Next thing, Ruth comes back because her purse was empty. There was music on so they never heard her. She watch through a gap in the door; they didn’t know she was right there. Daddy had his thing out and Clara was sitting next to him, and she had no panties on and from what Ruth say, Daddy was looking to put his thing in her. Ruth run into the room and start to beat him with her fists. And then she pick up a vase and break it on his head and he get a big cut. When he fly out the house, blood running down his face, all in his eye and everything. Ruth call the police and next thing you know a big police car come here to the house and they take Daddy away to Scarborough police station.”

  “Oh Vera,” I said.

  “It is one thing for him to do that with a woman, but another thing when he does it with a little child. Ruth said she never ever in a million years expected that of him. And after that, everybody say they don’t want him back in Black Rock. So when he get out of jail on bail, he sit right here and he get very drunk. It got late and Mummy say she want him to go to bed. But he went out. Next thing two little children find him dead on the sand covered in blood. Some say Earl was waiting for him and he come back and kill him that night. Or maybe the men were there and they do something to him. The badjohns. But I don’t know.”