When Life Gives You Mangos

by Kereen Getten

  A few minutes later Papa waves us over, and I run to him, with Mama trailing hesitantly behind. Inside there are scatters of people still hanging on to the night. A few couples and four boys with skin pink from the sun dance in a circle, singing at the tops of their voices to a live band.

  Mama takes my hand and moves me as far away from them as possible. She finds a table and plonks herself in a chair with such force, she almost topples over.

  “What is he doing?” she mumbles, shaking her head in dismay. Papa disappears into the kitchen only to return minutes later with the same fisherman, who is now wearing a chef’s hat and apron. Papa leads him to our table and introduces him to Mama.

  “This is Oshiah, the fisherman we met this morning.”

  Mama goes to shake Oshiah’s hand, but he hugs her instead.

  “Have whatever you want from the menu,” he says. “You just sit back and enjoy yourself.”

  Oshiah calls a waiter over to take our order and returns to the kitchen.

  Meanwhile, Papa approaches the band, which is playing a Bob Marley song. The music ends, and the musicians exchange hugs. Papa takes a seat on the stage and is offered a guitar from one of the guys. His fingers move around the strings as he tunes it, and then, with a nod to the band, he starts playing.

  Mama groans, shielding her face. “Everywhere we go he has to embarrass me.”

  I’ve only heard Papa play on his own. His audience is Mama, or me, but sometimes when he plays on the veranda, the neighbors come out to listen.

  It’s not just the way he plays, his fingers dancing along the strings, but it’s his voice. Mama once said Papa’s voice sounded like milk, and I hate milk, but I know what she means. It’s thick and smooth. Every note he hits is perfect and soft. The room is dead quiet, and the boys on the dance floor are transfixed. I look over at Mama, and her sour face has softened. She wears a silly smile as she stares longingly at my father.

  I look out onto the beach, and the sky is a beautiful orange and yellow. I watch in awe as the sun rises from the horizon, and the sea is a blanket of calm.

  I start to count, but for a different reason this time. When I reach ten, I take a deep breath.

  “Mama, can I go to the beach?”

  Mama looks out to the sea. She nods reluctantly. “Okay, but I’m coming with you.”

  “Mama…”

  But she will not hear it and promptly grabs my hand. We step out of the restaurant and onto the sand, stopping only to take our shoes off. Her grip tightens as we pause at the edge of the sand.

  “Why now?” she asks gently. I look back at Papa through the opening of the glass doors, which have been pushed back to let in the sea breeze. He watches us carefully while he plays. I turn back to the sea as small ripples creep onto the sand.

  “Papa said it’s time. He said we have to face what we’re afraid of or it will consume us.”

  She wraps her arm around my waist, looking up at the cloudless sky. “You know I never liked the water.”

  I smile. “I know.”

  She pulls me down into the sand, and we sit while Papa’s voice soothes us. Mama puts her arm around my shoulder, and it is like a warm coat on a cold night.

  “To me the sea was always this scary place. But you were different. You were fearless, like your father. You loved the ocean, and even though your father had bad memories of the sea, he never let on to you. He allowed you to explore the water for yourself. He didn’t want you to be afraid, and you weren’t. You fell in love with the water.”

  As she speaks, the sky turns black right in front of me, the moon disappears, and I am running from the sea as fast as I can. My breath is stuck in my throat and I can’t run fast enough, I can’t catch my breath. I can’t breathe. I squeeze my eyes as tight as I can, and when I open them, the sky isn’t black anymore. All I can hear is Mama’s frantic voice.

  “Clara, what’s the matter? Are you okay? Do you need water?”

  It takes a while before my heart slows and my chest opens. I inhale, taking in the sea air. “I’m fine,” I whisper, though my voice is croaky.

  She kisses my forehead. “You were breathing so fast. What happened?”

  I dig my toes into the sand and take a deep breath. “Mama, I’m starting to remember things.”

  Her brows are deep with worry. “What do you remember?”

  I don’t want to scare her. Or upset her even more than I have already.

  “Just things,” I whisper.

  She pulls me tight. So tight, my body hurts, but I don’t tell her because I know she needs this hug as much as me. “I love you so much,” she whispers. “It will get easier, I promise.” I don’t know if she believes that or if she’s just trying to make me feel better.

  ON OUR WAY HOME MAMA AND Papa don’t stop holding hands. Even when he needs to change gears or use the turn signals, he doesn’t let go of her hand. It’s as if our night in the city was really for them. During breakfast Mama glowed when the room erupted in applause for Papa. Now she can’t stop looking at him with big wide eyes.

  It was a good day for all of us. For me and Mama too.

  The roads are busy today, even though we left later than usual to avoid the worst of the traffic. It hasn’t worked. We are still bumper-to-bumper, barely moving through the city.

  Mama points out two men carrying zinc panels on their heads, in front of them more people carrying planks of wood. Which could mean nothing, or for this island could mean something. Papa rolls down his window as we near them.

  “What you building?” he calls to them.

  “Not building,” one of them answers back. “Protecting. Storm is coming.”

  Mama immediately turns on the radio. She spins the knob until we come to a station without static.

  “—is expected to turn into a Category Five hurricane within the next twenty-four hours, with winds up to a hundred and eighty-five miles per hour. Residents are asked to stay home and off the roads. For those whose homes are near the water, an evacuation order has been issued.”

  There is a somber mood in the car. Papa leans his elbow on the door with a pained expression on his face. I look around and realize all the cars are packed with people’s belongings. This is not work traffic; they are evacuating.

  “Do you know a shortcut?” Papa asks Mama. His voice is heavy. Mama, who went to college in the city, looks around her to get her bearings. She used to joke to Papa that she knew every inch of the city because she had to walk everywhere.

  “There is a left down there by the lights. You can come off the main road and take the hills, but, Lloyd, we’re not moving anywhere for now.” She’s right; even if Mama knows the shortest and quickest way home, what use is it if we are stuck in a traffic jam?

  Papa hits the steering wheel with an angry grunt. I feel my heart start to race and I don’t know why. I have been through this plenty of times.

  If you know anything about storms, you will know that everything stops just before everything goes crazy. You don’t need to listen to the radio to know what’s coming; you feel it. When we woke up earlier this morning, Papa opened the curtains and peered up at the sky. “Looks like storm,” he mumbled. The sky was a dark gray, darker than when it is about to rain. When we got to the car, there was no wind, which seems pretty normal for the city, but the air wasn’t heavy either. There was nothing. No air, no wind, no sun, just a sense of lingering. As if waiting for something.

  When you live on a tropical island, you get to know these signs, but Mama and Papa didn’t worry because they thought it was only a small storm, and small storms leave as quickly as they come. Mama reaches into the backseat and places her hand on my knee.

  “You okay, baby?”

  I nod, but I’m not. I feel something. It’s in my chest, tightening, making it hard to breathe. It’s as if I’ve been here before,
in this moment. I wind down the window and stick my head out, inhaling the air, but there is nothing.

  We sit in slow traffic for over an hour before Papa is able to turn off the main road and take the shortcut through the hills that Mama told him about.

  As the car climbs the hill, leaving the traffic behind, Papa puts his foot down on the accelerator, and he doesn’t take it off until we reach Sycamore.

  The town is eerily quiet, like a ghost town. Shops are barricaded shut. The supermarket is the only place with people rushing in and out, piling bottles of water and canned food into their cars. Papa stops off in town and runs to the beach to secure his boat while me and Mama wait in the car.

  When he comes back, he says his friend Milo had taken his boat into his boat shack along with his own.

  When we reach Sycamore Hill, the air is filled with the sounds of hammers and saws as neighbors board up their houses.

  Papa parks the car at the bottom of the hill, and even though we have the threat of a hurricane hanging over our heads, we are relieved to be home. He tells me to help Mama with our bags and walks the short distance to Pastor Brown’s house to return the keys to the car.

  Rudy is waiting for me on the embankment, and I don’t know how long she’s been there, but my heart skips when I see her. She throws her arms around my waist. “I’ve missed you, Clara.” I can’t deny it. I’ve missed her too.

  “Go and get Ms. Gee, will you?” Mama says to us. “Bring her to the house.”

  “Mama, she won’t come,” I say.

  She picks the bags up off the ground. “Then make her come, Clara,” she snaps. “We don’t have time for Ms. Gee’s pride today.” She climbs the hill, her arms full, leaving me to face the wrath of Ms. Gee.

  I haven’t spoken to Ms. Gee since we tried to steal her guava leaf, and even though she stood up for me at Mama’s party, I still don’t think she’s happy with me.

  Rudy and I are both silent for most of the walk. Rudy kicks stones. I can tell she has more than Ms. Gee on her mind.

  “I bet she heard the car and is waiting with her cauldron,” I say, trying to make her smile. It works; a small smile tips Rudy’s lips.

  I pull a naseberry leaf from Pastor Brown’s tree and tear it in half. “This is the ointment we need to keep us from evil.”

  Rudy takes her piece and says, “What do we do with it?”

  I rub it between my fingers, and she copies me. “If we rub it all over our skin, then nothing she says will affect us. We won’t even get mad.”

  She chuckles, wiping the leaf on her arms and legs. “Will it protect us from the storm too?” she asks, and her voice is a whisper. I’ve never seen Rudy scared before. Now all I want to do is protect her.

  “Hey.”

  I spin around to see Calvin leaning over his wall. “Your dad is pretty mad at my dad. What happened?” He jumps over the wall and runs to catch up with us.

  I didn’t even see him there on the veranda. I look behind him for his shadow, Gaynah, but she is not with him. I peer over at his house. “Papa?”

  Calvin nods. “Something about Bishop Mason? I didn’t stay to listen. So, what are you two up to?”

  I rush past him and through his gate. “Where are you going?” he calls after me. I tiptoe up the steps to their veranda, and Papa’s voice becomes clear as day. Through the window I see Papa with his back to me, and I wonder if he’s forgotten there is a storm coming. He is pointing at Pastor Brown. “You betrayed us, Barry. You told us he would help her.”

  Pastor Brown steps toward Papa, his eyes bulging. “Betrayed you, Lloyd? I am a man of God. What I said to you was that girl needs help. I told you this the minute all the horror happened last year. But you didn’t listen. Give her time, you said, let her figure herself out. She will come to her senses, you said. Now look at her. She is misbehaving. She is disobedient. She went to the house of hell, and still you did nothing. So what would you prefer me to do? To turn my back? To do nothing, like you?”

  There is a long pause from Papa. All I see is his shoulders rising and falling. He steps toward Pastor Brown. “That house of hell is my father’s house. It’s where you played as a child. We invited you to that house. You ate from our table. You slept in that house. Whatever feelings you have about my family, Barry, you will do well to remember that.”

  He turns to open the door, and I run down the steps and out the gate just as he comes out. Pastor Brown is right behind him. “Lloyd, don’t let this split us. Rather, let it unite us. We are a community. We have fought this before; we will fight it again.”

  Papa spins round on his heels and shouts, “This is not our community, Barry. This is yours. It has always been yours.”

  He marches out the gate, stopping only when he sees me. His face is fiery, his mouth in a thin line. I’ve never seen Papa mad. Not ever.

  “Clara, go and get my brother. Tell him storm is coming and he should be here, with us.”

  My heart skips a beat.

  “But—but Mama told me to get Ms. Gee,” I stammer.

  He shakes his head, heading toward us. He throws a defiant look at Pastor Brown. “I’ll get Ms. Gee. You get my brother. Be quick. Storm is almost here.”

  ELDORATH HASN’T BOARDED UP ANY OF his windows like everyone else on the hill has. I think that might be because he doesn’t have a ladder tall enough to reach them. But he does have these green wooden shutters, which are firmly closed.

  Gaynah has followed me up the hill. I am surprised she wanted to go anywhere with me, but I guess she didn’t want to miss the excitement of bringing Eldorath back to the village. Rudy and Calvin wanted to come too, but Papa took Rudy with him to get her mother and Ms. Gee, and Pastor Brown ordered Calvin into the house.

  So now it was just me and Gaynah. I’m hoping we get this over and done with quickly so Gaynah and I don’t have to spend much time together.

  It takes a few bangs on the door before Eldorath opens. He peers out through a crack of the door. “What in goodness gracious are you doing here?”

  “Papa told me to come and get you,” I tell him proudly. “He wants you to be with us for the storm.”

  A look of warmth flits across his face, but it changes quickly. “That’s not possible. If certain people saw me, there would be a riot. Now go home.” He shoos us away and shuts the door.

  Gaynah turns to me. “Now what?”

  I stare at the closed door, then at the ever-looming storm in the sky. A rumble of thunder explodes in the sky, reminding us the storm is not far away. Make sure you’re home after the first thunder, Papa always says. The storm could be another hour, or it could be another minute.

  We could make it home before the storm if we ran. We might catch the beginning of the rain if we left now. But Papa asked me to get Eldorath, and I won’t leave without him. My gut clenches, and I slide to the porch floor. “We wait,” I tell her.

  * * *

  —

  We sit on Eldorath’s porch, waiting for him to change his mind and open, but he doesn’t. Gaynah starts to regret following me up here. “Mama will be worried,” she says. “I’m supposed to be home before the storm comes. She’s going to be mad.” When I don’t answer, she glares at me. “She’ll blame you.” I lean against the door and my stomach gets tighter. She’s right. This will be another excuse for Juliette to say I am leading her daughter astray.

  “You go,” I say, staring blankly into the forest. “If you leave now, you might get back before the storm.”

  Gaynah looks doubtfully at the sky. “Do you think so?”

  As if to answer her question, the sky opens, and the rain comes. Only it’s not gentle; it’s a downpour. We have some shelter under Eldorath’s door, but not much. When the wind starts, we will not stand a chance. We simultaneously bang on Eldorath’s door as hard as we can, screaming at him to open up.
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br />   Usually when the storm comes, we are already indoors. If the rain doesn’t start too heavy, we might sit outside on the veranda and watch. I love storms. Sometimes I’ll run out into the rain with Papa. We’ll stand in the middle of the front yard and let it pour down on us. Gaynah hates storms. She especially hates thunder. I see her grimace as another one crashes overhead. We may not be friends right now, but I don’t want her to be afraid.

  I thump my fist against the door. “Let us in!”

  Eldorath doesn’t answer. I thought he would open the door once the rain started. But whatever Sycamore has done, it has scared him, and he does not want us in his house.

  I am about to give up when the door opens and we fall in. I look up and Eldorath is looking down at us. “Come in before you catch a cold,” he says, hurrying us in. We stumble to our feet and gratefully step inside. He peers out into the rain as if he is looking for someone, I don’t know who. “Well, you can’t go home in that,” he says. Quickly he shuts the door and bolts it.

  Eldorath gives us a room to change out of our damp clothes. “There should be plenty of clothes in there,” he says, pointing to a large oak wardrobe leaning against a fabric wall. “Call me if you need anything.”

  As he leaves, the door creaks shut behind him and we are plunged into near darkness. A four-poster bed fills the space, its dark wood making the room even darker, with flowery curtains pulled back against the frame.

  It is silent apart from the rain pouring down outside. Gaynah moves over to the window, her arms wrapped against her stomach. This is the first time we have been alone since the game. So much time has passed since our fight, and now it seems more normal to not speak than to break the silence.

  I open the wooden wardrobe against the wall and run my fingers through rows of clothes similar to the ones in Eldorath’s room.

  I hold up a silver jumpsuit from the eighties and wave it around. “This would suit you.”