He set his mouth hard. “So I see. Calamity don’t need nobody. You going to come and lock the front door behind me?”
I looked away from him. I didn’t reply.
“All right, then.”
I listened to the sound of his feet walking down the hallway and through the living room. I heard him open the front door, close it back with a deliberate gentleness. Little more time, I heard his car start up.
“That’s right,” I muttered. “Take your skinny behind away from my front yard.” I went and locked the front door. Returned to the bedroom and threw myself onto the bed. In the lighted room, the window was just a square of black. The blindness was worse than being able to see it. I leapt up again and outed the light. There was the tree, looming in the dark. “You don’t scare me,” I said to it. I lay back down. My pillow was damp and it smelled of sweat. I clutched a corner of it tightly. The rumpled top sheet was on the floor where we had kicked it. My funeral clothes were all over the floor, too. Fucking hell. That had been beyond the pale, even for me. Bury the father, come straight back to his house with a man, and…“I’m sorry, Dadda,” I whispered.
Oh, shit. The yam. It would rotten in the closed-up car. I sucked my teeth and got up again. I went out to the car. From the passenger side seat I picked up the piece of yellow yam. It was nearly as big as my head, its dark brown, rooty skin rough against my palms. I took it inside, to the kitchen. I put it on the kitchen counter.
Truth to tell, I wasn’t sleepy. By the clock set into the stove, it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. And I didn’t want to go back to my bed to stare at the almond tree and try to figure out if I was finally going stark, staring mad.
I wasn’t in the mood for tv. I opened the freezer and took out the two books I had in there, knotted into separate plastic bags. I squinted in the low light from the open fridge, trying to make out their titles. Oh, yes: Buxton Spice and The Life and Loves of a She-Devil. The books had been in my freezerversity nearly three months now; more than enough time to kill a full life cycle of bookworm. Hadn’t read much in Dadda’s last few weeks. In the evenings after I’d fed him and got him to take his medicine, my mind had been too fretful for book learning.
I put one book on the kitchen table. Took the other one out of its plastic and cracked it open. But I wasn’t really seeing the words. I put it down, looked around the kitchen. My eye lighted on the piece of yam. I grinned. Night picnic on the beach. Like old times.
I found matches, lit a hurricane lamp and took it into the pantry. Its yellow-brown light set shadows to flickering on the pantry walls. My shadow did a devil-girl dance in the light.
On a shelf in the pantry stood two lonely bottles of store-bought cashew liqueur. Our pantry in Blessée used to have shelves full of cashew wine and liqueur; gallon bottles. Dadda had managed to save a few when Blessée blew away. He used them to bribe the Coast Guard rescuers to let him off at Dolorosse instead of taking him to a shelter on the big island like everybody else. They’d probably thought he was crazy to take the chance. They had probably been right. He had camped out right there on the beach for a day in the wind and the rain with the few possessions he had left. The Coast Guard was coming to remove him forcibly when Mr. Kite had taken him in. Mr. Kite was a weird old white guy from Germany. Came to Cayaba and went native.
I hooked two fingers through the handle of one of the liqueur bottles. Took it out to the kitchen table. Back in my room I stood off to one side so I couldn’t see out the window. I peeled out of my nightie and tossed it on the bed. No need to dirty more clothes; I just put on back the underwear and the skirt and blouse I had thrown on the floor before jumping into bed with Gene. Nobody to see how they were wrinkled. The panty hose were crumpled up and lying beside the bed. The translucent fabric looked like shed skin. One leg was laddered. I tossed them into the waste basket.
Back in the kitchen, one of the big cloth shopping bags hanging under the sink held the yam, the salt and pepper, and a stick of butter from the fridge. I slung the bag handles over my arm and hooked the liqueur bottle by its handle again. The hurricane lamp went into the other hand, to light my way. Barefoot, bare-legged, I went down the front steps and took the road to the beach.
The rockstones and the sticks on the path jooked my feet. So long I hadn’t walked on hard ground with no shoes. When I got so big and grown up, wearing shoes all the time?
The sea smelled salty and meaty tonight, like dinner. Once I reached the first stretch of beach sand with its scrub grass, the warm sand was soothing under my feet. The waves slushed at me in rhythm, like an old person puffing as she dozed.
In the dark, the hurricane lamp threw a protective circle of light around me. Grandmother Sea was snoring in her sleep, and I was feeling better already.
I set down the shopping bag and searched the beach until I’d found enough driftwood. I buried the yam in the sand. Over it, I piled the sticks, used flame from the lamp to get a fire going. I dug a shallow hole nearby, waited for it to fill from the bottom with sea water. The butter went into that, so it wouldn’t melt in the warm air. I stood the bottle in the sand, close to the fire. The heat would warm the liqueur a little.
Fuck. What I was going to sit on? I had forgotten about that. Walk all the way back to the house? If I went, I probably wouldn’t come out again tonight.
I had a naughty idea. I checked the beach up and down. Nobody. I pulled off my skirt and laid it on the sand. I felt so wicked, with the sea breeze blowing through my legs! But now I had a picnic blanket. I sat on my skirt and stared into the fire. It chuckled as it burned. I reached for the bottle of cashew liqueur, put the bottle of warm, sweet alcohol to my lips, and drank. With no dinner in my belly yet, I began to feel the booze one time. So I had more. The sea made its warm whooshing noise. I crooned to it, “The moonlight, the music, and you…” and took another gulp. I tucked the bottle into the cradle made by my knees and thighs. The cool glass felt good against my skin. Up in the sky the new moon swung, yellow and sickled as a banana. A round shadow sat inside its horns. “Old moon sitting in the new moon’s arms,” I whispered to it; a phrase I’d learned from my freezerversity. I picked up the bottle, took three long pulls at it. I tucked its smooth roundness back against my pubic bone.
I was pleasantly woozy. The tingling spread out from the centre of me to my legs, torso, head, arms. My toes and the soles of my feet were warm. My fingertips prickled. I rubbed my hands together, so that friction increased the lovely heat.
“How my yam doing?” I asked of the fire. It made cheerful popping sounds back at me. The smell of smoke and burning wood was glorious. To just sit here, not a care for the clock, no need to go and check if Dadda was all right, if he needed anything. This is what I should have done in the first place, instead of taking Gene home. Ife would be so scandalized when I told her! Oh. But I wasn’t talking to her. Not really.
I drank a toast to Dadda, and one to Mumma. They were back together now. Maybe.
“Dadda, you ever wonder what happened to Mumma that night?”
“No.”
“Why not, Dadda?”
“I know what happened; she went away and left us.”
Just like she used to threaten to, any time she and Dadda argued, any time I had been bad. “I going to go far away and never come back,” she would say, trying to keep the smile from her lips. “Then allyou going to be sorry.”
We were.
I never pressed Dadda for the whole story. I was afraid of what words might come out to break the silence. And now I would never get to ask him.
I lurched to my feet. Whoops; a little unsteady. With my bottle and hurricane lamp, I went walking along the beach, looking for a good strong stick. Tiny red crabs scurried out of the light into their holes.
The wind was stronger, the waves tossing more. The night air was freshening, so Grandmother Sea was restless. I faced her and bowed to her. “Old woman,” I greeted her. “But still wet and juicy, eh?” I laughed. The wind swallowed the sound.
I pulled a handful of big, platter-shaped sea grape leaves off their stems, found a stick, and hurried back to the heat of the fire. With the stick, I poked in the sand underneath the fire until I unearthed the yam. The tip of the stick went into it easily. Perfect. I hooked the yam out of the fire and onto the sea grape leaves I’d spread as a plate. My fingers were still thrumming from the alcohol. Made me feel tingly all over. I took another drink so that the feeling wouldn’t end too soon. With my stick, I broke the piece of roasted yam in two. A delicious smell rose in the steam from it. My belly rumbled. I fished the butter out of its cool water, unwrapped it, dug my fingers in, got a good handful of it, and spread the butter into the crumbly yellow of the roasted yam. Then salt and pepper. I crouched over my dinner, pulling and eating pieces of buttered yellow yam out of its burned skin as soon as they cooled enough to handle. In between, I took swigs from the bottle. Should have brought fresh water with me. But I would be back at the house in a little bit.
Damn. That was more than sea spray misting my shoulders. There was the occasional warm drop of rain. I stared blearily into the darkness, but I couldn’t see beyond the fire. In the yellow-lit circle, splashes of darker beige were appearing here and there in the sand. Raindrops. They were spattering my head and shoulders now. I needed to finish the yam, fast. Its hot flesh burned my fingertips, but I kept plucking at it and popping the buttery-salt pieces into my mouth.
The sea had woken up. It roared and rushed the shore. A spear of lightning lit up angry, cresting waves. Thunder boomed back at the fuming sea. “Grandma Sea and Grandpa Sky,” I said, “why all you fighting?” I chuckled. “Poopa Sky, like your wife getting the Change, or what?” I snickered at my joke.
Three flashes of lightning, quick upon each other. Thunder shouted and the sea roared back. Just a passing shower. The water felt good on my skin.
I was full. I stood up in the spit-warm rain and flung my scraps into the water for the fish, almost throwing myself off balance. I drank the liqueur, watched the sea, and rubbed my burned and itchy fingertips against my thigh.
A rush of cloud water put out the lantern. It doused most of the fire, too. Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The firelight had been hiding the beach from my view.
The sky pelted down raindrops and the sea flung spume back up. The clouds threw javelins of lightning. “Don’t fight with her!” I yelled at the sky. “She’s your wife! You must love her!”
The wind blew my words away. “Don’t hurt her,” I whispered.
Taking my drink, I wove my way along the sand. Small crabs scuttled sideways out of my way, running on claw-tips into their holes. I sipped from the bottle.
In a few minutes I reached the low, flat rock. It was about waist height on me. I stood the bottle on it. Some evenings I would come out here and sit on it to watch the sunset, feel my bottom toasty on the sun-warmed surface.
This rock signalled the end of the beach; a few yards farther along, an exposed escarpment of the coral that underpinned Dolorosse jutted way out into the water. Trying to clamber over that was a good way to cut your feet to shreds.
I wiped rain water out of my eyes and heaved myself up onto the rock, beside the bottle. The movement set my head spinning. I sat as still as I could and waited for the dizziness to pass. The dance of lightning from the sky was magnificent. Bloated waves reached high, high, trying to push away the stabbing lightning. “That’s right!” I shouted to Mumma Sea. “Protect yourself!”
I shuddered in the rain. My burned fingertips buzzed. Vertigo spun the world around again. I groaned and lay down on the rock. Better. Its surface wasn’t warm tonight, but lying down felt so good. I pulled my feet up onto the rock and rolled over onto my back. I opened my mouth to catch raindrops. For a little while I made a game of that, giggling at the feel of rain splashing my skin. Suddenly, my skin was burning with fever. I sat up and reached for the bottle. The rock spun, and me with it. I threw myself down on it and clung, just trying not to fall off. A spectacular jag of lightning split the sky open. The boom of thunder made my ears buzz. I whimpered and shivered for a time. Then there was nothing.
The little girl got all excited as they hit the waves. She sucked in deep breaths of air. She waddled the first few yards, then a wave struck her in the face and rushed on to shore. The little girl laughed and shook water out of her eyes. She stood and did her awkward walk a bit further, leaving Chastity behind. Mumma and Dadda never let Chastity go out this far by herself. She hesitated. Took small steps backwards.
The water was chest high on the little girl now. She looked back at Chastity. She was smiling. She looked so happy! The little girl called out something that Chastity couldn’t hear over the sound of the sea, then turned and leapt into an oncoming wave that was as tall as she was. “Wait!” Chastity yelled, but the little girl was gone. What would the little girl’s parents say? Chastity began to feel worried.
The little girl surfaced, floating in a trough between the waves. She waved at Chastity.
She looked like she was having fun. “I’m coming!” Chastity shouted. She lowered her body into the water and started to dog-paddle towards her friend. The next wave lifted her up, then down, making her tummy flip-flop in a delicious way. The girl dove, came back up again, grinning. The next wave slapped Chastity full in the face. She got a noseful of water. It stung. She started to cough, dog-paddling the whole time. She got more water in her mouth. She was coughing too hard to see now, and another wave hit her. She was below the water. She couldn’t breathe. Frightened, she closed her eyes, her arms striking out for where she thought the surface was.
A hand grabbed her and pulled her up. Her face was in the air again. She took a big whooping breath, spat out water. The little girl was holding Chastity by her upper arm. She helped Chastity rise and fall with the next wave, and the next. She kept pulling them out deeper. “Whee!” Chastity said. “Go out more!” She helped by dog-paddling with her legs and her free arm. The little girl gurgled and grinned at her, and swam strongly. Pretty soon they were out really deep. The shore was far away. There weren’t even any waves out here. That meant that Chastity could swim without getting water in her eyes. “Let me go,” she said to the little girl, who was all blue-y again; a deeper blue this time. The little girl wouldn’t understand her, so Chastity pried the helping fingers off her arm. The little girl let go, and Chastity paddled around her in a big circle. “See what I can do?” she asked the little girl. “I’m a good swimmer. Mumma says so.”
The little girl did a roll in the water, holding her ankles. And another one without stopping, and even another ’nother one. She brought her head back up, laughing. She shook her long, matted hair. The dark knots sent water flying.
“How you do that?” Chastity asked. “Show me.” She tried to reach for her own ankles, got more sea water in her nose for her troubles. She sputtered it out. The little girl floated upright in the water, brought her knees up to her chest. She babbled again. Chastity looked down. She could see the little girl reaching to clutch her own ankles.
“Oh,” Chastity said. “Let me try.”
She could do that part, but she couldn’t roll without getting water up her nose. And she was tired, breathing hard. She reached for the little girl’s shoulder. The little girl seemed to understand. She curled her arm around Chastity’s body, under her armpits. Together they swam in the direction of the big rock that stuck up out of the water. Chastity had always wanted to go there, but Dadda said it was too dangerous. Now she was going to see what the big rock was like! She liked the yellow girl.
As they went, Chastity looked down. There was a lobster below them, a big one, all shiny-brown and yellow and spiny. Chastity thought of its pincers reaching for her exposed toes. She curled her feet under her and kicked them, trying to help herself and the little girl go faster.
They swam through a school of tiny fish, nearly colourless, each tiny as the first joint of Chastity’s pointing finger. They tickled when they passed
over her body. Chastity giggled, until she saw what the little girl was doing. She had her head under the water while she was swimming, and her mouth open. She brought her head up, chewing and smacking her lips happily. “Nasty!” Chastity said to her. “You eating raw fish!” The little girl grinned a fishy grin.
They were through the school now. The girl just kept swimming. The rock was right in front of them. The sea was making waves as it crashed against the rock. Just small ones, but the power of the water was driving them towards the rock. Chastity was afraid they would be smashed against it.
Suddenly the little girl dove, taking Chastity under. She spluttered, tried to cough, breathed in more salty water. Then they were up again, in the air, touching the rock. The little girl was holding on to a part of it that stuck out. Choking, Chastity reached for it too. For a while, all she could do was hold on and cough. The waves tried to suck her into the water and bang her against the rock, but she held on.
The little girl looked concerned. She peered closely at Chastity, making question sounds in her throat. She rubbed Chastity’s back. “I’m okay,” Chastity reassured her. “Just… Can we climb right up on the rock?” Chastity didn’t wait for an answer. She braced her legs on the rock and started climbing up. When she got stuck, the little girl pushed her from beneath, then scrambled up onto the rock herself.
The rock was dark brown and full of lots of little holes with sharp edges. It hurt to stand up on it. Gingerly, Chastity moved around until she found a smoother place, right at the very top. It was warm from the sun up there. Almost too warm, but the water running off her body was cooling a part of the rock. Chastity sat on the cooler, wet part. She was glad of the sun’s warmth, because coming out of the water had chilled her body. The little girl came and lay beside her, chattering away in her liquid tongue.
“I like you,” Chastity said to her. “You want to be best friends?”
The little girl looked up at her, squinting into the sun. She put one long-fingered hand to her forehead to block out the glare. Her eyes did something funny. She smiled at Chastity. Chastity guessed that meant yes, they were now best friends. She smiled back.
The New Moon's Arms Page 5
