by Shani Mootoo
When Pohpoh arrived at Mala’s fence she knew she had reached a refuge. She grabbed one of the rotting fence posts and scaled it with magical speed. Instead of landing in the stinging nettles she was caught by a soothing mess of aloe vera. This yard was different from the others. The plants were not arranged in any order and no path seemed to exist. She made her way through papashy and toolsie, the sharp medicinal smell clinging to her clothing. Pink morning light was too weak to illuminate the trees and plants in the chaotic garden but Pohpoh didn’t care. She knew the yard better than any in her neighbourhood.
* * *
—
The policemen in the yard thrashed at the shrubs and bramble trees. In her dreaming Mala whispered as though to Pohpoh, “Oh my God! They going to mash up my plants. And they talk so loudly and roughly.”
“God, this place have plenty bush.”
“Look at this cactus, na. The blossoms on this thing so big! I wonder if it will catch if I break off a piece and take it home?”
“Shit. What dis is? It have a smell back here, foul-foul. Yuh smell it?”
“Fuh true. But what dat could be, boy? She does pee-pee in the yard or what?”
“Oh God. It smell like something rottening, something dead.”
“Well, to make a smell like that it have to be something big like a cow, yes.”
One voice broke out in a song. “Ole lady walk a mile an a half an she taylaylay.” The men laughed and he sang it again.
“Ey! All yuh. Look over here. It look like somebody was in dis yard, yes.”
“It could be children from down the road come up to harass she. I could remember years aback when I was a child comin round here to tief dongs and plum, oui. It was de best dongs, from dat same tree.”
“Yuh know why it did taste so good?”
Again there was laughter. “Good manure, well-fertilized soil.”
“Ey, all yuh, shut up yuh mouth and get serious, man. Ah tell yuh somebody was in dis yard not long ago. It wasn’t a band of fellas. Only one person was in the yard. De aloes patch in de back mash-up-mash-up. It oozing fresh. It have fresh footprints here by the steps. One set small-small. That must be she footprints. And one bigger. And look at the footprints in a circle here and over here and over here. It look like…it look like…like, hmmm, dancing? Take a look, na.”
“Is best to bring in de dogs, I say.”
“Dem dogs ent go want to come an sniff in dis yard, na. De children always saying how back here does smell bad-bad in truth, oui!”
* * *
—
The prickly orange flowers of the shandolay scratched at Pohpoh, and as her lower legs rubbed against shado-beni, their bruised leaves gave off the smell she loved in raw, seasoned meat. Closer to the house, concealed in the foliage of broad banana fronds, she waited. The peekoplats in the mudra were silent, hopping nervously, afraid to call attention to themselves and their ward beneath. The chickens in the pomerac tree had become restless and clucked with worry. Call-and-answer cock-a-doodle-doos across the village were fast paced and urgent, like warnings.
* * *
—
The chief constable had arrived. The men became more serious when they saw him coming down the recently cut path. The farther into the yard he penetrated the more disturbed his face became. He took a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and covered his nose. In his other hand he gripped a baton, thumping it anxiously against his thigh. He passed barely glancing at the wall of cereus cactus.
“Rotting. Death. Old death,” he whispered. It did not take him long to spot Mala in the rocking chair under the mudra tree. His men watched him and wondered what had attracted him to the huge tree. Then they too saw her.
Mala heard him approach. She kept her eyes closed, rocked with more agitation, determined to continue her dreaming. She imagined she was inside the house, looking down at Pohpoh from a bedroom window.
* * *
—
Crouching down and peeping out from behind the ixora bush, Pohpoh saw what she first thought was a giraffe, then a bird flapping its wings. She realized it was Mala, her eyes prominent like an owl’s. Mala waved urgently and pointed beneath her to a wall of cereus plants outside a boarded-up window on the lower level. Pohpoh nodded in perfect understanding and headed for the cereus. Mala disappeared.
* * *
—
“Miss Ramchandin? Good day, Miss Ramchandin.” The chief constable waited but there was no response. He raised his voice.
“Uh, Miss Ramchandin, good day. Can you hear me? Hello.”
He called one of his men and ordered him to check her wrist for a pulse. Determining that she was alive, he told two of the men to lift her by the arm and take her up to the verandah.
The men were surprised when she brushed away their hands, rose up and walked toward the house by herself. Even as she walked she stayed close to Pohpoh. To her, Pohpoh came first.
* * *
—
Nearing the house Pohpoh noticed that the white cereus flowers were tinged with colour, as though they had been washed in a laundry that contained red clothing. Each blossom was larger than two hands side by side, and in the dawning of the day they were closing themselves against the onslaught of light. Their intrusive perfume waned. As Pohpoh approached the house the sweetness turned bitter and sharply foul.
* * *
—
Standing on the verandah the chief constable stared out at the mudra. He slowly shoved the baton back into his belt and walked over to the jars of dazzlingly coloured pepper sauce. He shoved a bottle with the toe of his heavy boot.
“Excuse me, Constable, sir,” one of his men said. “There is no sign of foul play in the yard. A lot of foulness, sir, but no foul play.”
The chief constable ignored the humour. “Call the men out of the yard. That boy, Mohanty, he saw something, yes, but it was no murder—at least not a recent one.”
“Sir?”
“Just follow my orders. Call the men out of the yard.”
“Yes, Constable. At once.”
The chief constable squatted next to Mala, who sat on the top stair of the verandah.
“Miss Ramchandin, we are worried about your safety and would like to take a quick look through the house.”
“You never had any business with my safety before.” Although her voice was gritty, she spoke with such force that the chief constable drew back involuntarily. “Why now for? You taking advantage of a ol’ lady, that is what you doing. Besides, yuh think I stupid or what? I know you can’t search people house without search papers.”
“Miss Ramchandin, well, we ent actually searching your house.” He chose his words carefully. “We got a complaint that some fellas running around and making trouble in the neighbourhood. They hiding somewhere. And we checking every house in the area. Every house.”
“At dis time of mornin yuh wakin up people. All yuh have no shame.” Mala felt herself drifting back to Pohpoh.
“It’s well past afternoon now, Miss Ramchandin. We are going to look through the house.” He ordered one of his men to wait with Miss Ramchandin, adding in a whisper, “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
The chief constable entered the kitchen and shone his large flashlight slowly around the room. He came upon a mound of snail shells rising knee-high from the floor and poked that too with the toe of his boot. He aimed his light at a strangely shaped doorway. It was an opening in a wall constructed of dust-covered furniture. He sent a reluctant officer through the opening and called other men to dismantle the structure.
When Mala heard the wall being pulled apart, she bit her lower lip and stared out across the yard, losing herself in the shapes of the mudra tree. Save Pohpoh, she chanted. Save Pohpoh.
* * *
—
In the midst of the cereus Pohpoh trembl
ed and waited. She was fearful she would be spotted by angry townspeople before Mala reached her. Moments later the slats of wood over the window downstairs were quietly removed one by one. As soon as the space was big enough Pohpoh nimbly hoisted herself up to the ledge. Mala grabbed and pulled her in. The stuffiness and smell of the room astonished her. She coughed momentarily but quickly adapted. Mala replaced the slats swiftly and the room became as black as blindness. Without a word she wrapped a musty dressing gown around Pohpoh, her bony fingers squeezing Pohpoh’s shoulders once. A chorus of flapping wings surrounded Pohpoh, moths reluctantly prying themselves from the long-unused gown. Their stir created the only movement of air in the room.
* * *
—
When the furniture wall was dismantled, the police trekked into the old drawing room. A carpet of dust rose in billowing clouds. As they checked the two unlocked rooms that had served as bedrooms, the house filled with a chorus of sniffling, coughing, sneezing and nose blowing.
They arrived at the third door to discover it not only shut but locked. The chief constable told an officer to bring in Miss Ramchandin. Once again Mala refused to be touched. She knew what the policeman wanted and, without fuss, followed briskly on his heels. She regarded the door defiantly, then whipped a key from her pocket. When she pushed the door wide open the smell assaulted them. She was quite pleased that they all, including the usually composed chief constable, retched.
“Sir. That smell—” One of the men whispered.
“What smell?” Mala blurted out. “If you have no search papers, doh bother to insult me. No respect.”
The chief constable, holding his handkerchief to his nose, pointed sharply toward the stairs. When he signalled that she was to accompany them he saw her look off to her side and nod, as though in agreement with some imaginary person.
* * *
—
Mala prodded at Pohpoh to move farther into the room. With one hand pressed on her back for assurance, Mala held up a bundle of weeds to Pohpoh’s nose. “Jenghie, shandolay, baby bonnet and shado-beni,” she said. “Press to yuh nose. It will help with the bad-feeling. Even you safe down there, as long as you stay close-close to me.”
* * *
—
The men cautiously descended using a single flashlight for guidance. Suddenly an officer shrieked and spun around, jabbing the air with his elbow. They all jumped back snapping, “What was dat? What happen?”
The chief constable, who had positioned himself behind Mala, lurched backward, himself startled by the man’s cry.
“Get control of yourself, man,” he snapped angrily. “If a moth going to frighten you and make you make a fool of yourself so, it doh have no room in this force for yuh.”
At the foot of the stairs they arrived at another door. The officer in front looked back to the chief constable. The chief constable nodded. The officer tried the door. It was locked.
“What it have in dis room?” the chief constable asked Mala. No answer. “Miss Ramchandin, you could save us some trouble if you would just tell us if anybody in that room.”
Mala defiantly folded her arms across her chest. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips. Finally she said loudly, “Eh-heh, it have somebody in there. But is okay. He does live there. Is my father.”
There was a moment of silence. Then a young officer spoke. “Eh. Yuh father. What yuh mean yuh father? Which father?”
“I only have one father.” Mala was piqued. She mumbled a few sentences, almost inaudible to the men nearest her and totally incomprehensible.
“Mr. Ramchandin?” the chief constable asked. “But he disappear long, long time back, not so?”
“Exactly,” Mala replied. “He does just lie there, not sick or nothing, just old and wear out, an I still looking after him all these years now. Is a daughter’s duty, Constable.”
“I think you better open up de room for us. Please.”
She dealt with his insistence with an insistence of her own. She rocked from side to side and started to hum an old Dixieland tune. Then Mala raised a hand and pointed to the ledge. One of the men reached up, gathering a handful of dust before finding the key. She grabbed the key out of his hand and unlocked the door.
The officer gave the doorknob a twist and a hard shove. An emission of nasty gasses belched out at them. They twisted as though the odour had physically assaulted them. The front man turned around and, shoving aside the others, bolted up the stairs.
The chief constable shone his flashlight about the room. A swarm of bewildered moths flapped about. There was a tall cupboard against one wall and a rusted-out sewing machine. In the centre of the room was a high, wrought-iron bed.
* * *
—
Pohpoh saw a high, wrought-iron bed. Under sheets that glowed dark red from the lamplight lay a motionless stick figure. Skin, which looked grey one minute, red the next, stretched across the hairless cranium, clung to the forehead and cheekbones, defined the contour of a mouth cavity and fell off the precipice of a jawbone. From parted black gums a thin purplish tongue flickered as though attempting to lick its lips every few seconds.
* * *
—
The constable saw Mala look to the side again, as though talking to someone.
“Father, Pohpoh,” she whispered. “Remember him? Doh go near him. Even now, he still like to try and touch too much.” Mala sucked her teeth, making a drawn-out sound. “Behave yuhself,” she said to the bed, “or else yuh ent go get no light fuh two-three days.” Turning to the invisible figure at her side, she said, “Stay here by me, child, and everything will be awright. Doh frighten. I ent go leave yuh here with dis wretch and all these other ones who disturbing the peace so. Just stay close by me. Doh frighten.”
From the figure’s throat came a faint noise muffled in cobwebs. Pohpoh leaned back. The figure expelled another mangled groan, this time with more force.
“Come, child, come,” it said.
Pohpoh darted toward the bed and slid underneath, bursting through a wall of thick cobweb fibers. She peeled the sticky cords like plastic wrapping off her eyelids, away from her nose and lips. She trembled.
* * *
—
The constable approached the figure on the bed uneasily. “Mr. Ramchandin,” he muttered. Hearing himself he gave a good cough, then expelled his words with the authority expected of a chief constable. “It must be old man Ramchandin, in truth!” He walked around the bed to inspect the level of decomposition, then commanded an officer to remove the white sheet that partially covered the corpse.
When he hesitated the constable bellowed, “Your days numbered, man. Get de hell out a here.”
Another policeman came forward and grasped the crumpled sheet with the thumb and index finger of one hand and pulled it back tentatively. He had the sensation that the corner of the sheet trembled between his fingers. As he pulled it back farther it began to unravel. Suddenly entire patches of the white sheet broke away and turned into a rising haze of reluctant moths. The terrified officer pitched the sheet out of his hand. It hovered, then broke apart in a flurry of activity. Thousands of tiny white moths had so tightly packed themselves side by side that the tiny hooks on the edges of their wings had locked together, linking them to form a heavy sheet that was slowly devouring the corpse underneath.
The policemen and the constable grabbed Mala by the arm and rushed out of the room to avoid being smothered by the cloud of moths. One officer tried to close the door behind them, but Mala broke back into the room. As she bent to look beneath the bed, they heard her call out, “Come, Pohpoh. Come, quickly. Run!” Mala extended a hand and pulled her from under the bed. Pohpoh nestled her face between two dried-out breasts.
“You smart, child. You real smart. Dey ent go come back here. Come.” Pohpoh’s body shook like leaves in a wind.
To Mala’s mind and ear
s alone, the figure in the bed grunted again. The bed creaked as though the body had managed to shift itself. The occupant made another effort to speak. Mala swiftly pushed Pohpoh out of the room.
“I does watch you. I does always watch you. Whenever you go out. At night, you know. I see everything, everything you does do, every house you does enter. But tonight your plans get a little mess up, eh? Things bad at home, child? I understand. I understand everything. Everything. Today is the last day that anybody will ever be able to reach you. Oh, you so cold.”
Mala hugged the taut, stiff child.
“I old but I not stupid. I don’t have to go far to see everything. I does see how your father does watch you. His eyes just like my father own. You resourceful. I wasn’t resourceful. You do for yourself better than me!”
The chief constable, fearing that Mala was becoming totally mad, approached her stealthily. He flung his arms around her upper body and one of his men grabbed her legs. They were surprised that she did not resist as they hauled her up the stairs.
“Run, run, fast, Pohpoh, run,” Mala mumbled.
Pohpoh nimbly passed the officers on the stairs and reached the drawing room first. At the top of the stairs the officers put Mala down and watched her tip her head in the direction of the verandah.
“The verandah,” she whispered. “You could take off from the verandah.” Mala, followed by the curious officers, hobbled out onto the verandah.
In the drawing room the chief constable made arrangements for the inspection of the body downstairs. “From the way it decomposing I would guess the old man was trapped down there alive for a long time before he died. Or was murdered. Make arrangements for Dr. Datt to inspect the body and for Inspector Moroze to check out the scene.”
