“Quashee, man, is Quashee go win! Put a ten rupees on Quashee there for me.”
“You know so! He been practising! He sure to beat out Antonio. Look my five rupees.”
“Nah, man. Is fool allyou fool. Antonio have more life experience. I bet you the dog have some tricks in he. I putting down twenty on Antonio, oui?”
From the edge of the ring the marshall called to the two fighters: “All right; allyou ready?”
They nodded. Quashee put on his helmet. Even from where she was sitting Tan-Tan could see how his trembling hands fumbled with the chin buckle. Ben made to put on Antonio’s helmet, but Antonio stopped him cool-cool. He swaggered over to Mummy and Tan-Tan. Ione giggled like a sob. She put her hand to her mouth.
“Doux-doux,” Antonio called out to his wife, “give me your favour, nuh? Your lace handkerchief to tie back me hair from out me eyes?”
Ione put her hand on her bosom. Her lips wavered into a smile. She reached into her bodice with two fingers, slow, the way molasses does run down the side of the bowl. She drew out a pretty lace kerchief from her blouse, dabbed it against the moisture gathered between her breasts, and then flung it to Antonio. He caught the little piece of lace and held it up to his face, inhaling the perfume of Ione’s skin. “Oh God,” a man whispered from the crowd. “Look how he love she, even though she did horn he.”
“Never mind that at all,” somebody replied. “Ain’t you would give anything to be that kerchief, and rest where it does rest?”
Antonio smiled at Ione and tied back his long black hair with the kerchief. Only then would he let Ben put on the helmet. Tan-Tan clutched at the Robber Queen cape Daddy had given her. She closed her eyes and said silently, The winner can’t kill. He must show mercy. The winner can’t kill . . .
Daddy and Quashee shook hands. Ben jogged to safety beside the marshall. Daddy and Quashee drew their machètes. They started to circle each other.
And the fight start! Quashee made the first feint. Antonio danced out of the way easy-easy. He swung his machète through the air. Quashee stumbled out of the way just in time. Somebody in the stands muttered, “Quashee too craven, oui.”
Antonio came back for another jab, but Quashee lunged beneath it. Antonio cried out as Quashee’s machète grazed across his thigh.
“Daddy!” screamed Tan-Tan, jumping to her feet.
Ione pulled her firmly into her lap and held her still. “Quiet, pickney. Don’t distract your daddy.” Tan-Tan bit her lips against the sobs that threatened to break through.
A sharp line of red blood was oozing through the slice in Antonio’s black armour. He ran a hand through it, then shook his head like a bull snorting in anger. He leapt vigorously at Quashee, slicing and slicing through the air. Quashee didn’t let a single thrust through. He jumped, he dodged; he used his machète to block all the chops Antonio was throwing for him. He was good, and young, and fast. Tan-Tan held Mummy’s hand tight-tight. Ione curled her arms round Tan-Tan, never taking her eyes off the ring. She mumbled, “Chop he, doux-doux; mash he down!”
Antonio got inside Quashee’s block. He chopped off a piece of Quashee’s forearm guard clean. But the cut barely grazed the skin. Antonio dropped to the ground and swept the blade of his machète at Quashee’s ankles-them. Quashee jumped up over the blade but got tangled in midair in his own two feet. He crashed down. Antonio was on top of him one time; he pinned Quashee and put his machète right up under Quashee’s chin guard, where his neck was exposed. Quashee wailed, “Ai! Mercy!” He dropped his machète and froze, his palms spread rigid in front of him. A trickle of blood was running down his neck. Antonio had nicked him.
“You want me to stop?” Antonio roared into his face.
“Yes, yes! I done, I done!”
“All right, little boy, Mama man; I go stop.” The scorn in Antonio’s voice was how you would speak to some stray dog you kick in the street. He slapped Quashee on his ear with the flat of the machète. Quashee howled again.
“Ey!” shouted the marshall in his enhanced voice. “Enough of that!”
Antonio stood up. Ben rushed over and unbuckled Antonio’s helmet to reveal his triumphant, sweaty grin. “Oh,” said Ione softly. She loosened her hold on Tan-Tan a little.
The marshall hurried over to the two fighters, face black as a passing shower.
“Antonio, you know the rules. Once Quashee ask you to stop, you had no right to box he like that!”
“Man, don’t give me no umbrage today. I win the fight fair, and I taking my wife and my child and going home.”
Somebody in the stands shouted out, “Bloodfire! What wrong with Quashee?”
Quashee hadn’t gotten up, was lying limp as do-do in the dirt.
Ione sniggered. “All that just for a little pin prick? Quashee!” She yelled, “You could stop making mako now! Fight done!”
Quashee started to make a horrible choking noise. Alarm jumped plain onto the marshall’s face. He lifted Quashee’s helmet, then shouted for the doctors. The team jogged to Quashee’s side, carrying a stretcher between them. They assessed the information they were getting from his earbug and began to minister to him. The marshall got the listening look of someone getting a message from an eshu. He scowled at Antonio, who looked confused and angry.
“You coward dog you!” The marshall motioned to the sheriffs. “Arrest he.”
• • •
All the way home in the sheriffs’ car, sitting with Antonio between the two guards, Ione was only beating her breast and carrying on, holding on to Antonio like she would never let go. Antonio reached out from time to time to pat Tan-Tan’s head where she sat crying in the front seat. “Maka get it wrong,” he fumed. “The poison was only supposed to slow he down, not make he sick so.”
The streets were a little clearer. Everybody would be following Fimbar and Philomise’s band “Wail for Marley” as it made its first lap through the Cockpit County parade route. Then it would be time to see the band off to Liguanea Town for the competition. Nanny’s guidance was for the sheriffs to take Ione and Tan-Tan home, then drive Antonio to the shift tower in Liguanea and confine him there. Whether Quashee lived or died, things weren’t going to go good with Antonio.
“That blasted Quashee. He constitution too damn weak, yes?”
Tan-Tan was so frightened she couldn’t think. They were going to lock Daddy away! She kept reaching out her hand to touch Antonio’s sleeve, but he wasn’t paying her plenty mind, only stroking Ione’s hair and saying, “Don’t cry, doux-doux, don’t cry.”
They reached the mayor house. “Compère,” said one of the sheriffs, “you have one hour to pack up your necessaries for the jail.”
“Pack? Why?”
“You just pack up what you need, oui? Provincial Mocambo not going to waste resources on you, you must bring your own. And make haste, yes? Sooner we get you there, sooner we get to jump-up this Carnival.”
“Nanny save we! Antonio!” Ione moaned in grief, taking Antonio’s face between her hands and kissing it all over.
“Doux-doux . . .” Antonio picked her up and took her inside, Ione holding on to him and sobbing for dear life. Tan-Tan tried to follow them inside the bedroom, but they closed the door in her face.
“Daddy! Mummy!” She threw herself to the floor and cried like her heart would break. She was still weeping when she felt the touch on her shoulder. She looked up through bleary eyes. Nursie and the sheriffs. Nursie shook her head sadly. “I hope your parents find enough drama to suit them this time.” She pounded at the door; no answer. She sucked her teeth in disgust. “Them two have one solution for every problem, oui?” One of the sheriffs sniggered. Nursie silenced him with one look. She picked Tan-Tan up and rocked her. Tan-Tan threw her arms round Nursie’s neck and blubbered.
“Oh, doux-doux darling, don’t fret so, nuh? Nursie go take care of you. Come lie down.”
“No! I want Mummy! I want Daddy!”
“They go come and see you soon, darling. Come now.”
/>
She put Tan-Tan to bed, but when the fetch brought in the cocoa-tea, Tan-Tan remembered how it had made her sleep the last time. She only took couple-three little sips. She pretended to be drowsy. Slowly she closed her eyes and made like she was asleep.
Nursie stayed. Tan-Tan was frantic. Nursie had to go away! Finally Nursie sighed and left the room. When Tan-Tan couldn’t hear her steps retreating any more, she swung herself carefully out of bed and began to put her shoes on; a quiet pair, not the barking alligator shoes. Then quickly, just in case eshu decided to check with Nursie or Granny Nanny, Tan-Tan ran out through the porch door and round to where the sheriff’s car was parked. Her earbug clicked as she moved out of the house’s detection field. The trunk was open. Tan-Tan stood on tiptoes to look inside.
“You is Tan-Tan.”
Tan-Tan jumped. The voice was deep and sad as a potoo-owl’s cry. She peeked out from behind the car. The man who stood there had the massive chest and tree branch arms of a runner. His forehead sloped back to his peaked hairline, giving him the appearance of royalty. His brow was creased like ugli fruit skin, his mouth turned down in a forlorn bow. He looked like everybody in the world had decided to stop talking to him. “You is Tan-Tan, ain’t?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“I name Maka.” He whistled a tune. Her earbug crackled into static, then faded away. “Your daddy in trouble,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I sorry too bad for it.”
Why was he sorry? He wasn’t Quashee.
“I could help he. You want that?”
“Oh, yes please, Compère.”
“Then you have to help me.” He held out a small playback machine wrapped in what looked like datastock.
Tan-Tan reached for it. As she took it from him, she felt the callus on his fingers. “What I must do?”
“Find a way to give he that when nobody ain’t looking. And mind you don’t talk about it out loud, not you and not your daddy. You must keep quiet, quiet about it like a mus-mus, like a mouse. Seen?”
“Seen.”
“Put it in your pocket.”
She did, and when she looked up, the man’s eyes were brimming over. “I pray it going to work. Is two nannytunes we just now invent, nobody ain’t have opportunity to test them out yet. But this might be he only chance to live out he life on he own terms, so try not to make a mistake, pickney. Me and your daddy was friend. Tell he I going to be following he presently.” He turned and jogged away, leg muscles flexing with each step.
Tan-Tan peeked inside her pocket. The package was safe.
There was a big cloth bag full of Daddy’s clothes and some folded-up blankets beside it. People were coming, she could hear Nursie talking to somebody. She clambered into the trunk and tucked herself into a dark corner of it, pulling the folded blankets over herself as neatly as she could.
Somebody plopped some heavy things down round her, probably more bags for Daddy. One landed on her foot. Quietly she squirmed the foot out from under it.
“So is what he use to poison the man?” asked one of the sheriffs.
“Me nah know. Nanny say woorari, curare; something so. I wonder is where he get it?”
“Cho, me ain’t business. He coming or what?” said one of the sheriffs.
“Yes, look he here.”
In a few seconds Tan-Tan heard more sets of footsteps, her mother’s sobs, then Daddy’s gruff voice saying, “Where Tan-Tan?”
“I put she to sleep in she room, Compère,” said Nursie. “She was too distressed. She could come and see you later.”
“Seen. Then I ready. Make we go.” The trunk was slammed shut, leaving Tan-Tan in total darkness. The autocar dipped with the weight of people getting into it. Mummy’s sobs got louder. Daddy’s voice said, “Is all right, sweetness. I go come back to you soon. Look after Tan-Tan.”
The car moved off. Tan-Tan felt it turn out of the driveway then pick up speed. She rolled around helplessly whenever the car turned a corner. She hung on to the luggage, but it only slid round with her. She was starting to feel dizzy. She bumped her head. She was locked in—how would they ever find her? Suppose they didn’t take Daddy’s bags out right away? “Daddy!” she shouted, but no-one heard her over the noise of the autocar. “Eshu,” she whispered. No answer. The car lurched around another corner. She tumbled. The car picked up speed. “Eshu!” There was static like before, then a pop. Eshu clicked on reassuringly in her ear.
“What happen, young Mistress?”
“I frighten.”
“Checking . . . Nanny say you in the trunk of the car, child. That not good. Hold on, young Mistress, help coming soon.”
The autocar stopped moving. She heard the sound of running footsteps then saw light as the trunk was thrown open. Tan-Tan fought her way free of the blanket she was tangled in. A voice said, “Granny farts! The pickney mad or what?”
One of the sheriffs was there, and her father. They reached in and lifted her out of the trunk. Cars were zipping by. They were on the highway, parked over to the side. Daddy pulled her into his arms, hugged her hard. He was shaking. Tan-Tan hugged back. “Oh, my child, my child,” Antonio said. “Own-way just like your mother. How you convince eshu to let you do this thing, eh?”
“He never know about it, Daddy.”
“Back inside the car,” said the sheriff. He sounded angry.
They started on their way again. Should she show him the package the man had given her? She reached into her pocket and touched it, then remembered: she couldn’t do it while people were looking on.
The sheriffs sent word to Ione to come and collect Tan-Tan from the shift tower. “We ain’t go be able to bring she back for you. Our day contract done long time, and we hear the jump-up sweet down in the city.” Then they accessed the road marches that were playing in Liguanea. Songs blared out from the car’s console. The two men sang and beat air steel pan along with the tunes, ignoring Tan-Tan and her daddy.
Antonio paid them no mind, just hugged Tan-Tan and rocked her. He didn’t look good. His skin was grey with fright, and his body only trembling, trembling. “What if Quashee up and dead on me?” he whispered into Tan-Tan’s hair. “When I get my hands on that Maka . . . !”
They entered the city limits, seat of the Provincial Mocambo. The outskirts were deserted, every man-jack in Liguanea centre was jumping-up with the bands. The long, wide avenues lined with gris-gris palms were quiet. Dog- and mongoose-sized fetches were going peacefully about their business, searching out and devouring trash. No need to dodge people and traffic today. The larger fetches made Tan-Tan think of her minder. The big peeny-wallie street bulbs bobbed and hovered above the city, their egg shapes clustering and glowing where there was most shade, flickering off whenever the sun caught them.
The car took them past low, graceful buildings, past a wooded park with a statue of Nanny of the Maroons and one of Zumbi. They pulled up in front of the tallest building in sight. It was ugly, thick and arrogantly high. “Your hotel, Compère,” one of the sheriffs joked.
Daddy’s skin was clammy. He looked ill. “What allyou go do with me?”
“So many people you must be send here already and you don’t know what happen inside?”
“I never been inside, just by four-eye.”
“Come. Get your things.”
They all got out of the car. One sheriff hailed a chicle fetch, told it to be a porter. The fetch flipped parallel to the ground, indented its surface to hold Antonio’s luggage. They loaded it up then approached the building, which greeted them when they reached inside its detection field. “Your i.d. and business verified,” the building told them. “This Antonio Habib that you bring me must be confined here until official notice. All the holding cells free. Them start third door on the right. Please to tell me, Masters, the pickney coming in too?”
The two looked at each other uncomfortably for a second. “Yes, until she mother reach. Expect Ione Brasil, Cockpit County, mother to Tan-Tan, who is this pi
ckney here so. Tan-Tan will have to stay in the holding cell with she father.”
“Seen, Masters. Nanny judge she go be safe there till she mother reach. Ione Brasil could enter once today and leave once.” The doors swung open for them.
Cement and bars; the whole inside of the place was only cement and bars, oui? Tan-Tan took Daddy’s hand. He held on tight. There was a long, empty corridor with big metal doors flanking each side. Some of the doors had signs on them. Tan-Tan didn’t understand all the words: TO DEPORTEES’ HOLDING CELLS; LIMITED ACCESS AREA; COURTROOM A; COURTROOM B; LOWER COURT (FOR THOSE WITHOUT COUNSEL).
The third door on the right was open. The sheriffs took them inside. The cell was bare, felt almost dead. The sheriffs took Daddy on a quick tour of its empty rooms: bedsitting room with its food dispenser; bathroom. “We going now,” they said.
The building assented. It let them out of the cell and then locked the door. The men left, fetch following them.
Daddy sat on the bed, shoved his face into his hands. “What to do, girl; what to do?” He looked so frightened, it made Tan-Tan frightened too. She went and stood by him, patted his knee. He looked up at her and gave her a shaky smile. “Come. Come and sit by me.”
She clambered onto the bed. He put an arm round her shoulders, hugged her tightly. “What a thing, eh? What a thing. I was only fighting for my dignity and now the blasted man might up and dead on me. And then what, eh?”
He rocked them both, looked off bleakly into the distance. The building’s eshu spoke from the air. “Antonio Habib,” it said, “Quashee Cumberbatch just pass away.”
“Nanny have mercy.”
“Uncle Quashee, Daddy?”
Antonio whimpered. “What going to happen to me now?”
“Nanny don’t find no extenuating circumstances, Master. Is up to the Provincial Mocambo. Life imprisonment or exile.”
“Daddy? What going to happen?”
“Me nah know! Me nah know! Mama Nanny, you going to lock me away for true?”
“You a danger, Master,” said the building eshu. “Is so the law go.”
Midnight Robber Page 7
