No Pain Like This Body

by Harold Sonny Ladoo

  “Look Panday, run faster. If you run fast fast dat pain goin to past.”

  “But me belly hurtin real bad.”

  “You just run more fast.”

  “Oright.”

  Panday kept on running. Suddenly he stopped again. He stood upright as a carat tree. Sunaree and Rama asked him why he was standing; he said that he couldn’t run any more.

  “Why?” she asked him.

  “Because I messup!”

  Panday was smelling stink. He asked Sunaree and Rama what to do. They held their noses, and Sunaree told him, “Go in dat canal and wash off.” She warned, “Now you hurry up and do dat. If you dont hurry up me and Rama goin to run and leff you!” Panday went inside the drain to clean himself. The water smelt of tadpoles. He looked into the water; there were hundreds of them; they were just playing and moving along with the current. He washed himself out quickly, then he joined Sunaree and Rama. Panday wanted to hold hands with them, but they refused. They were running again. They stopped suddenly. A streak of lightning ran down to the earth; it turned and twisted as a golden rope, then it lassooed a tree in the forest. It sounded crash!!!

  Ma and Balraj came out of the sugarcane field. They went and sat under the long mango tree. The tree was very big, and it leaned over Tola Trace in a threatening way. The long mango tree was near Tola River; it was about halfway between the house and Rajput Road. Ma and Balraj sat as two heaps of straws. The mango tree was going wish wish wish, because the rain was beating the leaves. Ma had a deep cut in her fore­head; she got it when Pa struck her by the rainwater barrel. As the water fell on her head, the blood mixed with the water on her eyelashes, the blood and the water formed a little ball, then the ball slipped gently down her nose; it stopped on the tip of her nose, then it fell tuts on her wet bosom. Ma felt her forehead with her hand. It was still bleeding.

  “Bring some guava leafs son,” she told Balraj.

  “Yeh, Ma.”

  Balraj was cold all over, but he wanted to get the leaves. Ma was bleeding. He walked away from the long mango tree. The sky was dancing in blackness; clouds were running and piling up as a huge heap of black rice. Balraj got tender leaves from the very top of the guava tree. He walked back to the long mango tree with a handful. Ma was no longer under the tree. “Ay Ma!” he called fearfully.

  “I on dis side of de tree,” Ma said.

  The long mango was bigger than any house in Tola. It was taller than a carat tree. The trunk was thick and heavy. Ma was sitting on the western side, leaning against the bark. Balraj came and handed her the leaves, then he sat down next to her.

  Ma held the leaves in her right palm. She spat on them. Then she crushed them between her slender palms. A green­ish juice leaked out from her palms and fell on the ground. The juice smelt as something to eat. Ma looked at her right palm; the leaves were ground enough; it looked as if moss was grow­ing in her palms. She gathered the green spots together with her left index fingers; she joined the spots up and made something like a green worm, then she lifted up her hand slowly as if the crushed leaves were heavier than a stone. Slap! she slapped the green stuff on her forehead. Some of the green stuff went out­side the cut. She took her fingers and ran them gently down her forehead. Then she loosed her orhni from her head. Her hair was black as a black fowl, and much longer than a leather belt. She held the silky headdress with both hands, then she ripped a piece off with her jaw teeth. She took the strip and dressed the wound. She took the orhni and tied up her head again.

  The rain didn’t care about Tola. Rain was pounding the earth. Ma and Balraj saw the drops; they looked like fat white worms invading the earth from above. God was trying to tie the earth and the sky with the rain drops. The whole of Tola was dark and dismal.

  The wind didn’t care about Tola. The wind was beating the rain and the rain was pounding the earth. There were no lights in the sky; all that Ma and Balraj saw were layers and layers of blackness and rage. The choking sound of the thunder came from the sky zip zip zip crash doom doomm doomed! Then the lightning moved as a gold cutlass and swiped an immortelle tree beyond the river.

  Balraj twisted as a shadow with fright. He did his hands so, and his feet went so, and his lips shook as two dry leaves shak­ing in the wind. His teeth were hitting each other as dry bamboo twigs toorot toorot tat tat toorot. He breathed hoosh hash hoosh hash as a carpenter’s saw.

  Ma sat with her back resting against the heavy mango trunk. She sat just as a piece of old cloth rammed into the cor­ner of two tapia walls. The water ran down the mango trunk and fell on her back clat clat clat, then it ran behind her back and the tree and fell inside the drain.

  When the lightning struck the tree in Tola Forest, Sunaree, Rama and Panday stood up like pillars in the trace; they were afraid; their hearts were beating dub! dub! dub! They tried to see the forest, but they barely made out the long mango tree. The rain was falling as if God was cleaning out the sky with water and rage. They stood together and prayed, but the rain drops touched their skins as needles, and they felt fear and pain covering them up. It was painful, but they had to move on. They were still running south along Tola Trace; they ran until they reached the long mango tree. Ma saw them.

  Ma was shocked. She thought all the time that they were safe inside the house, safe from the wind and the rain, safe from Pa too. Ma called out, “Where all you goin chirens?”

  Sunaree and Panday ran under the tree. Rama stood on the trace and watched the mango tree fearfully. “I not goin under dat tree,” he said. “Dat mango tree leanin over de trace. I (raid it fall on top me.”

  “It not goin to fall,” Ma said.

  “But it leanin over de trace.”

  Ma had a hard time proving to Rama that he was going to be safe under the mango tree. She argued that the lightning was not going to come under the tree, because God was guid­ing the lightning through the darkness and the rain with his bright eyes. Rama still didn’t believe that; he just stood by the drain and watched Ma with fear and doubt in his eyes.

  Ma got up. She held Rama’s hand and brought him under the long mango tree. She made him sit on top of Balraj; Balraj didn’t like the idea of Rama sitting on his lap, but he didn’t say anything. Sunaree and Panday sat on the ground. Ma tried to shelter them from the wind and the rain. She placed her hands against the rough bark as if she was holding up the tree. But Ma was a fool. The wind didn’t care and the rain didn’t care. Ma was not a banana leaf; she was not strong as iron; she was not as fat as a ricebag; she was thinner than a burnt sugarcane and her hands were thinner than cutlass wire. Large black ants began climbing down the tree. One stung Ma in her right hand.

  “All you chirens move from by de tree!”

  Balraj, Sunaree, Rama and Panday moved from under the tree. They stood on Tola Trace and looked at Ma.

  Ma stood under the tree and thought of something. She crossed the small drain too, and stood on Tola Trace. She told Balraj and Sunaree to cross the river, walk the quarter mile to Rajput Road and call Nanna and Nanny.

  “But sappose we cant cross de river?” Sunaree asked.

  Ma thought a little, then she said, “If de river high up den all you coud come back.”

  Balraj and Sunaree left.

  Rama and Panday stood on the trace. They asked Ma to take them home, because they were feeling cold. Ma said they had to wait. Pa was home. Drunk. She had to wait for Nanna and Nanny to come, because Pa was worst than a snake.

  Ma faced the wind and the rain as a thin living stump, but she was using her brain. Rama and Panday couldn’t hear her brain working, because it worked as a seed growing. Ma stood with her hands over her face as if she was trying to see behind her red eyeballs. Then she removed her hands and told them, “I go carry all you in dat cane field.”

  Rama and Panday looked at the sugarcane field. The long leaves went ssh ssh ssh. They told Ma
that they were afraid of the long black scorpions, because one time Nanny told them a story about a child who was eaten by scorpions in Rajput Road.

  “But all you goin to be warm inside dat cane field.”

  They wanted to be warm, so they followed Ma.

  Rain poured and poured over Tola. Little flashes of light­ning moved as brass earrings and gold fishes in the sky. Rama and Panday walked behind Ma. They felt the sugarcane leaves bruising them; the prickles from the green leaves held on to their skins. It pained as if red ants were biting them. The ground under their feet was damp. There were layers and lay­ers of damp and rottening cane straws on the ground. They felt their toes sinking into the straws as if they were sinking into heaps of vomit; just sinking and sinking and sinking.

  “Stand up!” Ma told them.

  They stood and waited.

  Ma started to strip some leaves off the tall sugarcanes. Each time she stripped the leaves, it went trash trash one two trash trash. Ma got enough straws. She gathered them and made a bed upon the wet earth for Rama and Panday. Then she held the canes from two rows and tied the tops together. The cane tops formed a shelter over the bed of straws. “Now all you chirens rest on dem straws now.”

  Rama and Panday couldn’t help getting on. They were naked and uncomfortable on the wet straws; they were cold and the straws were cold also. But rain was not wetting them; they heard the rain drops tarat tat tarat tat tat, but they were safe from the rain. Yet they couldn’t rest; especially Rama; he was coughing worst than a dog. Dampness rose up from the earth and touched their bodies as dead fingers. The earth breathed, but they were restless.

  Hours had passed. The rain was not falling heavy now, it was only drizzling. Ma heard the klips klips tix tix of the insects, and the craw craw craw of the huge water birds that lived near the river. She knew that it was almost evening. She told Rama and Panday that she was going to take them home.

  Rama and Panday came out of the cane field together with Ma. Ma didn’t want to go home. She walked with them up Tola Trace a little, but when she almost reached the house, she hid in a guava patch. Rama and Panday walked into the house. Pa was not at home. They went inside and flung open the southern window. When Ma saw the opened window, she knew that Pa was away. She came out of the guava patch and went home too.

  Rama and Panday were cold. Ma got some old clothes and wiped their skins quickly. Rama’s skin was hot as a ricepot. “You sick son?”

  “Yeh,” Rama said.

  Ma got some coconut oil and rubbed down Rama and Panday. She went inside the bedroom to get some dry clothes for them; she couldn’t find any. Rama and Panday had two pairs of pants and two merinos but Ma had washed them ear­lier in the day. She took two old floursacks out of the cardboard box; with the kitchen knife she made holes in the floursacks to fit their heads and hands. Then she helped them to put on the floursacks. She took out a flourbag sheet from an old box. She spread the sheets on some empty rice-bags. Then she said, “All you chirens sleep on dese ricebags.”

  Ma heard the cattle going moh umoh. She knew that they were getting on because they were hungry. “Now Rama and Panday stay in dis house. I goin to change dem cattle.”

  “I fraid to stay in dis house,” Panday said.

  “Why?”

  “I fraid a spirit come from de bush and hold me in dis house.”

  “It not have no spirit in dat bush.”

  “I still fraid,” Panday declared.

  She left them inside the house. She went by the lime tree and got the sledgehammer, threw the sledge over her right shoulder and walked behind the house to the riceland. The riceland bank was about one hundred yards long. It began on the eastern side of the house and ran to the end of the rice-land, right under the doodoose mango tree. Ma looked for the bank. But there was no bank; the water made the place look like a brown sea.

  Panday was afraid to sleep in the house: Rama was groaning and getting on. He was bawling as if something was beating him or standing on his chest, he was just going uh! uh! uh! try­ing to drive away the fever like. Then Rama fell asleep like a dead dog. But although he was asleep, Rama was still making noise; he was breathing like this choot choot scroosh scroosh as when a fowl scratches the ground for a worm.

  Panday was afraid. He was not afraid that Rama was going to die in the house so much; he was afraid that an evil spirit was going to kill him; one of those headless jumbies that lived on the silkcotton trees in the forest; the spirit was going into the house and eat Rama, then it was going to eat Panday too. He rested on the ricebags in fear, just waiting for the spirit to come into the house. But no spirit came. Panday stretched his hands and felt Rama’s chest. It was hot. A dark fear came over him. He got up and ran outside, bawling “Ay Ma!”

  Ma was changing the white cow; she was tethering the cow under the doodoose mango tree, because Pa never built a pen for the animals. Ma looked. Panday was standing in the yard and calling her real hard.

  “Go back in dat house!”

  “I fraid a spirit eat me!” Panday shouted.

  “Go back in dat house boy!”

  “I not goin. I fraid!”

  Ma was watching Panday. But he had no intentions of going back into the house. Ma took the iron pickets and put them under the carat tree. She washed her hands in a drain and headed for home. When she reached the yard she asked Panday, “Wot you doin in dis yard?”

  “I was fraidin in dat house.”

  “Boy it gettin night. Go back in dat house.”

  “Rama makin noise like a dead dog in dat house!”

  And Ma: “Now dead dog dont make no noise. You hear me? Now you go in dat house and stay wid you bredder. You better go fast because if you fadder come home and meet you in dis yard, he goin to kill you wid lix. Now you be a good chile and go back in dat house.”

  Panday went back into the house.

  Ma took the sledgehammer, walked past the rainwater bar­rel and put it under the lime tree. She washed her feet in a drain by the outhouse and went to see about Rama and Panday. As she entered the doorway, Panday said, “Ma I tell you he dead like a dog. Rama done dead. But it good he dead, now he cant pee on me in de night no more.”

  And Ma: “Now you hush dat mout Panday. You bredder not dead. He just sleepin. Rama have fever. Some lime tea go cut dat fever. Now you keep dat mout shut and let you bredder sleep.”

  “Oright.”

  Ma didn’t change her clothes. The dress was wet and it clung to her body as if it was trying to eat her bones. She went into the backyard, got some lime leaves and went into the kitchen with them. She rested the leaves on the earthen floor, because there was no table in the kitchen. Then she went into the little shed on the southern side of the kitchen to get some coconut shells. There were some dry ones in the middle of the heap, but Ma had to be careful because many scorpions lived in the shed among the shells. She brought about ten shells back to the kitchen, placed five into the fireside, poured some kerosene upon them and started a fire.

  Ma made the tea. Then she took two cups inside the house. “Chirens!”

  “Yeh,” Panday answered.

  “Wake up Rama. I want all you to drink dis tea while it hot.”

  Rama was sleeping real strong. Panday shook him hard, saying, “Get up boy and drink dis tea befo you dead like a dog.”

  “Now you stop talkin like dat Panday,” Ma said. “Notten wrong wid you bredder. He just have a little fever.”

  “Oright.”

  Panday shook Rama again. Rama opened his eyes and said, “I sick.”

  “Drink some lime tea son. It good for dat fever.”

  “I not want dat tea,” Rama told her.

  It was darkish inside the house. Ma went in the kitchen and got a flambeau. She held the light in one hand and the tea in the other. “God does see de trobble I does see
in dis house. Boy drink dis tea and let you modder have a chance to rest she head in dis life.”

  “But Rama body hot like hell,” Panday informed her.

  Ma placed the tea on the ground. She felt Rama’s body. He was hot and trembling. The fever was strong. Then Ma shook her head. “It is time Balraj and Sunaree come back from Rajput Road now. So long dey gone.”

  Balraj and Sunaree crossed the river and walked to Rajput Road. They stood at the end of Tola Trace and called: “Nanny!”

  Nanny was inside the house beating the drum. She couldn’t hear them, because she was sitting on an old bag and beating the drum very hard.

  Balraj and Sunaree called many times, but there were no replies. They walked into the yard and called again. There was still no answer, so they walked up to the bamboo door. Balraj pushed open the door and walked inside the house.

  “Ah!” Nanny bawled. Then she said, “All you make me fraid like hell.”

  Nanny pushed the hand drum aside. “Wot make all you chirens come by me house in dis rain?”

  And Balraj started to talk as if rain was falling; talking and talking and telling Nanny how Pa came home and heated him and heated Ma too; telling her how Ma was in the cane field with Rama and Panday; telling her and telling her how Pa was a nasty man; nasty like a snake. Nanny listened. She listened to him; she did not try to stop him; she didn’t even ask him to explain anything; she just listened and listened. Then Balraj stopped talking and Nanny started up; she said how Pa was a bad man from morning; how he was a snake and a drunkard. Then she said how Ma was a good woman, but Ma was too stupid. And so Nanny talked and talked and talked until she had nothing more to say.

  There was a long silence, then Sunaree said, “Wen Nanna comin from work Nanny?”

  “He comin late.”

  “Well we goin back home.”

  Nanny didn’t want them to go, so she said, “Now all you change dem wet clothes. If all you wear dem wet clothes all you goin to get sick.”