No Pain Like This Body

by Harold Sonny Ladoo

  Long before they reached the river, they heard the hush hush hush of the current; but they walked on. When they reached the river the water was high up.

  Nanna took Balraj and swam the river; the current was pushing hard, but Nanna was a good swimmer. He made it. He called from the other side saying, “Balraj safe on de odder side now!”

  “Oright!” Nanny shouted.

  When Nanna came to collect Rama, he was tired. Blow­ing. He rested a little. While he rested, Nanny said, “Oldman take care of youself.”

  “I see enuff days in Tola. Me eh fraid to dead.”

  Nanna got up. He took Rama and went into the water. Nanny, Ma, Sunaree and Panday stood as a heap of living mud; just waiting for Nanna to cross safely. Then the time grew long; long like a rope, and tied them like a rope too. Their bodies formed one great beast reaching up to the sky. And the clouds opened and out of the middle came water; water that washed away the earth into the mouth of the darkness. Then the thunder heated as the heart of rage in space, and out of the space came the lightning as a great spike and it stabbed the mouth of darkness. And the winds became hot and carried death into all the corners . . . then the rope caught fire and the great beast danced to the tune of death between the darkness and the void. The beast danced even though it knew it was going to die . . . it danced and danced, till the void and the darkness strangled the beast . . .

  “All you go home now!” Nanna shouted from the other side. “Oright!” Nanny said.

  Nanny, Ma, Sunaree and Panday hurried home through the rain.

  V

  TWO DAYS HAD passed. The rain was over, but the earth was wet and it smelt like new. The water in the riceland was low. Pa sat on a crate; he was eating a shard of roti. He wasn’t drunk, but his eyes looked like dirt. Then he stopped chew­ing the roti. “Eat fast Sunaree and Panday. All you have to plant rice.”

  Ma stood near the ricebox. She didn’t eat but her belly was full; full of worries. Her eyes were almost hidden in her bony sockets. She said to Pa, “Now you let dese chirens eat in peace. Balraj and Rama still in dat haspital. So you let dese chirens eat.”

  Pa sat on the crate. He went on eating, but he shook his feet all the time. Suddenly he threw his food away. “I go take a chila and beat all you modderass in dis house!”

  He was waiting for Ma to say something. She said noth­ing. Pa walked out of the house.

  Sunaree and Panday sat on the earthen floor. They ate fast, chewing like hell just to please Ma.

  “Now all you take all you time,” Ma said. “It not good to eat fast fast.”

  Sunaree and Panday couldn’t reply to this; their mouths were full of food. They only shook their heads. Ma rested her hands on the tapia wall and looked at them. She didn’t smile with them or anything; she just looked at them. They watched her too. Then Sunaree gulped down her food and said, “We is good chirens.”

  “Yeh,” Ma said as she turned to go in the kitchen.

  Panday chewed slowly. Sunaree told him to hurry up.

  “I not hurryin up. I not plantin no rice today. I fraid dem snakes in dat wadder.”

  Ma came out of the kitchen. She had an old floursack tied around her head. She said that she was going in front to pull the rice nurseries; Sunaree and Panday were to come later.

  “No Ma. Wait for me!” Panday said.

  “Come wid Sunaree.”

  “I fraid a spirit eat me in dis house.”

  Ma laughed. Ugly. She had very few teeth in her mouth; they had fallen off long ago.

  “Ma you ugly like a rat rat rat,” Panday sang.

  Ma didn’t mind. She picked up Panday in her skinny arms. Panday started to cry. He didn’t want Ma to hold him. He complained that if she fell, he was going to fall too. She put him down.

  Ma walked in front as if she was walking a race or some­thing. Sunaree and Panday walked behind. There were red crabs on the riceland bank. They moved away as Ma walked up to them. But some of them were fat and lazy; lazy just as fat people. Their bellies were big and they looked like red cashews. Sunaree and Panday tried their best to meet Ma. They couldn’t. Ma was a fast walker, but she couldn’t walk as fast as Jesus. Sunaree and Panday trailed behind. Then chax! Panday walked on a fat crab. Sunaree looked over her shoulder and said, “God goin to give you sin Panday!”

  “But me eh do it for spite.”

  “You still goin to get sin.”

  “Me eh do it for spite I tellin you.”

  “Oright,” Sunaree said, “but dat crab have plenty young ones in she belly. Now you kill dat crab and all dem young ones too.”

  Sunaree and Panday sat on the riceland bank and looked at the female crab. The crab’s feet were still moving; trembling like. Something white as cow’s milk flowed out of the crushed and upturned belly. Then the feet became dead.

  “De crab dead now,” Sunaree said sadly.

  “God know it dead?”

  “Yeh, God know dat.”,

  Panday remained worried and quiet. Sunaree held the crab with her tiny fingers; part of the back was buried in the mud; the mud formed a dirty circle around the belly. She looked carefully; some of the young crabs were moving inside the broken shell. She lifted the dead crab and placed it gently in the water.

  Ma was at the end of the riceland bank. She looked back; Sunaree and Panday were still sitting almost at the other end of the bank. “All you come on chirens, it gettin late!” Ma said.

  They got up and ran to her.

  Ma sat on a potato crate and pulled out the rice plants from the muddy water. The nurseries were thin and long, and softer than grass. Ma pulled them fast with her bony fingers.

  Hundreds of brown doves kept flying over the riceland. Their wings went tat tat tat tat tat as if dry leaves were rubbing against each other. Black birds rose like a steady flow of smoke, passed over the riceland and settled on the long mango trees.

  Sunaree wore a long dress made from a floursack. Panday was dressed in a merino only; he wasn’t wearing any pants. They sat on the upturned crate near Ma, and helped her pull the rice plants out of the ground. Then Pa came into the water and joined them. He knew the work well, but he couldn’t pull the plants out of the ground faster than Ma. But Pa didn’t pull for long. He took a brushing-cutlass and started trim­ming the grass on the narrow meri. As he cutlassed some of the cut grass fell back into the water.

  Several mango trees lined the northern edge of the rice-land. They were tall. Some of them had wild pines growing on their branches. Ripe mangoes fell inside the riceland; that made the water blackish near the trees. The water smelt bad too, because the mangoes were rottening inside of it.

  “Come and take up dese grass!” Pa shouted.

  Sunaree and Panday got up. They walked fast. Pa was cut­lassing the grass on the bank. Sunaree and Panday took the grass that fell in the water, made them into small balls and placed them on the meri.

  When they were finished picking up the grass, they went and joined Ma. It was time to scatter the rice nurseries. Ma held the tops of the rice plants and broke them off, because this made the plants grow better. Then she collected them into small handfuls, and tied them into small faggots. Sunaree and Panday threw the faggots out all over the riceland.

  “Help me plant some rice,” Ma said.

  “No,” Pa declared.

  “Why?”

  “Kiss me ass! Dat is why.”

  Ma remained quiet as a mango skin. She didn’t even look at Pa. She took up a faggot of rice plants in her left hand, loosed the banana string that held it together and started to plant the rice. Ma was always a good planter. The plants stood upright, about eight inches above the water, because the roots were well buried under the water; the plants did not lean too much in any direction. She made a straight row along the bank; went a little way with it; then she turn
ed around and made another row. The faggot planted about three rows. Then she took another one, and planted chooks chooks chooks again.

  Sunaree and Panday planted too. Sunaree and Panday knew about rice planting, but Sunaree did most of the work. Panday spent his time looking for red crabs in the water. Panday didn’t want to kill the crabs; he felt sorry for crabs; he was only trying to get them out of Sunaree’s way; he didn’t

  want her to kill them by mistake. It was very hard to see the crabs in the water; it was too muddy. Panday just ran his hands in the water; whenever he found a crab, he caught it and threw it out of the way. He had to be careful because the red crabs had sharp gundies.

  Sunaree planted slow, but she planted good. Once or twice she tried to move fast, but the plants didn’t stand upright, because the roots were not placed in the ground firmly; they were uprooted by the wind.

  Pa went under the doodoose mango tree. He sat down and ate mangoes all the time. He ate just like a pig; the yellow juice rolled down his face and fell on his chest, and hundreds of flies licked his lips; but he didn’t care.

  And Ma stood up and said, “Come and help me plant some rice!”

  “Kiss me ass!” Pa said.

  “But I have to go and see Balraj and Rama in dat haspital.” “Just shut dat mout I say!”

  Ma was helpless and afraid. She wasn’t a coward or any­thing; she was brave, but brave only as a woman is brave. Like

  the time last year when Balraj went to steal oranges in Sancho Estate, he carried Rama with him. The rain was falling and falling and falling, yet Balraj carried Rama with him. There was thunder and lightning and the sky was dark; Balraj carried the empty ricebag on his shoulder, and Rama walked behind him.

  The orange tree was tall. Many lianas were choking the tree to death. Balraj climbed up, picked the oranges and threw them

  to the ground for Rama. Rama collected the oranges and threw them inside the ricebag. But Rama started to bawl, bawl as if something was biting him. Balraj climbed down the tree, because he thought that a snake was biting Rama. Rama was bawling and rolling on the ground but nothing was wrong with him. Balraj grew afraid. He left Rama inside the estate alone. He ran home through the rain and told Ma that a spirit was holding Rama under the orange tree. Ma ran into the estate and found Rama rolling under the orange tree. He told her that there was an evil spirit upon him; the spirit was biting and choking him all the time. Rama was fighting her, but Ma was strong. And when she brought him home he was still bawl­ing; bawling because the spirit had followed him into the house. Ma fought with him all night. In the morning he was better, because Ma had the strength to drive the spirit away.

  “Come and help me plant de rice,” Ma said.

  “Why?” Pa asked, still sitting.

  “Because I want to go in dat haspital and see Balraj and Rama. I is dey modder.”

  “Now you shut you modderass and plant dat rice!”

  Pa stood up. He stood up as a tall juniper stump. His belly was full of the mangoes he ate, so he had the strength to watch Ma. Ma was hungry, so she couldn’t quarrel too much. She just loosed another faggot and went on planting the rice.

  Sunaree was planting good, but not good enough. Her rows were not in one straight line; she was trying her best to make a straight line, but she couldn’t. When Pa shouted at Ma, Sunaree looked for Panday. He was still trying his best to rescue the reddish crabs.

  “Panday come and help me plant de rice!”

  “I not helpin you plant no rice!”

  “Panday Pa goin to beat you,” Sunaree warned.

  Panday knew that Pa was a snake. He left the crabs alone, took a faggot and went toward Sunaree. Panday was not a good planter; he didn’t know how to ram the rice roots under the water and then cover them with mud, but he was trying to plant faster than Sunaree. He wasn’t holding the plants carefully; sometimes he squeezed so hard that they broke in the middle just about the water line. There was about eight inches of water in the riceland. The rice plants were about six­teen inches long; when the roots were buried in the mud, the plants were supposed to stand straight above the water. Panday finished his faggot quickly and took another one. But he was afraid; afraid because some of the rice plants he had planted were leaning in the water; others were buried so deep into the mud that the tops were hidden under the muddy water; some of the plants just floated above the water.

  “Look wot you doin Panday!” Sunaree said.

  “I not doin notten. Dis rice coud kiss me ass! I is a chile.” “If Pa hear you he go beat you Panday!”

  “But I is a little chile!”

  Pa stood on the riceland bank by the doodoose mango tree. He heard Panday. He jumped as a bull on the riceland bank. “Panday shut you kiss me ass mout boy! Shut it boy! Me Jesus Christ! If you make me come in dat wadder I go kick you till you liver bust!”

  And Ma: “You leff dem chirens alone! Just leff dem alone! Befo you send dese chirens to school, you makin dem plant rice in Tola. But I tell you dat God watchin from dat sky. Dese chirens goin to come man and woman in Tola. Just leff dem alone!”

  There was no more race between Sunaree and Panday now. Speed was getting Panday into trouble. He stooped down and moved as an old man in the water, but he still couldn’t make a straight line.

  Then Pa left. He walked slow because he didn’t want to fall on the slippery bank. He went home.

  The time passed slow, but it passed. The evening walked out of the forest and hunched over Tola. Ma had the last fag­got. Birds moved hurriedly from one corner of the sky to the other. Thousands and thousands of birds: doves, semps, silverbeaks, wild pigeons and hawks just floated across the sky; they passed over the riceland, hurrying to their homes inside the forest. The clouds were tired in the sky; they floated about lifelessly.

  “Sunaree and Panday go home,” Ma said.

  Sunaree and Panday were tired and hungry; their bellies were full of wind; they were getting sharp pains in their stom­achs, but they waited for Ma. Ma was in a great hurry to finish the last faggot; she too was hungry and tired. When the last faggot was planted Ma came out of the water.

  Pa was asleep on a ricebag near the rainwater barrel. He was snoring hort snort hort snort like an animal. His mouth was open. Flies went inside his mouth, but they came back out because his mouth was smelling bad. His hands were folded across his chest as if he was already dead; dead and rottening.

  Ma took the enamel dipper. She fished out some water from the rainwater barrel and poured it over Sunaree and Panday. They rubbed their skins, trying to get the mud off their bodies.

  Pa woke up. “All you makin too much kiss me ass noise!” “Now is evenin,” Ma said. “You not sleep enuff?”

  “No!”

  “You come home a long time now. You not plant no rice. You know full well dat dese chirens hungry. Befo you cook some food, you studyin to sleep.”

  “You shut you kiss me ass mout and cook!”

  “I cant cook! I have to go and see Balraj and Rama in dat haspital.”

  “You shut you ass and cook!”

  Pa went on talking; he talked vat vat flap flap flap as when a jandi pole shakes in the wind. There were razor grass and broken bottles in his voice. Pa talked; he didn’t talk a little and stop, and talk a little and stop; he just went on talking and talking and talking. Ma was quiet; she just shook her head from side to side as a mad woman shakes her head.

  “Come inside de kitchen,” Ma said to Sunaree and Panday.

  Ma walked into the kitchen first. Sunaree and Panday walked behind her; they looked back all the time, because they were afraid of Pa.

  “Put some water in dat iron pot,” Ma said to Panday. Panday took the pot and went by the rainwater barrel. Sunaree was helping Ma knead the flour. Ma sat on the

  earthen floor and peeled sweet potatoes with a small
knife.

  Most of the potatoes were reddish and rotten like.

  “I want some water for de flour Ma,” Sunaree said. “Ay Panday!” Ma called.

  There was no answer. Ma called again. There was no answer. As she was about to call again, Panday ran inside the kitchen.

  “Wot happen boy?” Ma asked.

  “Pa runnin me wid de ledderbelt!” he said.

  Ma lifted her head. Pa stood in the doorway as a dead tree. He had the leather belt in his left hand; he was gripping it firmly. “I go kill Panday ass!”

  Sunaree had dry flour in her hands up to her elbow. She was sitting on the wooden peera. She was no longer kneading the dough to make the roti; her fingers stuck to the flour, and with her head tilting slowly backwards, she stared at Pa in fear and disgust.

  “Now you leff Panday alone!” Ma shouted.

  “Why?”

  “Because he is my chile. I bleed blood to make him. You dont want me to go and see Balraj and Rama in dat haspital. But I goin walkin to Tolaville. You cant stop me. Dem chirens longin to see dey modder. I goin walkin to Tolaville I tell you!”

  There was a slow groaning as if a cow or a mule were groaning; groaning in sleep like. Ma sank to the ground as level as a shadow. She held on to her head and groaned sharply. She wasn’t bleeding or anything. Pa just struck her in her right ear with his huge fist.

  “Now Panday come here!” Pa screamed.

  Panday leaned against the wall as if he was a wall too, lean­ing against another wall. With tears in his eyes he begged Pa saying, “Wen you get old I go give you food! Dont beat me Pa!”

  “Panday!”

  “Yeh Pa.”

  “Siddown!”

  “Oright.”

  Panday bent his knees and leaned against the wall. His lips shook. Saliva leaked out of his mouth and ran down his neck. He watched Pa. Sunaree sat in front of him; her back was almost touching him, but Panday couldn’t see her, because he just watched Pa.

  Ma got up slowly. She held on to her right ear.

  “Like me ears bell bust!” she screamed.