“I is a oldman,” Nanna said. “Too besides I is a man of God.”
And Pa: “Me eh care notten. You coud be old or young. But you kiss me ass dorta mad!”
“But where she is?” Nanny asked.
Pa didn’t answer. He just shook his feet.
Nanna and Nanny looked at Pa. He watched them as if God was watching them, watching their tears and their helplessness, watching their . . .
“Go by de doodoose mango tree and look for she!”
Nanna and Nanny went by the riceland. The thunder was coming closer and closer to the earth. Rain birds were flying low, almost touching the water. They searched the water with their eyes, but they couldn’t see Ma.
“Let we go in de back and look,” Nanna said.
“Oright.”
They walked to the eastern end of the riceland bank, then they went by the carat tree. They called and called Ma, but there was no answer; only the thunder and the rain clouds came closer and closer to Tola.
They moved on. When they reached by the doodoose mango tree, they saw Ma. She was eating mud in the biya cola.
“Let we hold she,” Nanna said to Nanny.
But they couldn’t hold her. Ma ran through the riceland flash! flash! fiash! She ran across the riceland and came out on the high land by the barahar tree.
Nanna and Nanny were afraid. They didn’t want to go by the barahar tree behind Ma. They didn’t want her to run from the high land into the water again, because huge water snakes lived in the riceland near the barahar tree.
Ma didn’t care; she was too mad to care. She drank water from the drain near the barahar tree, pulled out bamboo grass with her hands and kicked up the dry barahar leaves with her feet.
Do dodo doom doom doomed! The thunder pounded Tola. Nanna and Nanny were afraid; Ma was by the barahar tree, but they were afraid. Tola Forest started about three hundred feet south of the barahar tree; it started just a few feet away from the long mango tree at the southern end of the riceland. Tola River ran through the forest; the river was deep. In the forest too, there were tigro snakes, coral snakes and machetes, all were deadly snakes; and beside the snakes there were the poisonous spiders, the long centipedes and the scorpions. They didn’t want to go by the barahar tree because they didn’t want her to run into the forest.
Balraj, Sunaree and Panday were in the kitchen, trying their best to cook something. There was a pot of rice over the fire, but the fire was giving trouble; the coconut shells were wet. Balraj took the pokanee and blew into the fire. He was blowing with all his strength; blowing so hard that all the veins in his neck bulged as earthworms. But it was no use; white smoke just piled up inside the kitchen.
“Wot de modderass all you doin in dat kitchen!” Pa shouted.
“We tryin to light de fire,” Balraj said.
Pa ran inside the kitchen. He took the pot of rice and flung it in the yard. “All you know dat all you modder mad, yet all you makin smoke in de house. No food not cookin in dis house till all you modder go in dat madhouse.”
Then Nanna and Nanny came back into the house. They were wet because the rain was drizzling now They couldn’t ask Pa why he threw away the rice; they were afraid to even talk to him. But they had to talk to him about Ma. So Nanny said, “Give we a hand to see about dese chirens modder.”
“Wot hand all you want? De woman mad. All you cant help she now, I goin to Tolaville to get a paper to carry she in dat madhouse tomorrow.”
Pa walked out of the house.
“You sure you not goin to drink rum?” Nanna asked.
“All you just wait. I goin to Tolaville to get dat paper.”
Pa left for Tolaville.
Nanna and Nanny sat with the children. And Sunaree said, “Nanny dey goin to put Ma in dat madhouse. But she goin to come out. Yeh. God goin to come in de night and carry she up in dat sky. Den she and Rama goin to live in dat cloud.”
“No,” said Panday, as if Sunaree was talking to him. “Ma goin to live in dat madhouse. Den dey goin to cut she belly wide open. People goin to drink rum whole night. Den Ma goin to live in dat riceland wadder. I know dat.”
“He lie Nanny,” Sunaree said. “Ma goin to live in dat sky.”
Balraj was listening all the time. He scratched his head and said, “Ma goin to live in dat madhouse till she dead. Den rat goin to eat she just how dem rats eatin Rama in Tolaville.”
“All you too small to know anyting,” Nanny said sadly.
The rain came down par par par on the grass roof. Nanna and Nanny knew that the rain wasn’t going to stop; the sky was black as a black bull and the lightning was running as golden wires in the sky. They had to get Ma home; get her out of the rain and the wind. Nanny went inside the bedroom and got the drum. Without saying a word, Nanny walked out of the house with the drum. Nanna followed her.
“I not stayin in dis house,” Panday said.
“Why?” Sunaree asked.
“Because I fraid a churail hold me in dis house.”
Balraj, Sunaree and Panday ran out of the house; they ran on the riceland bank, trying to meet up with Nanna and Nanny. They listened. They heard the drum as it heated:
go going gone!
go going gone!
go going gone!
And the tree frogs sang:
rage raging! rage raging! rage raging!
rage raging! rage raging! rage raging!
Nanny walked slow as she beated the drum. Ma was still under the barahar tree; still pulling out bamboo grass and getting on. Then Ma heard the drum. She stood up and listened. She didn’t move because the drum was beating sweeter than sugar. Nanny walked on a meri and went by the barahar tree.
Nanna kept the children on the riceland bank. He told them not to follow Nanny on the riceland bank, because they were going to make Ma run into the forest or into the deep holes in the riceland. Nanna was telling them to go back into the house, but they didn’t want to go. Panday jumped from the riceland bank into the water. Then Balraj and Sunaree jumped into the water too. Balraj was dragging his hands in the water. He knew the rain was going to kill the tadpoles; he wanted to catch some to put in the hole by the coconut tree.
“All you come outa dat wadder chirens!” Nanna shouted.
They didn’t want to come out. Nanna took a lump of mud and flung it in the water. He said, “All you come outa dat wad-der. A snake just jump in dat wadder.”
Balraj, Sunaree and Panday came and stood on the rice-land bank.
“Now all you go on home chirens.”
“But we (raid Nanna,” Panday said.
“All you go home befo all you modder bite all you.”
They walked home slowly.
Nanny didn’t look back or anything; she just kept her eyes on the ground as she beated the drum. Nanny beated the drum to the barahar tree. When she reached by Ma she just turned around and walked back with the drum; she walked on the meri until she came on the riceland bank; she walked on to meet the house. Ma followed her. Nanny beated the drum until she reached in the house. Ma came into the house too; her eyes moved all over the place. Her hair was full of dirt, and bluish mud stuck to her dress. Nanny beated and beated the drum, and Ma danced all the time.
“Put dem chirens inside de kitchen,” Nanny said to Nanna. “We have to change she clothes.”
While Nanna was hurrying Balraj, Sunaree and Panday into the kitchen, Nanny unstrung the drum from around her neck. She placed the drum on the ground and looked at Ma. When Nanny was sure that Ma wasn’t going to run away, she went inside the house and got an old dress for Ma. She had to look real good in the cardboard box, because most of the clothes in the house were wet. When she came out of the bedroom, Nanna was waiting for her by the tapia wall.
“Where dem chirens? I not hearin dem.”
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br /> “Dem in de kitchen. I tell dem to stay quiet,” Nanna said. Nanny turned to Ma. “Take out you dress. We want to bathe you.”
Ma stood by the tapia wall and laughed all the time.
Nanna and Nanny laughed with her, because they didn’t want her to run away. Then they ripped off her dress purr purr. Nanny dipped her hands in the bucket and bathed her. Then they wiped her skin dry with an old floursack and slipped on a clean dress over her.
Ma said, “De bull buttin de chile. All you look! De man runnin dat chile in de rain. Fire lightnin in de sky ... “
Rain clouds stood over Tola like a pool of black water. Nanna and Nanny brought Ma inside the kitchen; they told the children to go inside the bedroom.
Then night covered Tola with a web. Balraj, Sunaree and Panday were asleep in the bedroom. Ma was asleep on the old bags in the kitchen. Nanny slept next to her. Nanna sat up by the doorway. But the night moved on like a snail that brought slime and sleep into their eyes; layers and layers of blackness choked the earth; Tola breathed soot soot soot as the wind and the rain pounded the earth. The light was out, because the night pounded the house and pounded the light also. Nanna woke up. He felt for the light. He lit the flambeau. Fear came upon him: Ma was gone; she had emptied her bowels in the kitchen and disappeared into the darkness. Nanna bawled out, “Getup! Getup!!!”
Nanny sat up with sleep in her eyes. “Uh! Uh!”
“Wake up!!!”
Nanny jumped up. She picked up Ma’s waste in her hand. “I trowin dis mud in de yard.”
And Nanna: “Dat is shit you holdin. She messup and gone away in de night.”
Nanny opened her eyes wide. Then she took the waste and walked out of the house; she didn’t take it and fling it away in the wind and the rain; she just walked with it to the running water, and put it in the running water. When she came back to the house, she asked Nanna, “You see wen she gone oldman?”
“No,” Nanna said. “I de tired. I fall asleep. Wen I get up and light de light, she de done gone outa de house.”
And Nanny: “O God! Maybe she done drownd in de river!”
Nanna woke up the children. He told them to run out into the darkness and look for Ma. They said they were afraid.
“All you have to go up Tola Trace to Karan Settlement and Lima Road. All you have to go and look for all you modder. All you not have to fraid notten.”
They hesitated.
“All you go!” Nanna shouted.
Balraj, Sunaree and Panday walked out of the house. Nanna and Nanny went by the riceland to look for Ma. They didn’t carry the light, because the rain and the wind were too strong. There were all kind of noises coming from inside the dark mouth of the night. The thunder went:
cratax cratax doom doom doomed!
The water flowed over the riceland bank:
trouble trouble trouble!
trouble trouble trouble!
The night birds sang:
ah! ah! ah!
ah! ah! ah!
ah! ah! ah!
The wind passed over the riceland:
hush hush hushing!
hush hush hushing!
Nanna and Nanny walked and walked and called and called, but the darkness swallowed their voices like a snake.
Balraj, Sunaree and Panday walked through the bamboo and basmatia grass until they came out where Karan Settlement and Lima Road met. They called but they couldn’t hear Ma.
There was a noise ssh ssh in the bamboo grass. They stood and watched. A white dog came out of the grass. When the dog saw them it ran away.
“Dat is a lagahu!” Panday shouted.
“Dat is a dog!” Balraj shouted.
“But I fraid.”
“Wot you fraid?”
And Sunaree said, “Dat is a lagahu Balraj. Nanna tell we one time dat lagahu does turn to dog. Dat is a lagahu. I fraid!” And Balraj: “All you not have to fraid notten!”
“But sappose it is a lagahu?” Panday asked.
Sunaree remembered something. “If dat is a lagahu it cant do we notten. Rama in de sky. He go beat dat lagahu.”
And Balraj: “Rama dead and all you stupid. Wen a crappo fish dead, it dead. It finish. Dat is all.”
Sunaree and Panday told Balraj that they were not looking for Ma any more. They were afraid of the lagahu, because one time Nanna told them that a man in Karan Settlement used to turn to a dog. The man was working for the Devil. The Devil used to ride him through the village in the night. Sometimes the Devil used to turn the man into a white dog.
“Oright,” Balraj said. “We goin back home.”
They were wet and cold and hungry. They turned back and headed for home.
Nanna and Nanny walked on the riceland bank, then they took a meri and went by the barahar tree. Ma was not there. They walked to the long mango tree. She was not there either. They decided to go into the forest and look for her. Nanny sang and called as they walked through the forest; she sang and called until they came to the river. The water was high and the river sang gulp gulp gulp!
“It hard to find she on a night like dis,” Nanna said.
The lightning danced over their heads like golden forks and silver spoons and the thunder rolled and rolled and rolled as if the sky God was beating heavy drums in the sky. The rain fell as vomit on the trees in the forest and the water made the earth cold and muddy.
“Go back in de house and get de drum,” Nanna said.
Nanny left Nanna in the forest and went back to the house for the brown hand drum. While she was looking for the drum in the dark Balraj, Sunaree and Panday came home.
“All you see all you modder?”
“No Nanny,” Balraj said.
“All you look good?”
“Yeh Nanny,” Panday said. “We look till we see a lagahu.”
Then Nanny got the drum. She told them to stay at home, but they wanted to go with her; they were afraid to stay at home. Nanny walked with the drum into the night; they followed her like dogs. And Nanny beated the drum slowly:
doom doom doomed!
doom doom doomed!
Then she beated faster:
bamboo patcha! banga patcha!
bamboo patcha! banga patcha!
bamboo patcha! banga patcha!
go going gone!
go going gone!
go going gone!
Nanny beated the drum with life; with love; she beated the drum with all her strength and the drum sounded loud as if a spirit was bawling in the forest.
The sky twisted like a black snake and the clouds rolled and rolled and rolled as a big spider; the wind shook Tola in a rage and the rain pounded the earth; the lightning came out of the mouth of the darkness like a golden tongue and licked the trees in the forest and the drum ripped through the darkness like a knife. They moved deeper and deeper into the forest, and they felt the rain falling upon their heads from heaven.
GLOSSARY
Arti: a fundamental part of almost every Brahminical rite, in which a diya is set on a taria, lit, and moved with circular gestures.
Baba: a Hindu priest, usually a member of the highest
(Brahmin) caste.
Bandicoot: large rat.
Beti: daughter.
Bhajans: hymns.
Biya kola: a small plot of riceland with rice seedlings.
Chamar: one who belongs to the lowest of the four castes. The majority of Indians who came from India to work on the sugar plantations between 1845 and 1917 were chamars.
Change: tether.
Chila: fire-stick.
Churail: a spirit of purely Indian origin. It is believed to be the restless soul of a woman who died during pregnancy or childbirth. Its malicious mission on earth is to haunt the wife
and children of its former husband.
Cola: (See meri.)
Crappo: frog.
Crappo fish: tadpoles.
Creole: a Negro born on Carib Island.
Cutlass: blade used for cutting sugar cane.
Dal (or dahl): yellow split peas. Dal and rice is the staple food of the East Indians in Carib Island.
Diya (or deeya): small earthen vessel. During Hindu ceremonies, coconut oil is placed inside the diva, then a small cotton wick is inserted and lit by a priest or devotee. The flame is recognised as holy fire.
Duenne: a spirit of African origin. Duennes are the spirits of children who die before they are born. The heels of the foetus-spirits are in front, and the toes are turned backwards. These tiny spirit creatures dwell in small communities deep in the forest.
Flambeau: a torch. A flambeau is made by putting kerosene into an empty beer bottle and inserting a cloth wick.
Jables: (corruption of the French term diablesse, or female devil). A witch, or agent of the devil, who takes the shape of a beautiful woman. People in the countryside believe that the jables has one normal human foot and one cloven. Keeping the normal foot on the road and the cloven one in the grass, she lures men who travel at night along country roads to their destruction.
Jamet: whore.
Jumbie: spirit. People in the country believe that mysterious creatures lurk around the villages at night. The term is of widespread use in the Caribbean: some people believe jumbies are sent by obeahmen (sorcerers), while others think of a jumbie as the soul of a departed person. The latter belief is particularly strong among the Indians.
Jumbie bird: owl. The Indians in Carib Island believe that if an owl sits on a rooftop and hoots, someone in the family will die soon.
Lagahu: (corruption of the French term loup garou, or werewolf). A living person who has made contact with the devil. Through supernatural prayers he takes the form of an animal at night. The devil pays him a sum of money and rides him through the village.
Lota: brass cup.
Madrassi: all black, or dark-skinned East Indians. The term is used loosely; black East Indians came from Ceylon as well as the state of Madras.
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