Letting Loose

by Joanne Skerrett

  I couldn’t wait to get in the shower. What would I do with myself the rest of the day? I’d brought a huge pile of books and I’d been reading under the jacaranda tree every afternoon. But I didn’t want to do that today. I wanted to go out. But where?

  I put on a new dress after I’d showered and browsed guide books about all the things I could be doing. Visiting the hot springs and volcano or the boiling lake. Bird watching. Hiking. Swimming. Snorkeling. Diving lessons. Tennis. I turned on the TV.

  Then the door opened and I almost jumped out of my skin. It was the housekeeper, Celeste.

  “Hi, Celeste,” I said. She had company, a woman who looked exactly like her. It was eerie to see the two of them together, so alike, both heavy-set and serious-faced.

  “I didn’t expect you to be here,” she said.

  Exactly what I was thinking. I wished I could tell her that she needn’t return the rest of the summer. That I didn’t mind doing the cleaning.

  She disappeared into the kitchen and her sister stood there looking at me expectantly.

  “I’m Amelia.”

  “I’m Celestine,” she said, smiling.

  We shook hands and I invited her to sit.

  “What are you doing today?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ll probably hang out here.”

  “You should come with me to the village,” she said. “See a new place.”

  The village? I remembered a scary movie I’d seen with the same name.

  “I can show you where we live.”

  “Is it far?” I asked her, racking my brain to find a way out of going.

  “No, it’s a half-hour walk, ten-minute drive.”

  Celeste came out of the kitchen. “You need a lot of things. Soap and sponges.”

  I nodded. “I’ll let Drew know.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen again. I looked at Celestine and smiled. Did I dare ask her why her twin was so weird? And why she hated me so much.

  “Celeste lost her husband two years ago,” she said. “She’s still mourning.”

  I felt like a jerk again. That poor woman. “I’m so sorry to hear that; she never talks much.”

  “She never talked much anyway,” Celestine shrugged.

  Fine. I’d have to go to their village, if only to make up for thinking that Celeste was some random weirdo cleaning lady. Celeste told us we could use her car and that she’d stay back at the house to wash the dog. I could have done that! But I had to remember that it was her job. And she’d lost her husband. She needed the work.

  Celestine and I sputtered down the hill in the jerky little Datsun. She was right, the village was not too far away, but it was sure hard to get to. We must have gone up and down at least four unpaved roads before we leveled off in a tiny neighborhood of rickety houses with one path running down the middle. It was a path. Not a street.

  “Here we are,” she said.

  I followed her into a tiny house made from cement blocks, painted pink and white on the outside. It was clean and cool inside; the floors were colorful stone tile. The furniture was obviously amateur-made, but it was cute, in an uneven asymmetrical kind of way. It looked like a playhouse.

  “You and Celeste live here?”

  “Yes,” she said, “her husband’s family took their house back after he died.”

  Yikes! That was terrible.

  She showed me around; there were several pictures of a white, benevolent Jesus plastered all over the walls in all the rooms. Both she and Celeste had framed Bible verses above their beds in their bedrooms. It was all so…so cute.

  “Let’s go see my brother,” she said after the two-minute tour of the tiny house. “He’s probably killing something for lunch.”

  Huh? Maybe I’d heard wrong.

  We walked down the dusty path and children were jumping rope and playing hopscotch to the side. “Hi, Ms. Celestine,” they sang.

  She stopped to talk with them and they crowded around me when she told them that I was visiting from America. “Do you know Ashanti?” one little girl asked me.

  I shook my head. Who was Ashanti?

  It was several minutes before their questions stopped and we could make our way to Celestine’s brother’s house. His house was clearly the biggest in the village, and he seemed to have a lot of animals. I could hear them bleating, squawking, mooing, and chirping. We walked around to the back where a large man stood with a huge scythe-looking thing in one hand and a kicking goat in the other. Oh my God! Celestine was not alarmed.

  She greeted the man casually. He put the knife down and looked me over. “Who are you?” His voice was loud and rough.

  “She’s Drew’s girlfriend. From America.”

  The man still eyed me suspiciously. “Hello,” he said.

  I smiled widely, keeping one eye on the goat that was kicking around in the dirt but not going anywhere because Celestine’s brother, George, had a firm grip on its neck.

  “What is he doing?” I asked Celestine.

  She laughed. “Tell her what you doing, George.”

  The man eyed me narrowly. “I’m going to make lunch.”

  Lunch?

  He wielded the knife again and the goat bleated. I held my stomach.

  “Celestine, is he going to…?”

  Before I could say anything else the goat had stopped bleating and there was blood everywhere. My stomach lurched and I leaned against the side of the house weakly. I closed my eyes.

  “You all right?!” Celestine grabbed my shoulder.

  “I think so,” I mustered.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said, leading me into the house from the back door. I think I heard George laughing as I stumbled inside.

  “Oh, they die so quickly they don’t feel any pain,” she said, handing me a glass of ginger ale after she’d sat me down at a large dining table.

  I took a deep breath and sipped. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

  She looked at me, worry in her eyes as I tried to get my stomach to settle down.

  “I saw a bunch of goats this morning up in the hills…that could have been one of them,” I said.

  “Maybe,” she said. “But it’s too late to worry about that now.”

  Was it? I had wished those goats were dead when I’d stood there on that path and right in front of me one of them had just been slaughtered…. That was just too weird. Too crazy. George walked into the house, a large smile on his face, and blood all over his white apron. I closed my eyes again.

  “She staying for lunch?” he asked.

  Celestine looked at me and I shook my head. There was no way I would eat that poor goat. No way in hell.

  “We’re going back,” she told George. “Celeste is waiting for the car.”

  As we walked away from the house I could hear George guffawing. Well, I was glad that I gave someone a good laugh. But still, why did it give him so much pleasure to upset me?

  “Sorry,” Celestine said again.

  “It’s all right,” I said. I was starting to feel better. “It was an adventure.”

  “Better than staying inside with a book?”

  “Uh-huh.” I’d remember this for the rest of my life.

  I told Drew about my experience as we ate dinner together. “I don’t think I’ll ever eat goat meat ever again.”

  “And you think Frank Perdue hugs his chickens to death?”

  “At least I’ve never seen them get killed.”

  “George was just trying to screw with you. He likes to get under people’s skin.”

  “He did a good job.”

  “And you thought Celeste was weird.”

  “I think their whole family’s weird now.”

  “So are you having a good time? Are you bored?” He asked me this at the end of every day.

  “No, I had fun today. First running from the goats, and then watching one go to meet its maker.”

  “There’s m
ore to this place than that, though.”

  “I’m glad I’m here, Drew.” I truly meant it. I wanted to be with him. All the time. It was unfortunate that work had to get in the way and we couldn’t spend all day together. I wanted to discover Dominica with him, find little swimming holes, new flowers, strange-looking wildlife. I wanted to do all those things with him.

  “We’ll do something on the weekend,” he said. Then his expression changed.

  “What is it?”

  “We might have to be a bit more careful…. My mother thinks it doesn’t look good that we’re…um…living together.”

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s just that folks down here are old-fashioned. It doesn’t look good for someone in my position.”

  “We’re not living together. I’m just visiting for the summer.”

  “But you’re living here.”

  “Do you want me to go to a hotel?” Was he losing his mind?

  “Of course not.” He paused. “Mom thought you could move in with her. You could still spend as much time here as you wanted.”

  “No way!” It came out as a yelp. I would not live with Vanessa. I’d rather spend six months in Siberia wearing a bikini.

  He shrugged. “Okay. I don’t mind the gossip. It was just an idea.”

  Ugh! Vanessa! “I don’t want to ruin your political reputation.”

  “You won’t,” he said. “It’s just a matter of keeping up appearances. That’s all.”

  “If it’s a huge deal I’ll just go to a hotel.”

  “You hate my mom that much?” He laughed.

  “I don’t hate her. I just…I just don’t want to live in that big house. Plus, it’s so far away from everything.”

  “It’s not a problem. We’ll make it work.”

  Was I being unfair and selfish? I didn’t want to make Drew look bad, but I couldn’t imagine a whole summer under Vanessa’s roof. Let the people talk, I thought. So, we were shacking up. So what?

  Chapter 24

  Sonny and I came in from our two-hour walk, and I was ravenous and drenched in sweat. I’d carried a huge stick with me the whole way, watchful for goats or any other critter that dared to get in my way. I was not having it! Thankfully, I didn’t run into any.

  I looked at the phone, usually I’d call him as soon as I walked in, but I remembered our conversation the night before.

  “Are you having fun?” he’d asked again as I began to doze off.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think you are.”

  I sat up quickly. “Yes, I am!”

  “You don’t have to stay the whole summer if you’re not having a good time,” he said flatly.

  “No!” I said, grabbing his shoulder. “I want to stay.” I sighed. “I just…I’m not used to being in a new place. I don’t feel comfortable going to new places by myself.”

  “Take Sonny with you,” Drew said. “Amelia, everybody knows who you are. You’ll be fine. I’m not asking you to do anything crazy but go out and enjoy the island…. You could even come up to the village with me, to the site. It’s nice up there. There’s a river where you could go swimming…. Just loosen up and have fun.” He didn’t seem angry, just concerned and a little defeated. As if he were really afraid that I was so bored that I’d get on the next plane to Boston.

  “I am,” I said defensively. “I’m going out tomorrow.”

  I had to keep my word. I couldn’t call him again. I didn’t want to be a naggy girlfriend. I would go out. On my own. By myself. I looked out the window and the day looked positively irresistible. I thought, “The sun pours down on the earth, on the lovely land that man cannot enjoy. He knows only the fear of his heart.” Thanks, Alan Paton. Okay. No fear in my heart; I’m going out to enjoy this lovely land.

  I turned on the TV as I burrowed into a bowl of Raisin Bran. Inflation is so high on Dominica that one box of cereal costs twenty dollars. Twenty dollars for some nasty Raisin Bran! The local news was on and a pretty anchor was mentioning Drew’s name. One second later his face appeared, smiling and self-assured. I missed the question he was asked, but he replied, “No, Ms. Wilson is a very good friend of mine and those rumors are untrue. She is staying in my home temporarily, but as anyone who knows me well will tell you I hardly spend any time there. I’m still my mother’s son; she can vouch that I spend most of my nights on her estate in Castle Bruce.” He smiled, waved away the reporter’s microphone from his face, and turned his attention to the construction site behind him.

  What the heck? I called him on his cell phone.

  “Drew, did you just talk to a reporter?”

  “No. What reporter?”

  “On the local news?”

  “Oh, that. That wasn’t live. That happened a couple days ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  “We talked about it last night. Remember?”

  “No, you said Vanessa thought it was a bad idea that we were living together. You didn’t tell me the media was on your case about it.”

  “Calm down. They’re not on my case. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Drew!”

  “I have to go. We’ll talk about it later.”

  I looked at the phone. It then came to me. He must have gone to Vanessa after the reporter had questioned him, and she must have told him then that we shouldn’t be living together. Ugh! Why did he always have to go running to her first?

  Screw it! I don’t care. I was not living with her no matter what anyone said. Even if we had to sneak around. What was this place anyway?

  I had to get outside and get some air. I grabbed the keys to the old red Jeep that looked like it hadn’t been driven in a decade. Sonny barked at me as I walked out the door. He hardly ever barked, so I imagined he was saying, “You go, girl!”

  The thing heaved and sputtered as the engine warmed up, but I hit the accelerator, hoping it would wake up. Great. Here we go, little Jeep.

  I drove down the narrow, bumpy road at roughly three miles an hour. The Jeep was noisy and felt plenty stiff. I had never driven any type of four-wheel-drive vehicle so this was a new experience in many scary ways.

  “Hey!” I looked to the side and Jimmy was waving to me from his front yard. His sitter was gardening and he was holding some type of garden tool next to her.

  I waved back. “Hi, Jimmy.”

  And that was that. He went back to doing his thing. But the sitter did ask how I was doing and where I was going.

  “I have no idea,” I told her.

  She laughed. “Well, have fun.”

  This isn’t too bad, I thought as I eased out onto the lane that led to the main road. The sun was bright, the sky was clear, with a few cumulus clouds scattered about. Colors splashed from earth to sky; it was another day for Matisse to paint. I had to remind myself to keep my eyes on the road; it was so hard not to stare at the wildflowers and fruit trees to the right and left of me. I was driving too slowly. A small car pulled right up on my bumper, I sped up a bit, hoping he would just pass. But this guy rode my bumper for about a mile, much longer than I’d planned on driving. Before I knew it I was on the main road, the wider road, leading into Roseau, the capital. The rude driver in the small car passed me at the first opportunity, making sure to slow down and glare at me before he sped away.

  Well, sorry I wasn’t driving fast enough for you, dude!

  The road was busy. There were teenagers lining the streets, older people sitting at tables playing sidewalk dominoes in the neighborhood of Citronier. Some kids played barefoot near an exposed drain. This was a seaside area with a crop of teeny, weeny houses crowded together like little boardgame towns. The sea was a rocky walk away and I could see teenage boys walking bare-chested to the shore. They looked bored, but happy. Drew had warned me about some of these boys. Dominica had its own problems with drugs and the related violence. But I had to remind him, I’m from Dorchester. These boys did not scare me. Nor did they even give me a second look.

&
nbsp; I continued driving, slowing down to check out the building that housed the one radio station on the island, Dominica Broadcasting Service; the public library that looked like an old plantation house; and the Fort Young Hotel, which I had to say was the closest thing to home with its steady stream of tourists, air conditioning, and the way it seemed to isolate its guests from the real flavor of the island. I never would have experienced the true essence of Dominica if I’d stayed there.

  Then it was on to the waterfront. I stopped at a row of street vendors who were selling souvenirs and other useless stuff that looked pretty and exotic. I bought a pair of earrings; I’d mail them to Ma later. A cruise ship had just docked, and throngs of sunburned tourists disembarked, crowding the waterfront. That sight immediately brought a smile to the half-mile-long row of vendors waiting to sell them everything from dolls wearing traditional Dominican dress, coasters carved out of local wood, native jewelry, and other exotic and not-so-exotic fare. It was exciting, like a huge flea market. I walked around for a bit, absorbing the sounds of bargaining, the smells of suntan lotion and sweat, and the general feeling that all was well with the world—at least in this part of it.

  Maybe because there were so many tourists around I did not feel as out of place. I heard American accents, British accents, and what I thought was German and Russian being spoken. And everyone was so friendly. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  It was Sophie, Drew’s sister. “What are you doing out here?” she asked, smiling her big smile. She was tall and thin and very beautiful. She had four kids but it didn’t show. I wished I had her genes—and could fit into her jeans.

  “Just looking around.”

  We chatted for a bit; then she asked me to go to lunch. I wavered. “I really hadn’t planned on being out for long.”

  “Oh, come on. I’ll introduce you to some people. You need to make friends if you’re going to be staying here.”

  I followed her in the rickety Jeep to a small restaurant in the center of Roseau.

  We walked into a flower-filled atrium with about 50 tables covered by huge umbrellas. Soft reggae music played in the background. A couple of tourists ate lunch near the bar, where a bored bartender read a magazine that looked a lot like The Source.