by Dara Girard
“I didn’t do anything.” Maureen opened up her umbrella and headed to her car. She’d sent the girls ahead with Aaron so that she could be alone to say goodbye to her husband. She wished she’d been kinder and more patient with him, but she had no chance to make it up to him now.
Her mother followed her. “You stole your sister’s life.”
“What life?” Maureen said, wishing she could walk faster, but the wet ground was the enemy of her high heels. “There was nothing to steal.”
“Except the man she loved.”
“I loved him too.”
“You loved his potential, not the man. Stop acting so innocent with me. I gave you life and know every shade of your heart. A heart that has more darkness than light. You can fool everyone, but not me. You knew exactly what you were doing. You stole the man and the destiny that should have been your sister’s, but you couldn’t keep it.”
Maureen approached her car and motioned to the driver, who immediately jumped out and opened the back door.
“I haven’t finished talking to you.”
Maureen sat inside then closed her umbrella. “Yes, you have.”
Tamilla slid in beside her and closed the door. “She’s coming down to see you.” Tamilla smiled at the look on Maureen’s face. “Ahh…yes, that’s a surprise. How long has it been? Fifteen years?”
“Why does she want to see me?”
“To gloat at your despair, I hope.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I know.”
“I was young. I fell pregnant. It was an accident.”
“It was a miracle. What woman carries a child for two years?”
Maureen smoothed down a crease in her black skirt. “I told you I had a miscarriage.”
“Right quick. And made sure not to get pregnant again until you were good and ready.”
“I don’t—”
“You were never pregnant. You trapped him with your lies. Admit that much.”
“Why?”
“Confession is good for the soul.”
“So they say.”
But she didn’t plan to confess anything. She didn’t regret a thing. She’d known she had to find a way out of Jamaica and the poverty she’d been born into. She was not going to live the life her parents had. Especially her mother, a woman who’d borne more children than she could handle from two men she knew of and one she didn’t. Maureen knew she didn’t have school smarts like her sister...but she knew opportunity when she saw it.
“His name is Clyde and he has an uncle in America who wants him to work with him.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“I hope he’ll ask me to go with him.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“He’s ready to settle down.”
“But what about your studies?”
“I hope he’ll let me finish, but he doesn’t seemed too bothered by them.”
Maureen listened with envy. Her sister was going to leave and have a wonderful life away from this wretched life. She was already going to university. She would become a teacher and get a good job. Maureen had no such prospects.
America. She wanted to go to America. She wanted to live the fine life she saw on TV and in magazines. She hated having only three dresses to wear. Ones she had to wash by hand every week. She wanted to know what it was like to have a dishwasher and plates that weren’t chipped and shoes that hadn’t been bought at a jumble sale or out of someone’s car boot.
Seducing him hadn’t been difficult. She knew she was pretty and used her looks. Her sister’s smarts couldn’t compare. He didn’t want to wait, and unlike her sister, she didn’t force him to. They did it in his car. When she told him she was pregnant, he did the honorable thing. She knew he would because she’d chosen him with care. He wasn’t like most men she knew who knocked a woman up, then disappeared.
“What do you mean you’re getting married?” Robin said, stunned, as they sat in the small sitting room of their house.
“But I thought you loved me. I thought we…” She let her words trail away as she stared at his bent head. “I don’t understand.”
“We didn’t mean this to happen,” Maureen said before resting a protective hand on her stomach.
Her sister saw the motion and her eyes widened in horror. “No.”
“Yes.”
Robin surged at her. “You bitch!”
Clyde grabbed her, but not before Robin tore the sleeve of Maureen’s dress and scratched her arm.
“Go, both of you,” Tamilla said. She’d watched the pair with distrust when they’d first asked to speak with her and now her expression was even less welcoming. “The deed is done so go on your ways.”
After a fast wedding, Maureen would leave her life on the island and be free of her past. It would take her sister another ten years before she had the chance. She hadn’t seen her since the wedding of a cousin a few years back. Why did she want to see her now?
“Because of me I got all of us out through sponsorship. We’re all living better lives than we would have.”
“It wasn’t just because of you. I was blessed by God, although you think that you sit on his right hand side.”
“I know I wasn’t your favorite.”
“Did you even love this last one?”
Maureen didn’t misunderstand her. “I loved both of my husbands.”
“Too bad that couldn’t keep them alive.”
17
She’d changed a lot in fifteen years. Become more self-confident and assured of herself. The kind of woman who wouldn’t have let the man she loved slip through her fingers. She’d done well for herself, managing to get a doctorate degree and become a professor. She’d never married. Maureen didn’t know why, but suspected. She didn’t know much about her anymore except what she heard from others.
“Oh yes, did you see the property she bought?”, “Yes, I heard she’s holidaying in Aruba this year.”, “Of course I know she’d gotten another degree.”
And now she was here, in Maureen’s living room. What did she want? An apology? A chance to gloat as her mother said? She wouldn’t make the first move. She’d let her come, her sister would have to do the rest.
“Beautiful home.”
“Thank you.”
Robin picked up a silver framed photo of Catherine. “I was sorry when I heard about—”
“Why are you here?” Maureen asked, unable to pretend anymore. She could plaster on a smile about anything else, the loss of her husbands, her daughter’s upcoming wedding, but Catherine was too raw a wound for her to pretend.
“I didn’t come here to fight, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
She set the photo down. “I’ve hated you for years. And envied you. But I got over it. No, that’s wrong, I should say these last few years changed me. I lost fifteen pounds, changed my hair and decided to start thinking about the future instead of the past. I was offered a one-year tenure at a school in Ghana and that’s why I had to see you.”
“I’m listening.”
“It’s a long shot, I know, but the principal told me that a lot of students come from Nigeria. Many from top families. I may be able to make inquires and find out what the police in Nigeria know.”
Maureen felt tears gathering in her eyes. Her sister would help her find Catherine? She’d forgiven her? Her compassion overwhelmed her. She covered her face and cried.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It’s been a nightmare.”
“I can’t make any promises—”
“Just the fact that you’re here, that you’re willing to do something, means the world to me.”
She took her hand. “Good.”
“What made you change?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“In truth, it was Catherine’s disappearance. Your loss took me back to mine. After Clyde died, I thought I’d moved on. I thou
ght I’d gone on with my life and I’ll admit a little bit of me was glad that you’d lost him just as I had. You stole him from me, and death stole him from you. But it was only after Catherine disappeared that I realized how much I was still raging inside. Raging that you’d married again and were living well with three children you’d had with Clyde. When Mum told me about the loss of Catherine, it made me realize how much nothing is guaranteed. That I wasn’t living. I’d let my bitterness take over. No more. I’m done hating you and him. Or anyone. That’s what made me change.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” Robin said.
“You’ve given me hope.”
“She may not be alive.”
“I know that, but even if I could give her a proper burial that would be something.”
“I’ll do my best to find her,” Robin said, giving her sister a hug before she said goodbye. She believed Catherine was dead, but if her sister wanted to believe otherwise, who was she to stop her. I’ll do my best to find her. Robin got into her silver Lexus and sped down the long driveway, her sister’s mansion becoming a dot in her rearview mirror, unable to stop a satisfied smile, knowing she hadn’t meant a single word.
18
Suburb outside London, England
She wouldn’t have had to beat the little termite if she hadn’t looked at her with such defiance. Elsie tossed the whip she’d used to strike the girl and went into the bathroom to wash her hands.
Such pride had to be shaken, destroyed. She had no right to even glance in her direction, let alone stare at her with eyes so full of rage that she seemed to penetrate right through her. The girl was her property. Why didn’t she understand that? She was nothing without her. Didn’t she provide a roof over her head? Clothes? Food? Was it so wrong to ask for an honest day’s work out of her?
Elsie sat in front of her vanity and took a deep breath. She couldn’t frown, that brought wrinkles. She took another deep breath. In. Out. In. Out. One, two, three…She counted until she reached ten. She had to remain calm. She glanced outside the window. Today the sun peeked through the ever present English clouds, sending a hushed yellow glow to the lush blue carpet and assortment of pink roses displayed in a crystal vase in the corner, a gift from her husband for Valentine’s Day.
She wasn’t a cruel woman. Margarite liked to burn her girl with cigarette butts, Remi hardly fed hers, but she didn’t do that. Elsie knew she was much more considerate. All she asked for was obedience and respect. No…she didn’t ask for respect, she demanded it and the look that girl had sent her wasn’t respectful.
But now she would. Now she would keep her gaze lowered to the ground like the flea she was. And if she dared to look at her like that again, she’d make sure the punishment made her remember.
There was no one to tend to her wounds; the blood soaked the back of her shirt—her skin sticky and raw.
Catherine had never felt so cold. A cold that gnawed at her bones, like a parasite that had seeped under her skin, eaten away her flesh and exposed her skeleton. The tiny space heater in the dark, dank room glowed against the darkness, but the chill of the room swallowed up any warmth, making her shiver beneath the two thin sheets she huddled under. She felt so numb with cold that her body didn’t even have the energy to shiver. She’d shivered the first few days, but no more. And for a moment she thought of an aunt who was Catholic who raged against the sins of suicide and talked about the pit full of fire in glorious detail. For a moment Catherine thought of going there. Thought of how much better it would be to burn than to freeze. Her mind thought that it wouldn’t feel so different when you feel like your skin was being peeled away. Frost or flame, the pain was the same. She was already living in hell.
She’d spent four years with Dr. Bandele and his family in Abuja and Berlin before being given to Mrs. Bandele’s sister in England. England, with its grey streets and grey skies. Wet mornings and cold winters. Winters. Something she hadn’t experienced in years. She once missed the sight of snow, now she feared it. From working for the Bandeles, she’d picked up how to behave in order not to get into trouble. Curtseying, saying ‘yes, mah’, ‘no, mah’ ‘I’m sorry, mah’. She learned their manner and accents, keeping her words short. No one cared to listen to what she had to say anyway. She’d also learned from another house girl, who lived with a widowed grandmother in a hut out back and worked in the kitchen, who to avoid.
“Be careful of the master,” she’d told Catherine during one rare moment when they had a chance to speak at the back of the house. “He’s a carpenter.”
“A carpenter?”
“Yes, de kind of man who’ll rub his body against yours like sandpaper.”
Two weeks later he tried, but didn’t succeed. She got a lashing, but he didn’t try it again and she thought she was safe. And she was, until the eldest son tried the same thing when he came home from university. Her resistance this time caused a bigger ruckus—especially when she scarred his face and arms with her nails—and her actions had caused her to be sent away.
In some ways, Mrs. Salako wasn’t as bad as her sister. In other ways worse. She spoke in a soft voice and never shouted, unlike her sister, who seemed to say everything at the top of her voice, but she had an unpredictable temper. Catherine never knew what would make her angry. Mrs. Bandele never needed a reason. Catherine could always tell when she was in one of her moods. She tried her best to stay out of her way, but that wasn’t always possible. Mrs. Salako ignored her most times, but had more of a nervous energy. As if she always expected someone to slight her. It was known in the family that her sister had gotten the better deal. She lived better, her husband made more and they had three homes and two properties, while the Salakos only had one house and no property to think of and a combined income in the low six figures.
Mrs. Salako hosted many parties, but never seemed to be happy. She was a very insecure woman, reminding Catherine of a girl in her school who did everything to get in the good graces of the teachers even though it made her unpopular.
She hadn’t meant to look at her mistress. She knew she wasn’t supposed to. It was her temper again. It always got her into trouble. But it had seemed so unfair. Emily was such an ugly little girl with her limp hair and round face but she liked her doll. Everyone knew it and her brother had pulled its head off and made her cry. So while cleaning his room, Catherine had made sure one of his prized action toys had shattered to the ground. “Mum! Look what she did. Look what the monkey did.”
“Did you do this?”
Yes, with pleasure. “An accident, mah.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Michael said running into his mother’s arm and burying his face in her arms. “I saw her.”
Elsie patted the back of his head. “Don’t cry. Mummy’s here.” She glared at Catherine.
“Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” Catherine mumbled.
Elsie whacked her on the back of the head. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated a little louder. But that’s when she’d made her mistake. She’d looked at her. A woman as lovely as her daughter was plain. But it didn’t matter, she knew she was a monster.
“You will be punished.”
So she beat her and left her in the dark for two days.
When Catherine saw light again, she could barely stand the sight of the sun, keeping her eyes half-closed against the glare.
“Do you know who I am?” Elsie asked when she found Catherine in the sitting room wiping the table with a cloth in a slow circular motion.
“Yes, mah,” she said taking her time to clean every inch of the table. She’d learned not to hurry. To make each motion mean something, that no matter what the task, it was better than being in the tiny room with one dull light bulb and thin sheets. At least above stairs was warm and she could see the sunshine.
“Not mah,” Elsie said, bristling with irritation. “It’s madam here. I�
�ve told you to call me ‘madam’.”
“Yes, madam,” Catherine said, putting an extra emphasis on the second syllable. She hated her and every time she forced her to use the formal phrase, she added to it. Yes ma-damn you to the corners of the earth. Yes ma-damn all who come after you.
Elsie took a deep breath and started counting aloud, then stopped at ten and looked at Catherine.”Why do you enjoy making me angry?”
“I’m sorry, mah-damn,” that I have to continue to hear your voice or have your stale breath in my face.
Elsie took a seat. “You’re still young I suppose, and need more training. I’m very patient.”
“Thank you, mah-damn.”
Elise gritted her teeth. “Did you clean the kitchen?”
“Yes, mah-damn.”
“Do it again.” She stood, then left.
“You’re getting upset for no reason,” Howard Salako said as he massaged his wife’s shoulders, the sound of her favorite Bollywood soundtrack playing in the background. Although she’d had a long bath, she was still fuming and tense.
“I don’t know why I hate how she calls me madam. It sounds rude somehow.”
“Don’t let it bother you, you can’t get everything after all. Does she do the work?”
“Very well.”
“Then leave it at that. Good help is so expensive nowadays.”
The little girl approached Catherine with a brush and a ribbon. Catherine stared at the objects for a long moment. She wasn’t good with such things. The strands of hair wouldn’t stay together. But the little girl was patient. So while she sat, Catherine told her a story, remembering when her stepmother had done her hair. At times it seemed like only a day ago, other times it felt like decades. She knew time was an illusion. A minute could be a year and a year a minute. It still seemed only minutes ago that she was at home with her family. The girl jumped up when her name was called then turned and kissed Catherine on the cheek before she left.
Catherine wiped the kiss away, knowing it meant nothing. She’d seen the little girl kiss her dog with the same tenderness. They all saw her as a pet. But treated her with less dignity and her heart continued to grow cold. She no longer felt human. She didn’t know the last time she’d laughed or smiled. She’d been caught trying to get past the alarm system. There was also a gate at the front entrance. Escape was futile and even if she did, where would she go? They had her passport. It was a fake. She hadn’t even been able to see the name they’d created for her. She didn’t have a name. Hadn’t been called anything for six years.
