Sometimes I was rewarded with a glimpse of the girl. This wouldn’t happen often. She was kept busy inside the shop and in the rooms they lived in behind it, but sometimes she would be outside with some of the younger children. I learned that her name was Lien. It means lotus. On mornings that I saw her, I just floated through my work. It was like my back didn’t hurt and the cane juice didn’t stick and attract flies to my skin.
In a world where she existed, nothing was ugly.
I started helping her father with odd jobs on my way back home from the cane fields at the end of the day. That shop sold everything — groceries, dry goods, tools, household things. There were always bundles to unpack, things to carry, shelves to stock. I made myself useful. I always worked hard, never asked for anything in return. I was just happy to be around her. My Chinese got pretty good. I taught English to them so they could serve their customers better. Lien picked up English very quickly. She was smart as well as beautiful.
Finally, her father and mother gave their consent and Lien and I got married. Such a beautiful little wedding! A bit of Buddha, a bit of Jesus, lots of love. I was so happy! Helped by my father and his friends, I built us a little house in Georgetown. I had just a little slip of land but I could work, there were fish in the river and we had everything we needed.
My wife and I had a son. Your great-grandfather. Of course he was perfect! Between Lien, her mother and my mother, I had to almost fight to get a chance to hold him. But I didn’t mind. We were growing our family. We were building Guyana. There was nothing ahead of us but good times.
My Lien still helped her parents at their shop from time to time. She took the baby while he was still small. When he started walking and getting into things, my mother was only too happy to look after him when Lien and I were both working.
My son was barely two years old. Lien left him with my mother and went to the shop while I went to work in the field.
We heard a big explosion. It went on and on, bang after bang. We were out in the field. We heard the sounds but had no way of knowing what they meant. I did not know anything was wrong until I saw my mother, holding my son, standing next to a mound of chopped sugar cane.
My wife’s parents stored fireworks in the back of their shop. Something went wrong. The whole shop blew up. My wife blew up with it. My beautiful Lien, my lotus flower, became a star. There was nothing left of her to bury.
I kept on living, one day after another, one breath after another, until my son was seventeen. Then I couldn’t go on any longer. My son was raised. He was a man. I thought he didn’t need me anymore. It was time for me to be with my wife.
So I killed myself.
The moment I did it, I wished I hadn’t.
But by then I was dead.
It was too late to change my mind.
* * *
Hi stops talking, then adds one more thing.
“I thought my boy was grown up at seventeen. But you’re fifteen. You’re still a boy. Maybe my son was still a boy, too.”
Hi shakes his head, sighs a long sigh and slides from the bed to the floor. He rests his arms on his knees and stares at the ground.
In the silence, Jomon takes a closer look at this strange boy.
He sees that Hi is wearing clothes that look like they came from a history book drawing of cane workers. Hi’s trousers are made from some sort of coarse fabric. They stop mid-calf. His sandals are of crude leather with hemp-rope straps. His shirt is a wide-armed tunic also of coarse weave, long and loose.
Jomon notices other things, too, like the familiar shape of Hi’s forehead and the shape of his chin.
Hi said his full name is Hiram Jomon Fowler.
Jomon’s full name is Jomon Hiram Fowler.
10
Gather finally finds some green.
The world outside the museum is a strange one. The air still tastes of the sea and the jungle, like it did when Gather first walked this earth. The air also tastes of bitter smoke and the smells of human beings, the same breed of creature who hunted her down when she was first alive.
Her first day back to life has been difficult. At night, there were shadows she could slip into and walls she could hide behind. When the sun came up, the world filled with humans.
They make so much noise! They put the howler monkeys to shame. The humans also move fast in those hard shells they ride around in.
Gather needs to stay away from the humans. Most of the time, they pay no attention to her. She uses her sitting-still skills to hide in plain sight. Mostly the humans move past her, not seeing her, too busy hunting something else. Now and then a tiny human will point up at her and make some noise, but they get pulled away by a bigger human, too busy to stop and see.
It has been a long, hard day for Gather, trying to find a peaceful place to sit.
Finally, she finds the park.
There is a fence around the park, but that is no barrier for someone as big as Gather. She is over it in a jiffy. Then she is in the trees and the green. The grass is shorter than she remembers it, and the trees are sparser than they should be, but the place is earthy and soft and smells good. There are no cannonball trees in the park, but she finds bougainvillea flowers to eat and water in a pond to drink. She fills her belly, then shuffles into a lovely cool spot under a group of trees and settles in there to rest out of the heat.
Visitors come to the park and stand very close to Gather but they do not see her. They are there to get their picture taken next to the nearby statue of Gandhi, a Guyanese hero because he stood up to tyranny.
They see what they are prepared to see.
They are not ready to see anything else.
11
“Hurry up and wait.”
Jomon hears the words from one of the adult prisoners from down the corridor.
“That’s what court mornings are. Hurry up and then do nothing, for hours and hours and hours. Then hurry up again and come back here and do nothing again, for hours and hours and hours.”
Jomon discovers that this is true. While the little window still shows darkness outside, the officers clang into the lockup, yelling orders to “Rise and shine” and “Get ready for court.” Breakfast is shoved through the bars — one pine tart each. Hi and Jomon are handcuffed with their hands in front of them and then shackled together. They are the first ones loaded into the van. The adult prisoners who also have court dates are loaded in after them.
“Which one of you babies wanted to kill himself?” one of the adult prisoners asks.
Hi nods his head toward Jomon.
The adult prisoner extends a handcuffed hand, and with it, the hand of his neighbor, as close as he can get it to Jomon’s face. He looks like a wild beast, able to chomp Jomon’s head off with one bite.
“I’m glad to see you, son,” he says. “I don’t like anybody, and nobody likes me, but I am glad to see you here this morning. Got that?”
Jomon nods. “Yes,” he says. Then he adds, because he means it, “Thank you.”
Inside the courtroom, Jomon and Hi are put on a bench by themselves. The adult prisoners are made to crowd in together on a separate bench.
Jomon is scared. He has never been in trouble, never even been called down to the principal’s office.
He wishes he’d managed to kill himself when he had the chance.
“No, you don’t,” says Hi, hearing his thoughts.
“Shut up,” says Jomon.
Officer Grant comes over to him.
“Is there anything you want to say to me this morning, Jomon?” she asks.
Jomon finds himself wanting to ask her if she made her kids breakfast again, and what they had, but instead he just shakes his head.
Officer Grant looks at him for a long moment, then leaves him alone.
“All rise,” the bailiff says. Shackles jangle as the prisoners
stand. The judge enters and takes her place. Jomon keeps his eyes down, looking at her only when permission is given for everyone to sit.
The judge is old. Maybe she will be kind, like a grandmother. Maybe she’ll let him offer to pay for the window, write an apology letter to the liquor-store owner, then walk out of the courtroom, back to …
Back to what?
What is there now?
Jomon is so troubled by the question that he misses his name when it is called.
Hi elbows him in the ribs. “Answer her, man. How much trouble do you want?”
Jomon stands quickly, his chains rattling. “I’m sorry, your honor.”
“Are we keeping you from something?” the judge asks.
“No, your honor. Nothing,” he says, then adds a second, “I’m sorry.”
The prosecutor reads out the charges. “This young man was arrested beside the liquor store on Waterloo Street on Friday night, late. He was next to a window that was broken, and evidence was recovered from inside the store that belongs to him. In addition, he resisted arrest and assaulted a police officer.”
“A busy night, young man,” says the judge. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen,” mumbles Jomon.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Fifteen, your honor,” Jomon repeats in a louder voice.
“Don’t mumble in my courtroom, son,” the judge says. “Mumbling wastes my time. If anyone’s time is going to be wasted today, it’s going to be yours, not mine. Understand? Who is responsible for you?”
Jomon has nothing to say to that.
“Are you thinking of mumbling again?” the judge asks.
“No, your honor.”
“Are you planning on answering my question?”
Jomon remains silent. Officer Grant steps forward.
“May I address the court?” she asks the judge. The judge nods. “We have been unable to track down Jomon’s father. His mother is deceased. He has refused to give us the names of any other family members.”
“Jomon, where is your father?” the judge asks.
Jomon looks full at the judge. He can feel his muscles tense.
“Just put me back in jail,” he says. “Just do it.”
He doesn’t know if he is daring her or begging. He doesn’t care. What is the point of him hanging around this stupid courtroom in front of these strangers? No point. They should put him away and let him get on with it.
The judge, the lawyers and Officer Grant talk back and forth, but Jomon stops listening. He sits down, tired of the whole thing, not caring how much his shackles rattle.
In a second the bailiff is at his side and he stands up again.
“Good decision to get back on your feet, young man,” the judge says. “Since you have no guardian here and are unable or unwilling to assist us in finding the person responsible for you, I am sending you to the youth detention center. You will be there until your next court date at least. I suggest you start cooperating before then if you want to be out of custody again before you are eighteen. That’s all. Next case.”
12
Mrs. Simson is sitting on the bench in Gather’s room, looking up at the space where her friend should be standing, willing Gather to come back.
The museum officials must have put her in storage. But how would that explain the footprints?
Her cleaning shift over, Mrs. Simson has nothing to do but sit and wait.
Go home, she tells herself. You’re being foolish. Go home.
But she can’t bring herself to leave Gather’s room.
Her friend is out there and none of the officials seems to know about it, even though they are paid to be responsible.
It is up to her to tell them.
She leaves Gather’s room, locking the door behind her, and climbs the stairs to the chief executive’s office.
Her heart is racing.
She knows the chief executive officer is not God or even the president, but he is the highest person in the museum, and she, the cleaner, is the lowest. Her religion teaches her that all people are equal under heaven. She believes this, but she doesn’t know if the chief executive believes this. She has never talked to him.
Today, she has to. Her friend is missing and something must be done. Who better to know what to do than the top person in the whole museum?
She pulls together all her courage, raises her hand and knocks on his door.
There is no answer.
She waits and she waits.
He might be in a meeting, or sleeping late, or on holiday. He might be in his office and just not answering the door.
Mrs. Simson can’t wait all day.
In her cleaning uniform pocket she always carries a small notebook and a pen. It helps her keep track of cleaning supplies she needs to order and tasks she has to do.
In the hall outside the chief executive’s office, she tears an empty page from her notebook. It takes a moment for her to decide what to write.
Then she has it. Six words that will say it all. Six words that will spur the officials into heroic action to ensure the safety and well-being of her best friend.
Gather has gone for a walk.
She slips the note under the chief executive’s door, feeling proud that she has done what she can.
Then she goes back to Gather’s room. She wants to be there if her friend comes back.
13
Jomon is led away and put into the back of a police car. An officer leans his back against the car and folds his arms.
Foolishly, Jomon tries to open the car door from the inside. Of course it will not open. The officer half-turns around. Jomon sees the smirk on his face.
Nothing to do but sit. At least he is alone. He is disappointed in himself to realize that he is shaking, but he tells himself that this is normal. It’s just nerves.
It’s temporary. As soon as he can, he’ll kill himself, and all of this will go away.
He sits back in the seat and tries to breathe deeply, a calming exercise his geography competition coach taught the team to do before matches. He closes his eyes.
“I thought I was done.”
Jomon jumps in his seat and opens his eyes. That annoying Hi is sitting beside him in the back seat of the police car.
“Go away,” says Jomon.
“You go away,” says Hi.
“Leave me alone,” says Jomon. “I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
“I don’t like this any more than you do,” Hi says. “I was fine to come back and tell you my story, but if I’m going to be fifteen again, I sure don’t want to spend my time locked up in jail.”
“That’s not my problem,” says Jomon.
“Wake up, little boy,” says Hi. “Where you go, I go. Just because you don’t care what happens to you, we all have to pay the price? I told you my story, so smarten up! I don’t want to be going to jail!”
Jomon is about to elbow Hi hard in the ribs when the officers get into the front seat of the car. The officer in the passenger seat turns around and frowns at them.
“We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us,” he says. “Not too long, but long enough. If either of you says one word it will seem like the longest ride of your young lives. Understand?”
Both boys are silent.
“Can I get a ‘Yes, sir’?”
“Yes, sir,” Jomon and Hi reply, glaring at each other.
The officer turns back to the front and looks at them in the rearview mirror. “You two keep glowering like that, your faces will stick that way. You look alike. Are you brothers?”
“No!” they both exclaim.
The officer just laughs and then leaves them alone.
Jomon tries to get his mind ready for what might be waiting for him at the detention center. Then he shrugs it off. Whateve
r detention is like, he won’t be around for long. As soon as he gets there, he’ll start looking for a way to end his life.
“I’m watching you,” Hi reminds him.
“And I’m watching you!” says the officer in the passenger seat. “You open your mouth again, you’ll really have something to watch.”
Hi frowns at Jomon. Jomon frowns back, then spends the rest of the drive looking out the window.
They drive through Georgetown, and Jomon sees people going to the market, old people walking slowly with their toddler grandchildren, tourists looking at street maps. He sees a city full of people not going to prison that day, a city full of people who have no worries, no cares, no sorrows.
“You think you’re the only one with pain?” Hi whispers. “All these people have pain. And they get up every day and do their best.”
The officer in the passenger seat turns around and is about to give them the business but is stopped by the sudden honking of many car horns.
There is a traffic jam. Jomon hears angry shouting.
“We’d better deal with this,” the driver says to the other officer. They pull over to the side of the road and get out of the car. Jomon and Hi watch them head up the road to see what the problem is. They are locked in.
Jomon keeps his head turned firmly away from Hi. He keeps his eyes focused out the window.
Just before the traffic starts flowing again, he catches a glimpse of something large — really large — lumbering away into the trees. It is just a glimpse.
As the officers return to the car and the car drives away, Jomon isn’t totally sure if he really saw anything at all.
They drive out of Georgetown and into the countryside. The houses and shops give way to green fields, stands of coconut palms and mangrove thickets.
Jomon rarely gets to travel. The geography team had one away match, at Patentia Secondary School, but that was not far from Georgetown. Other than that, he is always in the city.
He stares out the window of the police car, wanting the trees and flowers and glimpses of the ocean to settle deep into his brain. It reminds him of Jomonland when Jomonland was alive.
The Greats Page 4
