When Life Gives You Mangos

by Kereen Getten

  I am shocked when Eldorath promptly takes off his jacket, throws it over his shoulder, and heads to the pile of wood. He picks up a long plank, examines it, then throws it onto the good pile.

  He does this alone for a minute while everyone watches. Tired of watching, Calvin joins him, and Eldorath gives him an appreciative smile. Slowly, when it doesn’t seem like he’s going to cast a spell on them, they all go back to what they were doing.

  Papa hugs me. “You did a good thing,” he whispers, watching Eldorath. I look up at him, puzzled. “You did what I couldn’t do,” he says, and there is a quaver in his voice. “You brought him out. You brought the village together. You know, I asked him plenty of times to come to the house and have dinner, but he wouldn’t. He said the neighbors wouldn’t like it. That it would make life hard for us if he came. But you made him come. You did this, Clara.” He turns his back on me and tells me to go continue with what I was doing, and I think it’s because he doesn’t want me to see him tearing up.

  When the day comes to an end, Papa stands on the edge of Ms. Gee’s land, thanking everyone for their hard work as they leave. Eldorath approaches him, looking completely different from the Eldorath who came here this morning. His hat is gone—he gave it to Ms. Gee, who insisted on being here to supervise everyone. His trousers are rolled to his knees, and his sleeves are rolled above his elbows. Beads of sweat fall too fast for him to wipe them all away. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so dirty.

  He shakes Papa’s hand. “You know I have the house,” Eldorath says. He nods toward Ms. Gee under the guava tree. “I’ve told her I want her to stay with me. Her, her daughter”—he smiles over at Rudy—“the delightful Rudy. They can have the upstairs and I’ll stay out of their way. Maybe we could all do with the company.”

  Papa pulls Eldorath into a tight hug, and for a second they stay there before they release each other.

  As Eldorath leaves up the hill toward his house, Pastor Brown approaches Papa. “Is that a good idea, encouraging him?”

  Papa folds his arms across his chest and opens his mouth to say something, but I butt in, “You’ve been making stories up about Eldorath for years now, Pastor Brown, and he hasn’t said one bad thing about you. You’ve said he’s the devil, he’s evil. And all he’s ever said is that he wants things to go back to the way they were before, when everyone came to his house for parties and no one thought he was a monster. He could have been angry with you for the lies you told about him, but he isn’t. Even after everything, he wants to be part of this village, and I think that makes him a better person than any of us, don’t you?”

  My heart is beating fast, but I can’t hide the pride I feel in myself. Rudy beams and gives me a thumbs-up. I said what I wanted to say, but I didn’t get mad. I didn’t run away.

  Papa nods to me without looking away from Pastor Brown. “What my daughter said.”

  TO OUR SURPRISE, MS. GEE AGREES to Eldorath’s offer in the only way that Ms. Gee could. “If I spend another day here, I might die of food poisoning.” Mama doesn’t take offense, though. I think she is glad to see the back of Ms. Gee.

  We take her up the hill, along with Rudy and her mom. When we get there, Eldorath is shocked to see us all, even though it was his invitation that brought us up here.

  “Well, are you going to make us stand here all day?” Ms. Gee demands. Eldorath moves aside and lets us in.

  “I wasn’t expecting you all so soon. It’s not ready for visitors.” He apologizes, taking us into the sitting room with the piano. I watch Mama and Rudy’s mom as they look around the rooms in awe. Ms. Gee breaks the silence: “It smells dusty in here. don’t you clean? Open a window, open the doors, let some breeze in here.”

  Eldorath is reduced to a child being told off by his mother. He runs over to the door that leads out onto the balcony, pulls the curtains aside, and opens it. A stream of sunlight explodes into the room.

  Now it’s no longer a dark, haunting room. The sun hits the chandeliers, making shapes that dance on the ceiling. Eldorath grabs a chair at Ms. Gee’s orders so she can sit outside and enjoy the sun.

  I follow Eldorath as he rushes into the kitchen to make drinks. His back is turned when I lay the letters on the kitchen table. When he turns with a glass jug in hand, he stops short. He looks from the letters to me. Slowly he places the jug on the table and rests his hands on either side of the stack.

  “You collected Ms. Gee’s letters, didn’t you? You read them to her.”

  A small smile pulls at his lips. “How did you know?”

  I hear footsteps, and it is Rudy and Calvin joining us. Rudy picks up the letters and flicks through them.

  “Calvin said that if it were any of us, we would all know, and he’s right. Nothing happens in Sycamore. Nothing exciting. If Ms. Gee was getting letters from America and one of us knew about it, all of us would know.”

  Eldorath reaches across the table for Rudy’s hand. “I tried to get her to respond. In the end, I had to do it for her.”

  Rudy looks up from the letters. “You wrote the letter inviting us here?”

  Eldorath nodded. “Enough families have split on this hill, and all for what? For rumors? Hurt feelings?”

  “So you’ve been visiting Ms. Gee this whole time?” Calvin asks, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “When?”

  Eldorath walks to his fridge for some water and ice, then pours them into the jug with a packet of Kool-Aid.

  “The same day I go to the market, I get my mail and hers. In the evening when everyone is home, I walk down and I sit with her.” He stirs the mixture with a large spoon. “Sometimes I read her letters, sometimes I read her a chapter from the Bible.” He glances over at our baffled faces. “Sometimes we talk about friends who haven’t moved on.” He grabs a silver tray and places the jug and some glasses on it. “Now help me take these in, will you? I have guests.” His face is beaming with pride.

  * * *

  —

  “You know, your father would throw some parties up here,” Ms. Gee says, breathing in the fresh wind that none of us get farther down the hill. Rudy’s mom sits on the wall, admiring the view, and I think I see her holding Ms. Gee’s hand.

  When I ask Rudy if Ms. Gee likes her mom now, Rudy beams, saying ever since her mom backed Ms. Gee at the party, Ms. Gee has been speaking to her more and more.

  “I think she might like us,” Rudy says, and I think she might be right, because Ms. Gee never lets anyone touch her without saying something about it.

  “The entire town would be here, women in their best dresses, the men in their tailored suits,” Ms. Gee says, waving her arm around. “The music, the dancing…they don’t make them like that anymore.” I move outside to listen. I’ve never heard Ms. Gee talk so excitedly about anything. There is almost a smile threatening at the edge of her lips, but I could be wrong.

  “A bit of cleanup and you’ll be back there again. And by cleanup, I don’t just mean the dust.” She points to her temple, and Eldorath chuckles.

  Eldorath tells me, Rudy, and Calvin to offer everyone sandwiches and the Kool-Aid he made. Papa is already tucking in and Mama has just offered to make Ms. Gee a plate when there is a loud knock at the front door.

  Eldorath looks up, startled. As if sensing his fear, Papa offers to go and see who it is. We all follow except Ms. Gee. Papa opens the front door to find Pastor Brown, Juliette, and Uncle Albert, along with most of our neighbors, standing on the doorstep.

  “Barry,” Papa says, surprised. I feel someone take my hand, and it is Eldorath. “What can we do for you?”

  Pastor Brown looks at me, then behind me to Eldorath. “Well,” he says in that big sigh that Pastor Brown does when he’s about to say something he thinks is important. “A very wise person told me we haven’t been good neighbors, so we are here to rectify that.”

  My heart fills, and I
feel as though I am about to burst. I look at Eldorath and he is in disbelief. He looks at me, then at Papa, his eyes wide.

  “Well? Can we come in?”

  We all turn to Eldorath. Pastor Brown wants to make amends, but it’s up to Eldorath whether he wants to accept the offer. He is the one who has been suffering, after all. “Yes, yes.” Eldorath ushers them in.

  I see Pastor Brown nod in relief, and they enter. He opens his arms to Eldorath, and I hold my breath. Eldorath cautiously accepts his hug, and Pastor Brown pats him on the back, asking if they can see the house. Eldorath shows them around. The sitting room, the kitchen, the closet filled with clothes. At first, they are quiet and Eldorath is hesitant. But by the time they enter the closet, the house is filled with chatter as they remember the parties Eldorath’s father would hold.

  When they return to the sitting room, they are laughing about the trouble they would get themselves into in this house.

  “We would have all sorts of adventures,” Papa chuckles. Everyone gathers on the balcony with Ms. Gee, and the chatter slowly fades as they all look out into the overgrown garden that has been neglected for years.

  The air feels heavy with guilt and unsaid words.

  “I do love a party,” Eldorath sighs, breaking the silence, and it’s as if that’s all they have been waiting for.

  “Well, I’ll need some help to cut the grass,” Papa says.

  Uncle Albert volunteers to get his tools.

  “I can make my special cake,” Juliette says in the meekest voice I have ever heard from Juliette.

  “I can take care of the supplies,” Pastor Brown says.

  I slip one hand into Eldorath’s, and with the other I take Rudy’s. “We’ll decorate the house.”

  “And the theme?” Eldorath adds. “We need a theme.”

  Without thinking, I blurt out, “Seventies American fashion. Seventies for you, Uncle,” I say to him, “and American because that’s what Gaynah would have wanted.”

  It is the first time I have said her name out loud in front of them all. There is a moment as everyone takes this in. I know they are thinking about Gaynah, but no one says a word. No one has to; we are all thinking the same thing. It was a year ago that it all happened, and somehow it feels like it was yesterday. It’s as though by saying her name out loud, we are finally letting her go, and now the hill can move on.

  IT’S EARLY WHEN PAPA WAKES ME. The sun isn’t even up. It’s still dark outside. “Clara, wake up. We’re going on an adventure.”

  I stare at him, bleary-eyed. Last time we went on an adventure, Bishop Mason told me I was crazy. Papa yanks the covers off me. “Come, it’s a long drive.”

  Papa has borrowed Pastor Brown’s car again, only this time there is no Mama, just me and Papa. When we reach town, he doesn’t drive straight through the traffic circle like we did last time; he turns left along the west coast, and that’s when I finally believe we are not going back to the city. He says he has a stop to make first, and he parks outside his friend’s beach bar, which isn’t a beach bar anymore but just an empty space.

  The sand has been cleared, and you can’t even tell Milo’s bar was ever there before the storm. Papa shakes his head, looking around for Milo, and we spot him where the boats are always moored in the sand. When we get closer, we see that only the expensive boats have survived the storm. A mango tree has fallen on the storage hut where Milo and a few other people keep their boats. He and a few fishermen are chopping the tree up branch by branch so they can get to their boats.

  Papa runs to join them, digging through the layers of mounded sand and fallen branches. I try to help as much as I can, collecting small branches and scooping sand to one side. After an hour the damage is clear to see. The boats are irreparable. It’s impossible to tell that they were even boats to begin with. The damage sustained by the bigger boats, shifted from their positions as the storm tried to take them out to sea, is nothing compared to what happened to Papa’s and Milo’s. Now they are just broken pieces of wood lying flat in the sand.

  “So, we build again,” Papa says, breaking the silence as they all mourn the loss of their boats.

  Milo nods with a sigh. “We build again,” he agrees.

  Papa pats Milo on the back. “Together.”

  I know Papa doesn’t have the money to build a new boat, but he will beg favors from builders who know and trust him. He will offer them lobster for Christmas, or Mama’s special peppered prawns, in exchange for supplies.

  When we get back in the car, the mood is more somber. Papa stares vacantly at the road, his elbow on the door.

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” I say, knowing full well how much it hurts him every time a storm damages his boat.

  He sits upright. “It’s just stuff,” he says. “The main thing is, we are all okay.” He reaches over to the radio and switches it on. Koffee’s “Toast” blasts into the car. Papa bangs the car door in appreciation. He leans his head back on the seat, singing at the top of his voice, and I join him, screaming the lyrics, arm out the window riding the breeze as we drive along the empty road.

  An hour later, we slow down just before entering Bridgewater, a tourist town known for its long sandy beaches. Papa turns onto a small road that leads to the beach, and I sit up straight. Bridgewater gets busy this time of year. People come from all over the world for a week of surfing competitions.

  The sun has just risen by the time we park on a small dune packed with cars. I jump out before Papa even has time to put the brakes on and run to the top of the dune. The beach is packed with surfers and spectators.

  A man sits on a lifeguard post with a microphone, commentating on the surfers out in the water. I think I might pass out with excitement. I don’t know where to look first, there is so much going on.

  Papa joins me. “They have a few amateur competitions,” he says. “Nothing too serious, just enough to wet your feet. I put your name down for the juniors.” When I don’t answer, he shakes me. “You okay?”

  I nod, then shake my head. I don’t know. This is all too much. “They tell me we can rent boards on the other side of the beach that are a little better than the one you have at home, and you need a new suit.” He checks his watch. “Your race is in twenty minutes.”

  I keep asking Papa if this is real. Then I ask him to pinch me so I know for sure.

  “I’m not pinching you, because you’ll cry and tell your mother.” Instead, he pulls me into a hug, and I rest my head on his chest.

  We come to a small hut with a straw roof. It is filled with people looking at boards. Papa takes my hand and forces his way through the crowd. At the back of the hut is a row of wetsuits. Papa tells me to pick one while he taps a long-haired guy on the shoulder. “Sir, my daughter needs a board. Not just any board, the coolest one you have.”

  I choose a fish board with pink squiggles all over it because it reminds me of Rudy. It will be as though she is with me. Rudy would love to be here. She would be screaming at the thought of me surfing. I wish she were here to see me. I wish they all were.

  I drag my board proudly along the sand, talking nonstop to Papa about what I’m going to do in the water. We stop by some beach chairs, and only then do I notice that everyone from Sycamore Hill is there, even Ms. Gee. I gasp as Mama hugs me, then Pastor Brown and Calvin, Rudy and then Eldorath. I am so happy to see him, I bury my head in his chest.

  “What are you all doing here?”

  “Well, your father said you had a little talent to show us,” Eldorath says, and he is smiling.

  “You’re our daughter too,” Pastor Brown adds. “We will support everything you do.” His voice stumbles a little.

  Mama and Juliette fuss over me, Mama fixing my wetsuit and shorts while Juliette braids my hair away from my face. Calvin helps me wax my board, and Rudy joins him. Neither of them says anything, but as we wax silentl
y, we share this moment. Rudy nudges me and gives a small squeal, which starts Calvin chanting my name under his breath. Rudy joins him, and they both quietly chant my name while we wax the board.

  I wave them away bashfully. “Stop.”

  The guy on the microphone announces the start of the junior amateurs, and my heart skips a beat. I feel a little sick. I’ve never surfed in front of an audience before, and this will be my first time getting on a board since last year.

  Papa helps me to my feet. “Look how far you’ve come.” His lips twitch.

  “Papa…”

  “I’m not crying,” he says, but I’m not convinced. I look over his shoulder at a group of juniors gathering.

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, Papa.”

  I take my board over to where a boy and a girl are waiting for their turn. I stand behind the girl with short twisted hair. It’s been a while since I spoke to someone new. Someone who doesn’t know my past.

  Part of me wants to turn and run back to Papa and Rudy, where it’s safe. Another part of me desperately needs this, to start fresh. I take a deep breath and tap her shoulder.

  I wave. “Hi, I’m Clara.”

  The girl smiles. “I’m Bridgette.” She taps the boy in front of her. “This is my brother Paulton.” The boy, who is at least a foot taller than both of us and has short dreads, gives me the shaka sign of hello with his thumb and a pinkie.

  “I haven’t seen you around here before,” Paulton says. “You new?”

  “I surf with friends in Sycamore,” I tell him. Does he need to know one of my friends was a ghost and I’ve only just said goodbye to her? Not yet.

  “Cool,” he says. “I’ve done most of the island, but not Sycamore. Are the waves good?”

  Before I can answer, my name is called. I tell them we’ll talk later, and something feels good about saying that. They both pat me on the back, wishing me luck.

  As I run toward the water, I can hear Mama and Papa cheering me on. I blow out air to calm my nerves, wading into the water, trying to block out the emcee’s commentary.