Here Comes the Sun (32 page)

Word about the reward money spreads. No one knows why there's such a high price to find a scrawny boy who killed a drunk in a bar fight. Macka thinks the money has to do with the development in the area. “Those developers don't want no killah roaming 'bout di place. They want di worthy guests of dey hotel to be safe.”

Some men have already paid a visit to Miss Violet's shack. They ransacked the place looking for Charles. The fact that they came in on a helpless woman means nothing to them; they were looking to fill pants pockets that only knew lint and loose change. They were already imagining the insides of airplanes and the promise of America. So when Miss Violet told them that she didn't know where her son was, they grabbed her by the throat and pulled her hair. One drew a knife and the other one a rope. Her screams were heard only by Miss Ruby, who ran from her shack to find the woman tied up in her bed with cuts on her face.

Thandi is paralyzed with regret. She lies on the bed, curled up under the covers. She clutches the towel she never returned to Charles and sniffs it, trying to inhale the memory of him.

“But is what is dis?” Delores asks, standing over Thandi. “Me leave an' yuh in bed. Me come back an' yuh still in bed. Ah wah do yuh?”

Thandi shifts under the cover, quickly wiping away her tears. “Jus' tired,” she says.

“Tyad? Somebody can tyad so long? Yuh don't have nothing to do now the exams are finished? Get up!” Delores pulls the covers off Thandi. But Thandi doesn't move. “If ah count to tree an' yuh still lay dung, me will geet to yuh. Yuh know how much ah clock ah strike? Yuh have graduation rehearsal tomorrow, don't?”

Delores starts to move around in the kitchen to prepare dinner. Thandi sits up in the bed.

“Bwoy, me ah tell yuh 'bout dem yout' wid no ambition,” Delores says as she slices open the skin of a green banana and drops the skinned banana into the pot. “Membah Violet boy, Charles? Di ole brute who used to come 'roun here fah food? Him deh pon di wanted list now. Ten thousand U.S. dollah.” She whips around from the boiling pot to see if Thandi is listening. “Yuh hear? Ten thousand dollah! Yuh know wah dat can do?” She pauses as though Thandi is obligated to speak. When Thandi doesn't reply, Delores answers her own question. “It can buy we nuff t'ings!” She returns to skinning bananas. “But ah feel so sorry fah Violet now. Di poor woman lose everyt'ing 'cluding all di screws in har head. But I can tell yuh one t'ing, though. If she tell di police where her son is, she will get di money an' have a bettah life. True, true! She will be a rich woman if she send him to prison. Fah all di pain dat boy cause har. But dese hooligans 'roun here so hungry dat dem will t'ief it. Suh she should leave town an' not tell ah soul. See how dey do har wah day? T'ink she would tell dem where him hiding?” Delores peers at Thandi when she whips around again. Her eyes narrow. “I know 'bout you two. John-John saw di both of 'oonuh in Sam Sharpe Square hugging up like lovers. Yuh t'ink me nuh 'ave eyes 'roun here? If yuh know where he is, yuh should call it in. Do it fah all ah we. Yuh know how long ah could use a break? Every single day me bruk me back wid dese damn baskets.”

Her mother is standing still by the stove, harping as if to the shadows that are perched nearby. “If yuh guh pick up wid a street boy, then yuh mus' at least get something out of it. Because what can a dutty, wingworm, gully bwoy who don't even own a pair of shoes do fah you, eh?”

“He's more than just a street boy,” Thandi says when she regains her ability to speak.

Delores whips around. “Oh, suh yuh know where he is.” This is a statement, not a question. Thandi doesn't like what she sees in her mother's eyes. It's a look she has seen before when asked about school and her grades—the image of herself crouched at the table with her books under the glare of the kerosene lamp mounting and mounting in her mother's pupils—a mammoth creature of her mother's lofty goals and dreams. It fills her mother's eyes, expanding the blackness and roundness that reminds Thandi of the look Miss Gracie gets when she experiences one of her holy visions.

“I didn't say that,” Thandi replies.

“Di way yuh talkin' mek it seem suspicious. Yuh talkin' like yuh know where him is. For all I know, yuh coulda see him yesterday an' nuh tell a soul.” Delores's voice is loaded with accusation. “I didn't sacrifice to send yuh to school fi guh pick up wid those types. You become di people you associate yuhself wid—” She pauses, her head shaking and her pointer finger wagging as though to make up for half of what she's thinking. Then the words appear—not the ones she seemed to search for, but new ones generated from somewhere as dark as the shadows from which she seeks counsel. Thandi can almost see them forming, rising from that place of darkness like soot from the inner workings of her mother's mind. Thandi is looking straight up into Delores's face, right up into her nostrils. “Do it fah all ah we, Thandi.” She gestures to Grandma Merle, who is silently resting on her bed. Grandma Merle, who has long been a shadow except for the subtle rise and fall of her chest.

“I have a mind of my own,” Thandi says.

“Yuh know where he is?”

“No, Mama.”

“Yuh know wah ten thousand U.S. dollah can get we?”

“Yes, but I feel responsible.”

“Responsible fah wah?” Delores stands up straight, no longer hovering over Thandi. She puts her hands on her hips. “What yuh sayin' to me?”

“He did it because of me.”

“Wah?”

“Charles fought Clover because of me. I told him that Clover raped me years ago.”

“Clover?”

“Yes.”

“My Clover?” Thandi cringes at the possessiveness in her mother's voice. “Di Clover who used to come 'roun here an' help we wid t'ings 'roun di house? Clover who used to fix up di roof, mek sure seh we nuh get wet when it rain? Clover who guard di place when yuh wutless Uncle Winston lef'?”

“Yes,” Thandi says.

“When was dis?” Delores asks.

“Six years ago. I was walking home from school, an' . . .”

Delores is quiet. She feels for a chair by the kitchen table and sits. The shadows flee back to their corners and crouch, waiting. Delores puts her hands on her head and slowly rocks herself the way Grandma Merle does in her chair. A sound erupts from her belly. It rises up as though through her air pipes, settling deep inside her throat, and stays. “Yuh turning into yuh sistah more an' more every day,” she says in a low, raspy voice. “Jus' like har, yuh becoming a wench, a manipulative, trifling wench!” Delores stands up.

“Mama, Charles was only defending me.”

“Why him need fi defend yuh now if it happen years ago?”

“Because it still affect me.”

Delores comes close to Thandi, her arms open as if to embrace her. Thandi is prepared to rest her head against her mother's big breasts. She's ready to drop her shoulders and let her mother rub them, tell her that it will be all right. That Clover got what he deserved. The embrace is a sweet one—one Thandi had forgotten until now. Her mother's love is as vicious and domineering as her personality. Once it's felt, there is none other like it. Thandi relaxes in Delores's embrace, allowing herself to be rocked back and forth like a baby. But then it's cut short. Slowly, Delores pries Thandi off her and holds her at arm's length. “I want you to come to yuh senses an' turn dat boy in. Everything 'appen for a reason, an' dat was it,” Delores says. “Do it fah all ah we, Thandi.”

“He was defending me.”

“Di devil is a liad. Him kick yuh dung, but it don't mean yuh can't get back up an' use the tool him fling give yuh. What Clover did is history. Something long gaan. So put it behind yuh an' do the right t'ing.”

“Him is a brute, Mama.”

“Shush! Yuh g'wan pay for cursing di dead.” Delores pulls Thandi closer again and rocks her in her bosom. She smells like the green banana she sliced up. She runs her fingers through Thandi's hair as she speaks. “You an' dat bwoy Charles shouldn't mix in di first place. As me say, if yuh guh pick up wid a street boy, then yuh mus' at least get something out of it. Forget 'bout what Clover did. Dat won't set yuh free. Nuff people it happen to an' it didn't kill them. What will set yuh free is money. Don't say me neva teach yuh dat. I send you to school fah good reasons, yes. But is also for you to learn common sense. Yuh t'ink because Charles say him love yuh dat yuh worth something? Yuh t'ink because him say him want yuh dat him mean it? That is not one t'ing him aftah, an' when him get it, him run? What is dis love, eh? You don't know nuttin' 'bout no love. Love is foolish. Yuh eva see love put running wata inna pipe? Yuh eva see love build a roof ovah we head? Yuh eva see love give free education to those children whose parents can't afford school fee? Yuh eva see love full up we cupboard? Yuh eva see love hand we visa so we can go anyweh, far from dis rat hole? What can love do fah you, eh? How yuh g'wan love a stranger when yuh don't even know what love is? Him will jus' tek advantage of yuh an' walk away. Yuh haffi get yuh return in dollahs, not cents. An' besides, who g'wan want a naïve girl like you, eh?

“Suppose him did really want yuh. Could you really love somebody who is an absolute fool when it come on to these t'ings? Somebody who green? Yuh wouldn't want dat, an' neither would he. Yuh giving him everything fah free. Boys like chupid girls like dat. Dey tek one look at yuh black face an' know yuh desperate enough fi spread yuh legs at di first compliment. Dey see yuh true color before yuh tell dem yuh name. Dey know dey can tell yuh anyt'ing an' yuh black self believe it an' accept it, 'caw we so use to getting di leftovers. Who yuh know really love a black girl for more than what's between her legs? Yuh is a pretty black girl, but is my duty as yuh mother to teach yuh dese t'ings. Put somet'ing in yuh head. Chile, yuh know how much yuh coulda get? Ten thousand U.S. dollahs! Dat can tek yuh from here to eternity, pay fah yuh education an' everyt'ing. Use yuh head, chile. Yuh can't place more value on dis boy an' his foolish love over money. If it mean so likkle to you, then you'll lose everyt'ing. 'Membah dis, nobody love a black girl. Not even harself. Now get up an' guh get yuh pay.”

31

T
HANDI GOES OUT TO THE BEACH, WHERE THE BOATS ARE TIED
. Asafa's boat is the brightest one, painted in red, yellow, and green. Over the years it has suffered some wear and tear, rusting on the sides. The letter
A
is missing from Asafa's name. Thandi makes her way to the boat and climbs inside. She sits on the rear wooden seat. By her foot is a white pail that she imagines Asafa used to store the lobsters he caught. From where she sits Thandi looks out at the ocean glistening in the sunset. This must be what Charles sees when he's out here alone. The waves are gentle, rising and falling like breath moving through a living body. The sea is liquid gold as the sun dips on the horizon. One by one the nocturnal insects hidden in trees inside the cove start to sing. The waves get louder in the presence of the new moon. They crash to the shore, their urgency driven by an invisible force. Thandi lies on her back inside the boat and listens to them. They speak to something stirring within her, something raging within her. The water rises and rises until it blurs her vision of the dotted stars above. It trembles at the corners of her eyes, then rolls down her cheeks.

“What color is di sky now?”

Thandi jumps when she hears his voice. She wonders if she's imagining it. But when she blinks, he's still there. She leaps up from the boat and into his arms, breathing in the familiar pawpaw musk mixed with smells of weed and sweat. His face is pressed into her neck. And Thandi thinks she feels something warm and wet. When she pulls back, she wipes his face with her fingers. “If yuh t'ink it blue, look again,” he says. But Thandi is not interested in looking anywhere but at him. She flings her arms around his neck and kisses him. Charles climbs into the boat and they lie together between the seats.

“Yuh came out here to look fah me?” Charles asks.

“I missed you. They're looking for you everywhere.”

“I leave for Kingston in a couple days. I'm only here to say goodbye to all this.” He inhales deeply as if to take in all the air.

“Who yuh staying wid now?”

“Jullette.”

“Jus' be careful.”

“I didn't mean fi kill him.”

“We don't really know if is you cause it. It could be anything. Don't be so hard on yuhself.”

He cups her chin. “It was my fault. I'll accept di responsibility.”

“I want to come with you.”

“Yuh can't come wid me.”

“How will we stay in touch?”

“I will find a way.”

Thandi relaxes into him. She meets his passion with equal fervor, allowing this heat to take over, spread throughout her limbs, her core. The night forms a protective cloak around them. Their bodies move inside the boat like seals trapped inside a net, fighting to free themselves. The agony, the terror, the surrender.

Charles helps her out of the boat. He kisses her one last time before he departs. Thandi holds on to his hand. “I want to come with you,” she says again.

“Not now. I'll let you know when. Right now it's not safe.”

“What about Miss Violet?”

“Jullette will tek care of her. She moving wid har to St. Elizabeth.”

Thandi wonders if he knows what Jullette does to make money. That moving out of Montego Bay wouldn't be good for the type of business she does.

She grips his arms. “Jus' take care of yuhself.”

He kisses her goodbye and leaves her to the sound of the waves crashing.

32

M
ARGOT LEANS BACK IN HER NEW OFFICE. SHE KICKS OFF HER
shoes and inhales. Through the partially open louver windows on her left she can see into the hotel lobby, though no one can see her. Right behind her are the beachfront suites where visitors lie flat on their backs and bellies in the bright sun while maids dash in and out of rooms with mops and linens. The walls in the office are decorated with accolades the hotel has won over the years, most of which were acquired during Reginald Senior's tenure. She's in charge in the interim as Alphonso still scrambles to replace Miss Novia Scott-Henry. It's up to her to prove she can do the job, which will also give her practice for the new hotel. She runs her hands along the wide mahogany table where all the paperwork sits in an orderly fashion, stacked and awaiting her signature. Pens and pencils are kept inside a steel cylindrical holder. Important folders are stacked solemnly inside a drawer at her feet. Margot brings her cheek to the surface of the table.