Shine, p.5
Shine, page 5
Suddenly we were standing outside on the pavement. Outside.
I found myself gasping. I’d been holding my breath without realizing it. I clung to Mother’s hand so hard that she bent down to kiss my little fist, stroking it until I loosened my grip.
I remember the smell of earth drying, the warmth of steam rising from the road. I remember the empty sky which looked strange without its canopy of restless grey cloud.
The absence of the rain’s monotone made every other sound sharp and crisp.
The world was suddenly echoing with a thousand separate noises. I could hear every clunk and click and twitter, every hiss of breath, every doggy whimper, every scrape of a chair leg.
And how the sun shone, hard and white in a flat blue sky.
Mother tugged on my hand and we began to walk.
She took me down the path to the promenade and the beach. The midday heat pressed against my skin. I made faces, puffing out my cheeks and working my lips against its warm weight. It was strange. It was delicious.
The beach lay broad and white beyond the promenade, the sea swishing invitingly in the distance. I looked up at Mother and she nodded, laughing.
We raced out onto the beach, leaping and twirling on the soft sand. We took off our sandals and chased each other where soft waves licked at the beach, smoothing it down. The wet sand sucked at our toes and we laughed some more.
So much space, so much air! I raced ahead of Mother, head thrown back, feeling the breeze in my hair. I could have run and run and never stopped.
Mother followed, swinging our sandals in one hand as I skipped in and out of the waves, exclaiming at every splash, stopping to examine every pebble, every squiggle of seaweed, every clamshell in the sand.
I held my arms out at the sun, the better to feel the heat. But then the heat began to prickle, and then to burn. I found myself trying to shield my arms from the sun with fingers spread wide like fans.
Mother took my hand and hurried us into the shade of nearby coconut trees.
And there in the cooling shadows, I had my next big surprise of the day.
People.
So many of them, walking and talking under blue tarpaulins tied to the swaying coconut trunks.
There were rows of tented stalls beneath the ranks of trees, with ropes of onions, garlic and other tantalizing stuff strung above baskets and tables laden with colourful goods.
So many things! So many people!
I felt like I was suddenly surrounded by an army of soldier ants. I huddled behind Mother’s skirts.
But Mother gently urged me forward, taking my hand.
We walked slowly past the stalls, watching the people surreptitiously, and admiring the things that peeked like promises from the baskets, marvelling at the colours of everything.
We were standing next to a stall hung with splendid bouquets of chilli peppers when Mother’s head suddenly snapped up.
I whirled round, trying to see what she had seen.
She straightened up, a flush suddenly blooming under the brown skin. She put her hands on my shoulders and stood me next to a basket of woven hats. Her eyes were glowing, excited.
Wait here, she signalled. Back soon. She flashed me a big smile and waved as she hurried out of sight behind another stall.
I waited, quite happy to stare at the hats in the basket, thinking about the beach and the waves and all the things we had just seen and done in the sunshine.
The minutes ticked past.
And then it was as if time began to sag. My neck itched and I fingered the scarf round my neck. The sea breeze didn’t blow here under the tarpaulins. It was too hot.
Worry began to gnaw.
Where was Mother?
Looking up, I could only see the flapping green of the tarpaulins, the faces of strangers, the blue of the sky in the gaps between the stalls.
And then I noticed the khaki uniform beside me. A policeman fingering the leather straps of his holster. He seemed anxious, full of dread, staring at the blue sky, shaking his head, frowning.
He caught sight of me and smiled. ‘Are you lost, little one?’ His brown face was kindly under the peak of his hat.
‘Are you lost?’
I continued to look around for Mother, panic now fluttering like a trapped sparrow in my chest.
The policeman bent down so that his face was level with mine. ‘Are you looking for your mama?’
I nodded.
‘There’s a police station just around the corner. That’s where your mama will go looking for you. Shall I take you there?’
My fear dissipated. He was right. Mother would be looking for me, frantic with worry. He could help me.
But as I reached to take the policeman’s outstretched hand, the scarf Mother had so carefully arranged round my neck slipped down.
And he saw.
‘Oh my God.’ He breathed out the words, his face grey. He snatched his hand away and his other hand suddenly clamped onto the pistol holstered at his hip.
I didn’t hesitate. That look on his face. The sudden electricity that jangled between us. His terror. I recognized the danger immediately. In that moment I understood with a fearful clarity why Mother and I never stepped out of the house.
I ran.
I could remember every line on the policeman’s brown face, the way he was suddenly grinding his teeth, the way his eyebrows disappeared into his hat as his eyes grew wide with horror.
As I ran, I waited to hear the bang from his pistol, waited to feel the thud of a bullet in my back.
And behind me the shouts multiplied and soon I could hear the baying of excited dogs.
I heard the shouting in the distance, felt the trickle of sweat down my back, my heart pounding in my chest, every intake of breath scalding my lungs as I ran for my life.
And then my legs buckled under me, unable to carry me any further. With one last burst of energy, I threw myself behind a tall basket, crouching low, my fists against my mouth to silence my sobbing.
There was a touch on my shoulder and I stifled a scream.
But the woman peering down at me only gestured. ‘Quick, little one, this way,’ she mumbled. She wore a shawl that covered her mouth, muffling her voice.
I tried to stand but my legs folded under me like broken straws. I was so tired that my breaths were coming in little gasps.
The woman reached down to pick me up, and as she wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug, the shawl over her mouth dropped.
I stared.
Her top lip was split, like someone had taken a pair of scissors and snipped it to reveal the teeth below.
‘It’s OK,’ she whispered, and there was something in her tone that made me believe her. Everything was going to be OK. She lifted me up and I clung to her, thinking of Mother.
‘Shh, it’s all right.’ She stroked my back and jiggled me a little like a baby she was putting to sleep. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart. Everything is going to be all right.’
She carried me behind her stall, which was packed with baskets of every description. Looking quickly over her shoulder, she lifted me up and into a tall narrow basket with a domed lid on a hinge. I huddled down deep in the hot, airless wicker.
‘Sit quietly.’ She put her finger to her lips. ‘Not a sound now.’
I nodded, putting my thumb in my mouth so that it wouldn’t make a noise.
She fitted the lid over me. The sudden darkness was comforting, with only thin milky strips of light seeping through the weave. I could just about see through to the world outside. Mother, where are you?
The thunder of running feet came closer. The men breathed noisily, like the herds of horses on a nature programme I once saw. They were so close I could smell the odour of their sweat as they ran past the entrance of the stall.
Khaki legs entered. ‘Did you see her?’ It was the policeman who had wanted to help me until my scarf had slipped. Only this time his voice had lost the soft edge of kindness. ‘A child. With the marks of the Calm on her neck.’
I could not see the woman, but her voice was muffled so I knew she was keeping her split lip covered. ‘Oh, no! Oh, my goodness, is that what you are all running around for?’
‘Did you see her?’
‘No. I didn’t see her.’
The khaki legs scissored away quickly and I heard him shouting to the others. ‘You! Check behind those stalls. You! Try that side of the market. We mustn’t let her get away.’
I wondered that he could not hear the loud knocking of my heart.
Then the khaki legs returned. They were so close I could have poked a finger out of the basket and touched his knee.
‘Sister, may I trouble you for a glass of water?’
‘Of course you may, officer.’
And I listened as the woman oh so slowly poured water into a glass.
‘I thought she was a lost child. I was about to take her to the station.’ I could hear his thirsty gulps, his lips smacking. ‘Luckily I saw the marks on her neck. God saved me.’ His hands made the sign of the cross across his chest. Then there were more water sounds. When he finished, he sighed a long sigh. ‘You know the stories. If the rains stop, look out, demons become bolder.’
‘And what are you going to do with her when you catch her?’ The woman’s voice was casual, as if she was discussing the price of rice.
The man did not answer. I could hear gulps as he drank more water.
She tried again. ‘What will you do to the child?’
‘It’s not a child, miss. It’s a thing. Dangerous. They can take all shapes.’
‘So what will you do with . . . it?’
The policeman’s voice, when he finally answered, sounded slightly offended. Like the answer was too obvious.
‘What would you do if you caught a monster?’
11
WHAT WOULD YOU do if you caught a monster?
The words echoed in my ears as I crouched in that basket watching fearfully through the slats of the wicker.
I slept a bit and in my dreams, the terror continued. I was awakened by the basket’s lid being swept aside and the bright light of a single kerosene lamp in the darkness.
‘Come on out, sweetheart.’ It was my rescuer, stroking my hair with her fingers.
But I couldn’t move. My soft five-year-old bones felt like they had hardened to brittle sticks. How long had I been hiding? It could have been minutes and it could have been hours.
She lifted me out gently and I whimpered.
The woman held me close, her cheek against mine. Her scarf dropped away, baring her disfigured lips, but I didn’t care, cuddling up to the comfort of her, the kindness.
Night wrapped the market now, with only the occasional snuffle of faraway animals and the strident roar of the occasional motorbike.
A tarpaulin fell over half of the doorway. There was a street light outside, and over the woman’s shoulder I could see that rain had begun to fall.
Something moved in the shadows outside and I jumped out of her arms, edging up to the doorway, ready to run again.
‘Shh,’ the woman called behind me. ‘Everybody’s gone. There’s hardly anyone here.’
But the thing in the shadows outside continued to advance. Suddenly I was aware of a heat in my face, in the palms of my hands and in the base of my spine. No, not heat because an icy coldness was welling around me. Electricity. It spread all over me like a thousand swarming insects making me squirm.
The shape resolved into a human shape and I held my breath.
The figure stepped into the yellow light pooling under the street lamp.
It was Mother.
To this day I remember that moment. It’s as if everything slowed down, down, down. Mother, Mother, Mother, my mind murmured. She stumbled a little, rubbing a hand over her eyes. Her hair fell in an untidy sheet about her face. She looked tired and confused.
Mother, Mother, Mother.
I remember the relief that surged through me, I can still feel the lifting of that terrible cloud of fear, of anxiety, of hopelessness. I should have cried out. Run to her. But I didn’t move, did I? Instead, I watched, transfixed.
She didn’t stop. Kept walking.
And then I did cry out. Tore myself from the doorway. Ran outside.
But Mother had disappeared. I hurried up the path and peered down an alley between two stalls.
Where had she gone?
How had the market which was teeming with people just an hour before become so empty? Only shadows moved in its labyrinth.
I blinked, suddenly unsure about what I’d seen.
At that moment the wet air hardened and suddenly great sheets of rain came crashing down, slicing through the gaps and causing the tarpaulins to flap against the bending trunks of the coconut trees.
The woman rushed out and took my hand. ‘Quick, little one, come back in here. Look, I got you some food and water while you were asleep.’
I followed her back into the stall, the mention of food awakening parts of me I’d forgotten about. I’d had nothing to eat or drink for hours. My tummy growled like a desperate little beast, and when the woman produced a bottle of water I grabbed it and drank greedily.
Then she handed me a plastic fork and a polystyrene carton full of noodles. I was so hungry I dropped the fork on the ground and ate with my fingers.
‘I went to buy this while you were asleep. I was afraid you might wake up while I was gone and wander off! I was so relieved to see you were still here. It’s not safe for you out there, little one,’ she said. ‘Eat, eat! I will keep watch.’
My saviour left me to eat and stood by the doorway, staring into the darkness. Listening.
‘Child, child!’
She was suddenly snatching the box of noodles from me, sweeping me up into her arms. The bottle crashed to the floor, water spilling everywhere. ‘Someone’s coming,’ she hissed. ‘Hurry! Into the basket!’
But panic made my legs flail and the tall basket tipped over and the woman fell on her knees trying to right it and I got in the way and then it was too late because there was someone standing in the doorway, staring at us.
She put me down and pushed her body in front of me like a shield.
‘Rosa?’
It was Father. A long shadow fell over his face. As he entered, it slid slowly over him like a dark veil until at last I could see his haunted blue eyes. They were wet with relief.
I threw myself across the floor into his arms.
‘Oh, Rosa.’ He buried a stubbled chin in my neck and I felt the prickle of his tears as he held me tight.
I craned over his shoulder, expecting Mother to follow close behind. Where was she?
Father bowed his head. He tried to put his arms round me. But his silence frightened me. Something was wrong.
I struggled to look into his face but he turned it away like he wanted to hide something. When he finally looked down at me, his blue eyes were deep and dark, like bottomless, drowning wells.
‘Rosa, I don’t know how to tell you this.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Kara . . . your mother . . . she’s had an accident.’
Accident? The word made my tummy coil into itself.
Father’s face was pale in the dim light. He got to his feet, his face slipping back into the shadows. ‘She was hit by a car this afternoon. It was bad, Rosa. Very bad.’
I felt the woman’s touch on my shoulder and somehow my hand crept into hers.
‘They brought her into the hospital. They fetched me from my clinic and took me to Emergency but by the time I got there, she was . . .’ His face crumpled, and he turned his face so that a long, black shadow cut across his face. ‘She only just managed to tell me that you were here in the market before she . . .’
Even now, nine years later, I can still remember the soft patting noises the rain made on the tarpaulin above our heads, the spreading gloom inside the market stall.
‘She died, Rosa.’
Died?
I frowned.
Mother died?
How could that be? I just saw her! Felt her! Didn’t she just walk past?
Father reached for me. ‘I . . . I was so afraid something had happened to you too!’
But I pulled away, throwing my arms round the woman who had rescued me. I buried my wet face in her neck. The woman – and yes, it was Yaya – held me for a long, long time as the weather outside thickened.
Father stood and watched, hunched and suddenly old.
I felt sorry for him.
But the thought that kept whirling around in my head was this: Was he lying about Mother? I saw her. How could she be dead?
12
THERE WAS NO wake, no funeral service.
A few days after that terrible night, Father carefully wrapped my neck in a scarf and put me in the car.
We drove into town. He parked in front of a building, rolled up all the windows and made me promise to keep the doors locked while he went inside.
When he came out minutes later he had a small box in his hands.
It was filled with cinders. All that was left of Mother.
‘Do you want to hold it, Rosa?’
I didn’t say anything but he carefully put it on my lap.
It was heavy. Once, in the garden, I’d tried picking up a brick. It was so heavy that I dropped it on my foot, and afterwards I sat on Mother’s lap crying for hours.
That was what this felt like. Like a heavy brick. How could it be so heavy if Mother was all burned up?
I turned to Father. That night, I signed. I saw Mother’s ghost.
Father bowed his head. He didn’t look at me when he replied, ‘Yes, so you told me. It was dark, Rosa. That wasn’t Mother. She was in hospital by that time.’
I shook my head and my hands slammed the air emphatically. I SAW MOTHER.
‘Yes, well,’ Father muttered.
I folded my arms across my chest and Father took the box of ashes off my lap and put it in the boot of the car.
Father told me that Mother had always wanted her ashes scattered in the ocean.
She loved the thought of her soul joining the sea, he said, eyes down on the floor. ‘She was romantic about it. And the way she described it, it sounded amazing.’
And then he described it the way Mother had. In sign language. His hands floating and stirring the air, painting a picture of the endlessly moving sea, the creatures living in it and Mother’s soul with them, never to be lonely ever again.
