(In loving memory of all those who died on the water.)By Camille Smith
Our shadows stretched far ahead of us, parched, ghostly elongated figures preceding our footsteps on the terra-cotta puzzle pieces sparsely intermingled with tufts of green grass that was the playfield. But this Sunday evening, we couldn't feel the breeze and the silence was deafening, the bird's chirping overpowering any whisper of voices.
We passed zinc fences to stop at a small board shop bridging two zinc fences on the foot of the hill. "We reach," Auntie Pat beckoned to me. We both raised our eyes to behold a tiny house on the hillside, small enough to fit into my living room. A lady moved about by the window, conscious of our presence as she put the chicken in the hot oil.
"Miss Dapple," Auntie Pat said.
She moved to the door, wiping her hands on her jeans skirt as she descended the red- polish covered board steps; a woman whose familiar face had a conspicuous abnormality. I examined her as Auntie Pat embraced her, then I found the abnormality - she had an extremely tiny right ear and only a small portion of her left ear lobe remained, as if it had been cut off or she wasn't born with it.
"Sorry fi hear," she said as she let her go.
"Yes," Miss Dapple replied. Her face seemed a bit brighter.
"Dem nuh find di body yet?" Auntie asked.
"No, it nuh come up yet."
As she answered, my eyes followed the movement of her lips - her tongue was almost white and there was a void where the cornermost section of her bottom row of teeth should have been. After that brief moment of absorbing her appearance, I settled to hear her story.
"Him did cook a pot a bully beef an' flour, then him lef', so mi seh to him - 'wheh yuh a go?' An' him seh him a go ketch fish. Mi tell him fi nuh go down deh cause mi neva like how the water did look. It did look kinda reddish. So mi tun fi go outta road, mi see him wid fork seh him a go dig up worm. 'Weh yuh a go? Lef' it alone!'" she paused. "An' Fishymouth," continuing, "yuh know di lili one-foot bwoy?"
"Eheh," Auntie Pat replied.
"Him did a bother him from morning fi go down a di pond fi ketch fish. Mi go outta road and come back and see him pon water inna one boat and him know seh di boat a leak. So mi seh to him seh him must come back and him seh a di last fish him a go ketch. Mi go outta road then mi hear seh smaddy a drown down a pond, an' mi run through Winsome yard. That time, him head neva go under yet, and who fi save him couldn't save him." She raised her hands to the heavens and dropped them hopelessly.
I looked at her with eyes full of pity - her own eyes overflowing with the bitterness of releasing a mother's grip of love, even for the dearly departed. Auntie Pat hugged her again, Miss Dapple drying white tears from her eyes. I stood, dumbfounded, behind Auntie Pat, strongly overcome by emotion, but at a loss for words. There were words stirred in an insipid alphabet stew, none whole or solid as to depart. Finally, the embrace ended and Miss Dapple said the parting words;
"Mi happy seh yuh come though."
"Yeah man, and yuh will see mi before the funeral too."
"Thanks fi stop by."
"Alright." Auntie Pat and I threaded onwards, passing the hill and gully road that circled the hill. There were more zinc fences, but on this side, the ill-conceived fences were intermingled with mismatched ill-fated boards. We stopped at one of those fences and through the breach in the fence; Auntie peered into the yard. I stood curiously behind her, looking at the little boy with one foot carrying a scandal bag in his hand, returning from the shop. He looked across at us.
"She round a back, she nah go hear yuh."
Auntie straightened up and turned around to him, "call her when yuh a pass."
Moments later, a sun-burned woman approached from the side of her ply-board house, squinting to decipher who the strangers were. She came around to the gate and saw Auntie, "Oh, wah a gwaan Pat, yuh know seh mi neva know a who." Then, pointing to me, "A she mi see first an mi start wonder."
"A mi niece, Veronica first daughter."
"Oh, I see," she said familiarising herself with my face.
"Hello," I said politely.
"Eeeh," Auntie Pat broke in, "yuh hear 'bout Miss Dapple bwoy?"
"Eheheh, him drown Thursday gone," she said dryly, in a slightly remorseful tone. Her face was relaxed in an apathetic perpetual grimace, emphasised by lines in her forehead.
"Mi sorry fi hear, yuh see," Auntie sucked her teeth and shook her head in lament, "especially a nice young man like him."
The woman's face remained unchanged as she looked towards the pond, but Auntie Pat didn't notice.
"Always respectful to him mother, always a do things fi her," she paused, "nice young man."
"Nice young man, oh?" the woman said sarcastically with a dry drag. "Him wouldn't hear and a that cause him death."
"Yuh see when pickney disobedient?"
"A nuh no bwoy, him did big man, 'bout 27."
"Eeeh? Mi neva know."
There was an interlude of silence, as both women took a moment to think. Auntie broke it with the words: "nice young man though."
"Nice young man, oh?" she said for the second time, but even more sarcastically with a frosty undertone with which she continued to speak, "Mi did hear seh him did involve inna some gang a town, and him and dem get inna some problem, that's why him come down. Dem set suppen pon him, 'cause dem even seh if him go back up inna him madda," pointing upwards with a distinctly crooked index finger, "them a come fi him," dropping her hand dramatically.
We both listened intently, not wanting to miss that important piece of detail. Auntie's mouth was covered with her own hand and her eyes took a new perspective at the 'nice young man'.
"Yuh know seh drowning man clutch afta straw?"
"Eheheh," echoing the woman's tone.
"A must suppen them set pon him, 'cause him get bamboo and him wouldn't hold on to it. A suppen dem put pon him, man."
We absorbed the story for a while, then the woman's tone returned to normal. "Since him dead, everybody turn idiot. Jill daughter, round the corner," pointing with her mouth towards her right, "she seh her granny dream to her and tell her seh smaddy a go dead pon di water."
"But see yah?" Auntie Pat laughed out. "A so everybody a go say!"
She lowered her tone again. "An then him madda seh she neva like how the wata did look. She seh it look like blood did deh pon it."
"Eheheh, a so she did a tell mi," Auntie concluded.
We didn't stay much longer with the woman because Uncle Robert was waiting for us at the square, so we departed. On our way out, we looked through the clearing between houses and there were people just staring at the water; the treachery of its sweet allure, of blue skies and fluffy white clouds bordered with verdant plumage gloss over the blood on the water - the pond's triumph over us all.
I looked at her with eyes full of pity - her own eyes overflowing with the bitterness of releasing a mother's grip of love, even for the dearly departed. Auntie Pat hugged her again, Miss Dapple drying white tears from her eyes. I stood, dumbfounded, behind Auntie Pat, strongly overcome by emotion, but at a loss for words. There were words stirred in an insipid alphabet stew, none whole or solid as to depart. Finally, the embrace ended and Miss Dapple said the parting words;"Mi happy seh yuh come though."
