Josephine Against the Sea Page 4

  I am terrified. “Daddy, you having a nightmare!” I climb onto the wet bed and wrap my arms around him. He smells different … not of the aloe vera soap he scrubs with, or the sharp smell of dead fish after he comes home from the sea. It’s like a combination of salt, seaweed, and musty socks. It’s not unpleasant, but for some reason, it makes me uncomfortable.

  Soon, Daddy’s breathing goes back to normal, then he starts to chuckle.

  “I supposed to be the parent, not you.”

  “We can switch every now and again, Daddy,” I reply.

  I’m lying. I don’t ever want to see my daddy scared like this again. I don’t want anything to hurt him ever again.

  Daddy lifts me off the bed and I wince. I’d forgotten about the cuts on my elbows. I can’t even call them cuts. Only the dark outer skin is missing. They’re like white dashes with a few dots of blood.

  “What ’appen?” Daddy asks, noticing my reaction.

  “Nothing,” I reply quickly, pulling my nightgown sleeves over my elbows. Daddy would be so upset if he knew I’d hurt myself trying out for cricket again. The scrapes are more painful than I expect but it’s no biggie. I’ll rub ointment on them later.

  Daddy yanks away the sheets and struggles to pull a suitcase from under the bed. It’s full of clean sheets and towels. His closet is still filled with Mum’s clothes, so there’s not much room for anything else.

  “What were you dreaming about?” I ask, curious. Was it zombies? Vampires? Spinach?!

  “I—I—I really don’t remember,” he says, taking the drenched pillowcase off the pillow. “I know I was cold”—he pauses—“and I was crying out but I didn’t ’ave a voice. I remember fangs …” His voice trails away.

  Dracula strikes again. Or maybe the soucouyant?

  If a witch and a vampire were to have a baby, I imagine it would grow up to become a soucouyant. After the soucouyant sheds her skin and turns into a ball of fire, she slips through keyholes and under doorways and sucks on the blood of children. I had to sleep with Daddy for a week after Miss Mo told me why she keeps the key in the lock. I don’t understand why none of Miss Mo’s folklore creatures are nice and generous. Why are they always out to kill or torture humans?

  The moonlight reflects across an object on top of the bedside table.

  A strange comb.

  Daddy sees me staring and holds it in the air. It’s beautiful—looks like brass, with coil markings carved into the handle. Tiny sparkling jewels are scattered throughout the markings and seem to change color every time I blink. It looks hundreds of years old, like it belongs in an ancient Egyptian museum.

  “Catch it in my net last night. Was ’oping Miss Mo would gimme a good price for it, but she just vent some foolishness about a River Mumma. Like Barbados got any real rivers.”

  Daddy rolls his eyes. He’s always boasting that all the small Caribbean islands could fit in the Essequibo River in Guyana.

  “River Mumma?”

  “A mermaid who combs her ’air on a rock by the river. She does supposedly put spells on fishermen and cause them to crash their boats.”

  “I’m glad we don’t have any real rivers, then,” I reply, laughing.

  “In Guyana, we call them fairmaids, and they ’ave long golden hair. Same superstitious nonsense on every island, but everybody know it ain’ real. Sometimes I worry ’bout Maureen, ’ear?”

  That’s Miss Mo for you. When collecting fish from the boats, she throws a silver dollar in the water and walks backward out of the sea. She says it stops evil spirits from following her.

  After Mum passed, Daddy would take me out fishing with him. He taught me how to put fuel in the motor of Joanne, his small red-and-yellow fishing boat, renamed after Mum, and sometimes, he would even let me steer. Whenever I went out on Joanne I felt at peace, and she rocked me to sleep many times.

  One day at the beach, me and Ahkai were chasing sandpipers when the birds fluttered out to sea, then landed on top of a jagged rock shaped like a raised fist.

  Ahkai started to cry and pointed to the rock.

  “Oh no, baby, nobody can go out there,” warned Miss Mo. “Them rocks haunted, yuh know, full of duppies!”

  Ahkai stopped crying and gave her a blank stare. He was cynical, even back then.

  “Give and it shall be given unto you,” she prayed, before hurling a silver dollar into the sea.

  I darted into the water in an attempt to catch the coin. There was shouting all around me, but I ignored it, thrusting my hands forward and kicking, enjoying the feeling of the water parting through my fingers. I don’t remember a time I wasn’t able to swim; I felt at home in the sea.

  I dove underwater to look for the dollar, and then was yanked backward out to sea. The ocean had turned into a large pot, and the wave was a cou-cou stick, stirring me like I was okra in cornmeal. The first gulp of salt water burned my throat and nose. I tried to scream for Daddy, and I remember nothing more after that. I regained consciousness on the shore, choking and spluttering and swearing never to go into the sea again.

  Poor Ahkai, who never learned how to swim, was catatonic after watching my near-death experience, and refused to go near the shoreline.

  Daddy always complains that he’s the only fisherman with a child who is afraid of the ocean.

  Now Daddy examines the comb, poking one of the jewels. “Probably cubic zirconia.”

  I reach for the comb, but Daddy jerks it away from me. “Go back to bed, young lady. You ’ave school in a few hours.”

  “But I’m not sleepyyy!” I whine.

  “Well, I might as well do your ’air, then.” Daddy pulls at one of my tight curls.

  I yawn, patting my mouth. “Boy, I’m so tired, Daddy. Night night!”

  Daddy blocks me from launching off his bed. Every Sunday, Miss Mo used to trap me between her slim-but-powerful legs and yank at my hair until I was sure my scalp would come off with the braid. One day, after a painful yank, I temporarily lost my mind and bit down into her thigh. Miss Mo refused to plait my hair again, so Daddy had to learn.

  At first, he was awkward, and I had to go to school with jagged parts, and cornrows that unraveled after a few hours. But now he’s very good at it, and much gentler than Miss Mo. Still, I brace myself, ’cause my hair hasn’t been combed since last week. It will be like combing a knitted shirt.

  But the pain never comes. The comb glides through my curls, as easy as warm butter on a biscuit.

  This is weird.

  Again and again, Daddy moves the comb through my hair. I’m worried the brass will scratch my scalp, but it’s like a massage.

  Daddy rests against my back and hums a new tune. It’s definitely not one of the mellow reggae songs he plays on Sunday mornings. I can feel the tension in his abs as he tries to maintain a falsetto note, almost as high as a whistle from the kettle.

  “Hey, Daddy, can I get blond highlights? You know, like Mu—” Daddy stops humming and jerks the comb from my hair. The soothing atmosphere is now tense. I lose my nerve to say the “M” word.

  “Like a movie star?” I finish the sentence. Daddy exhales and doesn’t answer me. Instead, he continues to run the comb through my hair, this time without the humming. I relax against his chest and close my eyes.

  It’s like I am on Joanne, rocking back and forth on the waves, listening to chirping crickets and gazing at stars.

  For the first time in my life, I fall asleep while getting my hair done.

  Miss Alleyne gushes about percentages like she’s recapping the latest episode of her favorite TV show.

  I try not to slam my head into my desk. My brain is so overwhelmed. I have to remember schoolwork from last year, understand the numerous topics we’ve covered in the last two days, and figure out how to raise money for the cricket tickets before they’re all sold out.

  I’m in class four now, the final year of primary school, and only eight months away from taking the distressing Common Entrance 11-Plus Exam that everyone is so nervou
s about. Even Daddy, who seldom asks me if I have homework, insists I have to “buckle down and work hard this year.”

  As if Ahkai will allow me to slack off. He wouldn’t let us have any fun this summer until I completed all the math and English exercises he designed for me.

  Ahkai will most likely get the highest marks on the exam and pass to the top secondary school on the island. Meanwhile the highest I’ve ever come is thirteenth, but I have to get into the top secondary school next year with Ahkai. I can’t imagine going to another school without him …

  The thought is scary enough to make me sit up in my seat and focus on Miss Alleyne, who’s now pointing at the problems on the whiteboard.

  “So you can apply this basic strategy to calculate VAT, or even sales tax!” She pauses and beams at us like she’s expecting applause.

  Ugh. I’d so rather be playing cricket right now …

  Ahkai shoots me a disapproving look.

  It’s like he can read my mind!

  Briinnnggggg!

  That’s lunch.

  This time I stay in my seat, not sure where to go. Normally I’d rush off to the cricket field and eat lunch in my hiding spot behind the tamarind tree while waiting for the cricketers to arrive. Today I can’t bear to watch them practice drills, knowing I’ve lost all chance of getting on the team.

  I don’t want to go to the library with Ahkai either; he spends most of lunchtime with his head buried in a book. In the end I decide to stay in the classroom and pretend to study percentages. I glare at the numbers so hard they start to look like ants moving across the page.

  “Josephine, can we have a word?” Miss Alleyne comes over and sits in the seat beside me. Ugh, now I may have to do schoolwork for real. I angle my body away from her, thinking of an excuse to leave.

  “When I was eleven, my teacher asked all of the class what we wanted to be when we grew up. When my turn came, I got to my feet, like this—” Miss Alleyne shoots out of the chair. I notice she’s wearing flat green ballerina shoes, and not fancy heels like most of the other female teachers.

  “I want to join the military, sir!” Miss Alleyne salutes the whiteboard.

  I’m really not accustomed to teachers talking about their personal lives. Mr. Atkins has been our teacher for three years and I don’t even know his first name.

  “Um, that’s cool, ma’am,” I mutter. I bite the inside of my cheek and inch closer to the door.

  Miss Alleyne sits back down in the chair. “No it wasn’t cool at all, at least not for the teacher. He laughed and told me that girls don’t belong in the Defence Force.”

  I swing around in my chair so fast I almost fall off. I feel a burst of rage for eleven-year-old Miss Alleyne, and almost-eleven-year-old me.

  But Miss Alleyne smiles and places a white envelope on my desk.

  “I saw what happened on the field yesterday and had a word with Coach Broomes. He wasn’t on board at first, but later he agreed to put you on the team on a trial basis.”

  My hands tremble as I reach for the envelope. Coach Broomes isn’t one to change his mind, so I’m afraid to unfold the paper in case it turns out to be a math assignment in some sadistic prank. Is this really happening? I have another chance? I don’t believe it until I read the permission slip. All I need is Daddy’s signature to make my cricket dream come true.

  “Now, it’s only for the friendly match coming up,” Miss Alleyne warns, “for you to prove you can”—she pauses, then rolls her eyes and does air quotes—“keep up with the boys.”

  The dark cloud above my head vanishes in my joy. I’ll be so far ahead of the boys I’ll look like a speck of dust to them. I’m going to bowl so fast the ball will leave a trail of smoke behind it. They’ll chant my name in the stands.

  Imagine how well I’ll play when I get to wear my own gear, and I can be myself! I know I can impress Coach Broomes and be made a permanent member of the team.

  I open my mouth to thank her, but no words come out.

  “I know,” Miss Alleyne says with a wink, then leaves me alone in the classroom. I sit there, staring at the letter and daydreaming about Daddy singing in the stands at Kensington Oval.

  * * *

  It usually takes forever to get home from school with Miss Mo. She always pulls the car off the road to chat with someone. Most of the time it’s much faster for me and Ahkai to walk home; sometimes we even hide in the bushes if we see her little Toyota Starlet in the distance.

  I’m fidgeting with anticipation, unable to keep still in the back seat. Ahkai looks up from his book and asks a question with his eyes, but I want to give Daddy the good news first. I can’t wait to see his face when I tell him I made the team and that I’m going to get passes to the West Indies versus England match!

  His life is going to become so full once he remembers how much he loves cricket. No time for dating at all, and that’s good for both of us; all he needs is me and cricket.

  We turn onto our street and I get a glimpse of Daddy by the kitchen window. He’s home early! I’m so excited I jump out of the car before Miss Mo brings it to a complete stop.

  “Sorry!” I yell, before she gets a chance to scold me.

  I push open the door and swing my backpack against my chest, pulling out the permission slip. That’s when I notice the pair of crystal heels on the WELCOME mat.

  My racing heart crashes to a dead stop and a knot tightens in my belly.

  It’s been less than a week since his last “friend” left in a tizzy without her hair. I wasn’t expecting another woman for about three months!

  How did she slip past the first line of defense? Daddy never goes on a date without consulting me first. I am not prepared, and I am unimpressed with this breach of protocol. I push the envelope back into my bag.

  Daddy appears from the kitchen and gives a little start when he sees me. “Oh, Bean, I ain’ ’ear you come in!” It’s normal for his fishing clothes to be old and stained, but his shirt has a long rip from the neck to the middle of his chest. He must have really struggled to restrain the fish today.

  “Look what I catch!” He gestures behind him.

  Though the boards in the kitchen are creaky, I do not hear her coming. She wears a white-and-red cotton dress, which floats like a cloud around her curvy body. As she approaches, her hips move from side to side, as if her bones are made out of springs.

  Her gigantic, thick afro brings her almost to Daddy’s height. She’s slicked down her hair at the side, giving it a wet, yet not greasy look. Her smile is so big I can’t see the color of her eyes. She wears a small silver hoop in her nose, and her teeth sparkle like they’ve been polished. Her cheekbones are so pronounced it looks like she’s sucking in her cheeks, and this should be unattractive, but those cheekbones combined with a long neck bring an air of elegance. She seems too glossy, too refined; if she stood still long enough, she could be mistaken for a poised mannequin.

  “I hope you like fish.” If a harp could speak, it would sound like her. She presents a large tray of flying fish with flair, like she is a model on a game show. I’m sure my face has the same expression as those dead fish—mouth wide open in paralyzed horror.

  “Bean, this is Mariss. My lucky charm!” Daddy lifts me up and swings me in the air. “The boat was full with fish today!” Even in my dismay, I take note of the fact that Daddy referred to Joanne as “the boat.”

  He kisses me hard on the cheek, then turns to Mariss. “I’m going to cook my famous fish soup for you tomorrow!” he says, taking the tray from her hands.

  “Cook for me?” Mariss’s eyes widen just enough for me to notice they’re dark brown. Daddy puts an arm around her shoulders, and they return to the kitchen.

  This isn’t a good time for company. She can come back in about ten years.

  I follow them, wheels already turning in my head, and sit on a stool by the bar to watch them bone the fish. Daddy is explaining to Mariss that after the scales, head, tail, and fins are removed, you slice on either si
de of the backbone.

  Daddy pulls the backbone out with the knife, and Mariss grimaces.

  “This is Bean’s favorite,” he says, pointing to the fish melts stuck on the sides of the backbone. When I first found out the melts were the flying fish’s eggs, I tried to spit them back out, but the fried delicacy was so delicious I couldn’t stop chewing them.

  Mariss pokes the fish guts with a long manicured nail and wrinkles her nose with disgust. She rubs her hands against the counter, like she’s trying to wipe away germs.

  Daddy laughs. “Mariss sells jewelry in the market, so she’s accustomed to gems, not guts,” he tells me, adding some onions to the chives, garlic, cloves, and green herbs in the food processor. He’s going full gourmet, even making the Bajan green seasoning from scratch as a marinade for the fish.

  Daddy pushes a button on the food processor and Mariss jumps back like she’s been shot with a bazooka, putting her hands over her ears. Daddy’s so focused on pouring vinegar in the chute that he doesn’t notice Mariss gaping at the appliance like it’s an angry howler monkey. Nope, this woman is too weird. I’d be doing Daddy a favor getting rid of her.

  I look at the bucket next to Mariss, once again filled with fish scales, bones, and guts. It worked once before, didn’t it?

  “I wanna help!” I jump from the stool and speed over to them before Daddy can stop me. Then, I pretend to stumble.

  To my surprise, it is Mariss, not Daddy, who reacts first and attempts to catch me. I still manage to knock the bucket from the counter and the contents spill all over the right side of Mariss’s light cotton dress.

  “Josephine!” Daddy snarls. I try as best as I can to look remorseful. “Mariss, I’m so sorry!” He grabs a kitchen towel from the sink and starts wiping the slimy muck from her arm.

  Mariss stares down at her dress. I wait for her to march out in disgust, but to my astonishment, when she looks up there is a smile on her face.

  She turns to my daddy and pushes out her right leg. The water has made the light cotton material almost transparent. Mariss slowly lifts a shapely leg out from the dress. There isn’t a blemish on her ginger brown skin, as if a mosquito or sand fly has never touched her.