“So where is them? I ready.” They stay staring at her, admiring. “Take me out of this thing, I tired.” She slumps suddenly and the group hustles to start de-rigging.
Ata goes with the manager, over to where the wire-and-fiberglass outer skirt frame is being constructed. Upstairs in the sewing room, the huge ruffled train is still being cut. All man jack pick back up speed in their work, black spray stenciling outside, rags wrapping sponge over wire …
“Is only a few more days we have left, people. I need my costume finish on time!” Queen shouts, to no one in particular. “I ain’ able with no dramas in this rounds.”
The old wire-bender looks up from working on the Queen’s skirt frame, takes out a cigarette from his pocket, lights it, and continues.
* * *
SC comes to check on her friend after the burglary only to find she is at the mas camp. She corners Pierre, who has just finished work, waiting for Ata’s return. “So she still going and coming all hours after this t’ing happen? She going to play mas too?”
“I have no idea. You know her, I’ve spoken to her but…” Pierre shrugs.
SC sips her vodka tonic and waits. What was Ata waiting for? What really she looking for? “You don’t find she restless?” SC doesn’t need his answer. “What she looking to do career wise?”
“Ask her yourself. It doesn’t work like that in the arts. You should know that.”
“Yeah, right. I respec’ real artists, eh, but a lot’a people with talent does just be wasting time. And spinning round from one thing to the next. Is time she know what she about.”
Ata arrives home then, slightly surprised to see her friend sitting out with Pierre.
“It’s not that simple,” he murmurs. He goes to get Ata a drink and leaves them alone.
SC can’t ask her the questions, though. This strain and strangeness between them shut up her frankness. She figured that the scary invasion would have shaken away that. Ata watches SC’s sympathetic face and slowly tries to absorb the warmth of her effort. They try. But the small talk steers clear and safe away from the troublesome feelings. When it comes round to Carnival and design apprenticeship with the graphic artist that SC is jealous of, her face cools off. To her, this man had come with his higher standards and snooted upon all the other graphic artists in the town. Rightfully so ’cause he is good, but he made himself into a well-respected artist like a fine artist, with all his collecting of paintings and fraternizing. While they all now were only just seen to be doing graphics. Of course, Ata’s apprenticeship was on hold.
The coolness reminds Ata of her friend’s past words. Their glasses empty, sun gone, SC say no more, but the restless, bittersweet breath of the town sighs in Ata’s ear.
* * *
Fete after fete, after fete, after fete … The last massive one before Carnival weekend and town can’t talk ’bout nothing else. Brass and Glow. All them radio stations prime up and bussing airwaves. Steelpan finalists fine-tuning they last tune. Overseas family and visitors have the airport and Savannah vendors busy — everything well set. Corpasetic, Sammy like to call it — when things just so. But he himself, of course, not having any part in it this year. Fraser had take Sam advice and get Father McBarnette to bless his place, just after he move back home. Things good with him although Sammy suspect is more than the story with he kidneys going on. But even granted all that, he much better, talking about going to Tobago, and suchlike. Down to his Moms behaving peaceful, a little, ’cause she think Fraser taking God back in he heart. Every time she hear Father McBarnette was by him, she getting on bright, not knowing is church building and history and black people mysteries Fraser and he talking about. That Father McBarnette is a man and a half, Sammy thinking as he driving. McBarnette not joining sides in the papers, about Slinger Amen band and the blasphemy. He saying things, eh, but not directly like the bishop. And through and through, the way he put it, everything come out like it making sense both ways. That is a man to learn a thing or two from.
Sam on his way to pick up Ata and a lot’a mad drivers on the road tonight. His Queen thinks he working too much ’cause he not coming home to eat with her again. She hardly seeing him and he hardly seeing he daughter. Even though he try to ease she mind and tell her “is jus’ for de season” and that after, he will build on a better bathroom for her, like he promise. Sam just not interested most’a the time now, with the catering orders. The driving more better than the cooking. Things drunken-wild on the road in the bacchanal season, though. “Be careful, me son,” she say.
Ata had arrange for transport to and from the fete. That is always a good thing because Sam knows, from his days, that you can’t really free up properly without drinking a good lil’ bit, and then … She is a body that need a good free-up. The white man, sensible thing he is, had gone up by they lil’ beach house, again. Sam himself had drop him up there while Ata was at the camp, but Pierre don’t talk much, at least not to Sam. He only was looking out, and holding on to the dashboard, and the road plenty curvy so Sam was busy anyway.
“In a party, with my baby, in a party with…” Baron ole-time tune playing when Sammy reach the Oval with Ata, round 11:00 p.m. She looking fresh and nice in all-white and she have on a tight pants and makeup. She look more like a Trini girl now, sparkly, and Sam tell her so when he pick her up. He tell her she shouldn’t be going in a fete looking sweet so without a man. She laugh and say she going to meet her friends from the camp. Sammy know she don’t have much friends, due to her different kind’a way, which is why she and Fraser so close — but that’s how some people are. Even though Sam know he does talk a lot, some things is not to talk about. Is a thing called privacy.
The car can’t go faster on the crowdy street outside the East Oval wall. Everybody walking in wearing white — that is the glow part but Sammy don’t know where they getting the brass part of the fete from. Wasn’t no proper brass bands around again, only Roy Cape and he All Stars, and they in National Water and Sewage Authority fete tonight. The things they call “brass” nowadays, can’t compare. This is a soca fete. Okay, granted David Rudder and Charlie’s Roots will be playing, it go be the least wajang of the soca fetes but still … That’s why — Sammy remind himself and Ata, whether she can hear him over the music or not — he stop jumping up and feting and such. Though he is a young fella, he know what things used to be like, and them soca instructions to mash up this, and wave yuh flag, move to the left, move to the right, spoiling everything. “As if people don’ know how to move they own body.”
“Yes, but people still have a good time.”
“But they, and the singers-selves, only charging here and there like mad bull. Ever since Super Blue and then Machel Montano come on the scene. Worse yet now, the stupid Donkey song.” Sammy raise his voice. “Anyway, this is de safer fete — watch who going in — you see the security and the amount’a whitey and light-skin people?”
“And the music is the best, out of the lot.”
“Ah know, ah know, I ain’ saying is a bad t’ing — is good ’cause it safe, for you. I ain’ mean you hoity-toity like them. That is a next reason why I don’ go again, too much’a security factor. Gone is de days when a man could have a good-good jump up and enjoy heself, without a stabbing or a robbing or fighting. Remember last year somebody was juking people with a HIV needle?”
Ata remembers the scandal, and the “AIDS in Yuh Bam-Bam” song. She had experienced one or two fetes that were considered working-class and rough. She had no trouble at all and had a good time, just like everybody else.