“Yuh looking a lil’ better but getting too small — don’ let Fraser get you dry up like he. He can’t help it but you, you have to look after yuhself, yuh-hear? You need some good food. Pierre don’ cook?”
She shrugs.
“What happen to yuh friend from de office? I don’ see she round much again.”
“A good few friends not around much again.” Even Pierre, Ata thinks, can’t be around Fraser too often. Pierre. “You know, the other day, when you dropped me up the North Coast—”
“Uh huh, yeah.”
She tells him how nice it was to have some time for herself, with nature. But Sammy waits for more. She could see he knows that isn’t what she wants to talk about. “Well, I had a surprise visitor—”
“What de Jesu Christ — t’ief!” Sammy slams brakes, then accelerates to avoid being hit from behind.
Ata reassures him as they jerk forward, Sammy checking behind, one side, two sides, glancing at her.
“But you ain’ learn? You have to be careful — you shouldn’t even be up there by yuhself in de first place. You know dis person?”
“Not really—”
“What! You…” Sam driving too fast into Saint Ann’s but Ata trusts he’s in control.
“It’s like I know him from somewhere.” They reach the vegetable shop and he stops right outside it. “He’s familiar but I didn’t get a good look at him. He may not even be real.”
Sam looks at her in amazement. “Ah waiting — you go and buy yuh lil’ vegetable — I right here.” This woman mad, he realize, as he watch her get out and enter De Green Corner shop. Her pinky-mauve sleeveless top making her look blacker and she hair always wild anyway. She picks up a pawpaw and hesitates to ask the cashier the price. Sam watch her lift a watermelon, like it real heavy — she weak. She must be weak, with all the stress. And then she man gone up there, by heself. What really going on?
But Sam don’t have to wonder long, Ata is already done. Was only two things she needed there.
“Tell me, leh me get this straight.” They pull off again and swerve across the tiny bridge. “Dis fella, who you t’ink you know, drop in by surprise, just so — and you didn’t jump — you wasn’ ’fraid? How he get in — you didn’ lock de door, nuh? You need to stop here too?”
Ata nods and he swings up into Hi-Lo’s car park. “Actually he appeared as if from nowhere, but no, I wasn’t afraid.”
Sam parks again, watching her closely, his whole squingey body turned toward Ata.
“I think it’s spiritual.”
Jumbie.
“He … we…”
“Ghost. Jumbie. And is a he? What dis t’ing do you?”
She had already gone too far. Ata looks into his little springy face — he’d understand that she couldn’t talk to Pierre about this — she told Sam.
Before he could respond, though, “I’ll be right back,” she says. Jumps out, braces herself, and dashes into the freezing supermarket.
A jumbie take her. Sam slumps into his seat, dumbfounded. This more serious than anything. This is not madness — is obeah kind’a business, and like she ain’ even realize! He had hear about some Lagahoo something, where the Lagahoo does be naked and make everybody sleep before he enter the house — he does take, rape, no, he does bite woman leg and suck blood. “In dis modern time?” He must say it aloud. “To she? Now?”
* * *
On the North Coast, in the cottage, Pierre thinks he hears a noise coming from the deck. He gets up from hunching over his laptop, and checks. Nothing. He has never felt unsafe here. And he doesn’t feel like he could finish the damned report today after all. Maybe a nap would make him feel better. It’s just barely midday, though — so why so exhausted? Pierre doesn’t want to think of why — only to get through his duties. Do what you can, always do your best.
He pours himself a glass of wine, makes a sandwich, and continues working. Until sleep takes him.
* * *
I cannot see the colors of the reef. The ocean’s face is flat and opaque, like me. I wait, like the still leaves. For the cleansing lashes, to be.
The words stackle on the edge of a shelf and rush shivering with Ata down another aisle, searching. Almond milk. Dates and cinnamon. What would Pierre be eating up there now? What else could Fraser taste?
Three bands of light. Clouds dragging their heavy selves … These laden winds butt against the insides of my chest.
Cassava bread. Yogurt. The open chillers of cheeses and butter face Ata coldly. Judging. Coconut water. Goose bumps and her nipples rise. She glances around again and sweeps herself quickly to the checkout.
* * *
“You have a mark on yuh leg? ‘Seduce,’ you say?” Sam questions as she drops into the car with the two bags. She leans forward, wrapping her bare arms in her long skirt, but the baking-tin heat is already warming her up. Sam pauses and the warmth from the seat, the sunlight, feels good — real. She turns her face upward in the open window, welcoming it.
This is how mad people get on. “Listen to me, Ata.” Sam backs the car out slowly, his voice cautious but urgent. “This is not something to play with…” This combination of madness and jumbie-business is a dangerous thing. He had hear how some people does have nervous breakdown, but the spirit part … “First of all, if is a real man — yuh don’ have to lie for me — you know I is a confidence person and I ain’ go judge.” She shaking her head. “No, what? He not real? No — you don’ know?”
“Then how could he appear and disappear like that?”
“He not real.”
“I started writing and … it’s almost as if he’s in me.”
“Ata, Ata.” The car crawls, extending the short drive to Fraser’s flat. “Now you getting me frighten.” But the woman smiling brightly at him, Sam, as if he-self is the one who off! He can’t laugh back with her — is not funny.
She say it is, though. And is okay — most probably her imagination, and exhaustion. She did have a drink.
“Ah was going to akse you dat next, ’cause I know allyou ways. Not to say youall does drink too much, but I know Pierre like he lil’ wine.”
They almost reach, straining up the steep hill. And Ata quiet, like she thinking the same exact thing he thinking next—’bout Pierre up there, and this thing.
* * *
In the floral living room, Helen and Marriette sit with a pillow-propped Fraser. He’s well ensconced and rested after a little doze. Thomas is outside somewhere with Vernon, their voices rolling.
“You look a lot better.” Ata kisses Fraser and settles herself on the rug next to Marriette. “And this room is particularly lovely at this time’a day.”
“Thank you,” the turtle replies, nodding slowly. It is. He had made it so and placed that orchid pot just off-center below the window so the patch of sun bounces off the tiles, illuminating the blooms. He had asked them to place the pot there, rather.
Fraser looks at the three beautiful women. “I want you all to be my maids of honor. You don’t have to carry the coffin or anything, just walk alongside. One on either side of me and you, Helen, at the back.”
“By your head, let that be the head end. Sure, we’ll accompany you,” Marriette says, almost lightly. They’re all determined to make this light. Nothing will make it a dark afternoon. Not even if the rain suddenly pours or Fraser breaks into tears.
“And beautiful fuchsia, summer dresses.”
“Morning-glory color,” Ata says.