< Situations And Revelations Of Passing Notice In Guyana >
Locket # 19:
Some thoughts you put aside as you grow up like a shield you don't need
anymore. Some find holes to fill, or erase themselves on arrival. Others wedge
themselves in your thinking, and at first you think of removing them, then you
let them stay.
One day our English teacher, Miss Hemphell, told us our country was a country
of fools. Titled and entitled. People who can't read and people who stopped
reading. The only way to escape was through education. By which she meant
not just passing exams, but learning as much as we can. About human folly.
We thought she must have been angry and frustrated at us for not completing
an assignment. And exaggerating for effect. She expect everybody to be
perfect.
At that moment I saw her as a survivor, surrounded by all our foolishness, but
holding up somehow. What a relief it must be when her day was over, to go
home and drop everything.
Miss Hemphell liked giving us new words to help build our vocabulary, words
like "contingency", "narcissism", "synchronized'. Words that sounded foreign
to our day to day lives in Canal District.
One word that worked itself inside me for a good while was "eureka".
Miss Hemphell explained what the word meant. She urged us to search for a
"moment" in our lives to apply these words.
No one reported they had found a eureka carrier. We heard of weird things
that happened, but Canal District was too boring for eureka moments. Besides,
we had better things we wanted to do (we didn't tell her that).
Weeks later she said, "If you hang around here waiting for a eureka, you'll die
waiting." What was she going on with now? "You better off doing something
simpler. Like trying your luck in the interior. With the porknockers searching
for gold."
Vijay came up behind us after school that afternoon and said, "That English
teacher always talking nonsense. She only talking like that because she has
no man her life. And no children. And she getting old."
He was all worked up. He swore Miss Hemphell had looked straight at him
when she talked about porknockers. Also, he wanted to impress Vanessa, my
best friend.
I said nothing. Vanessa smiled. Her toes were already in his canal. She was eager
to be impressed.
Once she said, giggling as if about to break a promise not to say anything,
that Vijay considered me a sulky person. If I continued with my attitude (and
considering my small breasts) I would live a lonely, miserable life.
A breach appeared between us. I made a vow there and then, not to marry
someone like Vijay; not to develop a squat body with neck folds from
bearing children like Vanessa. I was learning to be patient; defiant in my own
way.
Miss Hemphell said something else that day that flew over all our heads.
About the colours around us, the blues, browns, greens. "They turn off and
on, did you know that? Sometimes they go hue-less, and they mingle and
disperse in the atmosphere".
She was off on a tangent. We looked at each other, wondering what was
bothering her now.
I tried to follow her. Once she said to me, Be prepared, young lady. At the
fault lines, hands will reach out and make a grab for your legs if you try to
leap. It sounded like the kind of warning I got from my mother, about boys
and "consequences", about pride and safety first.
It was an awkward moment. I should have said, What do you mean, Miss?
right on the spot. I didn't feel confident enough to open up a line of personal
conversation.
I felt there was something else she wanted to teach us. She knew so much,
but with no constant companion for conversation (as far as we could tell) it
came out indirectly, in bits and spurts. And she was not the type to get on
stilts and broadcast how much she knew.
Grown up, and wiser now, I think, it dawned on me the other day that a
eureka moment ̶ that "suddenly understanding a problem that was previously
incomprehensible" thing ̶ might have happened, but not in some dramatic O
My God! way.
I could have told Miss Hemphell about my father.
He owns one of those tall buildings you see in Georgetown, and when you
cycle past you wonder where the owner get the money to put up a monster
like that, in your neighborhood, and call it Hotel or a Business Establishment,
with space and prospects to rent.
Anyway, on weekends Pa used to invite friends and uncles to bring their
families, hang out in the dining area on the roof of his building. He didn't
allow me bring my friends. They wanted to put on clothes, come and pretend
they were enjoying "luxury".
One evening I overheard him carrying on like he was this self-made
"businessman" who worked so hard to get where he was. He was telling
someone how his dream of one day owning this building started.
It had to do with his father, a paunchy, sweaty shop keeper who complained
about electricity in the District. He was always coughing when I saw him, like
he had some serious health problem. Saved up all his money, which Pa
inherited.
But here's the thing. One day he gathered his children (including Pa) for a trip
to Georgetown. They were going to visit the Lighthouse near the seawall. "I
have a buddy working there. He will let us in. They have stairs like a spiral
winding all the way to the top," he said, overexplaining what could have come
as a surprise.
When they got there one of his daughters refused to go inside. She was worried
she might feel dizzy. Her father shouted at her, "Stay outside since you so
frighten. Stand right here, and don't move till we come back."
Pa went ahead of his father and was the first to step out at the top.
He discovered he could look in every direction; out to the sea, the zinc roofs
tiny below, the straight line roads stretching for miles. "The only high height
I ever climb was a coconut tree. But up there, everything was so clear."
That could have been Pa's eureka moment.
*
I live in Edmonton now. I left the District years go for college in Toronto.
Graduated, got a job straightaway, lucky me. Spent two years working with
an Insurance Company. My first real job.
Some people in the office referred to me as the Asian girl; quiet and punctual,
with deep, brown eyes and a strange way of speaking.
One man became more than interested in who I was. At my desk, leaning over
my shoulder, he said softly, "Shall we go out somewhere?" My response, with a
smile, threw him off balance, I don't think we shall. He dropped word I might
be friendly and efficient in the office, but "behind the veil" ̶ behind what veil? ̶
there was nothing. I just didn't take them on.
One day my supervisor who is Canadian asked me to marry him. I said yes. He
got transferred so we moved to Edmonton.
I know what you're probably waiting to hear. Most explanations are truth
deficient, and often get taken the wrong way.
Back in Canal District, because there was no prior notice or family involvement,
my decision was heart rattling news, But what is wrong with her? They can
stay there with that. Though they might eventually come around and accept
what's done is done.
Honestly? there are days when I think this man came into the world intended
for me. Don't laugh. Who hasn't sheltered thoughts like that, about life with
its twists and turns? the moment like a post to which you tie your canoe?
We own a small, ranch style home which I love. A son whom I love. I told Jack,
my husband, one child is enough, I didn't come into this world to be the mother
in a house of screaming children. He and I are certain of one thing: there's no
point dwelling on the past (he was married, divorced).
Sometimes he comes home, tired, it's the end of his day 'bossing' people. We'd
sit down for dinner and he tells these little stories, about people and what he'd
observed. He'd sigh and say, "Unbelievable!" as in, How could anyone be so
careless or naive?
I'd shake my head and say, Incroyable! borrowing from Miss Hemphell's District
vocabulary. Incroyable! she'd say, in a low voice, looking through the window,
as if she needed a moment, a little break from looking at our faces in the
classroom.
I woke up one Sunday morning and told him about a dream I had.
I had flown a helicopter, back to Canal District, landing in a cleared area near
a cane field, all by myself. I started off on foot to find my parent's home. I
couldn't find it. I gave up searching and walked back to the helicopter. It was
not there.
All that was left were the rotor blades. Some one had dismantled the plane
and taken away the parts. Everything but the rotor blades.
That was truly amazing! Jack said. Next time, take me with you, please?
Then he put his arms around me and we squeezed each other.
Moments like that, the sauce pan on the fire, I feel unbelievably trusted and
loved. The "frisson" ̶ yes! Miss Hemphell ̶ of elsewhereness. You can only
imagine how good it feels.
Savi Lalljee-Stewart
Canal District, Guyana
Edmonton, Canada
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 