< Situations and Revelations of Passing Notice In Guyana >
Locket # 28:
I will keep this short.
Which country in the world have so many doctors to spare, they send a whole
batch of them to our country to help our people? True, our compound far
from perfect. Some buildings could do with repairs, and our equipment need
improvement, but we not that desperate for “help”.
Out of the blue one day this Dr Castanuevo shows up in our region. In his
thirties, I thought. Everybody notice how he so nice, so good-looking.
As he started to blend in, shirt and tie, stethoscope and white coat, I had
this feeling something out of the ordinary was bound to happen. I went about
my work as per usual. I didn’t see the need to be extra welcoming.
Other nurses, desperate to escape the same old nothing doing in our region,
just handed themselves over to his foreign highness.
He used to join our table during lunch, going, How you say this in English? and
Your earrings look pretty. His soft voice politeness, his funny interest in our
local ways, made an impression; everybody ready and eager to extend District
hospitality.
When he looked at me ‒ too dark skin for a start, I felt nothing for him anyway
‒ he probably wondered why I wasn’t smiling along. I didn’t ignore him as
such. My arms and legs went stiff, pulling away from his prince charming
friendliness.
So he settled in, our Dr. Castanuevo. We called him Dr. Casanova cause we
didn’t have time to pick through the name to get the pronunciation correct.
The first one to say Okay was Leena (frilly hair down her shoulders, always
neat and ready to get back to work.)
She would be the last to admit she slipped out her panties, or kneeled to
unbuckle this doctor. You could tell, though, from the way she went quiet the
next day, she was happy to be the one he liked; and now she guarding
some big big secret.
I suspect it happened somewhere in the hospital compound, but I couldn’t
imagine where ‒ in a corner somewhere? behind some closed door, pushing
things aside things to make room. Muffle muffle! no time for kisses Hurry
hurry!
A clothes closet was probably all the space this man need.
Next was Meena, who for days looked so pleased with herself. I didn’t say a
word, not a hmmmm! If people want to turn and brace for a little naughtiness
with the new doctor, that’s their business. You see this district? you have to
let Canal nature runs its course. Come, yes! Take, take me away.
But mister clever man, working so hard, couldn’t keep his hide-and-feast
games a hospital secret forever.
We have this Security fellow, works downstairs at the Entrance. Coarse and
jokey, a beer belly in uniform. Steps aside so visitors can pass, like he’s the
big alligator granting permissions to bare feet in the swamp.
And always bringing up the day he came upon the body of a woman who was
raped and killed in the cane fields. He brings it up, the time and place, and
he waits for you to look shocked, open mouth and wanting detail. Then he
stops it right there, shaking his head, the awfulness suddenly too much for
him to continue.
One morning I heard him say to another black fellow, as I was coming in, that
the new doctor running through the women on the second floor. “One by one.
He stirring the yogurt, that’s what he up to, stirring the yogurt.” I kept my
head straight, didn’t look back at him.
So now any and everybody know what was going on, and where and maybe who
was involved.
Then, as if he was finished with our company, Dr. Castanueva went out of
service. He wasn’t hanging out that much. Leena and Meena became sulky and
bitchy, mentioning his name only to Steeups! you got to watch yourself with
he and he backtracking hands.
You should hear them, acting like they “suffered” so much disappointment
from him, it was their job now to warn off other people.
The reason soon became clear. Dr. Castanueva had moved his ladder. He was
aiming now at the hospital administrator, Miss Kumar. Our princess with her
lonely responsibilities.
Has her own parking spot, and comes to work after nine in the morning. Single,
slender body, has a seven-year-old son. You’d find her glaring at the computer
in her office.
First, we noticed the ring. Then one afternoon I overheard her saying, in
whispers to a visitor leaving her office, that she and Dr. Castanueva were
going to “tie the knot”.
Don’t ask me how Dr. Castanueva cornered her, what charms he introduced
that drive her to that decision. She is an intelligent person. Okay, I know! I
don’t really know.
Miss Kumar’s father owns a timber business. Everybody knows the Kumars.
A quiet wedding function followed in a Georgetown hotel. A one-week honey-
moon at some resort in the Interior followed. Mr. Kumar was so proud, his
daughter marrying one of the doctors sent to help the struggling people in the
District, a man who brought a little “class” to our region.
He gave them a house to live in. They were supposed to stay there for many
happy years.
Well, one year has passed since all of the above took place, and there have
been major developments.
The District royal marriage is over. Everything back to square one. Miss Kumar
done chop the hyphen-Castanueva part off her name. She still with us, fresh
wrinkles round the eyes. We think she might be pregnant. Leena and Meena
following the belly bump.
Dr. Castanueva has kind of disappeared. Said to be living and working in the
Interior with the Amerindians. Said to be in the middle of legal proceedings,
the divorce and property; apparently his name is on the property deed.
So what really happen? Your guess as good as mine. Though if I was he, I
would be very careful.
The “Indians” living in Canal District not the same Indians in the Interior.
Incidents and accidents happen. Mr. Kumar is definitely not happy with the
way things turn out; and he’s one man who would do anything for his only
daughter.
It makes you stop and wonder, if people ever learn from their mistakes.
They believe they have a bond; then they find out, So sorry! there is no
bond.
In our district we put fresh paste on the forehead, fresh gloss on the lip, and
start over; but we repeat the mistakes. Is like living in a house with only one
door in and out. Memories don’t help us discover new ways.
I’m not a mean, jealous person. Not “full of myself”. I see how people slip
into foolish expectation and get carried away. One slip ‒ jook, jook! ‒ done
you done.
Safety on my triggers taught me patience, how to handle expectation.
I’m only 24 yrs old. When I reach twenty five, I will make a decision, a big
wheel turn decision. Not saying any more and, sorry, I not returning here with
more developments. I too young to be “writing” stuff about people.
My bedroom has a ceiling fan. For now down below not much really happening,
I hope not for too long.
Come sleep time, I gather my pillows under the mosquito net. When rain
showers sweep over the galvanize roof, and the night creature noise start up
outside my window, I turn on my side, wriggle my toes, and swish! I’m on my
way. Practicing for when I leave the District.
Annie Sohan
Canal District, Guyana
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 