< Situations and Revelations of Passing Notice in Guyana >
Locket # 29:
Confession is good but not for much at the police station. You still spend time
in a cell. If they think you might be “involved”, confessing will only make
somebody’s job easier. You still in trouble. This is Georgetown.
I had nothing to confess, and my mother couldn’t afford a lawyer. Carlos, my
boyfriend, still in custody “awaiting” whatever comes next. Which is the hard
part. He could be incarcerated for years “awaiting”, even though he swear he
wasn’t involved.
His only hope is, when the trial call the police still have no confession. Only
one suspect and their stupid suspicion. And the family of the victim get fed
up and decide not to “pursue” any more. Which could happen in this case.
Dr. Davidson wife already left the country, gone back to the States. (His two
grown children from his first marriage going to college there.) She buried him
and left a lawyer friend to watch over the court proceedings. He told her the
situation could drag on for years.
Besides she felt so embarrassed. There was talk her husband was having sex
with the house help when she was away on vacation.
They found his body in their Queenstown home. It looked like a robbery, cash
and valuables taken. No sign of forced entry, but somebody entered, give him
one blow in his head with a “blunt instrument”, a piece of wood. They couldn’t
find the piece of wood.
One neighbour told the police she noticed “young people” coming and going,
which is how they arrest me, “the house helper”; and Carlos who came to pick
me up after work.
Is not like we were loitering with bad intent. Sometimes Carlos worked on his
car. Dr. Davidson called him “my mechanic man” cause he knew spare parts
people, and how to fix cars.
Getting arrested for “questioning” is not funny. I still spend time in the
bathroom washing off being in a cell in the same clothes for two days. And
sitting in the court room while the court lawyer using words that had nothing to
do with how I live.
In accordance with regulation 5 (section 34)…conduct not recognizable by the
court with the other sub-regulations…pending a guidance enquiry…the
commanding officer had not exceeded his jurisdiction.
In the end they kept Carlos; they told me I was free go. “But don’t go anywhere
far outside the city”.
They seemed more concerned with how I met Carlos, how long we together. I
told them it was none of their business. Is he your boyfriend? You having sex
with him? That’s how they “interrogate”, digging into your personal life. Trying
to get you into some quick “confession” box, so they can say the case solved.
That’s how they “investigate”. Pictures in their head. What they think happen.
What they could do for you. And with you.
So you did domestic work for the man?
Monday, Wednesday, Friday. The wife used to leave the sink full of dishes in the
morning. Doing certain things was not her style. I never heard them argue, but
her husband didn’t like the idea of having a “servant” girl cleaning the house.
Any other kind of work? He pay you extra for extras?
Dr. Davidson behaved as though everything here remained the same as when he
was growing up. Living abroad and his university degree made no difference. He
wanted a simple life, wearing ordinary clothes, blending in with ordinary people.
He had pictures in his head, too. Morning neighbour! out of date pictures.
Once while his wife was away (actually it was the day before they found his
body) Dr. Davidson and I were alone in the house. We drove to a Chinese
restaurant. He told me to run inside for the order. People see me getting in and
out the front seat, they start assuming.
He invited me sit with him at the dining table; he’s left-handed. He was telling
me about his life, how he grew up in a village like mine. That’s how I found out
about the farm.
He came home to do farming. He was finished with teaching, with students,
books, travel to conferences. His grandmother spent her life farming in her
village. Farming was in his bones. He was aiming to build a house on a plot of
land there, rest his bones. Mr. Educated farmer.
He had his farm up and running, rows and rows of green crop, lettuce,
boulanger, pumpkin. And cassava; he believed in cassava. He hired fellows in
the area to do the mud work. He had long rubber boots, so some days (Thurs,
Fri) he down in the mud with them. Had to be spending and making money.
I think he hoped I would turn to him for advice and words of rescue. At least
he didn’t go on and on with stupid warnings. Anyway, farming is definitely not
in my bones.
Most of the time he was in his room at his computer. He has a lot of books. He
didn’t read our newspapers. Said he didn’t want to get “infected”. He asked
me if I knew what “ethics” was, if I had ever heard the word used in any
classroom I sat in.
At that moment I should have answered like a good student; should have told
him, if you live in this country, you bound to notice at some point a dividing
line ‒ yes, good and evil. Everybody cross that line at least once in their life.
A man of words, yes. Dark-brown complexion, about seventy, I would say.
Usually outside in the front yard barefoot ‒ feeling the good earth. Hairy legs
in slipslops and short pants. On his phone, under the mango tree at the back,
he switches tone and language, talks like a university man.
His wife organised the washing and ironing. I wasn’t allowed to touch her
delicates. Bath towels, sheets, other stuff, okay. And not Dr. Davidson’s room
with all his books. Always asking him, How much they charging to do that?
I try not to pass through Queenstown where they lived. My mother never liked
Carlos. Too wild and wayward. She and my aunt kept telling me I should go out,
find a regular job.
Me in some fast food restaurant? or in the shopping plaza behind a perfume
counter. Shitty salary from some big belly supervisor wanting his regularity?
These manager men selfish, especially the shirt and tie ones. They have tricks.
Some don’t look you in the face when they interviewing. Like school masters
they ready to punish you for messing up your exams.
They frown and offer to employ you cause it give them a chance to correct your
mistakes. Yes, come to the office for “sub regulations”. Slap slap! they slapping
on your behind. And afterwards is, hurry! pull up your pants, act like nothing
happen.
Dr. Davidson was different from most old men in Georgetown. And nicer. But he
didn’t tell his wife everything. You can assume what you like.
I felt sorry about what happened. Something like that I never expected. I stayed
inside my house for a good while, angry and embarrassed, until my mother got
tired shouting, I hope you learn your lesson.
It has been over seven months. Most people done forget what happen. My
ordinary life is now a precarious life. Far from heaven, not yet in hell. I have
to work my way out and start over.
Last time I saw him, Carlos wasn’t the same person. He sounded agitated; his
face looked scrawny, like they not feeding them in there. I felt he wanted to
confide something to me. Instead he asked me to find a way to smuggle a cell
phone to him.
I told him I would do no such thing. That was a step too far. He gave me this
look worth a thousand goose bumps. Was the strangest moment between us.
Now I wondering what kind of person he will be when he comes out.
He liked being seen as he drove by, the car exhaust roaring, me up front
beside him. I miss that moment when he slam the door, start the car, and we
ready to go.
Anyway, I told him I might not see him for awhile. He’ll just have to manage on
his own and hope for the best.
Evadne Chance
Georgetown, Guyana
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 