No Pain Like This Body (7 page)

“Stop prayin!” Nanny shouted.

But Nanna closed his eyes even tighter and prayed more and more.

Nanny pushed him and said, “Stop prayin you modderass! De chirens sick. Give dem de skopian bush.”

Nanna opened his eyes and said that the prayers were going to work, because the Aryan gods were willing to help. “Look! Give de chirens de medicine!”

“Oright!” Nanna shouted.

Nanna bent down, picked up the leaves and went into the kitchen. He washed them out with the rainwater that fell from the thatched roof. Then he took the rolling pin and ground the leaves. When he was satisfied, he threw the leaves into a Iota, then he poured some water into the brassware and stirred the water with his fingers. He tasted the mixture. It was bitterish, but good. He walked out of the kitchen with the bush medicine.

“Drink half Balraj and Leff half for Rama,” Nanna directed.

Balraj drank half of the medicine and gave the Iota to Rama; Balraj didn't make a bad face or anything like that; he just handed the iota to Rama, wiped his mouth with the rice-bag, and remained quiet as a stone. But Rama didn't even bother to drink; he just handed Nanna the Iota and lied down on the bags as a dead dog.

Rama was too sick; he couldn't even sit up properly. He was lying down on the ricebags without even bothering to groan.

“Rama feelin good,” Nanna said. “He not even groanin. De prayers workin now.”

“Give Rama some medicine!” Nanny shouted.

“But de prayers workin. If de prayers cant help no medi­cine cant help!”

“You just give dat chile dat medicine!”

Nanna grumbled, but he bent down, lifted Rama's head, and put the Iota to his lips. Rama took a long time to drink; even so, he drank just a little. Then Nanna rested him on the ricebags again.

Nanny stood looking at Balraj and Rama. She felt sorry for them. She wanted them to sleep, because once they were asleep, they would have nothing to fear. Nanny unstrung the drum from around her neck. She sat on the slippery floor with her back resting against the tapia wall, then she heated the drum slowly. Nanny was a good drummer, the best in Tola. Her fingers moved slow and clever. Nanny swayed from side to side as if she was trying hard to make the drum talk. Ma and Sunaree danced. Panday listened. But Nanna was stand­ing as a carat tree and praying hard like hell. Suddenly the drumming ended. Nanny stood up as a cane shoot. Rama was vomiting
orks sputs orks sputs. . . .
He was vomiting as if he was dying; vomiting green green on the ricebags.

“O God me chile deadin!” Ma screamed.

Ma ran and held on to Rama; he was still vomiting; his eyes were closed, but he was seeing, just as jumbie bird sees in daylight.

Nanna opened his eyes and said, “He not deadin. Have patience. God goin to drive dat spirit away.”

And Nanny: “Stop prayin oldman! Go and get a horse cart and take dese chirens to Tolaville Haspital.”

“I not goin,” Nanna replied. “God have to drive dat spirit away!”

Nanny ran up to Nanna. She told him that he had to get the horse cart and carry Balraj and Rama to Tolaville Hospital, because the prayers were of no use.

“But de river too high up,” Nanna cooed.

“To hell wid de river! Take dese chirens to de hospital else dey goin to dead in dis house.”

Nanny was talking hard, but Nanna was talking easy. He said he needed a horse cart, but he reminded Nanny he had

no horse cart. The hospital was three miles away; he couldn't carry them on his head. Tola River was high; even if he got a horse cart borrow in Rajput Road he couldn't cross Tola River with the cart to come to the house.

“Swim dat river and borrow a horse cart!” Nanny shouted. Nanna explained that the river was going
burp burp . . .
the night birds were going
craw craw craw.
The night was

turning and twisting like a black spider; and the thunder, the lightning and the rain were ripping up Tola as if the sky God was mad.

Nanny was in a rage; Rama was vomiting; Ma was bawl-

ing; and Balraj was getting on and getting on and getting on. “Now you go and get dat horse cart!” Nanny screamed. “But how I goin to cross dat river wid dat horse cart?”

Nanna asked in a high voice.

Nanny told him to get a horse cart in Rajput Road, then go up to Atkinson Settlement, cross the iron bridge, then come to Tola Trace through Karan Settlement.

“But if I go all dat distance wid de horse, by de time I come back day goin to be clean out. Dat go take too long. Lemme pray a little more and see if it go help.”

“Go! Go! Go!!!” Nanny screamed.

Nanna left same time.

Ma was bawling, “De poison cover up me chile!”

And Nanny: “Don't get on so! You is a big woman. Wen you get on so you makin de chirens fraid.”

And Sunaree: “We done fraid like hell Nanny!”

Ma felt grief; her grief was not as shallow as a basket, it was deeper than a river; deep like the sea; like a sea without fishes.

“Bring some coconut oil Panday,” Nanny said.

“I fraid like hell to go in dat kitchen Nanny. I fraid a jumbie hold me and eat me.”

“Go wid him,” Nanny said to Sunaree.

Sunaree walked in front. Panday followed her, but not too close because he was afraid of the jumbie. It was dark, but Sunaree knew exactly where to find the coconut oil.

“Wot God Join now?” Panday asked.

“He watchin from de sky.”

“But de sky black like coals.”

“God still watchin.”

“Well God playin de ass now!”

Sunaree told Panday that God was going to make the Devil eat him
cries cries.
Panday ran out of the kitchen. Sunaree brought the coconut oil and handed it to Nanny. Nanny removed the brown paper cap. She took some oil and rubbed down Rama. Then Nanny moved over a little and rubbed down Balraj too.

“Dat trove up on dem bags smellin wost dan cow pee!” Panday said.

“God go bite you,” Sunaree warned.

“All you shut all you mouts!” Ma shouted.

Nanny felt good. She felt just like a doctor. She put the oil bottle to Rama's lips and told him to drink. Rama drank. But he started to vomit again; he wasn't vomiting anything; just the coconut oil that went green in his stomach.

“God! Dis time me chile deadin!” Ma bawled.

Nanny trembled. “Hush! De chile go live. Just now de horse cart comin. Keep corage.”

And Ma: “Me chile deadin!”

“Stop gettin on so!” Nanny shouted.

Ma listened to her. She stopped the bawling, but she couldn't remain quiet; she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, and the tears just rolled down her face.

Nanny didn't know what to do. The rain was falling and the thunder and the lightning were walking all over the vil­lage; just walking all over the place. Nanny took the hand drum and beated and beated and beated until Nanna came.

“You get de horse cart?” Nanny asked doubtfully.

“Yeh,” Nanna answered.

“Where it is?”

“Over de river.”

“But how you goin to take Balraj and Rama over dat river?” Nanny asked.

Nanna explained how he couldn't go all the way to Atkinson Settlement with the horse; it was a waste of time. He just borrowed the cart from Rajput Road, came up Tola Trace, swam the river, and came to carry Balraj and Rama to Tolaville.

“But how you goin to carry dem over de river?”

“I go swim wid dem.”

“But sappose dey drownd?”

“Den I go drownd wid dem!”

There was no time to waste. Nanna took up Balraj and Nanny picked up Rama. They walked out of the house. Ma,

Sunaree and Panday walked behind.

The sky rolled as an endless spider and the rain fell like a shower of poison over Tola. The darkness was thicker than black mud, and the wind howled as evil spirits.

Long before they reached the river, they heard the
hush hush hush
of the current; but they walked on. When they reached the river the water was high up.

Nanna took Balraj and swam the river; the current was pushing hard, but Nanna was a good swimmer. He made it. He called from the other side saying, “Balraj safe on de odder side now!”

“Oright!” Nanny shouted.

When Nanna came to collect Rama, he was tired. Blow­ing. He rested a little. While he rested, Nanny said, “Oldman take care of youself.”

“I see enuff days in Tola. Me eh fraid to dead.”

Nanna got up. He took Rama and went into the water. Nanny, Ma, Sunaree and Panday stood as a heap of living mud; just waiting for Nanna to cross safely. Then the time grew long; long like a rope, and tied them like a rope too. Their bodies formed one great beast reaching up to the sky. And the clouds opened and out of the middle came water; water that washed away the earth into the mouth of the darkness. Then the thunder heated as the heart of rage in space, and out of the space came the lightning as a great spike and it stabbed the mouth of darkness. And the winds became hot and carried death into all the corners . . . then the rope caught fire and the great beast danced to the tune of death between the darkness and the void. The beast danced even though it knew it was going to die . . . it danced and danced, till the void and the darkness strangled the beast . . .

“All you go home now!” Nanna shouted from the other side. “Oright!” Nanny said.

Nanny, Ma, Sunaree and Panday hurried home through the rain.

V

TWO DAYS HAD
passed. The rain was over, but the earth was wet and it smelt like new. The water in the riceland was low. Pa sat on a crate; he was eating a shard of roti. He wasn't drunk, but his eyes looked like dirt. Then he stopped chew­ing the roti. “Eat fast Sunaree and Panday. All you have to plant rice.”

Ma stood near the ricebox. She didn't eat but her belly was full; full of worries. Her eyes were almost hidden in her bony sockets. She said to Pa, “Now you let dese chirens eat in peace. Balraj and Rama still in dat haspital. So you let dese chirens eat.”

Pa sat on the crate. He went on eating, but he shook his feet all the time. Suddenly he threw his food away. “I go take a chila and beat all you modderass in dis house!”

He was waiting for Ma to say something. She said noth­ing. Pa walked out of the house.

Sunaree and Panday sat on the earthen floor. They ate fast, chewing like hell just to please Ma.

“Now all you take all you time,” Ma said. “It not good to eat fast fast.”

Sunaree and Panday couldn't reply to this; their mouths were full of food. They only shook their heads. Ma rested her hands on the tapia wall and looked at them. She didn't smile with them or anything; she just looked at them. They watched her too. Then Sunaree gulped down her food and said, “We is good chirens.”

“Yeh,” Ma said as she turned to go in the kitchen.

Panday chewed slowly. Sunaree told him to hurry up.

“I not hurryin up. I not plantin no rice today. I fraid dem snakes in dat wadder.”

Ma came out of the kitchen. She had an old floursack tied around her head. She said that she was going in front to pull the rice nurseries; Sunaree and Panday were to come later.

“No Ma. Wait for me!” Panday said.

“Come wid Sunaree.”

“I fraid a spirit eat me in dis house.”

Ma laughed. Ugly. She had very few teeth in her mouth; they had fallen off long ago.

“Ma you ugly like a rat rat rat,” Panday sang.

Ma didn't mind. She picked up Panday in her skinny arms. Panday started to cry. He didn't want Ma to hold him. He complained that if she fell, he was going to fall too. She put him down.

Ma walked in front as if she was walking a race or some­thing. Sunaree and Panday walked behind. There were red crabs on the riceland bank. They moved away as Ma walked up to them. But some of them were fat and lazy; lazy just as fat people. Their bellies were big and they looked like red cashews. Sunaree and Panday tried their best to meet Ma. They couldn't. Ma was a fast walker, but she couldn't walk as fast as Jesus. Sunaree and Panday trailed behind. Then
chax!
Panday walked on a fat crab. Sunaree looked over her shoulder and said, “God goin to give you sin Panday!”

“But me eh do it for spite.”

“You still goin to get sin.”

“Me eh do it for spite I tellin you.”

“Oright,” Sunaree said, “but dat crab have plenty young ones in she belly. Now you kill dat crab and all dem young ones too.”

Sunaree and Panday sat on the riceland bank and looked at the female crab. The crab's feet were still moving; trembling like. Something white as cow's milk flowed out of the crushed and upturned belly. Then the feet became dead.

“De crab dead now,” Sunaree said sadly.

“God know it dead?”

“Yeh, God know dat.”,

Panday remained worried and quiet. Sunaree held the crab with her tiny fingers; part of the back was buried in the mud; the mud formed a dirty circle around the belly. She looked carefully; some of the young crabs were moving inside the broken shell. She lifted the dead crab and placed it gently in the water.

Ma was at the end of the riceland bank. She looked back; Sunaree and Panday were still sitting almost at the other end of the bank. “All you come on chirens, it gettin late!” Ma said.

They got up and ran to her.

Ma sat on a potato crate and pulled out the rice plants from the muddy water. The nurseries were thin and long, and softer than grass. Ma pulled them fast with her bony fingers.

Hundreds of brown doves kept flying over the riceland. Their wings went
tat tat tat tat tat
as if dry leaves were rubbing against each other. Black birds rose like a steady flow of smoke, passed over the riceland and settled on the long mango trees.

Sunaree wore a long dress made from a floursack. Panday was dressed in a merino only; he wasn't wearing any pants. They sat on the upturned crate near Ma, and helped her pull the rice plants out of the ground. Then Pa came into the water and joined them. He knew the work well, but he couldn't pull the plants out of the ground faster than Ma. But Pa didn't pull for long. He took a brushing-cutlass and started trim­ming the grass on the narrow meri. As he cutlassed some of the cut grass fell back into the water.