The Sugar Planter's Daughter (24 page)

As I chatted with Andrew the music played and couples danced. Winnie, I saw, was enjoying herself. She did try to prise me away from Andrew, but half-heartedly; she knew I couldn't waltz. I had never danced in my life! Not this kind of European dancing. She seemed happy, anyway, dancing with the other gentlemen. From the corners of my eyes I could see her, laughing with abandon as she swirled past. Now and then I glimpsed the red shine of Yoyo's gown, flashing flags to alert me of distant danger. But the rum punch was delicious and as I finished the glass another full one appeared as if by magic in my hand, and I nipped at that too. I was not used to alcohol and I found the sense of light floating pleasant. How stupid I had been! How irrational my fears! A sort of relaxed excitement drifted through my body, warm and soothing. Andrew cracked a joke and I laughed loudly. I completely forgot that he was white and I was black. I told a few jokes of my own and he laughed too. We could be friends; we would be friends! Eliza and Winnie, Andrew and I. When our house was built we would invite them over. I was so happy I could not help it – I began to drop hints about our future house. My head was light; I was in love with the world. What was that, another full glass, my empty one vanished? I nipped at it in complete and utter satisfaction. Yes, that was the word. Satisfaction, deep and warm. Wanting for nothing.

After a while I felt a pressure in my groin and I discreetly asked Andrew the way to the bathroom. Upstairs, he said.

‘Wait here – I'll be back!' I said and stepped away.

Up the stairs I went, found the lavatory and relieved myself. It felt so good. These people had electric lights in their house. I was completely amazed. All one had to do was pull on a cord and the light went on, pull it again, and it went off. On, off, on, off. I laughed and played with it for some time. How technology was advancing! When we built our home we would have all the latest inventions. Radio and a telephone, and a gramophone so that Winnie could play European music and waltz as much as she wanted. She could teach me to waltz too – I would learn! And she would play the violin again. Electric lights. Of course, a motor-car! And we would have a dog. Five boys and a girl – the perfect family! We would walk out to the Sea Wall every afternoon.

I left the light on and walked over to the mirror. My head was spinning – I felt a little dizzy, and stumbled as I walked. I looked at myself in the mirror. I smiled at myself. I've never been vain – I always assumed I was ugly. But looking at my reflection now, I had to say: not a bad-looking chap I was. Giddy gladness swept through me. My body was relaxed, loose, free. I must go back to Andrew and ask him about the gadgetry in his house so that I knew how to put it in mine.

I opened the door, pulled the cord and switched off the light as I went out into the upstairs hallway. Strangely, it was in darkness. I could have sworn the light had been on when I came upstairs. Where would the switch be? I would need the bathroom light to be able to see. I opened the door again and pulled the cord. The light came on and shone out into the hallway. I stepped out into the half-light.

She was waiting for me, standing in the darkness. The redness of her dress glimmered in the half-light cast from the open doorway, but her face was in shadow. I didn't see the redness at first; I walked straight into her and stumbled. She cackled as she gripped and righted me.

‘What on earth were you doing in there so long, George? I've been waiting ages!'

My entire body froze, including my brain. All my thoughts stopped and the dizziness fled. Breath stood still for those few moments of shock. I was an empty vessel, without thought and without will. Her body pressed into mine, forcing me against the wall. Her hands wandered up and down it. At last, words came.

‘No – I' But her mouth was on mine, her lips forcing mine apart. I shook my head but her hands moved up and held it steady. I could not help it – my body was reacting in a way I did not want but could not prevent. She moved her mouth away. Her hands busied themselves.

‘No,' I moaned again, ‘no. No.' She only laughed in glee.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘See, George – you want it. You know you do!'

And before I knew it she had pushed me along the wall and a door appeared at my back from nowhere; and then the door was open and then she turned the knob and pressed me through the threshold into the room and slowly backwards into the darkness, fumbling with my belt and the opening of my trousers, and though I kept moaning
no
I didn't know if I meant it or not, I only felt this power under whose sway I was; a helpless puppet and she was the puppeteer. And I was helpless. Weak. Completely and utterly subject to her will, a will that conjured reactions that my mind rejected but my body refused to accept. There was me and my body but my body was hers, not mine. And though my brain was awake and screaming
nonononono
, my body was not my own. It was hers and in her hands and we were on the bed and doing something I should not be doing but I could no more stop than I could stop a hurricane and it was sweet and terrible and tremendous and beyond my control and it was all dark and I could not see her face but then all of a sudden there was a sound and a light came on from outside and I jerked to a stop and looked up and there was Winnie standing in the doorway and though her face was in shadow I knew the horror on it for horror was in her scream.

And mine.

Yoyo looked up, turned her eyes to the door and laughed.

T
he nightmare will be
with me for the rest of my life.

I didn't see much in the half-light. Just a tangle of red satin and black naked flesh I recognised as George. I had looked for him everywhere; someone suggested he might have been tired and gone to lie down. He had been drinking one glass of punch after the other, and George is not used to drink. So I had decided to look in the bedrooms. Andrew switched on the upstairs lights for me, and up the stairs I went, in my last moments of carefree innocence.

The black naked flesh I saw, legs and buttocks, from the back, was my husband's. The red satin was Yoyo's dress. The long white bare legs, hers.

I
screamed
and turned and fled. Down the hallway, to the top of the stairs. Down the stairs. But I had forgotten the folds of my beautiful new green dress and my feet caught in the petticoat halfway down and I missed my footing and screamed as I tumbled down the last ten steps.

My belly bounced against the edges of the stairs. Both hard, but only one yielding.

‘My baby!' I moaned as my body bounced downwards, a rag-doll helpless against gravity.

‘My baby!' I cried as I landed in a heap at the foot of the stairs.

‘My baby! My baby!' My hands pressed against my belly to keep her safe, but already I knew.

They all gathered around me. Hands reached out to me. They called my name. Calls of ‘Are you all right?' ‘Are you hurt?' And all I could mumble was ‘My baby!'

‘I'll get the car!' Andrew's anxious voice, in the distance.

More voices.

‘She needs to go to hospital. She might have broken something.'

‘Andrew's getting the car.'

‘At least she's alive!'

‘My baby!' I moaned.

And suddenly in the chaos, his voice, his face, pleading, terrified, horrified; his hands reaching out too, but I slapped them away. ‘Winnie, Winnie, Winnie!' he cried and he was weeping as I had never seen him weep before.

They lifted me up, very carefully, and as they carried me away I looked up and past George's face, and I saw, at the top of the stairs, her. My sister. Yoyo. Smiling triumphantly, a vision in red.

And then the world turned black.

W
hen I came
to I was in the hospital ward, giving birth.

‘No!' I screamed when I realised what was happening. ‘No, please, no!'

Doctors and nurses in white and blue uniforms busied themselves with my nether regions. One nurse looked me in the face and said, to the others, ‘She's back,' and to me, ‘It's all right, dear. You're in good hands.'

Her face was black and shiny and reminded me of Aunty Dolly. Her eyes were kind but filled with woe.

‘My baby!' I wailed. ‘Save my baby! Please, please, save my baby!'

‘I'm sorry, dear,' is all the nurse said. She squeezed my hand.

‘Here it comes,' said someone and I felt something slide easily from my body.

They held that something, passing from hand to hand. I caught a glimpse of it. It looked like a skinned rabbit.

‘A girl,' said someone else.

‘Poor little thing. What a pity!' murmured another voice.

I tried to sit up but ‘Aunty Dolly' pushed me back. ‘Be calm, dear. Be calm.'

I flung away her would-be comforting hands and reached out for my daughter. My Gabriella Rose. I fought away other hands trying to push me back down. I sat up and, moaning and wailing, stretched out my empty arms.

‘Give her to me! Give her!'

‘It's better not, dear. It's better not to'

‘I want her!' I screamed. ‘Give her to me!'

They looked at each other and then they laid my poor little naked baby in my arms. My dead little girl. My dearly beloved daughter. I wrapped her in a sheet and cuddled her and wept and wailed and then they took her gently from me and thankfully I must have fainted because that's the last thing I remember, gentle hands taking my dead baby from me.

When I came to I was in another room and all cleaned up. A nurse was holding my wrist, taking my pulse. It was a private room, clean and airy, the wooden walls painted a cheerful yellow. I realised then that I was in Dr van Sluytman's private hospital. I had given birth in this hospital several times, recovered in this room. Another nurse entered.

‘Ah, she's awake,' she said. ‘Dear, your husband is outside, in the corridor. I'll go and call him in.'

‘NO!' I cried. ‘Keep him out! Don't let him near me! Ever!'

And that is all I can say of that night of nightmares. There are no words to describe what was going on in my soul. No words. Words are feeble little things compared to the power of sheer devastation.

All that remains is tears. The moment I was alone again they exploded out of me, bursting through the membrane of polite pride that had held me together till now. Wailing sobbing heaving ugly brow-beating hair-pulling body-writhing screaming end-of-the-world tears.

Y
oyo has caused
the scandal of the young century with her behaviour – and she doesn't give a hoot. In fact she seems to be enjoying it all.

The news reached me the very next day, by telegram, sent by a desperate George. I hurried down to Georgetown with Poole. By that time all that was left of Winnie was a puddle of tears. Yoyo, I heard, had already left town and was on her way back to Promised Land. We must have passed each other on the way. In fact, I vaguely remember seeing a car just like hers racing past me towards Berbice, and shaking my head at the careless driving. That must have been her, running away from the mess.

First of all there were the boys to take care of. George's mother was doing the best she could but her relief was palpable as she opened the door to me. I was torn in four directions: George, Winnie, the children and, perhaps most of all, Yoyo: they all needed attention. One by one I dealt with them: Humphrey, bless his soul, was a great help with the older boys, and took them to a neighbour's house. That's how it works in Albouystown: neighbours help neighbours. I hired two girls to help Ma with the babies, and went to the hospital to see Winnie who was, at this time, beyond help and comfort and support.

I could understand that.

I too had lost a much-wanted unborn child. A little boy. My Edward John, never forgotten. That loss, and my reaction to it, might be at the root of all our troubles today. Edward John was today's Gabriella Rose. In those first few days – I remembered clearly – outside support would have been useless. The bereaved mother must go through that particular fire on her own. I could be of no help to Winnie.

But George. Back at the house, George told me his story amid sobs and breast-beating self-reproach. I believed his every word, because I knew Yoyo and had seen her behaviour at Promised Land and I remembered that Christmas, so many years ago. What had happened then had remained, a landmine between Yoyo and George. It was bound to go off one day. That it had happened so publicly was our bad luck. But Winnie knew nothing of Yoyo's behaviour that Christmas. We had all done our best to protect her from the truth, George, me and Yoyo herself. That kindness, as we had thought of it, would complicate matters now no end; Winnie still lived in blissful admiration of Yoyo and allowed no criticism of her sister. Yoyo could do no wrong in her eyes; Winnie actually believed that the silent war between her husband and her sister was all down to George's stubbornness and pride. Winnie believed in fairytale endings; for years she had longed for these two to be friends. How could we tell her now that Yoyo was the guilty party here, and George the innocent?

G
eorge
. The story he told me was dreadful, but it rang with truth. I knew my youngest daughter. And I knew George. I reached out, took his hand, and said,
I believe you, George.

I took him into my arms and he wept like a baby against my breast, and I comforted him like a baby. That was when the knock came at the door. The older boys were at a neighbour's and Ma had taken the troop of little ones to the gardens, so it was I who opened the door.

A policeman stood on the landing. When he saw me he removed his cap.

‘Good day, ma'am. I'm here to see Mr George Quint.'

I straightened my back and glared at him.

‘And why would you want to see Mr Quint?'

‘Ma'am, I am not in a position to pass on information to third parties. Is Mr Quint at home?'

I made a quick decision. Opening the door wide, I said, ‘Come in.'

I led him into the gallery where George still sat weeping in the Berbice chair.

‘George,' I said, ‘This gentleman would like a word with you.'

George looked up, his face tear-streaked. His eyes were still watery. I gestured to the officer to take a seat but he remained standing.

‘Good morning, Mr Quint. I'm here in connection with an incident that occurred Saturday night last. A witness has reported an… an attack. Sir, you have been accused of indecently assaulting a young lady and I would like to question you.'

‘What? Assault?
He's
supposed to have assaulted
her?
Who told you that rubbish? It was the other way round!'

‘Ma'am, if you don't mind, please let the gentleman speak for himself.'

But I would not let this go. I needed to get my words on record. George was in no position to defend himself at this moment.

‘Let me tell you this, young man! The lady in question – and I'm not sure if the description “lady” is even appropriate – is
my daughter
and I have every right to give my opinion as a character witness – is the guilty party here. Write it down right there on your little pad: this man is innocent.'

The officer chuckled and shook his head.

‘Since when are women capable of raping men?'

He chuckled a little more, obviously amused by the very notion.

‘So now this has changed from indecent assault to
rape?
'
George howled in anguish as I said those words. I turned to him. ‘Don't worry, George. It will be all right.'

‘Ma'am, please let me ask this gentleman my questions.'

‘No. This man is innocent and should not be subjected to such a ridiculous rigmarole. Don't think I don't know what is going on here. It's not only that a
woman
might be guilty of assaulting a man – it's that a
white woman
could never, ever, not in a thousand years, ever assault a black man. Is that not the problem here?'

‘Ma'am'

‘Who reported this? Yoyo herself? A witness, you said? What witness? Who? Many people were at that party. But nobody was in the room with them.'

‘Ma'am, I am not at liberty to say. If you would just allow me to'

For the first time, George spoke up.

‘Mama – let me talk to him. Please. I can explain it all.'

My fury fled immediately at his words. He sounded calm and in control. Very well, I would leave him to it. All he had to do was tell his story, just as he had told it to me. So I retrieved my hat from the hat-rack and went out. I decided to go to see Winnie again, and Poole drove me to the hospital.

‘
S
he's no better
,' a nurse told me. ‘We've given her tranquillisers, so she's asleep now, but the shock is deep and the moment they wear off and she remembers, it's the same. Hysterics no end.'

Since there was nothing I could do for Winnie I went to visit the Stewarts. I liked both Andrew and Eliza and I hoped they could give me a neutral report of what had happened.

To my delight that visit confirmed my own suspicions. Eliza was alone at home. When she heard about the police visit she immediately placed a telephone call (the Stewarts had all the latest inventions; I looked on in amazement) to her husband, who was, of course, I remembered, a lawyer; when she returned her face was drawn.

‘This could be serious, Andrew says,' she said. ‘George should not have spoken to the police without a solicitor present. Andrew is going to George's place right now to sort things out. And he'll get it sorted. Don't worry,' she went on when I opened my mouth to speak, ‘He'll work for free; George is a friend.'

B
y midday
the rumour was running wild in Georgetown's high society: George had raped Yoyo. It seemed, to some people, thoroughly impossible that a white woman would willingly have done what Yoyo is supposed to have done with a black man. No. He must have attacked her, forced her into submission.

Those who knew her, and those who had been present at the party, only laughed at that suggestion and shook their heads. But there was no proof, and as yet no accusation from Yoyo herself. A witness, the officer had said. Someone had reported a rape. But as yet there was no evidence of anything. They had only this: George, Yoyo and Winnie upstairs. Winnie running downstairs, tripping and falling. But that, it seemed, was enough fuel to fan the fire of rumour, and George's imaginary crime was on every white person's lips.

T
he next day
George was hauled before a judge, a white judge. Andrew was with him, armed with witness statements. These, together with George's utter devastation, must have been convincing enough for, pending Yoyo's statement, he was not charged. I wondered, for a moment, if she would go so far as to confirm rape. Had I raised such a monster? Or rather, had I NOT raised such a monster? I knew that a rape charge was the only way to save her reputation, whatever was left of it. She had stood laughing at the top of the stairs, witnesses from the party confirmed, and that, perhaps, is what convinced the judge that there might be some truth in George's story.

That evening a message arrived, special delivery, from the telegraph department. George had been suspended from duty pending the outcome of criminal investigations.

It was the last straw for George.

‘How will I maintain my family? How will I find work? It's not true! It's not true! I didn't assault her, it was she, she who – what will Winnie say? What if they send me to prison, Ma? What if she lies, what if I am tried and convicted? Isn't that what she will want?'

‘Shush, George, don't worry. We will all work to clear your name. Soon you'll be back at the job.'

I wondered, though. Once a man has such a rumour attached to his name – even if it is proven untrue – can he ever free himself from the cloud of doubt hanging over his head? There will always be whispers, rumours.

Then another outburst:

‘The bank! The bank!' he cried out. ‘I've lost everything! Everything! Our house!'

Bit by bit, the story came out. George had been saving for a down payment on a house, and had found just the place, on Lamaha Street. He had been just about to sign for a bank loan; it was to be his big surprise for Winnie, her birthday present next week.

‘If I lose my job I can't get the loan,' he sobbed.