No Pain Like This Body (5 page)

There was a long silence, then Sunaree said, “Wen Nanna comin from work Nanny?”

“He comin late.”

“Well we goin back home.”

Nanny didn't want them to go, so she said, “Now all you change dem wet clothes. If all you wear dem wet clothes all you goin to get sick.”

Nanny went into the bedroom and brought some dry clothes for them. She gave Sunaree a long cotton dress. It was too long for her, because Nanny was a tall skinny woman.

Sunaree took a piece of cord and tied it around her waist. Balraj changed into one of Nanna's old pants and a loose khaki shirt. He pulled the leather belt around his waist and asked, “How I lookin Nanny?”

“You lookin good.”

Nanny dished out some food: dal, rice and coconut chut­nee on sohari leaves. They ate.

When Balraj and Sunaree finished eating, Nanny gave them water to wash their hands. She took the sohari leaves and flung them in the rain. Then Nanny gave Sunaree a bam­boo flute. Balraj sat and listened as she played the flute. Then Nanny took the brown hand drum and beated and beated until Nanna came from work.

The rain was over but the sky was still cloudy. It was get­ting dark inside the house. Nanny lighted a flambeau. Nanna was eating; he looked sadder than a poor-me-one. He chewed his food
scroosh scroosh;
he stopped and thought a little, then he chewed
scroosh scroosh
again.

“Me dorta shouda leff dat man,” Nanny said. “She seein too much trobble wid him.”

And Nanna: “Is one dorta I have in dis world. It have no peace for she. It better if she dead.”

Nanna couldn't eat any more. He pushed the food away and stared at the light.

“You have no right to worry youself oldman. We near we grave now. A few more years and we goin to dead and pass out.”

But Nanna said nothing. He just stared at the light.

It was pitch dark when Nanna, Nanny, Balraj and Sunaree left Rajput Road to walk the half mile up Tola Trace to the house. Nanna walked in front. With the drum tied around her neck, Nanny walked behind him. Sunaree held the bam­boo flute in her hand as she walked almost abreast of Nanny. Balraj walked behind. The ground was very slippery, they had to be careful.

When they reached Tola River, the water bawled as an evil spirit. The place was dark and the river was making noise, going
burp burp burp.
Nanna told them to wait. He walked alone to the river. The water was pushing hard. Water was already above the bamboo crossing. Nanna walked back to them
splunk splunk.
He took Balraj on his shoulder. Balraj was scared as a rat. With Balraj on his shoulder, Nanna made the crossing. He left Balraj under the long mango tree and came back for Sunaree. She sat on his shoulder. Then Nanna turned to Nanny and said, “You walk behine.”

“Oright.”

Sunaree was trembling. Nanna held her tight. He tested every footstep. The water reached over his knees at the middle of the crossing. Nanna was breathing
foo foo foo
like a bull. When they made the crossing, Nanna said “Praise God.”

III

AUGUST WAS
rice-planting month. The riceland was covered with water. It looked like a sea. Panday was scrubbing the pots with the coconut fibre. Ma was inside the house attending to Rama. She heard Panday scrubbing the pots in the kitchen, because the kitchen and the house were under the same roof. Only a tapia wall separated the bedroom from the kitchen. Ma covered Rama up with old bags. His nose was stuffed up. She took an old rag and cleaned it. “How you feelin son?”

“Me chest lightin up like fire.”

“It hurtin you plenty?”

“Not plenty plenty,” he replied. “But it hurtin like hell.”

Ma didn't know what to do. She had tried almost every­thing: lime juice, lime tea, coconut oil and hot milk, but nothing seemed to work for Rama. Ma looked at his eyes; they were dark and sad and red. Rama was feeling cold and sick, but it was hard for Ma to do anything more for him.

“Panday!”

“Yeh Ma!”

“Come in dis house right now!”

“Why?”

“Boy you just come in dis house!”

“Oright!” he said as he walked out of the kitchen.

Ma sat on the earthen floor. She took Rama's head and placed it on her lap. Then she took some coconut oil and rubbed his head. “How you feelin son?”

“I sick. Feelin more sick.”

Panday came inside the bedroom.

“You bredder sick bad,” Ma said. “Balraj and Sunaree not home yet. Stay wid Rama in dis house. I goin by dat rumshop to see wot you fadder doin.”

Panday stared at the flambeau in the bedroom and said that he was not going to stay in the house with Rama, because he was afraid of the evil spirits that lived in the forest.

“Well den go back and do dem pots.”

“Oright.”

Panday went back into the kitchen to wash the pots. Then Ma put back Rama's head on the ricebag. She stood up and said, “Now you sleep Rama.”

Ma walked out of the bedroom and came into the kitchen. Panday was still scrubbing away with the coconut fibre. Ma took the fibre from him, handed him a cocoyea broom, say­ing, “You sweep out de kitchen Panday.”

The place was almost completely dark, but the wind was blowing easy easy. Now and then some pieces of lightning danced around the kitchen, but there was no thunder. The flambeau made the kitchen look alive. But the kitchen was very uncomfortable; the earthen floor was wet and cold. Panday held the thick coconut broom in both hands, bending down to sweep as if he was a cripple. When he was almost fin­ished, he bawled out, “Looka skopian!”

Ma took the iron pot from the other side of the kitchen and ran by Panday. “Where de skopian?” she asked.

Panday told her he had seen a large black scorpion on the earthen floor. When he called her, the scorpion had crawled back into a crack in the wall.

“You sure you see a skopian boy?”

“Yeh Ma. I see a skopian.”

“Well put down dat broom,” Ma said. “Go in dat house and sleep wid Rama.”

“Oright.”

It was dark. Night came early like. Black clouds were mov­ing up and down in the sky. The thunder began a slow grumble as if it was pulling itself away from the forest and the sky, then it began to shake up Tola. Ma knew that it was going to rain again. She was worried. She heard something. She listened.

A drum was beating. It kept on beating. Well. It kept on beating and beating and beating and beating. . . . The rain began to drizzle. Ma heard the rain drizzling. Then the rain came down real hard and the lightning danced and the thunder shook up Tola. Then the wind came out from the sky and began to pull the trees and shake the house. But the drum was still beating. She held the flambeau in her hand. The wind was trying to out the light. When the drumming almost reached the house, Ma called, “Ay!”

“Oy!” Nanny answered.

Ma was happy. She listened to the drum. It heated faster and faster. She heard the drum beating inside her chest. It was beating fast and hard and fast and hard; just beating inside her chest and in the sky.

Nanna, Nanny, Balraj and Sunaree walked inside the house. They were soaked all over as if they had fallen inside the river. The drum was tied around Nanny's neck; it was brown as a brown cow. Ma went out into the yard to meet them, then she carried them inside the kitchen. She took out rice and dal. They ate.

When the food was finished, they washed their hands with rainwater that fell from the thatched roof. The water felt like ice. Balraj was trying to wash his whole hand. He leaned over; almost over the drain. There was a flash of lightning the same time. He jumped up and fell down inside the canal. Nanna and Nanny rushed into the drain and took him out. They carried him to the rainwater barrel. He had a good bath at the back of the house. They brought him into the kitchen. “How Rama feelin?” Nanny asked Ma.

“He sick wid fever.”

“He sick bad?”

“Me eh know,” Ma said. “But all you coud go and see him inside. He sleepin wid Panday.”

Nanna and Nanny went into the bedroom to see Rama. He was asleep, but he was breathing hard hard. Panday was asleep too. They walked back to the kitchen, and Nanny said to Ma, “Rama have bad fever.”

And Ma: “Me husban in de rumshop. He not care notten about dese chirens. But by de grace of God dese same chirens goin to come man and woman in dis same Tola.”

“But Rama have to see a docta,” Nanny said.

And Nanna put on a worried look. “I goin by dat rumshop to see me son-in-law. He have to come home and help me say some prayers for dis chile.”

“Oright,” Nanny said.

Nanna walked out of the kitchen into the drizzle and the night.

About an hour after Nanna left, Nanny started to beat the drum. The rain was falling making its own music. Sunaree was playing the flute. Nanny's fingers were long and bony. They touched the goat's skin as if they were accustomed to it. She beated the drum slow slow. Sunaree played the flute good; her fingers touched the holes in the bamboo flute as if they were made for them. The music of the flute was sweeter than sugar; than life even. Ma was dancing. Balraj was watching. The kitchen was full of music and sadness: music from the sky and the earth, but sadness from the earth alone. And their spirits were growing and floating in the air like silkcotton flowers.

Nanny started a song. Her eyes were dark and sad. She sang a part and Ma repeated it. Ma sang a line, and she repeated it. So it went on and on. The song was in Hindi. The sky God was listening, because the drum was beating like cake over Tola; like honey. It was beating and beating and beating; beating only to keep them awake like bats; it was beating only to keep them happy and sad, happy and sad; it was beating for the black night that was choking Tola, and the rain that was pounding the earth; the drum was beating in the sky and it was beating on the earth; it was beating, and even the great sky God could not stop it from beating, because it was beating and beating and beating just as the heavens roll.

Suddenly it ended. Nanny said to Ma, “You have good chirens. God go help dem one day. Wid all dis blackness choking Tola from all sides, it hard for dem later on.”

“God go help dem,” Ma said with great sadness in her voice.

Nanny beated the drum again. This time she beated for the tadpoles, the scorpions and the night birds; she beated not only for the living things of Tola; she beated a tune for all that lives and moves upon the face of the earth. She beated and she knew that the great sky God was watching with his big big eyes.

A large cockroach with long wings
flew flut
over the light. It settled
taps
on the earthen wall. It was wet; it came from the rain to shelter near the light. Nanny took the brown hand drum and crushed it
crachald
Then Sunaree took the flute and crushed it; crushed it to nothingness.

The rain continued to fall. Fall really heavy, as if the rice-land was going to overflow and cover the whole house. Ma, Nanny, Balraj and Sunaree stood inside the kitchen. White sprays jumped over the wall and soaked them. The wind was strong; it was as if big big winds were leaving from far away and blowing over Tola and the whole of the island; blowing with such force and temper; blowing with the intention of crippling even the trees, blowing just to cause trouble and

hate. Ma kept lighting the flambeau. Each time she did, the strange winds outed it. Rain began to fall through the holes in the roof, soaking their heads. Some of the needle grass was blown off the roof by the wind. Rain poured through the holes more and more. Inside the kitchen, the floor was getting slippery; almost too slippery to stand. There were small holes in the earthen floor. They were filling up with water. Ma kept lighting the flambeau; it was no use.

“Like Pa send dat wind,” Balraj said.

“De wind and de rain too strong for de flambeau,” Nanny said.

They couldn't stand any more, so they squatted. Nanny held the drum in her lap. Cold water from the rottening rafters kept falling on their heads. Falling and running down their faces. There were crickets too inside the kitchen; by the tens, jumping crazily. Balraj and Sunaree were afraid of them.

Ma pulled out a strip of tarpaulin from behind the machan, it was cold, with holes all over; but it smelt like something to eat. She gave it to Balraj and Sunaree to cover their heads. Now the water was flowing on the earthen floor; just flowing as a river flows. It was getting colder and colder.

“Ay Ma!” Panday screamed from inside the house.

Ma and Nanny ran inside the house. Water was seeping through the needle grass on the roof and wetting Rama. Ma and Nanny grabbed the ricebags and skidded them along the earthen floor. They looked up. The roof was leaking in many places.

“Rama sick. He cant get wet. Wot we goin to do?” Ma asked.

“Put Rama inside de ricebox,” Nanny advised.

Balraj and Sunaree were in the bedroom helping Ma and Nanny out.

“All you help put Rama in dat ricebox,” Ma said.

“Oright,” Balraj replied.

Ma and Nanny grabbed one side of the ricebags; Balraj, Sunaree and Panday held the other end. They carried Rama out of the bedroom. Rama was crying, so they rested him down near the bedroom door. Then they picked him up again and carried him by the ricebox.

There was no time to ask Rama why he was crying. The roof was leaking more and more. They had to put Rama inside the ricebox quickly, because he was sick. Ma said to Balraj, “Open dat ricebox fast. We have to put Rama in dat box right now.”

“Oright.”

The ricebox was six feet long and four feet wide. Balraj opened the lid. He went inside. Ma held the light over the box. The unground rice in the box was wet; Balraj levelled it out with his hands. When the box was prepared, he came out.

They lifted Rama slowly; they lifted him as if he was dead. Balraj climbed back into the box. He took the light from Ma and placed it inside the box. With the flambeau inside it, the ricebox looked like a big rottening pumpkin. Then Balraj climbed out of the box. Rama and the light were shut into the box.