No Pain Like This Body (8 page)

Several mango trees lined the northern edge of the rice-land. They were tall. Some of them had wild pines growing on their branches. Ripe mangoes fell inside the riceland; that made the water blackish near the trees. The water smelt bad too, because the mangoes were rottening inside of it.

“Come and take up dese grass!” Pa shouted.

Sunaree and Panday got up. They walked fast. Pa was cut­lassing the grass on the bank. Sunaree and Panday took the grass that fell in the water, made them into small balls and placed them on the meri.

When they were finished picking up the grass, they went and joined Ma. It was time to scatter the rice nurseries. Ma held the tops of the rice plants and broke them off, because this made the plants grow better. Then she collected them into small handfuls, and tied them into small faggots. Sunaree and Panday threw the faggots out all over the riceland.

“Help me plant some rice,” Ma said.

“No,” Pa declared.

“Why?”

“Kiss me ass! Dat is why.”

Ma remained quiet as a mango skin. She didn't even look at Pa. She took up a faggot of rice plants in her left hand, loosed the banana string that held it together and started to plant the rice. Ma was always a good planter. The plants stood upright, about eight inches above the water, because the roots were well buried under the water; the plants did not lean too much in any direction. She made a straight row along the bank; went a little way with it; then she turned around and made another row. The faggot planted about three rows. Then she took another one, and planted
chooks chooks chooks
again.

Sunaree and Panday planted too. Sunaree and Panday knew about rice planting, but Sunaree did most of the work. Panday spent his time looking for red crabs in the water. Panday didn't want to kill the crabs; he felt sorry for crabs; he was only trying to get them out of Sunaree's way; he didn't

want her to kill them by mistake. It was very hard to see the crabs in the water; it was too muddy. Panday just ran his hands in the water; whenever he found a crab, he caught it and threw it out of the way. He had to be careful because the red crabs had sharp gundies.

Sunaree planted slow, but she planted good. Once or twice she tried to move fast, but the plants didn't stand upright, because the roots were not placed in the ground firmly; they were uprooted by the wind.

Pa went under the doodoose mango tree. He sat down and ate mangoes all the time. He ate just like a pig; the yellow juice rolled down his face and fell on his chest, and hundreds of flies licked his lips; but he didn't care.

And Ma stood up and said, “Come and help me plant some rice!”

“Kiss me ass!” Pa said.

“But I have to go and see Balraj and Rama in dat haspital.” “Just shut dat mout I say!”

Ma was helpless and afraid. She wasn't a coward or any­thing; she was brave, but brave only as a woman is brave. Like

the time last year when Balraj went to steal oranges in Sancho Estate, he carried Rama with him. The rain was falling and falling and falling, yet Balraj carried Rama with him. There was thunder and lightning and the sky was dark; Balraj carried the empty ricebag on his shoulder, and Rama walked behind him.

The orange tree was tall. Many lianas were choking the tree to death. Balraj climbed up, picked the oranges and threw them

to the ground for Rama. Rama collected the oranges and threw them inside the ricebag. But Rama started to bawl, bawl as if something was biting him. Balraj climbed down the tree, because he thought that a snake was biting Rama. Rama was bawling and rolling on the ground but nothing was wrong with him. Balraj grew afraid. He left Rama inside the estate alone. He ran home through the rain and told Ma that a spirit was holding Rama under the orange tree. Ma ran into the estate and found Rama rolling under the orange tree. He told her that there was an evil spirit upon him; the spirit was biting and choking him all the time. Rama was fighting her, but Ma was strong. And when she brought him home he was still bawl­ing; bawling because the spirit had followed him into the house. Ma fought with him all night. In the morning he was better, because Ma had the strength to drive the spirit away.

“Come and help me plant de rice,” Ma said.

“Why?” Pa asked, still sitting.

“Because I want to go in dat haspital and see Balraj and Rama. I is dey modder.”

“Now you shut you modderass and plant dat rice!”

Pa stood up. He stood up as a tall juniper stump. His belly was full of the mangoes he ate, so he had the strength to watch Ma. Ma was hungry, so she couldn't quarrel too much. She just loosed another faggot and went on planting the rice.

Sunaree was planting good, but not good enough. Her rows were not in one straight line; she was trying her best to make a straight line, but she couldn't. When Pa shouted at Ma, Sunaree looked for Panday. He was still trying his best to rescue the reddish crabs.

“Panday come and help me plant de rice!”

“I not helpin you plant no rice!”

“Panday Pa goin to beat you,” Sunaree warned.

Panday knew that Pa was a snake. He left the crabs alone, took a faggot and went toward Sunaree. Panday was not a good planter; he didn't know how to ram the rice roots under the water and then cover them with mud, but he was trying to plant faster than Sunaree. He wasn't holding the plants carefully; sometimes he squeezed so hard that they broke in the middle just about the water line. There was about eight inches of water in the riceland. The rice plants were about six­teen inches long; when the roots were buried in the mud, the plants were supposed to stand straight above the water. Panday finished his faggot quickly and took another one. But he was afraid; afraid because some of the rice plants he had planted were leaning in the water; others were buried so deep into the mud that the tops were hidden under the muddy water; some of the plants just floated above the water.

“Look wot you doin Panday!” Sunaree said.

“I not doin notten. Dis rice coud kiss me ass! I is a chile.” “If Pa hear you he go beat you Panday!”

“But I is a little chile!”

Pa stood on the riceland bank by the doodoose mango tree. He heard Panday. He jumped as a bull on the riceland bank. “Panday shut you kiss me ass mout boy! Shut it boy! Me Jesus Christ! If you make me come in dat wadder I go kick you till you liver bust!”

And Ma: “You leff dem chirens alone! Just leff dem alone! Befo you send dese chirens to school, you makin dem plant rice in Tola. But I tell you dat God watchin from dat sky. Dese chirens goin to come man and woman in Tola. Just leff dem alone!”

There was no more race between Sunaree and Panday now. Speed was getting Panday into trouble. He stooped down and moved as an old man in the water, but he still couldn't make a straight line.

Then Pa left. He walked slow because he didn't want to fall on the slippery bank. He went home.

The time passed slow, but it passed. The evening walked out of the forest and hunched over Tola. Ma had the last fag­got. Birds moved hurriedly from one corner of the sky to the other. Thousands and thousands of birds: doves, semps, silverbeaks, wild pigeons and hawks just floated across the sky; they passed over the riceland, hurrying to their homes inside the forest. The clouds were tired in the sky; they floated about lifelessly.

“Sunaree and Panday go home,” Ma said.

Sunaree and Panday were tired and hungry; their bellies were full of wind; they were getting sharp pains in their stom­achs, but they waited for Ma. Ma was in a great hurry to finish the last faggot; she too was hungry and tired. When the last faggot was planted Ma came out of the water.

Pa was asleep on a ricebag near the rainwater barrel. He was snoring
hort snort hort snort
like an animal. His mouth was open. Flies went inside his mouth, but they came back out because his mouth was smelling bad. His hands were folded across his chest as if he was already dead; dead and rottening.

Ma took the enamel dipper. She fished out some water from the rainwater barrel and poured it over Sunaree and Panday. They rubbed their skins, trying to get the mud off their bodies.

Pa woke up. “All you makin too much kiss me ass noise!” “Now is evenin,” Ma said. “You not sleep enuff?”

“No!”

“You come home a long time now. You not plant no rice. You know full well dat dese chirens hungry. Befo you cook some food, you studyin to sleep.”

“You shut you kiss me ass mout and cook!”

“I cant cook! I have to go and see Balraj and Rama in dat haspital.”

“You shut you ass and cook!”

Pa went on talking; he talked
vat vat flap flap flap
as when a jandi pole shakes in the wind. There were razor grass and broken bottles in his voice. Pa talked; he didn't talk a little and stop, and talk a little and stop; he just went on talking and talking and talking. Ma was quiet; she just shook her head from side to side as a mad woman shakes her head.

“Come inside de kitchen,” Ma said to Sunaree and Panday.

Ma walked into the kitchen first. Sunaree and Panday walked behind her; they looked back all the time, because they were afraid of Pa.

“Put some water in dat iron pot,” Ma said to Panday. Panday took the pot and went by the rainwater barrel. Sunaree was helping Ma knead the flour. Ma sat on the

earthen floor and peeled sweet potatoes with a small knife.

Most of the potatoes were reddish and rotten like.

“I want some water for de flour Ma,” Sunaree said. “Ay Panday!” Ma called.

There was no answer. Ma called again. There was no answer. As she was about to call again, Panday ran inside the kitchen.

“Wot happen boy?” Ma asked.

“Pa runnin me wid de ledderbelt!” he said.

Ma lifted her head. Pa stood in the doorway as a dead tree. He had the leather belt in his left hand; he was gripping it firmly. “I go kill Panday ass!”

Sunaree had dry flour in her hands up to her elbow. She was sitting on the wooden peera. She was no longer kneading the dough to make the roti; her fingers stuck to the flour, and with her head tilting slowly backwards, she stared at Pa in fear and disgust.

“Now you leff Panday alone!” Ma shouted.

“Why?”

“Because he is my chile. I bleed blood to make him. You dont want me to go and see Balraj and Rama in dat haspital. But I goin walkin to Tolaville. You cant stop me. Dem chirens longin to see dey modder. I goin walkin to Tolaville I tell you!”

There was a slow groaning as if a cow or a mule were groaning; groaning in sleep like. Ma sank to the ground as level as a shadow. She held on to her head and groaned sharply. She wasn't bleeding or anything. Pa just struck her in her right ear with his huge fist.

“Now Panday come here!” Pa screamed.

Panday leaned against the wall as if he was a wall too, lean­ing against another wall. With tears in his eyes he begged Pa saying, “Wen you get old I go give you food! Dont beat me Pa!”

“Panday!”

“Yeh Pa.”

“Siddown!”

“Oright.”

Panday bent his knees and leaned against the wall. His lips shook. Saliva leaked out of his mouth and ran down his neck. He watched Pa. Sunaree sat in front of him; her back was almost touching him, but Panday couldn't see her, because he just watched Pa.

Ma got up slowly. She held on to her right ear.

“Like me ears bell bust!” she screamed.

“You shouda dead!” Pa yelled.

“O God! Me ears ringin inside.”

“You shouda dead,” Pa declared again as he walked out of the kitchen.

After a while Ma loosed the floursack from her head. The floursack was spotted with dirt. She sat down, flung the flour-sack into a corner, and started to peel the sweet potatoes again. She had long black hair. Thick. The hair hung down from her head as strands of strong black rope. She wept as she peeled the potatoes; wept easy easy, because she was afraid to cry in the house.

Sunaree stood up. She went outside. The rice pot was sit­ting on an old potato crate by the rainwater barrel. She took it, dipped some water from the barrel and went back into the kitchen.

“Put de wadder to hot on de fireside,” Ma said.

“Oright.”

“Today you goin to see Balraj and Rama Ma?” Panday asked.

“No.”

A little later and food was ready. It was a habit in the house: Pa always ate first. If he was not at home, Ma had to dish out his food first, then put it away. Ma took out a good portion of food and carried it inside the bedroom for Pa. He didn't say a word. He just ate the food.

VI

PA WAS ASLEEP
.

Ma was picking Sunaree's head; each time she caught a louse she crushed it
tits
between her fingernails.

Nanna was running; he was blowing as a bull and running as a madman runs. He was moving fast. He bolted into the yard as a wild hog. His shoulder caught an orange branch;
crax!
the branch broke.

Ma pushed Sunaree aside. “Wot happen Pa?” she asked.

Nanna was still running; he was wearing a white merino and running like the wind. He passed by Ma like a light­ning and ran by the ricebox, then he turned around as a snake turns and ran back by Ma.

“Rama dead! He dead and gone!”

“O God! O God! Me chile God!!!”

And Nanna: “He get over de skopian bite, but he dead wid umonia fever. He just dead. I runnin from Tolaville.”

The sun was low as a house and red like a jamoon; it looked as if it was falling inside the Gulf of Tola. Pa was rest­ing on the ricebags inside the house. He was awakened by the bawling. He listened. Rama was dead. His head began to beat like a drum. He got up and ran out of the bedroom as a rat.

Ma saw him. “You drink rum and run me chile in dat rain. But it have a God I tell you. I go tell de whole of Tola dat you kill me chile! Now he dead and lyin down in Tolaville.”

Pa folded his arms. “Is true I drink rum. But me eh kill dat chile. Me eh de know de chile wouda dead. God kill
Rama. I didnt run dem in dat riceland to kill dem. I de just run dem because me eh de want dem to wet in dat rain. God know is de truth I talkin.”