Free Strange Music by Laura Fish Page B

Clear Doctor Demar’s rum fram hall table.’
    â€˜Wa mek yu send me send fe Doctor Demar wen Doctor Demar ere?’ Pa asks.
    â€˜Me didn’t know dat, Pa.’ Peering through open doorway moonlight moves darkly, sneaking across sea’s endless blank face. I shout after Mary Ann into darkness, ‘Yu skim de oil fe coconut meat? Yu do chores wid May, Jo an Friday? Fetch wata, bucket in dere fe yu.’
    Looking like he could kill, Pa grinds him iron jaw. Like I making things worse, not better. ‘Me didn’t know,’ he cuts.
    Struck again by all badness that’s happened I’m walking through great-house hall. Candle-light flickers along corridors. Strong smells seep from rum and coconut oil polish I rubbed into mahogany wall panels until they shone. Mary Ann – she misery stings cruelly, If me stab meself pain’ll go? On hall table a rum tumbler, pitcher of water and strong rum punch jug set out earlier on silver tray for Doctor Demar, waits for Mary Ann to clear.
    Shutting out sweeping ocean, both drawing-room doors I close. ‘Mary Ann! Mary Ann!’ I’m shouting. Mary Ann’s where? Can’t see or hear my daughter any more. Lantern don’t shine from kitchen block. God forgive all we here . Mary Ann stood high as my shoulder, she was nine when she hiding began. Suddenly I can’t stop crying and aching for she. I don’t know how to wipe clean this stain that’s Mister Sam’s badness. Memories sicken me.
    Mister Sam’s door stands half open. Him eye plead helplessly. Blue in him eye’s too dark to see. Arms lie like a cross on him chest.
    Thrashing like him drowning, Mister Sam’s hands crab sheets. Like a sudden raw energy throbs in him blood he vomits, full force, as I never seen man or woman vomit before. Kneeling, mopping up him vile mess, I’m thinking I’m no better than Mary Ann – Mister Sam’s fancy thing – like all woman in this place, trampled by a man. Mister Sam’s hands, hot as sun-scorched sand, reach for mine. Foul black bile streams from him mouth. Mister Sam’s fever brings spasms all night.
    Hot night passes. Mournfully conch-blow wails – monster’s dawn-break sound. Punching pillows to make them light, my heart’s pounding as surf crashes on pink coral reefs.
    Sunlight spreads, glittering gold across blue sea. Mary Ann smiles wickedly from under Mister Sam’s four-poster but she eye’s glazed and crazed like Rebecca Laslie’s.
    â€˜Gimme a cup a-chalklit, do,’ Mary Ann says. Crawling lizard-like on she belly, she upsets Mister Sam’s tray I hold.
    â€˜Yu dun yet? Wot a ting!’ I’m saying to she.
    Mary Ann searches for fruit, sugar grains, china chips. Scars don’t show on Mary Ann’s face when she’s looking down. She mumbles, ‘It brik,’ trying to fit patterned china slices back together.
    â€˜Always yu brik crockeries. Go’way, Mary Ann,’ I say, and haul sodden sheets from Mister Sam’s mattress. ‘Yu aint got betta sense?’ I ask.
    Moaning, ‘It’s breaking,’ Mister Sam bends him spine until it bows and curves like machete blade.
    Mary Ann stands up and says, turning, ‘Me a-go now, Ma.’ Gold sun rays thread between jalousie blinds. Silently Mary Ann slips out, she sun-gold back disappears.
    In one sweeping movement Mister Sam swings him legs down from mattress, lunges for pineapple shape carved into mahogany-red bedhead. Sunlight splashes on shining wood. Him head thuds on yacca board flooring; face hidden by hair, a soft floppy mess of straw-coloured spikes. Breath comes so thin it’s mysterious. I heave him up into bed, shake him shoulder, call him name.
    Mister Sam’s mouth opens and shuts like red snapper. He does know? Him remembering? My heart sounds like thudding drum beats, walnut jewellery box on black dressing-table . Blocking my thoughts. Sunlight