Rhys Jean

When you've been made very cold and very sane you've also been made very passive.

These were all the people in my life – my mother and Pierre, Christophine, Godfrey, and Sass who had left us.

‘Go away white cockroach, go away, go away.’ I walked fast, but she walked faster. ‘White cockroach, go away go away. Nobody want you. Go away.’

I took another road, past the old sugar works and the water wheel that had not turned for years. I went to parts of Coulibri that I had not seen, where there was no road, no path, no track. And if the razor grass cut my legs and arms I would think ‘It’s better than people.’ Black ants or red ones, tall nests swarming with white ants, rain that soaked me to the skin – once I saw a snake. All better than people.

Better. Better, better than people.

‘They are curious. It’s natural enough. You have lived alone far too long, Annette. You imagine enmity which doesn’t exist. Always one extreme or the other. Didn’t you fly at me like a little wild cat when I said nigger. Not nigger, nor even negro. Black people I must say.’

‘You don’t like, or even recognize, the good in them,’ she said, ‘and you won’t believe in the other side.’

‘They’re too damn lazy to be dangerous,’ said Mr Mason. ‘I know that.’

black people did not hate us quite so much when we were poor. We were white but we had not escaped and soon we would be dead for we had no money left. What was there to hate?

Now it had started up again and worse than before, my mother knows but she can’t make him believe it. I wish I could tell him that out here is not at all like English people think it is. I wish …

Somebody yelled, ‘But look the black Englishman! Look the white niggers!’, and then they were all yelling. ‘Look the white niggers! Look the damn white niggers!’ A stone just missed Mannie’s head, he cursed back at them and they cleared away from the rearing, frightened horses. ‘Come on, for God’s sake,’ said Mr. Mason. ‘Get to the carriage, get to the horses.’ But we could not move for they pressed too close round us. Some of them were laughing and waving sticks, some of the ones at the back were carrying flambeaux and it was light as day. Aunt Cora held my hand very tightly and her lips moved but I could not hear because of the noise. And I was afraid, because I knew that the ones who laughed would be the worst. I shut my eyes and waited. Mr Mason stopped swearing and began to pray in a loud pious voice. The prayer ended, ‘May Almighty God defend us.’ And God who is indeed mysterious, who had made no sign when they burned Pierre as he slept – not a clap of thunder, not a flash of lightening – mysterious God heard Mr Mason at once and answered him. The yells stopped.

Then, not so far off, I saw Tia and her mother and I ran to her, for she was all that was left of my life as it had been. We had eaten the same food, slept side by side, bathed in the same river. As I ran, I thought, I will live with Tia and I will be like her. Not to leave Coulibri. Not to go. Not. When I was close I saw the jagged stone in her hand but I did not see her throw it. I did not feel it either, only something wet, running down my face. I looked at her and I saw her face crumple up as she began to cry. We stared at each other, blood on my face, tears on hers. It was as if I saw myself. Like in a looking-glass.

‘Your hair had to be cut. You’ve been very ill, my darling,’ said Aunt Cora. ‘But you are safe with me now. We are all safe as I told you we would be.

‘Pierre is dead, isn’t he?’

‘He died on the way down, the poor little boy,’ she said.

‘He died before that,’ I thought but was too tired to speak.