Margot visibly relaxes, as though she was expecting another response. Verdene feels an overwhelming urge to hold her, but she doesn’t. They sit like this, both staring straight ahead, their hands in their laps. The words leave Verdene’s mouth, floating above them in the bedroom, finally settling with the rise and fall of their pregnant sighs like a sheet flung over a bed.
“I only knew men,” Margot whispers, still staring straight ahead. “I always had feelings for you.” Margot is shaking her head as though she has gotten lost and is too overwhelmed with directions leading her to streets with no names. “But I’m not. . I don’t know if I. .”
Verdene nods, but she says nothing. She focuses on the nails in the wooden floorboards, their round black heads appearing like dots. Margot rests her head on Verdene’s shoulder. Her gesture seems to signal that they have stepped into an intimate circle and are joined together in this uncertainty. Breathing in deeply, Margot says, “I want you to teach me how to swim.”
5
IT’S A COOL AND DAMP MORNING — THE WAY IT USUALLY IS BEFORE the sun makes its appearance, sucking all possibilities dry. Margot had gotten dressed at Verdene’s house, entertaining the idea of them as a couple. It’s not as though this has never occurred to her before — this seed that slipped into the cavity of her chest, settling itself inside her for the last few weeks. Something triggered its growth. Perhaps it was the way Verdene held her the night before, confirming for Margot that they fit together.
Margot begins to walk with clarity through the thinning fog, cradling this idea like a newborn baby. Her mind races ahead to the possibility of leaving River Bank for a nice beachfront villa in the quiet, gated community of Lagoons — a place far from River Bank where Margot could give freely of herself, comforted by the cool indifference of wealthy expats from Europe and America. It would be like living in another country. Ever since Reginald Senior hosted a party years ago at a lavish villa in that neighborhood for a few of his friends and invited her, she has always wanted to live there. Margot was astonished by how the wealthy in Jamaica live; how for them, the island is really paradise — a woman who offers herself without guile, her back arched in the hills and mountains, belly toward the sun. For even in this drought her rivers run long and deep; her beaches, wide and tempting.
River Bank residents tend to bypass domestic positions in an area like Lagoons, going instead for the resorts. They are like ants, all of them, Margot thinks — latching on to the same bread as everyone else. Well, let them keep nibbling away. As far as Margot is concerned, she and Verdene will be a lot better off in a remote place without the neck strain from looking over their shoulders. Margot has it all planned out. Her promotion as general manager is in the works already. She is certain that she will get it; certain of Alphonso’s feelings about her. She could use that money to live like a queen in her own country for once. Key-lime curtains and sweating glasses of lemonade in the sunroom. Grocery lists of imported goods and planting trees to complement the landscape.
As Margot moves through the expanse of her fantasy — padding lightly on the marble tiles of her dream house — she bumps into something solid on the ground. She looks down into the gutted carcass of a John-crow surrounded by flies, the rotting smell rising into Margot’s open mouth. Margot pinches her nose and takes three steps backward. It has to be three — one for the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Grandma Merle would have told her to throw salt behind her too, to ward off bad luck.
“Holy Jesus!”
And just as she says this, three John-crows appear. They circle low, casting dark shadows in the face of the new sun. Their black wings are like sharp edges that seem capable of slitting trees in half. Margot feels the hair rise on the back of her neck when the John-crows descend. She watches in horror as they sink their beaks into the carcass — one that could have been a sibling, a spouse, a mother, a child. Margot will never forget this image — the sight of the crows feasting on their own, their Kumina dance celebrating death.
Back in the shack, she takes her time wiping the tips of her shoes with a wet cloth soaked with bleach. She’ll be late to work today. She strips naked and puts her work clothes in a pan of water. She decides to take a shower, to scrub away any bad omen with pimento leaves. Never mind the flies and heat outside. She lathers herself with soap, grateful for the good water pressure. She never bathes outside this late in the morning after the fog lifts. But today she has no choice. She also does not feel like going back to Verdene’s house this time of day, since the washers take that path to the river and may see her.
The water feels good in the heat. Without thinking, she tilts her head back to let it run through her hair, then remembers too late that she had just gotten it creamed. She makes a mental note to schedule another hair appointment. It has to be later today, since she cannot go to the hotel looking like a crazed woman. Margot busies herself with lathering.
“Look like is you g’wan drain di entire island of di likkle wata we ’ave lef’!”
Everything inside Margot halts at the sound of her mother’s voice.
“Yuh nuh see dat we in a drought?” Delores asks. “Wah wrong wid yuh? Yuh look like a jackass, scrubbing like dat wid wata beating pon yuh head top.”
“What yuh doing here?” Margot asks, shutting off the shower. “Ah thought you were at di market.” She clumsily reaches for her towel to cover herself.
“Is suh yuh carry on when yuh t’ink nobody is here?” Delores asks. “Yuh run up di wata rate?”
“I was washing off.”
“Yuh didn’t ’ave di decency fi do dat earlier?”
“I wanted to change my clothes. I was on my way to work when I—” Margot fans away the rest of her words. She doesn’t feel like going into details with Delores about the John-crow. Delores sucks her teeth. Margot thought her mother would leave her alone, but Delores just stands there as though waiting for more explanation.
“What else yuh want?” Margot asks.
Delores shakes her head. “Sometimes ah wondah ’bout you. If me neva come back here, you might ah been in dat wata all day. Shouldn’t you be at work? Dat hotel yuh work at giving yuh di illusion dat we ’ave money fi dash weh? If yuh lose dat job, God help we! Washing off, my foot! Which sane person wash off inna broad daylight outside? Is want yuh want Likkle Richie an’ any other Peeping Tom fi see yuh?”
“Would it make a difference?” Margot asks.
“Where did I go wrong?”
“Let me pass. I have to get to work. You said so yuhself.”
Delores doesn’t move. She regards Margot closely, like she used to do when Margot was a child — when she gave her the kind of baths that were meant to cleanse her of evil.
“What is it?” Margot asks. Her voice cracks under the weight of the memory.
“Yuh t’ink ah got di sense of a gnat?”
Margot chuckles lightly, though her knees buckle. “I don’t have no time fah dis.”
“You got time fah other t’ings. T’ink ah don’t notice dat yuh don’t sleep here no more? You is a sneak, an’ God g’wan strike yuh dung.”
Margot throws her head back and laughs out loud. “I am thirty years old. Ah can sleep anywhere ah please. An’ besides, yuh soun’ like ole Miss Gracie wid har drunk, crazy self.” She is able to walk past Delores into the house. She doesn’t let on that God was the first thing she thought about this morning when she stumbled upon death in her path.