“Why don’t you go get her?!” Gita’s father shouted before his car had even stopped. Mr. Manachandi left his car like a catapult and rushed past the police, who were gathered around Leslie. He jumped over and into the water.
The police did not stop him. “Part of his mourning,” one said to another, and jotted the occurrence down in his notebook.
Mr. Manachandi went under and then came back up. “Help me! Please. I see her. Help me.”
Then another police officer said, “Get the old man out of the water.” And a young cop took off his gun and jumped in and grabbed Mr. Manachandi and hauled him out. The father looked like an animal. He looked like a wild dying animal. The firemen, who were more trained in dealing with human beings than car wrecks, told him that they needed him over here. Away from where the divers were going down to cut the body out of its seat belt. And by then Pinky had been under water for forty-five minutes.
In the ambulance, Leslie howled as though her own mother was dead.
Leslie Dockers walked into the shop and said good afternoon out of a new formality. Mr. Corban remembered her, the friend of the Indian girl, and sat more erectly in his chair. He was nervous. He was excited.
Leslie walked to the mustard-colored coffin with the Virgin emblazoned on it and caressed its satin lining with the back of her hand. She felt this one would be best, but she wasn’t sure she’d have her way. She’d already convinced Mr. Manachandi that a coffin would be better than an urn.
The jangle of the door sounded again. Mr. Manachandi walked slowly into the shop, his shoulders stooped over and his hands clasped in front of him. He walked over to Leslie and stared for a second at the Virgin. He began to raise his hand to his mouth, but instead swayed unsteadily, holding onto the coffin. The coffin held the weight.
Corban cleared his throat and gestured to the stool where Father Simon usually sat. Father Simon, the magic good luck. Away on his yearly trip to the parish in Tobago. Business was always dead when Father Simon was gone.
But Corban studied a little magic of his own. Bitter herbs. Sweet potions.
Mr. Manachandi took the seat. “Something for a girl,” he said.
Corban nodded with the appropriate weight of this request and came out from behind the counter. The man, Corban noticed, had a flattened gold marigold edging out of his breast pocket.
“Well, there is this one. The BWIA plane. It’s odd. I never thought I’d sell it, but a girl was in here just the other day who liked it very much. I would be willing—”
“No. No. No,” Mr. Manachandi began, his voice small. He shook his head and closed his eyes. “Something pure and natural,” he said firmly, and then opened his eyes.
Corban put his hand to his chin and squeezed it. He looked at the blonde girl who was standing there at the Virgin coffin as though it were an altar. “Yes, I understand.” He glanced about and saw the simple pine coffin. Corban knew this was not the right choice, the Indian girl hadn’t liked it when she came in a week ago. But he would show the pine to the man anyway. A sale was a sale.
About the contributors
Lisa Allen-Agostini is a poet, playwright, and fiction writer from Trinidad and Tobago. She is the author of a children’s novel, The Chalice Project (2008). An award-winning journalist, she has been a reporter, editor, and columnist with the Trinidad Express and the Trinidad Guardian.
Robert Antoni carries three passports: American, Bahamian, and Trinidadian. He is the author of three novels, Divina Trace (1991), Blessed Is the Fruit (1997), and Carnival (2005), as well as the story collection, My Grandmother’s Erotic Folktales (2000). He presently lives in Manhattan and teaches in the graduate writing program at The New School. According to his horoscope, he has “no barometer for abstinence.”
Kevin Baldeosingh is a journalist and the author of three novels. His novel, The Autobiography of Paras P (1996), is a social satire. Virgin’s Triangle (1997) is a romantic comedy. The Ten Incarnations of Adam Avatar (2005) is an historical novel covering the past 500 years of Caribbean history. In 2000 and 2001 he was the regional chairperson for the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize (Canada and Caribbean). He is also a founding member of the Trinidad and Tobago Humanist Association.
Elisha Efua Bartels is finally escaping the unnecessary hazards of winter and coming home to Trinbago. While in Washington, D.C., she stage-managed and performed with several theaters, including the Washington Shakespeare Company and the Folger Shakespeare Library, and was a freelance associate producer for the Kojo Nnamdi Show on WAMU-FM 88.5. biglove to grims and her family for continuing to support her similar endeavors in locations current and future.
Vahni Capildeo lived in Trinidad until she moved to Oxford, England, where she studied Old Icelandic because “Vikings” wrote hardboiled prose. She now works on the Oxford English Dictionary for Oxford University Press. Her books include No Traveller Returns (2003), Person Animal Figure (2005), and The Undraining Sea (2008). Works in hand include Dark & Unaccustomed Words (poetry) and Static (stories).
Willi Chen is a Trinidadian entrepreneur, artist, and writer. His accolades include the BBC prize and Trinidad’s Chaconia Silver Medal (2006). His writings have appeared in literary magazines in the Caribbean and the U.S. His works include King of the Carnival and Other Stories (1988), Chutney Power and Other Stories (2006) which was short-listed for the 2007 Commonwealth Writers’ Best Book Prize (Canada and Caribbean), and Crossbones (forthcoming).
Ramabai Espinet is a writer, critic, and academic. Her published works include a novel, The Swinging Bridge (2003), a book of poetry, Nuclear Seasons (1991), and the children’s books The Princess of Spadina (1992) and Ninja’s Carnival (1993). She is the editor of Creation Fire (1990). A documentary on her work, Coming Home, was released in 2005. Forthcoming is a collection of short fiction, Shooting Trouble.