Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys [10]
The man said, ‘So black and white, they burned the same, eh?’
‘They do,’ she said. ‘Here and hereafter, as you will find out. Very shortly.’
He let the bridle go and thrust his face close to hers. He’d throw her on the fire, he said, if she put bad luck on him. Old white jumby, he called her. But she did not move an inch, she looked straight into his eyes and threatened him with eternal fire in a calm voice. ‘And never a drop of sangoree to cool your burning tongue,’ she said. He cursed her again but he backed away. ‘Now get in,’ said Mr Mason. ‘You, Christophine, get in with the child.’ Christophine got in. ‘Now you,’ he said to my mother. But she had turned and was looking back at the house and when he put his hand on her arm, she screamed.
One woman said she only come to see what happen. Another woman began to cry. The man with the cutlass said, ‘You cry for her – when she ever cry for you? Tell me that.’
But now I turned too. The house was burning, the yellow-red sky was like sunset and I knew that I would never see Coulibri again. Nothing would be left, the golden ferns and the silver ferns, the orchids, the ginger lilies and the roses, the rocking-chairs and the blue sofa, the jasmine and the honeysuckle, and the picture of the Miller’s Daughter. When they had finished, there would be nothing left but blackened walls and the mounting stone. That was always left. That could not be stolen or burned.
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.
******
‘I saw my plait, tied with red ribbon, when I got up,’ I said. ‘In the chest of drawers. I thought it was a snake.’
‘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. You must stay in bed though. Why are you wandering about the room? Your hair will grow again,’ she said. ‘Longer and thicker.’
‘But darker,’ I said.
‘Why not darker?’
She picked me up and I was glad to feel the soft mattress and glad to be covered with a cool sheet.
‘It’s time for your arrowroot,’ she said and went out. When that was finished she took the cup away and stood looking down at me.
‘I got up because I wanted to know where I was.’
‘And you do know, don’t you?’ she said in an anxious voice.
‘Of course. But how did I get to your house?’
‘The Luttrells were very good. As soon as Mannie got to Nelson’s Rest they sent a hammock and four men. You were shaken about a good deal though. But they did their best. Young Luttrell rode alongside you all the way. Wasn’t that kind?’
‘Yes,’ I said. She looked thin and old and her hair wasn’t arranged prettily so I shut my eyes, not wanting to see her.
‘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.
‘You mother is in the country. Resting. Getting well again. You will see her quite soon.’
‘I didn’t know,’ I said. ‘Why did she go away?’
‘You’ve been very ill for nearly six weeks. You didn’t know anything.’
What was the use of telling her that I’d been awake before and heard my mother screaming ‘Qui