Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys [2]
‘Would Christophine go if you told her to?’ I thought. But I didn’t say it. I was afraid to say it.
It was too hot that afternoon. I could see the beads of perspiration on her upper lip and the dark circles under her eyes. I started to fan her, but she turned her head away. She might rest if I left her alone, she said.
Once I would have gone back quietly to watch her asleep on the blue sofa – once I made excuses to be near her when she brushed her hair, a soft black cloak to cover me, hide me, keep me safe.
But not any longer. Not any more.
These were all the people in my life – my mother and Pierre, Christophine, Godfrey, and Sass who had left us.
I never looked at any strange negro. They hated us. They called us white cockroaches. Let sleeping dogs lie. One day a little girl followed my singing, ‘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.’
When I was safely home I sat close to the old wall at the end of the garden. It was covered with green moss soft as velvet and I never wanted to move again. Everything would be worse if I moved. Christophine found me there when it was nearly dark, and I was so stiff she had to help me to get up. She said nothing, but next morning Tia was in the kitchen with her mother Maillotte, Christophine’s friend. Soon Tia was my friend and I met her nearly every morning at the turn of the road to the river.
Sometimes we left the bathing pool at midday, sometimes we stayed till late afternoon. Then Tia would light a fire (fires always lit for her, sharp stones did not hurt her bare feet, I never saw her cry). We boiled green bananas in an old iron pot and ate them with our fingers out of a calabash and after we had eaten she slept at once. I could not sleep, but I wasn’t quite awake as I lay in the shade looking at the pool – deep and dark green under the trees, brown-green if it had rained, but a bright sparkling green in the sun. The water was so clear that you could see the pebbles at the bottom of the shallow part. Blue and white and striped red. Very pretty. Late or early we parted at the turn of the road. My mother never asked me where I had been or what I had done.
Christophine had given me some new pennies which I kept in the pocket of my dress. They dropped out one morning so I put them on a stone. They shone like gold in the sun and Tia stared. She had small eyes, very black, set deep in her head.
Then she bet me three of the pennies that I couldn’t turn a somersault under water ‘like you say you can’.
‘Of course I can.’
‘I never see you do it,’ she said. ‘Only talk.’
‘Bet you all the money I can,’ I said.
But after one somersault I still turned and came up choking. Tia laughed and told me that it certainly look like I drown dead that time. Then she picked up the money.
‘I did do it,’ I said when I could speak, but she shook her head. I hadn’t done it good and besides pennies didn’t buy much. Why did I look at her like that?
‘Keep them then, you cheating nigger,’ I said, for I was tired, and the water I had swallowed made me feel sick. ‘I can get more if I want to,’
That’s not what she hear, she said. She hear all we poor like beggar. We ate salt fish – no money for fresh fish. That old house so leaky, you run with calabash to catch water when it rain. Plenty white people in Jamaica. Real white people, they got gold money. They didn’t look at us, nobody see them come near us. Old time white people but white nigger now, and black nigger better that white nigger.
I wrapped myself in my torn towel and sat on a stone with my back to her, shivering cold. But the sun couldn’t warm me. I wanted to go home. I looked round and Tia had gone. I search for a long time before I could believe that she had taken my dress – not my underclothes, she never wore any – but my dress, starched, ironed, clean that morning. She had left me hers, and I put it on at last and walked home in the blazing sun