Margot slaps him across the face. She slaps him so hard that the sound echoes, unexpected like a gunshot. But he only stands there, a smirk on his face.
“I think you should go,” he finally says, holding his left cheek.
“You have one day to think about what I said,” Margot says.
“I won’t budge.”
“Then I’ll send it out tonight. It’s that simple.”
“All right, all right.” He holds up both hands. “I’ll announce your promotion as hotel general manager for the new hotel on Monday morning, eight o’ clock sharp. Now see yuhself out.”
Although she’s standing, Margot feels like she’s on her knees. She gathers her things and leaves in the cool darkness of the night. Martine is no longer in sight. The taste of victory is bitter on her tongue and reminds her of the day she gave her Uncle Winston the six hundred dollars that Delores received from the stranger at Falmouth Market. She handed the money to him, thinking he would leave her alone. The victory was short-lived, because Delores only got meaner, hungrier, subjecting Margot to more strangers to make up for the money she lost. Margot realized too late that when she gave Uncle Winston the money, she was giving away herself.
21
OUTSIDE, THE HUMID AIR HANGS LOW LIKE THE MANGOES ON the trees. It’s June, the tail end of mango season. So the little breeze, if any, carries the sweet, battered smell of rotting mangoes. The school compound is empty, since classes have begun. The sun plays on the well-manicured lawn that is surrounded by quaint two-story buildings built by the British founders of the school. The walkways are lined with manicured hedges of bright red and pink hibiscuses, all leading to the Victorian architecture of the administrative office—a place where Thandi imagines girls with pale skin wearing broad hats used to sip afternoon tea back in the day before black girls were admitted. She is finding it difficult to focus on her studies the way she should, dawdling between classes.
“Young lady, why are you not in class?”
Thandi turns around and sees Sister Benjamin, a wiry-thin nun whose pointed nose resembles a beak. She’s the school nurse. “Uhm . . . ah . . . I was sent to . . . I feel sick,” Thandi blurts out, surprised at her ability to manufacture such a lie on the spot while staring straight into the eyes of a nun.
“Come with me,” Sister Benjamin says with authority. Thandi follows behind her into a more shaded area by the physical education building—a newer building with a gymnasium and a swimming pool—where Sister Benjamin’s office is located. Once inside the nurse’s office, Thandi sits ladylike, back straight and legs crossed at the ankles, in the cold metal chair by the desk. There are plastic molds of human anatomy on the shelves inside the office—various parts like the eyes with squiggly blue veins drawn on the cornea, the intestines that zigzag all the way to the mannequin’s bottom half, and the womb that is shaped like the horns of a ram. The air-conditioning in the office feels like opening Mr. Levy’s deep freeze, revealing the bottles of soft drinks inside. These white nuns would never survive in Jamaica without air-conditioning. Thandi imagines that they would melt like candle wax.
Sister Benjamin stands over Thandi. She presses a cool pinkish hand to Thandi’s neck. As if unsatisfied with what she feels, she retrieves her thermometer and tells Thandi to open her mouth. When she takes it out and looks at it, she nods to herself. “When did the sickness start?” she asks.
Thandi clears her throat. “Last month, miss.” It’s true that she hasn’t been feeling like herself lately. Her drive to do schoolwork has diminished, though she still makes good grades. Maybe it’s because the exams are only days away and she’s ready to get them over with.
“Last month?” Sister Benjamin raises an eyebrow. “Have you been experiencing any headaches, nausea, vomiting?” Sister Benjamin asks Thandi.
Thandi nods, relieved that she can get away with the lie. She swallows, comforted by the recollection of the dizzying hot flashes she had been getting due to the plastic and sweatshirt she had been wearing since February. “How about fatigue?” Sister Benjamin asks. “Have you been feeling very tired lately?” Thandi nods again, thinking about the creeping wave of exhaustion that overwhelms her out of nowhere.
“Have you missed any periods?”
Thandi clears her throat and lowers her eyes.
“It’ll be all right, dear,” Sister Benjamin says, leaning again to touch Thandi on the arm. “You can talk to me.”
Thandi tenses. She takes a deep breath to steady herself.
“How did it happen, love?” Sister Benjamin asks.
“I’m not pregnant.” Thandi says. “I’ve never . . .”
“You’ve never had sexual relations with anyone? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No . . . I mean, yes . . . I mean, no . . . I—I didn’t do anything.”