“Yes, Mamaaa!” The little girl’s screams only egged Delores on. She wanted to tell her daughter that people only say these things to take advantage of her. Like her father took advantage.
Later that year when the news broke about Verdene messing with some girl at the university, Delores wondered if Verdene had indeed taken advantage of Margot. “Don’t let me see yuh going over there again!” Delores said to Margot. This time she put Margot inside a basin to wash the evil out of her. Miss Gracie had suggested using Guinea bush to cure the girl, but it didn’t help. Margot still ran away to Miss Ella’s yard and hid from Delores. She latched on to the other woman and her sodomite daughter as though they were her family. Delores washed Margot every day. “Yuh is neva going to be like her, yuh hear?” Delores said. But still, when Verdene was sent away, most days Margot curled up like a fetus and wept for her. She fell mute for a while. The teachers thought something was wrong with her. All she did was run around the track. She ran and ran like something was chasing her. They put her on the track team and she won every race. Made it all the way to National Stadium. Delores tried everything to make her normal. Then the stranger came. When he offered Delores the money, she not only saw her redemption, but her daughter’s too.
“Mama Delores, yuh all right?” John-John interrupts Delores’s thoughts, the worry in his face pulling her venom, sucking the poisonous anger that nearly paralyzes her. Delores nods. She can’t find her voice just yet. The exchange with Verdene has made her sick. A wave of nausea washes over her, twisting her stomach, and she searches for her bench to sit back down, her heart a big, solid mass pounding in her chest.
“Let me get yuh some wata, Mama Delores. Yuh nuh look too good.”
John-John bounces out of her stall. Delores touches her right breast with her hand and feels the hardness there. It’s bigger, spreading under her arm. She still hasn’t taken herself to the doctor to have it looked at. What would they say? That she needs an operation? She can always drink more of the Guinea bush tea with soursop leaf.
John-John returns with a plastic cup filled with warm water.
“Donovan gimme this,” he says, referring to the old shoemaker inside the shop across the street from the arcade. He hands the cup to Delores. “Him say if yuh want ice, Miss Bernice ’ave some. But she too far, mah.”
Delores drinks the water in one thirsty gulp. She belches loudly and hands the cup back to John-John. “God bless yuh,” she says. “Now help me wid this basket,” she says to John-John. John-John eagerly picks up the basket off the floor and puts it on the table where Delores keeps the other sale items. Today is her produce day, but it doesn’t seem to be selling. She only had one customer this morning. The ships won’t dock in Falmouth again until next week, so she spends her off days here with no success. “Mi going home. Coming out here is a waste of time,” she says, getting up again.
“Yuh all right, Mama Delores?” John-John asks, this time regarding her face closely. “Yuh sweating bad bad. Dat woman . . . why she affect yuh like dat? Mavis seh yuh run har from yuh stall.”
“Hush yuh mouth ’bout Mavis. What dat Mavis know? Is nothin’ of concern to she nor you.”
Delores fans herself with an old Courts Furniture Store calendar as she packs her things. John-John watches her pack. It’s still early. Almost two o’ clock in the afternoon. For Delores, this is usually the high time. Usually when she sees the other vendors leaving so early she chastises them, clucking her tongue at them. “Oonuh lazy-like! Yuh don’t see we have plenty more hours lef in a day? Stay an’ work, man!”
But today she’s tired.
At home, Merle is sitting on the veranda staring out at the sky, a peaceful look on her face. Delores goes inside and puts down her things. The place feels small, no longer able to contain her. She looks around at the shabbiness and thinks she should have hidden that money better. With that money, she could’ve bought herself a ticket to America. But no. Winston took everything. She goes back outside to the veranda and stands in front of her mother, blocking her view.
“Him not coming back!” she yells to the old woman. Merle doesn’t blink. She doesn’t even stir. “Ah said, yuh ole neagger son not coming back!” Delores yells again. When her mother doesn’t say or do anything, Delores grabs her by the arm and shakes her. “Yuh hear me?” The old woman cries out. Delores squeezes harder, her nails sinking into the old woman’s flesh. It’s soft to the touch, like tender meat on a chicken bone. Delores feels her mother’s slight bones underneath. How fragile they seem under her powerful grip. Merle’s cry turns into a whimper.