She reached a hand towards hand. ‘I’m Angela.’
‘Benjamin.’ We shook. I sucked my tongue. Angela, her face peach-calm, pretty like a faun, and I smiled back, got an idea. I got the idea that Angela would be punishment for Papa.
Angela.
‘Come inside.’ Chirped like a bird.
I followed. I clenched my teeth and bit my lip.
‘Please take a seat. Be comfortable.’ And she sat beside me. ‘You’ve such an angelic face. Look at your dimples.’ She leaned in, looked right through me. ‘Your eyes remind me . . .’ Her voice wet, made my spine convulse.
Angela giggled. ‘You met the devil somewhere?’
‘Maybe.’
Their house was filled with books and furniture, more than what we ever had, and in the sitting room there was a small statue with a bulging belly. ‘What’s that?’
She waved her arm towards it, like shooing a fly. ‘That’s Buddha. Gotta make sure you cater for everyone.’
For a moment I wondered what it would be like to see inside of her, all the red. ‘You’re young to be out on your own,’ she said, scooping hair from her neck.
I tried to think of what she would want to hear. ‘I don’t really have a family.’ The sitting room windows were half open, the light breeze waltzed into the house carrying with it the smell of sycamores and chicory.
‘It must be difficult for you.’
I nodded.
‘Well, once you let God’s light in, you’ll never be alone.’
I laughed, a little boy. ‘Sounds strange.’
‘My husband thought so too when I met him.’
‘Was that him cutting grass?’ I leaned towards her.
Angela sat back, pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Yes, it was.’
‘Is he a good man?’
She nodded. ‘One of the best.’
I would not let her off the hook. ‘How did you meet him?’
‘Out walking one day.’ She rubbed her eyebrows, as if I was giving her pain.
‘What were his first words to you?’
Angela shook her head, whispered, ‘This moment isn’t about me. I’m more interested in healing you.’
‘Did you heal him?’
‘Yes.’
I thought of her bones. ‘How did you fix him?’
‘With love.’ Angela’s cheeks rosed round.
‘Does he stick it to you?’
Angela shifted back on the sofa, got pale. ‘That’s very rude. I’m not sure I can help you today.’
‘But I was looking forward to it.’
‘I’m sorry, you have to leave.’ Angela went to the front door.
I didn’t care to be told what to do. I reached for her. She locked eyes with mine, mouthed a silent God rhythm, red lips sugar dancing. I took a deep breath. Her eyes pulsed. I gripped her hard. I wanted to drag all that blood and life out of her.
I ground my teeth. Somewhere in the house a baby cried. Angela tried to push against me, looked towards the back of the house. There would be no escaping me. Outside two women walked past the house, their heels diving into rock and soil. I breathed deeply, held Angela’s bony wrists tight, and pulled her into me, her cheek on my cheek.
‘You need to let go of me,’ she said.
A surge of electricity carried through my veins then skin, hands trembled. Her breath became shallow, saliva dripped onto my chest. She was so warm.
The baby cried. Angela pushed against me again, said, ‘Please, let me go.’
‘I have something to tell you, Angela.’
‘What?’ she whispered.
I choked her into my body, felt her tense. ‘Your husband’s already got a family.’
The baby cried. ‘Please, let me go to her,’ Angela said.
‘Before he stuck himself inside you and gave you a baby, did he tell you about his other children?’ I was the sound of a boulder rolling.
The baby cried. Angela sobbed. ‘What are you saying?’
Together in embrace we made a shadow across the wall. Then I threw Angela into the sofa.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’ve come to have words with your husband. You should be thankful, really. He’ll eventually get tired of you, especially when you get ugly.’
‘Let me go.’
‘Let’s play a game now, Angela . . .’
Angela had tried to curl herself into a ball when my first punch landed. I stepped back and watched her face burn and I thought of Papa, the time I told him, ‘I love you,’ and was ignored. I lifted my fist in the air and brought it down hard into Angela’s cheek. A bone cracked.
‘It’s your fault Mama isn’t smiling.’
Another punch. Angela slumped deeper in the sofa as each fist came for her. I closed my eyes, my face wet. The baby cried. Everything was becoming right and the air smelled of blood, honey-sweet.
It wasn’t until Angela hoarsed, ‘Please, no more,’ and the front door opened that I stopped. The smell of leather, a sourness, hit me. I snapped my head towards the man standing in the doorframe. Papa. He dropped his keys at the sight of Angela. My knuckles sang.
He almost sobbed, ‘What’ve you done, Benjamin?’ All that caring in his face. Where was his anger?
The baby cried. Angela howled a call of pain. I pushed past Papa, gave a jaw snarl, went out the front door and down the road. I ran, I ran.
When I finally reached home, Mama was waiting on the porch. ‘Police came here looking for you. Christ, where you been?’
I reached for her. ‘I’ve been out fixing. I love you, Mama.’
She wrenched her head, hit my hands away. ‘You’ve got blood all on you.’
I looked at my hands; the small cuts and lion-bulge knuckles, the dried blood and ripped fingernails. ‘It’s okay, it’s not mine.’
‘Police said you were in your papa’s house.’
I didn’t answer her.
She lifted a kerosene lamp to my face. ‘Did you hurt that woman?’
‘I didn’t hurt her. I hurt Papa. I was doing the right thing for you.’
Mama shook her head like she would cry. ‘I don’t know you. I’m sending for the police.’
‘Mama, please . . .’
She slammed the front door. I stood on the bottom step. This wasn’t meant to happen. I thought she loved me.
I banged on the front door, yelled, ‘Who’s gonna look after me?’
She whimpered back, ‘I can’t have someone like you in the house. It’s too much.’
I banged again.
‘If you don’t leave, I’ll get the police.’
I didn’t want any of that. I just wanted to explain how I was making things right. But instead I had to run. I took in the house a last time, hoped that one day when she realised what I had done for her, she would love me like before. I ran then, into the woods, ran, thinking of how one day I’d return to Mama, ran, until I was deep into trees.
John was searching for safety at home. I knew this want. I could give it to him. I moved my tongue over my teeth. ‘Do your nieces know you’re helping them?’
John shrugged, smiled. ‘Who could say? I like the idea that I’m simply helping them out before they realise themselves that they need it.’
‘What are their names?’
He waggled his finger at me, said it wasn’t important, and I huffed from my nose, gave him a hard stare. John said, ‘Have it your way. Emma is the eldest, Lizzie the youngest. But only Lizzie will be home. You’re not to go near her.’
I nodded. The less people involved the better. ‘What does she look like?’
‘Why do you need to know?’