Nothing Like Love (29 page)

“Your grandfather—Mr. Deo Shankar—was one miserable man. His face always appear vexy-vexy so.” She tapped her nail on his nose now.

Chalisa tried to remember Grandpa. He barely spoke to anyone, just rode his bike hunched over the handles until one day he died and stopped riding.

“I used to cook roti three times a day for him, and massage he feet when he come home from the orange estate. In those days, your grandfather used to pick orange with he men.” Nanny had a far-off look in her eyes as she handed Chalisa the photograph. “He used to drink, too, and lash hard when he drink.”

Avinash climbed onto the bed and cozied up next to Chalisa.

“And he mother!” Nanny snorted. “That woman was one nasty thing. She used to make me wash back she clothes three times before she wear them. Three times.” Nanny looked at Chalisa. “I was thirteen then. By the time I make your father, I was fifteen.”

Chalisa wondered what Nanny was like before she married Grandpa, if Nanny remembered what she was like.

“Count your blessings you ain’t marrying a man like Grandpa.” There was no sarcasm and Chalisa found the absence of it oddly unsettling. Nanny was right: Krishna wasn’t like Grandpa. He was a fool and a bore, yes, but he was no tyrant. Chalisa felt pity for the young bride who was Nanny,
but that didn’t make her any more eager to marry Krishna Govind.

“I was a innocent little girl in that picture. And through my marriage, Grandpa and he kiss-me-ass mother nearly drive me mad.” Nanny’s face was wistful and Chalisa almost reached out and squeezed her bony hand. “But I learn to cook and wash. I learn to avoid Grandpa’s tirades. I learn to mind a child. I learn to take care of the orange estate and grow the business. Eventually them two fools couldn’t do a damn thing without me.” Nanny grinned. “And look at me now!”

Delores reappeared with a glass wrapped in a napkin.

“Is about time, Delores. You get loss or what?”

Delores handed Nanny the glass. “I had to go by the shop and pick up a next bottle.”

Nanny tipped the seventy-five-proof fire down her throat and winked a cataract eye at Chalisa. “And I learn to drink, too.”

T
he old almond tree’s leaves stirred in the mid-morning air. A toucan sat in its uppermost branches, lording over the card players below. He scratched his rainbow throat with his claw and squawked.

Faizal pointed. “Watch a toucan,” he said to the others.

The men twisted in their chairs and craned their necks. Faizal slid a card from his hand into the deck and extracted another. Ace of hearts. Trump. He grinned. The toucan bobbed, showing off the yellow stripe down the centre of his beak.

“The bird watching my card!” Puncheon exclaimed, laying his hand flat on the table.

The toucan took flight. A leaf helicoptered from its branch and landed on the table. Everyone turned back to the game.

“Nobody ain’t watching your card, Puncheon. You ain’t have nothing to watch except that deuce.” Rajesh jiggled his eyebrows.

Puncheon glowered back at him. “Eh. Keep your eyes on your own hand when you playing with a champion,” he said. Puncheon took All Fours seriously. He was a shrewd player who could read the hands around the table better than anyone else. It amazed Faizal that the same man who rode Om’s ram goat for sport down Kiskadee Trace in the rain won one All Fours tournament after another across the country. Puncheon’s aptitude for the game was enough to redeem him from all his larks in the district. The people forgave him his midnight serenades and for upsetting their produce in the market because Puncheon gave his card-playing partners boasting rights wherever they went.

Puncheon and Faizal exchanged glances.

Puncheon leaned back in his chair and scratched a mosquito bite on his nose. “I ain’t have nothing, eh? You save that jack for me, Raj. I go take care of it real good for you!” he said. His watery eyes danced with merriment.

Faizal held his hand close. “Who to play?” he asked, although he knew it was Rajesh’s turn.

Rajesh studied his hand before choosing a card from the middle. Puncheon whistled a tune and followed suit with a casual indifference that made Om second-guess his own play and glance to Rajesh for reassurance. When it was Faizal’s turn, Puncheon signalled to him to play a low card and Faizal knew Puncheon wanted Rajesh to win the hand. The next two rounds passed in this way, until each player remained with one card in his possession. Rajesh looked around the table and smirked.

Faizal’s lips twitched. For once he anticipated the showy exhibition that would follow Rajesh’s jack.

Rajesh lifted his arm high, bent his elbow in the air and whipped the card onto the table. It spiralled in the centre, a whir of red and white. “Take that!” he cried. “Save your deuce, Puncheon! You feel you could hang my jack? I is not them children you does be playing with in those small people tournament, you know! I is a big man, with a big jack of hearts, running, like that!” They watched as the jack of hearts slowed to a stop and stared up at them.

Om slammed his hand on the table. “Whey, sir!” He grinned at Rajesh.

Puncheon shrugged and twirled his deuce onto the table. Om followed with a ten of spades.

“Like we go get Gamble, too,” Rajesh boasted. “Allyuh take a point for your lowness.”

“The game ain’t done yet, man,” Puncheon warned. He nodded at Faizal. “Play, Boss.”

Faizal cupped his card, a look of defeat on his gaunt face.

“What happen, Faizal? You tired get your ass bust?” Rajesh asked. He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. That is five games in a row for we.”

“Wait, nuh! A man could play he last card?” Faizal sprang to his feet, sending his chair tumbling back into the grass. He took his ace of hearts in his right hand and Rajesh’s jack of hearts in his left hand and slowly, purposefully, sliced the ace across the neck of the jack. “Take that!” he yelled, mocking Rajesh’s earlier taunting.

Puncheon whooped. “Whey, sir! Faizal hang your jack, boy!” He jumped up, swiped the jack off the table and stamped it to his forehead. “Allyuh take licks on all side! High, Low, Hang-Jack, Gamble; six days!” His hips jutted in a circle as he
called out his points. “And that give we fourteen to go! Who taking cut-ass now?”

Rajesh stood up and knocked his chair over. “Allyuh cheat!”

Faizal gave Rajesh a taciturn look, noting how anger made him all the uglier. “Take the cut-ass like a man,” he said.

Om pried the winning hand from Puncheon, added it to the others and shuffled the deck. “Is okay. They get licks whole afternoon—let them have this one.”

“Nah!” Rajesh narrowed his gaze at Faizal and then Puncheon. “I ain’t wasting my time playing with cheaters.”

Puncheon stood up and hiked his shorts high. “What you think? The All Fours trophies in Lal’s Rum Shop walk there from all over Trinidad?” He grinned. “I win them with my own two hand and my one big brain,” he said, knocking his forehead with a knuckle. “I’s a man who don’t cheat.”

Nobody reminded Puncheon that he played with a partner and that his accolades, however respected, were shared. No one reminded him, because Puncheon could play with the most inexperienced partner and still finish victorious. Puncheon told people Lady Luck was his lover and rum was his best friend, and he took them both to each competition. And to bed.

“Eh. Haul your ass, nuh, man!” Rajesh said to Puncheon. “I ain’t talking to you—I talking to he.” Rajesh pointed a finger in Faizal Mohammed’s face.

Faizal was a full head taller than Rajesh, but he was spindly and Rajesh could snap him like a string of bodi if he wanted to. He locked eyes with Rajesh anyway and gritted his teeth for good measure. Eventually Sangita would hear about this. Faizal had to be brave no matter how much he wanted to spit in Rajesh’s eyes and take off down the road.

Om tapped the deck against the table so that the edges of the cards lined up. “Relax, Raj. Sit down.” He looked wary. He dovetailed the cards, his eyes trained on Rajesh.

Rajesh ignored him. “Where you get that ace, Faizal? You didn’t have that ace before, or you would have play it.”

Faizal shrugged. Better to say nothing, he told himself. Let Rajesh rile himself up. Let him behave like a jackass for everyone to see. All Faizal had to do was maintain his composure and enjoy the show.

“Check the hands, Om,” Rajesh said.

Om paused mid-shuffle. “The card done mix up.”

Rajesh sucked his teeth.

Faizal’s eyes twinkled at Puncheon, but his expression remained serious. He wondered why Rajesh was on edge today. It was true they had been neighbours for ten years and had never fostered any kind of friendship, but still, they were acquaintances and they always behaved civilly in each other’s company. Faizal told himself Rajesh was just a sore loser, that the dander in his gaze had nothing to do with Sangita and him.

Puncheon grasped a lower branch on the almond tree and swung himself, his knees tucked to his chest. “You know,” he said, “practice is what you need, Raj. And focus.”

Rajesh snorted. “Eh! Practise shutting your ass, nuh?” He surveyed Faizal from his toes to his black puff of hair. His voice was low, almost eerie, when he continued. “I know the game, and I know this man’s game, too.” He leaned in close to Faizal. An intimidation tactic. “He’s a trickster. A scamp. Always watching my card and watching my wife.”

Puncheon released his grasp on the branch and fell with a
thud
. “Humph! Is no wonder allyuh never win a competition
yet. You too busy fighting like women to play card like men.”

Om’s chair creaked as he rose. “Raj, you gone too far. Come, let we pack up and go.” He began to fold the chairs, glancing over his shoulder to see if Rajesh followed.

Faizal’s heart fluttered against his rib cage like a hummingbird’s wings. He thought about turning to leave, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Rajesh’s square face, his thick neck, the nasty twist of his mouth. He shuddered to think that this was the first thing Sangita’s eyes fell on in the morning. Faizal stood a little taller, feeling superior somehow, with his clean-shaven face and his freshly laundered shirt. Rajesh was a bully, he told himself, but
he
was a man, dashing and stylish. And beyond all that, Sangita adored him. Sometimes.

“Who say I watching your wife, Raj?” Faizal asked.

Om shook his head as if to suggest Faizal should have run when he’d had the Chance. Faizal didn’t care. He had spent years flirting with Sangita from the other side of the fence; years stealing glances in the market, and more recently, forbidden embraces under the most bizarre circumstances. It was a game. Their game. But lately Faizal found himself frustrated, restless with longing. He could not play at romance with Sangita forever. Perhaps this would mark the end of all that. Faizal thought about telling Rajesh how Sangita had left his kitchen breathless only days ago, how he had held her in his arms on Krishna Janamashtami while Rajesh whimpered over soucouy-ants and other simi-dimi foolishness along the side of the road. But Sangita would be livid, and worse, she would deny it. Faizal bit his tongue, feeling trapped.

Rajesh’s laugh was bitter. “You like a fly, always buzzing around my wife.” He spat in the grass. “What a woman like
she
go do with a man like
you
? Eh, Mr. Disco Dancer?” Rajesh flipped the collar on Faizal’s orange shirt. “Go home and hug up your parrot!”

Faizal turned his collar back down and scowled. If there had been any fear, it was dissolved in his enmity now. “Rajesh, tell the boys you ain’t really vexed about the game, nuh?” His lips curled cruelly. “Tell them how you frighten your wife go run away with me.” Faizal could hear his heart thumping in his ears. This is how men must feel before they fight, he told himself. He clenched his hands and braced himself for the first blow.

Faizal felt a
whoosh
of air and it struck like thunder across his cheek. Then, the soft prickle of grass on his eyelids and in his nostrils. There was a moment of numbness, coppery blood on his tongue before the pain came. Faizal groaned, dragged breath back into his lungs as the pain ebbed to a persistent throb. He gathered himself and clambered back to his feet.

Om was yelling, but Faizal couldn’t make out his words through the ringing in his ears. Faizal staggered and then lunged at Rajesh, noting with satisfaction the surprise on Rajesh’s face before they both went down.