Skin Folk (21 page)

Dry Bone smile. The tightness in she chest ease up little bit. “All right, Tan-Tan. You getting to know how to treat me good.
Take me outside. But you have to watch out after me. No make no open sky catch me. Remember, when you pick me up, you pick
up trouble! If you ain’t protect me, you go be sorry.”

“Yes, Dry Bone.” She pick he up. He heavy like a heart attack from all the food he done eat already. She carry he out onto
the verandah and put he in the wicker chair with two pillow at he back.

Dry Bone lean he dead-looking self back in the chair with a peaceful smile on he face. “Yes, I like this. Maybe I go get you
to bring me my food out here from now on.”

Tan-Tan give he some cool sorrel drink in a cup to tide he over till she finish cook, then she go back inside the hut to start
cooking again. And as she cooking, she singing soft-soft,

Corbeau say so, it must be so,

Corbeau say so, it must be so.

And she only watching at the sky through the one little window in the hut. Suppose Master Johncrow ain’t come?

“Woman, the food ready yet?” Dry Bone call out.

“Nearly ready, Dry Bone.”
Is a black shadow that she see in the sky? It moving? It flying their way?
No. Just a leaf blowing in the wind. “The chicken done stew!” she called out to the verandah. I making the dumpling now!”
And she hum she tune, willing Master Johncrow to hear.

A-what that? Him come? No, only one baby raincloud scudding by.
“Dumpling done! I frying the banana!”

“What a way you taking long today,” grumbled Dry Bone.

Yes.
Coasting in quiet-quiet on wings the span of a big man, Master Johncrow the corbeau-bird float through the sky. From her
window Tan-Tan see him land on the bannister rail right beside Dry Bone, so soft that the duppy man ain’t even self hear he.
She heart start dancing in she chest, light and airy like a masque band flag. Tan-Tan tiptoe out to the front door to watch
the drama.

Dry Bone still have he eyes closed. Master Johncrow stretch he long, picky-picky wattle neck and look right into Dry Bone
face, tender as a lover. He black tongue snake out to lick one side of he pointy beak, to clean out the corner of one eye.
“Ah, Dry Bone,” he say, and he voice was the wind in dry season, “so long I been waiting for this day.”

Dry Bone open up he eye. Him two eyes make four with Master Johncrow own. He scream and try to scramble out the chair, but
he belly get too heavy for he skin-and-bone limbs. “Don’t touch me!” he shout. “When you pick me up, you pick up trouble!
Tan-Tan, come and chase this buzzard away!” But Tan-Tan ain’t move.

Striking like a serpent, Master Johncrow trap one of Dry Bone arm in he beak. Tan-Tan hear the arm snap like twig, and Dry
Bone scream again. “You can’t pick me up! You picking up trouble!” But Master Johncrow haul Dry Bone out into the yard by
he break arm, then he fasten onto the nape of Dry Bone neck with he claws. He leap into the air, dragging Dry Bone up with
him. The skin-and-bone man fall into the sky in truth.

As he flap away over the trees with he prize, Tan-Tan hear he chuckle. “Ah, Dry Bone, you dead thing, you! Trouble sweet to
me like the yolk that did sustain me. Is trouble you swallow to make that belly so fat? Ripe like a watermelon. I want you
to try to give me plenty, plenty trouble. I want you to make it last a long time.”

Tan-Tan sit down in the wicker chair on the verandah and watch them flying away till she couldn’t hear Dry Bone screaming
no more and Master John-crow was only a black speck in the sky. She whisper to sheself:

Corbeau say so, it must be so,

Please, Johncrow, take Dry Bone and go,

Tan-Tan say so,

Tan-Tan beg so.

Tan-Tan went inside and look at she little home. It wouldn’t be plenty trouble to make another window to let in more light.
Nothing would be trouble after living with the trouble of Dry Bone. She go make the window tomorrow, and the day after that,
she go re-cane the break-seat chair.

Tan-Tan pick up she kerosene lamp and went outside to look in the bush for some scraper grass to polish the rust off it. That
would give she something to do while she think about what Master Johncrow had tell she. Maybe she would even go find this
Papa Bois, oui?

Wire bend,

Story end.

C
raven choke puppy” means that puppies frequently choke on their food because they’re too greedy to eat slowly.

I
see a Lagahoo last night. In the back of the house, behind the pigeon peas.”

“Yes, Granny.” Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Jacky leaned back against her grandmother’s knees and closed her eyes in
bliss against the gentle tug of Granny’s hands braiding her hair. Jacky still enjoyed this evening ritual, even though she
was a big hardback woman, thirty-two years next month.

The moon was shining in through the open jalousie windows, bringing the sweet smell of Ladies-of-the-Night flowers with it.
The ceiling fan beat its soothing rhythm.

“How you mean, ‘Yes, Granny’? You even know what a Lagahoo is?”

“Don’t you been frightening me with jumby story from since I small? I putting a section on it in my thesis paper. Is a donkey
with gold teeth, wearing a waistcoat with a pocket watch and two pair of tennis shoes on the hooves.”

“Washekong, you mean. I never teach you to say ‘tennis shoes.’”

Jacky smiled. “Yes, Granny. So, what the Lagahoo was doing in the pigeon peas patch?”

“Just standing, looking at my window. Then he pull out he watch chain from out he waistcoat pocket, and he look at the time,
and he put the watch back, and he bite off some pigeon peas from off one bush, and he walk away.”

Jacky laughed, shaking so hard that her head pulled free of Granny’s hands. “You mean to tell me that a Lagahoo come all the
way to we little house in Diego Martin, just to sample we so-so pigeon peas?” Still chuckling, she settled back against Granny’s
knees. Granny tugged at a hank of Jacky’s hair, just a little harder than necessary.

Jacky could hear the smile in the old woman’s voice. “Don’t get fresh with me, young lady. You turn big woman now, Ph.D. student
and thing, but is still your old nen-nen who does plait up your hair every evening, oui?”

“Yes, Granny. You know I does love to make mako ’pon you, to tease you a little.”

“This ain’t no joke, child. My mammy used to say that a Lagahoo is God horse, and when you see one, somebody go dead. The
last time I see one is just before your mother dead.” The two women fell silent. The memory hung in the air between them,
of the badly burned body retrieved from the wreckage of the car that had gone off the road. Jacky knew that her grandmother
would soon change the subject. She blamed herself for the argument that had sent Jacky’s mother raging from the house in the
first place. And whatever Granny didn’t want to think about, she certainly wasn’t going to talk about.

Granny sighed. “Well, don’t fret, doux-doux. Just be careful when you go out so late at night. I couldn’t stand to lose you,
too.”

“You self too, Granny. Always off to prayer meeting, sometimes ’fore day morning before you come home. I does worry about
you, you know?”

Granny just grunted, “Mm-hmm.”

Jacky closed her eyes, dreamy in the gentle tugs on her hair, the cool stripes of oil that Granny laid down with a finger
in the parts between each plait. “Granny, you want to hear how my thesis going?”

“Mm?”

“I write about La Diablesse already, the devil lady, how she pretty for so, but with sharpened teeth and one goat hoof, you
did right about that part, Granny.”

“I know.”

“And you ever notice is only men she does appear to? I talk about how she represent masculine fears of female sexua—”

“Hold this plait here, Jacky. Yes, keep it out of the way.”

“Yes, Granny. That Lagahoo, now, that we was just talking about? Well, it have a Jamaican equivalent. They call it the Rolling
Calf—”

“All right, girl: I done.” Granny finished off the last braid and gently stroked Jacky’s head. “Go and wrap up your head in
a scarf, so the plaits will stay nice while you sleeping.”

“Thank you, Granny. What I would do without you to help me make myself pretty for the gentlemen, eh?”

Granny smiled, but with a worried look on her face. “Never you mind all that. You just mind your studies. It have plenty of
time to catch man.”

Jacky stood and gave the old woman a kiss on one warm, soft cheek and headed towards her bedroom in search of a scarf. Behind
her, she could hear Granny settling back into the faded wicker armchair, muttering distractedly to herself, “But why this
Lagahoo come to bother me again, eh?”

The first time, I ain’t know what was happening to me. I was younger them times there, and sweet for so, you see? Sweet like
julie mango, with two ripe tot-tot on the front of my body and two ripe maami-apple behind. I only had was to walk down the
street, twitching that maami-apple behind, and all the boys-them on the street corner would watch at me like them was starving,
and I was food.

But I get to find out know how it is when the boys stop making sweet eye at you so much, and start watching after a next younger
thing. I get to find out that when you pass you prime, and you ain’t catch no man eye, nothing ain’t left for you but to get
old and dry-up like cane leaf in the fire. Is just so I was feeling that night. Like something wither-up. Like something that
once used to drink in the feel of the sun on it skin, but now it dead and dry, and the sun only drying it out more. And the
feeling make a burning in me belly, and the burning spread out to my skin, till I couldn’t take it no more. I jump up from
my little bed just so in the middle of the night, and snatch off my nightie. And when I do so, my skin come with it, and drop
off on the floor. Inside my skin I was just one big ball of fire, and Lord, the night air feel nice and cool on the flame!
I know then I was a soucouyant, a hag-woman. I know what I had was to do. When your youth start to leave you, you have to
steal more from somebody who still have plenty. I fly out the window and start to search, search for a newborn baby.

“Lagahoo? I know that word from somewhere, Jacky.”

Jacky smiled at her friend Carmen, a librarian in the humanities section of the Library of the University of the West Indies.
“You probably hear it from Granny. Is French creole for ‘werewolf.’ But as Trini people tell it, is a donkey, not a wolf.
Only we could come up with something so jokey as a were-donkey, oui?”

Carmen giggled, leaning back in her chair behind the information desk, legs sprawled under the bulge of her advanced pregnancy.
“And that and all going in your thesis paper, I suppose. You have a title for the paper yet?”

“‘Magic in the Real: the Role of Folklore in Everyday Caribbean Life.’”

“‘Magic in the Real’: I like that.” Carmen stretched, groaned. “Lord, girl, my back paining me for so, you see?”

“How much longer?” Jacky asked. A baby! To think Carmen would soon have a child.

“Two weeks. I could scarcely wait to get it out of me. I feel like I have a belly full of cement.”

“Carmen!” Jacky was scandalised. “How you could talk so! I tell you, if it was me making baby, I would be happy, happy. I
would be shining bright like the sun in the sky.”

Carmen just chuckled. “From high school days you always been in such a hurry to turn big woman. Your turn to make baby will
come, and then we will see how happy and shiny you talking by the time you due for labour.”

Carmen was a little older than Jacky. They had known each other since they were girls together at Saint Alban’s Primary School.
Carmen was always very interested in Jacky’s research.

“As far as I know, it doesn’t change into a human being. Why does your granny think she saw a Lagahoo in the backyard?”

“You know Granny, Carmen. She sees all kinds of things, duppy and jumby and things like that. Remember the duppy stories she
used to tell us when we were small, so we would be scared and mind what she said?”