Cloudy shrouds suppressed the rising sun. Lightning, stretching its fingers across the sky, tore through the grey mass. Pinky sat on a bench on her daughter, Darling’s veranda. She realised her full bosom and underwear were visible through her rain-drenched nightgown. And she was gripping the knife used for gutting fish.
She groaned. How I get here? She rose, stumbled to Darling’s door, raised her hand to pound on it, then stopped. Darling mustn’t see me like this. She slumped back onto the bench, trembling. As the sun pushed through the thick rain clouds, yesterday’s events began to rewind.
***
It was the hurricane season and due to a squall, night had pounced suddenly, snuffing out the dwindling daylight. Organ music filtered into Pinky’s head, smiling faces warmed her. Ceiling fans wobbled noisily as she, bouquet in hand, swayed towards the altar.
Ahead of her, Melody, Pinky’s bridesmaid and best friend, stuffed into a tangerine silk gown, waddled down the aisle, her buxom breasts protruding.
Ha! I beat Melody in the race to get Ruben hitched. Pinky smiled at the thought then glanced at her daughter, Darling, seated in a pew. Darling never smile. She and Melody had almost finished their slow walk to the altar during which time her wide train had been dragged over the wet floor.
Reaching the altar, Pinky gazed at Ruben Peterson, her husband-to-be. White-haired, and moustached, he was slim, straight-backed, and 75, with an ebony-hued face as smooth as cream. His shirt hugged his damp skin.
Sweat ran down Ruben’s face. His suit sewn by Pinky, donkey years ago, had smelled of mothballs when Pinky had unpacked it earlier. It fitted like skin. He fidgeted with his tie and adjusted his suit.
If he sneeze de buttons on he shirt goin’ snap, Pinky mused.
***
Pinky was tall, plump and pale, and did not look a day over 60. Her cheeks swelled with joy. All eyes were on her. Her wedding dress had been Melody’s best creation; the beige-laced gown clung to her full frame. The garment, drenched when she dashed from the car to the church door, felt heavy on her shoulders.
The organ’s drone competed with the drumming rain. Hymns sung and rings exchanged, the wedding party hustled out of the aisles. Branches lashed about as guests without transport huddled in the church’s vestibule. Pinky and her small wedding party soon disappeared into rented cars waiting to take them away. Then the cars inched across town to Pinky’s house on Garden Street, their horns blaring, wipers battling pelting rain.
***
Outside Pinky’s house water rushed through open gutters, tree leaves waved angrily as the wind stripped upturned umbrellas to their naked frames. Ruben dashed to open the front door and Pinky, Melody and Darling rushed in, the door slamming shut after them. The hired vehicles vanished into sheets of rain.
The wedded couple changed into dry clothes in Pinky’s bedroom. Then Ruben headed to the kitchen while Pinky sat on her bed tracing the intricately patterned lace on her wedding dress. A smile blossomed as she thought of Ruben. Unlike previous lovers, he hadn’t abandoned her and Darling. Her son had escaped her grasp by fleeing the island at 16.
***
Pinky recalled the day Ruben first entered the dress shop where she and Melody had worked, sewed and flirted 40 years ago. He had come in to be measured for a shirt. They were not attracted to Ruben at first and ignored his advances. He had accused them of being “high-yella” women who didn’t want him ’cause he was too black. Too poor. But times had changed over the decades. He had become the go-to shoe repair man, owning the only shop in town.
***
In the guest room Darling and Melody slipped out of their wet clothing, splashed themselves head-to-toe with Bay Rum to ward off fever from the dowsing rain, then put on one of the many dresses hanging in the closet. Pinky, being a seamstress, had assembled quite a collection over the years.
“Darling,” Melody whispered, as they dried their hair, “Ruben know everything ’bout you’ mudda?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. Mama happy.”
“You’ mudda wasn’t easy, you know,” said Melody, ignoring Darling’s comments. “Man-man, a Carib, was she first love,” she continued. “You mudda was 18 when she set her sight on him. We had wuk for he mudda. He was stocky and you didn’t cross him. One head butt floor’ you. Das how he get he name, Man-man. When she get pregnant, he say he had to marry he own kind. She burn down he mudda’s shop. When people accuse her, she tell them, The Lord move in mysterious ways. Pinky spen’ few days in jail ’cause a man claim he see she in the vicinity. Was his word ‘gainst hers and the police let her go. Man-man get a job on a sailboat and never come back.
“Why you telling me all this now?” butted in Darling.
“Cause yo haf to know,” Melody said, barely pausing.
“She left she boy-child with her mudda, sail to Cuba and find work as a maid. She just lucky. Not long after, she fall for a handsome policeman, Alfredo. He buy her a sewing machine and cloth. That catch she heart. On days off she stay with him. They used to go dancing at a school house near Havana at weekends. She quit work when she get pregnant with you, Darling. And when Alfredo went dancing without he, it was a stab to her heart. First Man-Man, then Alfredo. Months later she pour acid in he ear one night while he sleeping.
“Enough of that,” Darling muttered, “leave sleeping dog alone.
Both left the room faces rumpled, memories reeling with Pinky’s misdeeds, They joined Ruben who had been warming the food in the kitchen and poured themselves a tumbler of rum.
“Why you faces look so sour?” Ruben asked.
They sucked their teeth loudly and began to fill plates with fried chicken, meatballs, fish balls and hefty portions of potato salad which they carried to the dining room. Ruben followed.
“Darling, wha’s keeping you mother?”
“I know?”
“Pinky, you coming?” Ruben shouted out the door.
“Say Grace. Go ahead and eat, I coming,” Pinky yelled from her bedroom.
Ruben squeezed himself between Darling and Melody. “God bless what we are about to receive.” He winked at Melody.
“For Chris’ sake.” Darling rolled her eyes.
“Amen,” he grunted and grabbed a chicken thigh from his plate. “The best part of any creature, ain’t so, Melody?”
“You’ thighs in the bedroom,” Melody chortled. Her plump body shook.
“You looking sweet, woman, I could eat you,” whispered Ruben.
“Rum talking, Ruben,” chortled Melody.
He sneaked his hand behind her and pinched her bum.
Melody stamped on his foot under the table, frowned at him.
“Damn, if looks could kill. Melody, is me wedding day. Treat me nice, no?”
“Behave you’self, no Ruben,” Darling elbowed him.
“Mama, you better come. Ruben drunk and he claws all over Melody.”
An infectious calypso invaded the bedroom. “Party, party, party, put on your dancing shoes.”
***
While tracing the intricate lace of her wedding gown a deluge of thoughts about the future had swamped Pinky. She quickly slid off the bed smiling and hastened to the dining room.
“Is our dance, sweetheart,” she shouted to Ruben as she yanked him up and swung him around to the swift rhythm of the calypso. “Hope you keeping you hand to you’self.”
Ruben smirked as he shouted, “Darling, put on something slow.”
“OK. Here’s something for lovebirds,” Darling replied. “You’re one in a million….”
Pinky hugged Ruben, closed her eyes and inhaled his Old Spice aftershave.
“Old Spice. Me old spice. You ain’t going leave me, no?”
“No, Sugar.”
She clung to him as they shuffled around the floor.
***
An hour later, clothes sticking to their skin, they stopped dancing and dropped onto a sofa. Ruben reached for the Johnny Walker on the center table and filled two glasses in front of him with ice and whisky, then handed one to Pinky.
Darling refilled her glass and raised it. “To you’ happiness. Mama.”
They stood up, clinked their glasses, then plopped back onto the sofa.
***
Pinky rose sometime later and looked around. Melody had already gone to the guest room and Darling and Ruben were dead to the world. Too tired to rouse Rueben, she propped him up with cushions and tottered to her bedroom.
***
Past midnight the howling wind and cracking thunder woke Darling. Ruben was snoring on the sofa. She tiptoed to Pinky’s bedroom, and satisfied that her mother was sleeping, left the house and drove off in her car which she had parked outside earlier in the day, rain thick on her windshield.
***
Pinky’s house shook when thunder cannoned. Lightning ripped the sky and snatched the lights away. Startled by the racket, Ruben fell off the sofa, bruising his forehead. He leaned against the centre table and raised himself up to grope his way to a bedroom. Nursing the growing lump, he eased onto the bed and began to fumble the softness of the woman beside him. He sluggishly unbuttoned his shirt, then struggled out of his trousers.
“Dumplin?” He snuggled up against Melody, fondled her mountainous breasts.
Melody pushed his hand away and slapped him. “Ruben, what you doing here? You looking for you death?”
“Come dumpling,” he slurred. “Give me sugar, no?”
Melody flogged Ruben with her pillow. “Ruben,” she hissed. “Wrong room.”
He stroked her breasts again. Heat surged through her body. She grabbed his head, pulled him to her.
A loud snore rose from Ruben’s mouth.
Chuuups. She pushed his dead weight off her. “Damn useless. Well, Pinky ain’t gettin’ none tonight,” she thought.
***
Pinky woke when thunder shattered her sleep. A sheet of lightning slashed the pitch-black night. Ruben wasn’t at her side. She went in search of him. Irregular slithers of light guided her to the empty dining room. Then she fumbled her way to kitchen, bathroom and living room. No Ruben. But when she opened the guest room door, Ruben’s snore assailed her. She felt her way to the bed. Patting about, her hands touched enormous breasts.
Pinky stumbled back to the kitchen. A hoarse cry escaped her mouth as she collapsed onto the floor. Her body quaked as rage surged through her and blazed in her eyes. Past lovers sneered and her thoughts raced with fist fights, fires and acid. Then she rose, grabbing a knife from the sink and stormed into the guest room.