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Authors: Lesley Lokko
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morning as she sat watching her mother get dressed. ‘What on earth do you mean?’ Her mother turned from her mirror to look at Embeth. ‘What do you mean, what will happen to her?’
‘When she’s too old to work, I mean.’
‘Gracious, Embeth, what a thing to worry about! She’ll be pensioned off. She’ll return to her family, of course.’
‘But she’s lived here all her life. We
are
her family.’
‘Embeth, that’s just the way it is. What on earth has brought all this on?’
‘Nothing,’ Embeth mumbled, picking at a loose thread in her skirt. ‘Nothing.’
She looked beyond the dressing table where her mother sat to the hills that were just visible through the half-open shutters. It had rained the night before, one of those sudden tropical downpours that come seemingly out of nowhere, shake the very foundations of the buildings with tremendous thunderclaps and flashes of steely white lightning, and then disappear, rolling over the hills to the south of the city and the vast
interiór
of the country beyond.
She let her mind roam free, as if the glimpse of green in the distance had sparked a restless, unspoken desire to break out of the confines of the house on a Saturday morning with its familiar rituals – a long, leisurely bath, followed by a breakfast of fruits and coffee on the terrace with the pool shimmering just out of sight; wandering into her mother’s room, watching her get dressed; then the drawn-out preparations for lunch. There would be guests, of course, and Mercedes and Sophia would be in charge of making sure the junior staff swept and polished every surface until it gleamed. Her eyes shifted unconsciously between two dimensions – the one, far off in the distance, a line of hills marking the limits beyond which she couldn’t see, and the other, the intimate, claustrophobic world of the house. Her skin tingled in rejection of it all.
‘Mama,’ she began again, more hesitantly this time.
‘
Sí, mi amor
.’ Her mother was dreamily distracted.
‘Why do I have to get married? Couldn’t I . . . couldn’t I get a job, or something? If it’s about money, I—’
‘Embeth, will you
stop
? What is the matter with you? Of course it’s not about money! What a thought! Don’t you want to have a beautiful home, children, a good husband . . . a good life?’
‘But why . . . why can’t I have those things
without
a husband? Why do I have to get married? And in any case, what’s the rush?’ Embeth looked at her mother and then wished immediately she hadn’t started the conversation in the first place. Her mother’s look was one of sheer incomprehension.
‘Oh, don’t be so
silly
! How can you have a child without a husband? No, don’t answer that. I don’t even want to
hear
it.’ Miriám turned back to her image. ‘Now go and find Mercedes for me. Tell her to bring me some salts. You’ve given me a headache and it’s not even noon.’
Embeth got up hastily from the bed and left the room. She’d been back for six months and there were days when it felt as though the centre had somehow fallen out of her world. Nothing made sense anymore, least of all her own thoughts. It was as if a veil that had previously obscured her vision of the world had suddenly been lifted. It was strange and bewildering. In her four years in Ithaca, safely away from her family and their silent but powerful demands, it had never occurred to her to rebel, to break free. She’d done what was asked of her. She attended her classes, attained and maintained her grades, the model student in more ways than one. But now that she was home again, a strange, unspecified longing had broken out in her, which she only now realised had been dormant all along. The pulls and ties that she’d subconsciously resisted now began to reassert themselves – a suitor, an engagement, a marriage . . . a family and a household of her own to run. She shrank instinctively from the gifts that were being offered but
‘When she’s too old to work, I mean.’
‘Gracious, Embeth, what a thing to worry about! She’ll be pensioned off. She’ll return to her family, of course.’
‘But she’s lived here all her life. We
are
her family.’
‘Embeth, that’s just the way it is. What on earth has brought all this on?’
‘Nothing,’ Embeth mumbled, picking at a loose thread in her skirt. ‘Nothing.’
She looked beyond the dressing table where her mother sat to the hills that were just visible through the half-open shutters. It had rained the night before, one of those sudden tropical downpours that come seemingly out of nowhere, shake the very foundations of the buildings with tremendous thunderclaps and flashes of steely white lightning, and then disappear, rolling over the hills to the south of the city and the vast
interiór
of the country beyond.
She let her mind roam free, as if the glimpse of green in the distance had sparked a restless, unspoken desire to break out of the confines of the house on a Saturday morning with its familiar rituals – a long, leisurely bath, followed by a breakfast of fruits and coffee on the terrace with the pool shimmering just out of sight; wandering into her mother’s room, watching her get dressed; then the drawn-out preparations for lunch. There would be guests, of course, and Mercedes and Sophia would be in charge of making sure the junior staff swept and polished every surface until it gleamed. Her eyes shifted unconsciously between two dimensions – the one, far off in the distance, a line of hills marking the limits beyond which she couldn’t see, and the other, the intimate, claustrophobic world of the house. Her skin tingled in rejection of it all.
‘Mama,’ she began again, more hesitantly this time.
‘
Sí, mi amor
.’ Her mother was dreamily distracted.
‘Why do I have to get married? Couldn’t I . . . couldn’t I get a job, or something? If it’s about money, I—’
‘Embeth, will you
stop
? What is the matter with you? Of course it’s not about money! What a thought! Don’t you want to have a beautiful home, children, a good husband . . . a good life?’
‘But why . . . why can’t I have those things
without
a husband? Why do I have to get married? And in any case, what’s the rush?’ Embeth looked at her mother and then wished immediately she hadn’t started the conversation in the first place. Her mother’s look was one of sheer incomprehension.
‘Oh, don’t be so
silly
! How can you have a child without a husband? No, don’t answer that. I don’t even want to
hear
it.’ Miriám turned back to her image. ‘Now go and find Mercedes for me. Tell her to bring me some salts. You’ve given me a headache and it’s not even noon.’
Embeth got up hastily from the bed and left the room. She’d been back for six months and there were days when it felt as though the centre had somehow fallen out of her world. Nothing made sense anymore, least of all her own thoughts. It was as if a veil that had previously obscured her vision of the world had suddenly been lifted. It was strange and bewildering. In her four years in Ithaca, safely away from her family and their silent but powerful demands, it had never occurred to her to rebel, to break free. She’d done what was asked of her. She attended her classes, attained and maintained her grades, the model student in more ways than one. But now that she was home again, a strange, unspecified longing had broken out in her, which she only now realised had been dormant all along. The pulls and ties that she’d subconsciously resisted now began to reassert themselves – a suitor, an engagement, a marriage . . . a family and a household of her own to run. She shrank instinctively from the gifts that were being offered but
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