Read Online Moving Forward Sideways Like a Crab by Shani Mootoo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shani Mootoo
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workout than a way of coming around to speaking about the other’s body, I was used to the subject being broached by a hostile kind of man so that he could entertain the inevitable, simple-minded supposition that I was pumping myself up so that I could appear masculine. Of course, my guard went up, and rightly so, for Eric soon admitted that I presented him with the rare opportunity to ask what it was that turned a person into someone “like me.” His questioning eventually went too far, and I was relieved, grateful—and impressed—when Zain brought it and the lunch to an end. She had, in a flash, seen Eric as he was: small and unlikeable.
A couple of days later, the next time I saw Zain, she told me that she had confronted him on his boat, where they had a row. Eric didn’t, he told Zain, like her being “thick” with me. She was pleased with herself that she’d stood up for me: she’d shouted, she said, that under no circumstances would she tolerate bigotry and insults towards any of her friends or herself, and furthermore no one, not her father, not her husband and certainly not he, had the right to be so parochial, so domineering and boorish as to tell her who she could and could not be friends with. But the matter didn’t, of course, end there. He grabbed her by her upper arms andshook her, and then he pushed her. She was so shocked that she didn’t fight back. I thought that was a good thing, and told her so. This new side of him had frightened her, she said. She left him as quickly as she could, and later that same day, once she’d found the privacy, she telephoned him and ended the relationship.
Just before the end of that trip—about ten days after the incident with Eric—Zain and I spent our last day together. It was a Tuesday, the day on which, every week, Angus ate dinner and played poker after work with friends at a club in Port of Spain. When Angus returned—which would be, he said, about ten thirty, give or take a drink or two—they would drive me down to San Fernando to my parents’ house. Zain and I ate dinner, went to the guest room and propped ourselves on the bed next to each other. We had pushed in the door, but not fully closed it. Zain wanted to explain why she had been open to an affair. She reasoned that Angus was her first and only love, that they had been together now for so long that they were like siblings, that she wanted some mystery in her life, some excitement, to be seen again as a sexual being. I was flattered—and saddened—when she said that it was I who had sparked that desire in her to be loved again.
We lay back in the bed, like old times, her head on my shoulder and my arm around her. She wanted to be loved and seen as a sexual being, but I would never be, I saw, theone to give her these gifts. She nodded off and I dozed and woke and dozed and woke, knowing this was the last time I would see her on that trip. As I held her, it came to me that I had never regarded Angus as a threat to my relationship with Zain—he was, instead, my aide—and I was relieved that Eric, the real threat, was no longer in the picture. I could hold Zain and, regardless of the truth, imagine that I was the only one giving her the attention she craved. I could pretend that out of this could well grow more. I convinced myself there was no harm in my imagining or pretending.
Then I heard a noise outside the door. I lifted my head. Someone was there. I pulled my arm out from under Zain’s neck. She awoke and we both sat up quickly. We heard footsteps running up the stairs, then the door at the back of the house shut. I whispered that we should call the police, call Angus. But Zain insisted we should first go and look outside. By the time we reached the gate we could hear a car driving away, although we couldn’t see it in the dark. Zain was silent. She didn’t appear to be frightened. She was, rather, seething, but offered me no explanation for her reaction. I asked her if Eric had a key
A couple of days later, the next time I saw Zain, she told me that she had confronted him on his boat, where they had a row. Eric didn’t, he told Zain, like her being “thick” with me. She was pleased with herself that she’d stood up for me: she’d shouted, she said, that under no circumstances would she tolerate bigotry and insults towards any of her friends or herself, and furthermore no one, not her father, not her husband and certainly not he, had the right to be so parochial, so domineering and boorish as to tell her who she could and could not be friends with. But the matter didn’t, of course, end there. He grabbed her by her upper arms andshook her, and then he pushed her. She was so shocked that she didn’t fight back. I thought that was a good thing, and told her so. This new side of him had frightened her, she said. She left him as quickly as she could, and later that same day, once she’d found the privacy, she telephoned him and ended the relationship.
Just before the end of that trip—about ten days after the incident with Eric—Zain and I spent our last day together. It was a Tuesday, the day on which, every week, Angus ate dinner and played poker after work with friends at a club in Port of Spain. When Angus returned—which would be, he said, about ten thirty, give or take a drink or two—they would drive me down to San Fernando to my parents’ house. Zain and I ate dinner, went to the guest room and propped ourselves on the bed next to each other. We had pushed in the door, but not fully closed it. Zain wanted to explain why she had been open to an affair. She reasoned that Angus was her first and only love, that they had been together now for so long that they were like siblings, that she wanted some mystery in her life, some excitement, to be seen again as a sexual being. I was flattered—and saddened—when she said that it was I who had sparked that desire in her to be loved again.
We lay back in the bed, like old times, her head on my shoulder and my arm around her. She wanted to be loved and seen as a sexual being, but I would never be, I saw, theone to give her these gifts. She nodded off and I dozed and woke and dozed and woke, knowing this was the last time I would see her on that trip. As I held her, it came to me that I had never regarded Angus as a threat to my relationship with Zain—he was, instead, my aide—and I was relieved that Eric, the real threat, was no longer in the picture. I could hold Zain and, regardless of the truth, imagine that I was the only one giving her the attention she craved. I could pretend that out of this could well grow more. I convinced myself there was no harm in my imagining or pretending.
Then I heard a noise outside the door. I lifted my head. Someone was there. I pulled my arm out from under Zain’s neck. She awoke and we both sat up quickly. We heard footsteps running up the stairs, then the door at the back of the house shut. I whispered that we should call the police, call Angus. But Zain insisted we should first go and look outside. By the time we reached the gate we could hear a car driving away, although we couldn’t see it in the dark. Zain was silent. She didn’t appear to be frightened. She was, rather, seething, but offered me no explanation for her reaction. I asked her if Eric had a key
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