alarmed as a blind man who can now see.
At first I only saw four people huddled around an upright tree, pointing and shaking their heads. Then others came – five, six, seven. Some running from across the field. Some shouting at others to come. All stopping to stare when they reached the old tree. Then, round the legs of a tall man, over the heads of two small children and past the white handkerchief of a woman who dabbed at tears in her eyes, I saw the body of Mr Ryder.
He was dead. Wrapped around the base of the tree like a piece of cloth. His spine twisted and broken in so many places it bent him backwards. He was naked, his clothes torn from him by the storm with only one ragged shirt sleeve still in place. His mouth was open wide – was it a smile or a scream? And around him his butchered insides leaked like a posy of crimson flowers into a daylight they should never have seen.
I believe I might have screamed. I think I screamed, ‘He is a jealous God.’ I might have held my head and yelled, ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife.’ For the small crowd looked on me for a brief moment, frowning, before they resumed their yapping: ‘Where is Mrs Ryder? . . . Mrs Ryder should be informed . . . Someone must bring Mrs Ryder.’ I cannot be sure whether the howling that I heard was only in my head. But I am sure of what I said next. I am certain of what I said, out loud for all to hear. I can clearly recall what I said, in my strong and steady voice – for I said it until all were staring on me.
‘Mrs Ryder is alone in the schoolhouse with Michael Roberts.’
There was confusion when I finally reached home. Was it the same crowd of people who had been looking on the broken body of Mr Ryder who were now crowding the veranda of our house? Was it the same woman dabbing at her eyes with a white handkerchief? Was it the same tall man? Or were they different people who now jostled around a grave and sombre Mr Philip, waiting to hear what he could do about the fuss in the neighbourhood? And was Miss Jewel sobbing at the death of Mr Ryder? Or did her tears flow because the crowd was whispering, ‘Michael Roberts – have you heard about Michael Roberts?’
Miss Ma grabbed my wrist to pull me past the crowd and into the house. As she closed the door on an empty room she slapped my face so hard I fell to the floor. ‘Did you know what my son was doing with that woman? Did you know my son was committing a mortal sin with Mrs Ryder – a married woman?’ I tried to run from the room but she held me back with the strength of fury.
‘Why are you treating me like this?’ I asked.
‘My son with that woman.’ She had lost her senses. She hit me again, this time her hand rounded as a fist. ‘My son was found in an ungodly embrace with that woman,’ she screamed.
Suddenly her strength left her. She collapsed, falling on to a chair as her body returned to that of a frail old woman. I looked on her and gently placed my hand on her shoulder. As fast as a snake she puffed herself up again. Her eyes fixed on mine, her hand raising to strike me. But I escaped from the room. I ran to the henhouse and squeezed my adult body in with the bewildered hens. There I sat a quiet vigil, looking out on the turmoil through the hole in the wood that was once used to spy on me.
I went to the town to stay awhile in the now empty schoolhouse. I had to make sure the school was safely closed up. And to turn back the children who might arrive for their school term. I pinned a notice to the door concerning the tragic accident. Mr Ryder was not yet in the ground. Mrs Ryder was abiding with the preacher from the evangelical church, waiting on the day when her sister would arrive to carry her far away from this island. But all around the town rumours flew on the breeze. How had Mr Ryder died? Was he trying to feel the power of the hurricane? Was he caught where he should not have been? Some said that Mr
At first I only saw four people huddled around an upright tree, pointing and shaking their heads. Then others came – five, six, seven. Some running from across the field. Some shouting at others to come. All stopping to stare when they reached the old tree. Then, round the legs of a tall man, over the heads of two small children and past the white handkerchief of a woman who dabbed at tears in her eyes, I saw the body of Mr Ryder.
He was dead. Wrapped around the base of the tree like a piece of cloth. His spine twisted and broken in so many places it bent him backwards. He was naked, his clothes torn from him by the storm with only one ragged shirt sleeve still in place. His mouth was open wide – was it a smile or a scream? And around him his butchered insides leaked like a posy of crimson flowers into a daylight they should never have seen.
I believe I might have screamed. I think I screamed, ‘He is a jealous God.’ I might have held my head and yelled, ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife.’ For the small crowd looked on me for a brief moment, frowning, before they resumed their yapping: ‘Where is Mrs Ryder? . . . Mrs Ryder should be informed . . . Someone must bring Mrs Ryder.’ I cannot be sure whether the howling that I heard was only in my head. But I am sure of what I said next. I am certain of what I said, out loud for all to hear. I can clearly recall what I said, in my strong and steady voice – for I said it until all were staring on me.
‘Mrs Ryder is alone in the schoolhouse with Michael Roberts.’
There was confusion when I finally reached home. Was it the same crowd of people who had been looking on the broken body of Mr Ryder who were now crowding the veranda of our house? Was it the same woman dabbing at her eyes with a white handkerchief? Was it the same tall man? Or were they different people who now jostled around a grave and sombre Mr Philip, waiting to hear what he could do about the fuss in the neighbourhood? And was Miss Jewel sobbing at the death of Mr Ryder? Or did her tears flow because the crowd was whispering, ‘Michael Roberts – have you heard about Michael Roberts?’
Miss Ma grabbed my wrist to pull me past the crowd and into the house. As she closed the door on an empty room she slapped my face so hard I fell to the floor. ‘Did you know what my son was doing with that woman? Did you know my son was committing a mortal sin with Mrs Ryder – a married woman?’ I tried to run from the room but she held me back with the strength of fury.
‘Why are you treating me like this?’ I asked.
‘My son with that woman.’ She had lost her senses. She hit me again, this time her hand rounded as a fist. ‘My son was found in an ungodly embrace with that woman,’ she screamed.
Suddenly her strength left her. She collapsed, falling on to a chair as her body returned to that of a frail old woman. I looked on her and gently placed my hand on her shoulder. As fast as a snake she puffed herself up again. Her eyes fixed on mine, her hand raising to strike me. But I escaped from the room. I ran to the henhouse and squeezed my adult body in with the bewildered hens. There I sat a quiet vigil, looking out on the turmoil through the hole in the wood that was once used to spy on me.
I went to the town to stay awhile in the now empty schoolhouse. I had to make sure the school was safely closed up. And to turn back the children who might arrive for their school term. I pinned a notice to the door concerning the tragic accident. Mr Ryder was not yet in the ground. Mrs Ryder was abiding with the preacher from the evangelical church, waiting on the day when her sister would arrive to carry her far away from this island. But all around the town rumours flew on the breeze. How had Mr Ryder died? Was he trying to feel the power of the hurricane? Was he caught where he should not have been? Some said that Mr
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