Nalo Hopkinson: Midnight Robber

“Lord have mercy,” Ione said. “What make anybody want to labour so?”

Tan-Tan could barely hear her for all the yelling and shouting, the scraping of the berimbau, the sounds of sticks crashing together. Over to the right they could see the stick fight ring. It had about twelve men and women standing in two short lines, facing one another. They each had one short stick and one long one. The stick fight marshall was shouting out the measures: “Lemme see you do the Scarlet Ibis!” The stick fighters turned and jumped, swinging their sticks high in air and hitting them against their opponents’ sticks. It was more performance than fight, and Tan-Tan could see the pattern of the dance. It looked like birds flying for true.

“All right! Now the Dip and Fall Back!” One line crouched down low and ran behind the other. The people in the standing line leapt up high, crashing one another’s sticks together at the apex of the jump. The marshall sang out, “Canboulay-Oh!” and the dance turned into a free-for-all. Fighters jabbed at one another with their long sticks and used the short ones to fend off blows. One set of comess and confusion!

“Mummy, they going to get hurt!”

“No, child; you ain’t have no sense? Long time ago, the stick fight was real, but is just a pappyshow now.”

It ain’t look like no pappyshow to Tan-Tan; it looked like serious business.

Ione pointed to the middle of the fight yard. “Look the machète practice there so. That is what we come to see.” She hustled Tan-Tan over to the barrier. “Peel your eye, girl. Me will look too. Tell me if you see your Uncle Quashee.”

True to old-time tradition, the machète fighters-them were wearing full antique leather armour and face plate and thing, so it wasn’t easy to see who was who. They were sparring in twos, slicing at each other with wood machètes. The marshall went from one pair to the next, moving an arm or a leg, stopping people sometimes to demonstrate a move.

Suddenly, one fighter tripped a next one to the ground and kicked the machète out of the fallen one’s hand.

“Bloodcloth!” the downed one cursed, cradling the kicked hand. His voice was muffled by the face plate.

“Hold on; hold on!” the marshall yelled. The sparring stopped.

“Quashee, man, I tired tell you about cheating! Kicking not allowed; tripping not allowed! If you can’t fight fair, get your ass out of my blasted yard, you hear?”

The cheater swiped off his helmet and face plate and dashed them to the ground. It was Quashee for true. It had dust in his hair. His face was covered in sweat and mud. Ione was only waving her handkerchief, trying to catch his eye, but he wasn’t paying her no mind. He was too busy arguing with the marshall.

“Don’t vex, Boss,” Quashee say. “Is forget I did forget. I know you tell me before, but this thing ain’t no joke, you hear? We only playing fight today, but if Antonio decide to challenge me, tomorrow I go be catching my nen-nen.”

“Man, what you frighten for?” The man on the ground had picked himself up and entered into the argument. “You ain’t even self know if Antonio going to challenge you. Today is he last chance to lay challenge. Is five months gone, and you ain’t hear from he. I bet you he don’t show up.”

A real machète flew through the air and jooked into the leather helmet lying at the mens’ feet, nearly slicing the helmet in half. Quashee cried out and jumped back.

“Well, Master Don, you lose your bet. I here.” One of the other fighters in the ring was unbuckling his face plate. Tan-Tan knew that voice. It was her daddy. He had been practising beside Quashee all along, disguised by his helmet.

A woman in the crowd of spectators sang out joyfully, “Oh, God! Look story now!”

The marshall scolded: “Antonio, what the ass you doing making masque in my machète ring? Is Potoo supposed to be he in here, not you! And what you mean by throwing bare steel at one of my students like that?”

Antonio frowned, but the marshall continued his harangue: “You is mayor of Cockpit County, yes, but in this machète yard, even the mayor don’t break my rules.”

When Antonio replied, he did so in a respectful voice: “Sorry, Marshall; my head get too hot when I see that cheating son of a bitch who disgrace my wife and insult my hospitality!” (Quashee moved behind the marshall’s back.) “I can’t let it pass; I come to announce my intentions to challenge Quashee to a fair fight on Jour Ouvert morning!”

Outside the barrier, the spectators began to whisper to one another. Tan-Tan heard: “Lord, how Antonio think he could win a machète fight when Quashee been practising for five months now?”

Obviously the same thing was on the marshall’s mind; he kissed his teeth, shook his head and said, “Allyou know I could cancel a challenge if I think one fighter have a unfair advantage, right? Antonio, you don’t have no practice fighting with machète.”

Antonio laughed. “No? What make you think so? You remember Warren, Marshall? The man you replace as machète master when he retire from the yard last year? Well, Warren is my good, good friend and he been giving me private lessons since before Jonkanoo Time.”

Oh, yes: scandal break again in Cockpit County! The crowd was ssu-ssu ing so till the marshall had to shout for silence. It ain’t have nothing for him to do but shrug and ask Quashee and Antonio if they understood the rules of the challenge: “The two of you going to fight with machète, leather armour your only protection; a fair fight, until one of you surrender or can’t fight no more. And Quashee, listen good; the rules say you can’t refuse a Jour Ouvert challenge if you healthy. So: you accept the challenge, or you refuse?”

Sweat was beading Quashee’s forehead like when you put salt on a slice of z’avocat pear.

“I accept, Marshall.”

Antonio just nodded.

Tan-Tan couldn’t stand to keep silent any more. “Daddy! Daddy! I over here!”

Antonio turned at the sound of her voice. He strode over to Tan-Tan and Ione. Tan-Tan felt suddenly shy. Was he still vex with her?

But Antonio bust one big grin and patted Tan-Tan on her head. “Well, doux-doux, long time I ain’t see you. You miss me?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Tan-Tan whispered. Yes, she had been missing him too bad.

“Don’t mind, Tan-Tan; as soon as I teach that young boy name Quashee a lesson, I go come back home to live with you. You would like that?” He was speaking to Tan-Tan, but is Ione the tamarind-brown beauty he was looking at.

Mummy frowned. She didn’t say anything. She would make Daddy vex again! Desperately, Tan-Tan asked, “We go be together again, Daddy?”

“Yes, doux-doux. Soon.” To Ione he said, “You looking after my child good, woman? I too angry with you already; you wouldn’t want me to vex even more.” His smile had an edge to it now.

Ione’s look changed from I-don’t-business-with-you to I-best-take-care. She pressed her lips together and made a little step back. “Yes, Antonio, I taking care of she. You don’t see how good she looking?” Then a pleading look: “You going to come back to we, doux-doux?” she wheedled. “I sorry too bad for what I do.”

Daddy’s face softened. Mummy smiled like she’d just won a game of jacks. She reached out a hand to Daddy. He took it and squeezed it gently. Then harder, until his heavy leather gloves creaked. Don’t that must hurt? Tan-Tan looked to her mother, but Ione just stood there with her mouth set in a smile. She hissed a little through her teeth. A tear was worming its way down her cheek. See, she really was sorry for hugging up with Quashee!

Still tightly holding her hand, Antonio smiled tenderly at his wife. “Yes, darling, I go come back, after I deal with that young boy there. He pee ain’t even start to make froth yet, but still he casting he eye ’pon my woman like he is big man.”