Oonya Kempadoo - All Decent Animals

* * *

The transparent viral feeling stays trapped in Ata on the day of the meeting, while Thomas is in cleaning heaven, polishing and prepping for the “event.” He loves anything he can help prepare for, as long as it is planned, and Ata has even told him what she will serve. He reports how many ginger ales and mixers there are and suggests he give Fraser’s bathroom an extra clean, because people will use that one. “We would need some more Ajax next time you go shopping, though,” he says cheerfully.

When she asks how the two tins could be finished already, he claims that it works best for limescale and everything, and that is what he does use all the time on all them sinks and even toilet bowls.

* * *

As they all settle round the table and onto the settees in the living-dining room, Fraser’s face and back are stiff as Ata’s insides. She chooses the arm of the settee, between those on it and Fraser, Pierre, and Helen at the table. Lawyer-friend, doctor-friend, Indi-Portagee couple-friends who have taken to visiting regularly, cousin, secretary, SC, Vernon, Marriette and her brother, chat away easy as the afternoon light on soft cotton and warm terrazzo floor. They chinkle up talk nice as ice cubes melting in their glasses, cool-cool as the water droplets dripping past knuckles onto a knee. Rum and ginger with a piece of lime. Fitting. Even big mouth Marriette-brother’s comments about the drink and SC’s turkey laugh aren’t too loud.

Fraser clears his throat, stretching his neck up as far as it can go. He has received the compliments on how well he is looking, with perfect grace. He ahems again, commanding attention just as God of Design could do. “I should say, before we begin, that we all have choices. I made mine, without regrets, and am fully aware of that. I am the one living with my choices and so you should be able to, to deal with yours, whatever they may be, without it being … stressful.” He goes on to “publicly” thank Ata and Pierre for their hospitality and open home and all his friends for caring for him, in the most cold, meeting-like language. “But it is stressful — for me, for Ata and Pierre, to keep this up. The … bickering and demands … I have had enough.”

Everybody freezes, staring at his straining face.

“I want a nurse. A nurse who will be there when I need her and help with the obvious.”

They breathe a sigh of relief and all the different tones of relationships with him start blending again, babbling all at once. Relief — that what might have been a standoff difficult discussion is now agreeable terms — spreads, in Fraser’s posture too, now that he has said his bit.

“And en’t dat is what we been telling you all dis time, eh?”

Marriette boxes her brother lightly.

“Yuh brain so harden in yuh blasted skull, you never like to hear — but of course dat go be better for everybody, including you!” Talking as if he ever came to help with the obvious. He was one of the culprits who was always ready to start a lime by the pool, talking off whoever’s ears he caught, while bawling about the lack of a flow of alcohol.

“It’s not that we don’t want to, or like, to look after you, yuh know, Fraser.” Helen the Giver of Care has to try to counterbalance the crassness and make sure nothing remains harbored. “That is something I know each one of us in here feels is the least we could do to help.”

Fraser stares just how Ata is looking at her — why’s she speaking like he’s a child? He hopes she won’t go on to the helpless thing, the “how useless” his illness makes others feel in the face of it. Fraser widens his turtle eyes at Helen, she gets the message, and Pierre swiftly moves the talk along the agenda he had printed. Who is responsible for sourcing nurses, how to coordinate special food and medicine supplies, visiting, and house rules — all go smoothly. Helen and Pierre work well together and Ata sees a little glimmer of respect in her eye for him.

“Of course everybody finds it easier to follow rules. You just have to tell them and they do it, no problem, matter fix,” SC contributes, and Marriette’s brother agrees wholeheartedly.

It is true. The ones who bother to ask when would be convenient and what to bring aren’t the problem. No framework was set up for those who never ask. And loud as Marriette’s brother might be, he, like any big-skin person, really doesn’t mind being told no, yes, not now. As long as there’s a pattern. Black and white, simple and fine.

“Right, good, we done,” Brother concludes the meeting. “Now a man could get a decent drink instead’a this watery stuff. Where de aged rum? Ata, ah feel yuh hiding de fifteen year El Dorado. Fraser boy, you looking well enough to tek a drink. If you know how glad I is to see dat!”

Vernon’s chuckle breaks out through his nose like a horse sneeze. It was the only sound from him all this time. He knows where Ata keeps her old rum and is watching for her reaction. Fraser’s amused too but Ata’s mind is turning over his opening words about choices — how eloquently but bluntly he had put it. Who, in this friendsy afternoon room, knows what their choices are? Terence’s absence was noted and exclusion of parents acknowledged without words as another choice.

“How Sammy doin’?” Brother asks, and the comfy chuckles stop.

“Oh gosh, I really feel it for him. That was a horrendous thing, eh?”

“You seen him since, Vernon?”

His head snaps up in surprise. “Me? Na, eh eh…” His voice and his face tuck back into a mumble. “I don’ believe he reach back by the office yet but I don’ really deal with he much…”

“Okay, that’s enough darkness for now!” Fraser declares. Ata checks to see if he’s serious but Thomas appears, to find out if they need more ice, and Fraser promptly blows him a kiss. He blushes and hurries away and the laughter resumes. Fraser hadn’t really asked about the incident or called Sammy himself yet. Ata watches him holding court again.

“Thomas has been having a ball in the bathroom today with Ajax,” he says. “‘Ajax the Great,’ son of Telamon and King of Salamis — he was the tallest and strongest of all the Achaeans, second only to Achilles.”

“Wait nuh, ‘salami’ you say? Thomas and de King of Salami or, or Thomas, de Ajax fella and de biggest salami — inside de bathroom having a ball?”

Vernon gets this too.

“Yes, that would be the Trini version,” Fraser continues through the noise, trying to keep a straight face and educate these people a little. “Ajax was never wounded in any of the battles of the Iliad and he killed many Trojan lords…”

“Oh Gad, Ajax kill Thomas in there with de salami!”

“Odysseus and Ajax tie in a competition for the ownership of magical armor forged on Mount Olympus. Ajax argues that because of his strength and service in battle for the Greeks, he deserves the armor. But Odysseus proves the more eloquent, and the council gives him the armor.”

“Yuh mean, de Odyssey fella is a sweet-boy?”

“Hear the ending!” Fraser holds up a hand. “Ajax, ‘unconquered’ and furious, falls upon his own sword, ‘conquered by his own sorrow.’”*

The friends indulge him and try to look impressed like they reading into the borrowed words. But smallee-Indi notes, when she finished guffawing quietly, “I find our friend here ain’ truly, completely well. Because he still playing proper-proper around such a good joke.”

Fraser attempts to laugh off the comment and show his old witty self, with some comeback line, but he can’t manage. Cloudy weariness washes over him. Politely, some start rising to go and Helen helps him to his room. The meeting is over. Air cleared. And evening approaching quick. No one else seems to have noticed Fraser’s lack of care for anyone other than himself. But then Ata knows that you’re not supposed to once someone’s ill. All is excusable and forgiven. She feels worse now than before the meeting but at least a nurse was agreed on.