Niyati Keni - Esperanza Street

Mulrooney sat down. He arranged his robes self-consciously as Jaynie floated an apron, a plain one, down over him and fixed it about his neck. She ran her hands through his hair. He closed his eyes for an instant. I wondered if she’d ever touched him before. She watched him in the mirror as she asked what he might want her to do with his hair, all the while her hands playing through the thick sandy curls. She cut his hair slowly, carefully and, unlike Lady Jessica, who besieged the cop with conversation, remained silent as she worked. It seemed there was something private that enveloped the two of them then, surrounded as they were by the noise of the traffic, the calls of hawkers, the gulls circling up from the jetty. It was a public place and yet I felt it was an intrusion to watch them, but I did nonetheless, with everybody else; when she’d finished cutting his hair and run her hands through it for the last time to watch it fall properly into place, I was sorry for both of them that she was done. Jaynie removed the apron, untying the strings of it carefully from behind the priest’s neck. Mulrooney got up to pay, pressed some notes into her hand, refused to take them back, refused any change. She smiled at him — sadly, I thought.

The cop stood up now too, held out a hand, fingers splayed, nodding in acknowledgement of Lady Jessica’s fine work. He’d had his free haircut and manicure and now, he knew, it was time for him to withdraw. He looked about him at the street vendors, at me leaning against the doorpost of the salon. His eyes remained on me for a while. He looked at Father Mulrooney, whose haircut had accentuated the angles of his cheekbones, his high brow, and brought out the handsomeness still alive in his face. The cop dug into his pocket and dropped a few coins into Lady Jessica’s palm as a tip. ‘Don’t be here tomorrow,’ he said, as he turned to leave. On the way back to his moped, he paused to tap on the lid of the cigarette vendor’s tray. The man held up a cigarette, a Champion, and the cop took it, tucked it behind his ear and mounted his moped without paying for it. He gunned the engine and waited while the exhaust fumes drifted up through the crowd, casting a last look round without catching anyone’s eye. His meaning was clear enough: if he had to return, he wouldn’t come alone.

Now a steady trickle of customers began and, as if they believed they were back inside the walls of the Beauty Queen, people talked more freely. I was surprised at their candour, though they kept their voices low when they discussed the rally. The day had gone well in the main, but there had been trouble from a few of the marchers, men that no one had recognised. Constabulary men in civilian clothes, or thugs hired to discredit the protesters. I listened, looking around me every now and then, alert for new faces.

When Eddie’s Mercedes pulled up at the kerb, the conversation stilled and everyone turned to watch him get out of the car. Behind him, I could see Cesar. I slipped through the crowd to return to the boarding house, still too stiff and slow to run properly. Aunt Mary was waiting in the sala, her handbag ready by her feet. She left with me immediately.

When we arrived, Eddie was sitting in one of the salon chairs, his legs crossed, his hands clasped in his lap. He was smiling. Cesar stood beside him, glaring at Lady Jessica, who leaned in towards the lawyer, her hands on her hips, her breathing harsh and rapid. Jaynie reached forward and touched her friend’s shoulder lightly. Lady Jessica folded her arms and took a step back. ‘We don’t want to move across town,’ Jaynie said calmly. ‘We live here . Our customers live here.’

‘Here,’ said Eddie, ‘is going to change.’ His voice was affable, dismissive, as if he were making a humorous observation over dinner. A murmur of displeasure snaked through the crowd. Aunt Mary pushed her way through and slid into the chair next to Eddie. Without a word she opened her purse, pushed some notes into Jaynie’s hand and said, ‘I’ll leave it up to you this time, Jaynie.’ Eddie looked surprised and then amused. He greeted her and though Aunt Mary nodded in his direction, she didn’t turn to meet his eye. Then, as everyone looked on, Mary Morelos’ hair was combed and pinned and measured and cut. Eddie looked around at the sea of faces, becoming aware perhaps of the temperature change that Aunt Mary, in her own small, calculated way, had caused. He got to his feet and, with Cesar a few steps behind him, started back to the car. There was nothing to be done about it; despite not having her family’s money, despite the years of taking paying strangers into her home, round here Aunt Mary was still somebody.

The new haircut made her look younger and even the boys complimented her when we returned home, after the salon furniture had been carried away piece by piece to the apartments and garages and storage rooms of friends and neighbours, after it had been stacked and dismantled, and the Beauty Queen parlour had finally closed for business.

My father stood in the doorway of Jonah’s office, cap in hand, eyeing the line of outriggers that bobbed in the surf. The boats were light, the boatmen already asleep under their canopies, legs striped with sunlight. Inside the office, Jonah sat with his feet up on a crate, rubbing his hands back and forth across the top of his head. He was red in the face, his eyes and lips pressed tightly shut, his breathing deliberate. In front of him, his ex-wife Margie paced up and down looking in scarcely better humour. In her pale suit — the jacket still on despite the heat, the line of the skirt tapering towards matching shoes — she looked like she belonged in a skyscraper, behind a glass desk. As I approached, my father said gratefully, ‘My boy’s here.’

But Jonah beckoned me in and said, ‘Joseph! A beautiful day, eh?’

‘You never listened to reason, not once in your life,’ Margie said, dismissing me with a glance. Jonah frowned at me; like my father, my presence had proved to be no deterrent at all.

‘I keep telling you — it’s not just about me. What about my boys?’ he said.

‘I didn’t marry your boys.’

‘You didn’t marry me for very long,’ said Jonah. He looked away, avoided looking back, aware immediately of his mistake. Margie turned round to glare at me and my father. My father took my arm and, darting an apologetic look at Jonah, pulled me away. He kept hold of my arm until we reached the sea wall.

The jetty was quieter than usual and beyond it an empty blue sea fell away. Two of the jetty boys were shifting the last sacks from the sand up to the road; the rest were smoking and playing cards or shooting hoops, but they seemed more listless than usual, even Subong. From the sea wall I could still make out the sound of Margie and Jonah arguing in between the rush of waves against sand and stone. I felt bad about abandoning Jonah when everyone knew there was little that upset him more than Margie. My father must have been thinking the same thing, for he said softly, ‘Got no business coming between a man and his wife.’ In any case, Jonah didn’t have to face her for long. Shortly, we heard the door of his office fly open and Margie’s voice say, ‘Fine!’ We turned to see her snatch her handbag from a chair. The bag was the same colour as her suit and shoes. She stalked to a waiting car, climbed into the back and was driven away.

Jonah came to the door and watched her go, watched until the car had disappeared entirely. Then he walked over to where we sat. He looked weary. ‘Construction’s started down the road,’ he said. ‘She figures this place won’t be around for much longer. She wants me to go work for her family.’

‘A job’s a job,’ my father said. ‘Why not just take it? She’s just trying to look out for you. She’s still your wife.’ He sounded impatient, a tone I hadn’t heard him use with Jonah before.