I reminded them it was past seven. The dining room was now open.
—Betty, tell me something good.
I gave one long steupse—sucking air and spit through my front teeth to make a hissing noise because is vex I vex.
—Paco and the Popping Peppers and King Cashalot gone with the few dollars I had in my purse. Anyhow, God is love.
Over dinner I was rubbing my arm again. Gloria pulled out the smelly cream and a pack of Advil. I shook my head.
—Leave it. And the doctor them can’t do a blasted thing. They say that is how it is. At least it doesn’t pain me steady.
Deedee put down her fork.
—How I never thought of this before? Betty, you need a good jharay by somebody who know what they doing. I feel the hand hurting because somebody put maljo on your head.
—Hush your mouth. Who would want to put bad eye on me? Sunil’s family? Half of them in New York anyway. You can’t put maljo from so far.
—That is the thing, Betty. You wouldn’t even know they do it.
Deedee and Gloria too sweet but I’m keeping quiet. One pain and they’re ready to get me jharay. Thing is, worse than the pain in my arm is Sunil’s spirit in the house. The man in the walls, on the stairs, in the rooms. Before he passed he must have put he bad eye on me for truth. Years ago I went by Reverend Lutchman and asked him to say prayers for the spirit to cross over for all eternity. I don’t know if it’s because he was just ordained, or the fact that he’s Guyanese, but his prayers didn’t do a blessed thing.
We left the talk there but it had me thinking. Not counting our son, this pain in my arm is the only lasting thing Sunil left me. When he was alive I was too shame to say anything, and once he passed, I was even more shame. What kind of woman does bad talk she dead husband? And Sunil was good-looking. You have to give him that. A fair skin Indian with thick, black hair was a big catch. No one said it but I knew. Why would a hot man like that settle for a mook like me?
* * *
Saturday afternoon I finished cleaning the house, washed clothes, and cooked. Sweet breeze was blowing so I sat down on the front porch. I wasn’t there a good ten minutes when Deedee’s car pulled up outside. She was busy waving from the front seat. Gloria came out and stood by the gate.
—Me and Deedee had a panchayat and when we done the talking we decided you need a full jharay. Not just for your arm. Everything from your head come down. Let we go by a pundit in Williamsville. Deedee swears he’s the bomb.
—Hush your mouth and come upstairs. If you’re lucky I will give you some of my chicken pelau that just come off the stove. It make with pigeon peas I pick this morning.
—We’ll take the pelau to go. Change your clothes and come. We’re waiting.
—What about Solo?
—Sister, please. Solo tall like you. He could look after himself. It’s not like you’re leaving the island.
They carried me far up in the country where the trees and grass were a deeper green than in San Fernando. We drove past giant, whistling bamboo groves and tall, laden breadfruit trees. By the time we reached Williamsville the place was making dark. Deedee said relax because jharay can only happen after six o’clock anyhow. Either then or before six in the morning. Pundit was living in an upstairs wooden house. The place was small but neat with vegetables planted up on one side of the yard. A line of washing, all whites, was hanging under the house and parked next to it was a beat-up yellow Corolla. Somebody was home for sure.
Deedee went in front. Set next to the gate was a bundle of bamboo poles with solid-colored triangular flags attached. I may have lost most of my Indian culture but I knew these were jhandis. The flags were yellow with one-one in between in other colors—red, black, blue, and white. Some were faded and torn from months, possibly years, of blowing in the rain and hot sun. A few looked new. My ma would have known the god worshipped by each color. I read in the Sunday papers that this flag business is now only a Trini-Guyanese thing. People like my great-great-grandmother brought it from India but modern Indians stopped doing this long time.
—Pundit! Pundit!
A round, sleepy face peeped out a window.
—Pundit, like you’re resting? Is Deedee. How you going?
The man welcomed us in and Deedee explained my pain. Pundit agreed it was the correct thing, coming to him. One glance at me and he said I carried a bad aura. Well, thanks for that, pundit. I mentally prepared for a long, confusing set of prayers on my head but it wasn’t too bad. Pundit made a little parcel out of a piece of white cloth and inside he put five garlic cloves, five bird peppers, and a shake of salt and pepper. He tied that and passed it over me, front and back and then around my head. Five times he did that while chanting prayers in Hindi. He could’ve been chanting the alphabet for all the Hindi I knew.
Next he got a cocoyea broom. Cocoyea broom is easy to make. Strip some coconut palms of the leaf them. Take a good set of the hard, center strips, tie up one end to make a handle, and sweep with the next end. Best yard broom ever. Pundit took five pieces of cocoyea broom and passed that over me the same way. Five times again. More chanting. The only difference was that he blew on the cocoyea after each rounds. When that was done, he put the cloth bundle and the cocoyea stick on the ground, took a box of matches from his pants pocket, and looked me in my eye direct.
—Daughter, you know your Bible?
I was a little surprised because this ain’t no Christian thing and he better not blaspheme here today. I nodded.
—Yes, pundit.
—You remember what scripture say did befall Lot’s wife?
I nodded again but he started off anyway.
—The woman turned into a pillar of salt. The Lord tell them straight. Do not look back at Sodom. But she disobeyed and the Lord punished her. Well today you come like Lot’s wife. I’m going to burn everything I used. All the evil that’s on you will burn away too. But you mustn’t look at the fire. You hear me? One look and the evil will come back more strong. If that happen even I go can’t help you. You understand?
On the drive back home it was pitch black. Clearly no government minister have house and land out here or they would’ve made sure to put in streetlights and have the bulbs them working. Whole road Gloria and Deedee prattled nonstop while the radio belted out soca hits. I felt exhausted. But God is love. They dropped me home and drove off happy happy. I don’t know why but as I started walking up the back steps I got into one set of crying. Instead of coming from my eyes the tears like they were shooting up from inside my heart. I sat down right on the cold concrete steps and covered my mouth. Solo mustn’t hear. Or Mr. Chetan. Truth is I believe Sunil’s spirit, his nasty bad eye, ain’t ever leaving me no matter how much jharay I get.