Evelyn Toronto
Evelyn
Toronto
2004
Evelyn’s gaze focused on the black lace of her dress, the shine of her shoes, shoes that should have been left by the front door. A spasm of pressure tore through her chest as she thought of the dirt she may have tracked onto the rug—dirt she wouldn’t want to get rid of, because it would feel like getting rid of the last small connection to her son.
Kareela’s laughter sounded through the room, impossible, cruel, confusing. Violet—tickling, singing, laughing, too—made Evelyn want to scream.
Evelyn’s jaw hung loose as she tried to make sense of their smiles. Maybe she’d gotten it wrong, and it had all been a dream. A nightmare. Maybe Antony was fine and Violet was here for some other reason: time had fast-forwarded and Antony was getting his law degree, or it had rewound and Violet had come for his undergraduate graduation, like they’d hoped she would.
But the image of Violet arriving early this morning was stark and clear in Evelyn’s mind. Violet stepping through their front door silently, taking her granddaughter’s hands in hers, as if she knew more of her than photos in the mail, a voice traveling across land and sea, and one brief visit, years ago. Hugging her close, then whispering, voice as raw and rough as sandpaper, “Me love. Me sweet, little love.”
It couldn’t be a dream. The air hung heavy with the scent of casseroles, several on the counter because the fridge and freezer were full. And all three of them, from neck to knee, were covered in black. Why, in the middle of summer, would a girl be all in black, if not for death? Her brother’s death.
Evelyn, hands shaking, knees weak, moved to the hall but couldn’t remember why. She stopped, returned to the armchair, watched as Violet sat, wide-eyed, telling her baby a story about her other baby—Antony as a toddler, chasing after lizards. The way his chest puffed out and his smile blossomed as he brought his first capture. Such a pretty one. How, when the lizard’s bright orange dewlap popped out, Antony hollered, dropped the poor thing, then cried as it scurried away.
“Antony cried?” Disbelief dripped from Kareela’s voice as she held the dreaded doll to her chest. The child had hardly let it out of her hands since Violet had given it to her. Evelyn wished she would. She wished she’d throw it in the trash.
“He just a pickney then. Yea high.” Violet raised her arm.
“Smaller than me.”
“Much smaller than yuh.”
Kareela’s lips pursed. “Yes. Two is smaller. I’m six.”
“You sure is.”
Evelyn shifted her gaze, remembering. They’d been in Jamaica for Ella’s funeral, risking the still simmering urban warfare, risking the possibility that they’d never make it back to Toronto, to Kingsley finishing his degree. Grief hung on all of them like a shroud. Fear, too. But for Antony, Evelyn had worn a smile. She’d wrapped him in her arms, rocked him. Told him she understood. It was painful when you lost something you cared about. But he would catch another lizard one day, and when he did, he would know about the dewlap, and not be afraid.
Antony’s laughter danced that day as he set out again, hunted for almost two hours, came back as the sun started its slow dip to the horizon, running with a wobble due to his clasped hands.
Always so determined. Always so…
Violet was talking about something else now. Kingsley. How he was a boy “too big for he britches.” Intrigued with the word, Kareela repeated it—“Britches. Britches”—getting Violet to explain what it meant. Violet, who had lost two of her own children. Smiling. As if the death of Evelyn’s baby hadn’t stolen every reason to smile again.
“Why was he too big for he britches?” Kareela knelt on the couch, as if this was any other day, as if her brother, Evelyn’s son, was not in the ground.
“He t’ink he know all t’ings about all t’ings. He t’ink he smarter than me. Smarter than he big sister, he father, de man down de street, and de women up de road.”
“What!” Kareela leaning forward, incredulous.
“He come to me. He say, ‘Mama, I gonna start a mango store. I gonna pick all de mango and sell it to de people pon de street.’ Me laugh. Me say, ‘Boy, mango fall from de tree. No soul gonna pay yuh to pick it.’ He say, ‘No, mango fall from de tree, it get bruised. I gonna climb up. I gonna pick it. And everyone gonna buy it. Everyone gonna say, Kingsley, yuh a smart boy. Yuh a businessman. I gonna get me rich, buy me a bicycle.’” Violet shook her head. “Me say, Kingsley, yuh do what yuh want. But me tell yuh, yuh not gonna get one sale. ”
“And did he?” Kareela bounced on her knees.
“Patience, now, yuh hear? I’m getting to it.” Violet smiled. “Yuh daddy, he climb all de trees around. He get buckets of mangoes. He set up he stand and write up he sign. He sit there morning and night. Morning and night. Well”—Violet leaned back—“I be wrong. Eventually a neighbor up de way, he come by, he say, Master Kingsley, me ah gonna buy one mango. And me ah gonna pay yuh for de price of ten to stop dis foolishness and go inside to bed. ”
Kareela’s laughter grated, shredding Evelyn’s heart.
Violet smiled, her voice soft, her hands rubbing each other as she looked toward something Evelyn couldn’t see. “Yuh daddy. He took de pay for dat one mango and say no to de rest. He come inside waving he money, saying, See. See. Me sell it. He sit out dere three more days, never selling another.” Violet lowered her head. “He not determined in de same way after dat. He mix sense into he determination. A clear plan, a proven path to success.” She raised her gaze. “But your brother, he like he daddy was then. So determined.”
Even with gun-wielding officers standing in front of him. Always just so—
Evelyn stood again, the heat behind her eyes a fire. Her gaze met Violet’s, who stared at her, compassion in her look, a hand on her heart. Evelyn turned, not knowing where to go, what to do, wanting to fall into Violet’s arms but knowing if she did, she’d fall apart—maybe for good. So, she turned, left. She couldn’t stay in this room hearing these stories a moment longer.