Coming Out Of Egypt (The Egypt Series Book 1)
By Angela Joseph
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Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Marva Garcia looked through the window at the tall trees silhouetted against the sky. On a clear day, she could identify most of the trees by name, but with the growing darkness she couldn’t tell which was cedar or mango, breadfruit or samaan or any of the stately trees that flanked the estate. It was as if they had all banded together to disguise themselves against the threatening storm. Only the coconut and gru - gru palms were distinguishable by their long, slender trunks and fringed branches.
Nearer the house, the smaller fruit trees were still visible, but their leaves hung down as if bracing for what was to come. The door of the storage shed where they stored their produce – grapefruit, oranges and bananas – rattled as the wind blew through it. Marva had heard it multiple times, but tonight the sound grated on her nerves. She looked at her younger sister, June, sitting huddled on a stool, head buried in her arms like a sleeping chicken. Occasionally, a sob escaped from beneath the bush of hair. If only she didn’t have to experience any of this.
Marva cast another anxious glance at the heavy rain clouds hanging like wet sheets on a clothesline. Might as well do it now before the storm hit.
She tugged at June’s arms. “Come on. It’s time.”
The girl raised her head, showing eyes reddened and wide like those of a frightened deer. She opened her mouth as if to speak then closed it and stumbled to her feet.
Marva softened her tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
June nodded, indicating she would go.
Marva closed the window. Steeling herself, she opened the bedroom door and crept forward, June following right behind her.
He lay on his stomach on the floor in the same position in which he’d fallen, head at a
rakish angle, arms flung out in front him, one knee slightly bent. June gasped, and Marva glanced over her shoulder. June’s lower lip trembled, her face pale, arms crossed over her bosom. Marva hesitated before turning back to the body on the floor.
Her heart pounded so hard, it sounded in her ears, and for one frightening moment she thought she would faint. But fainting was a luxury she couldn’t afford right now. She leaned against the wall for a second to quiet her heart then with a grimace, bent low and spread her arms. Something swelled in his back pocket. She pulled out the wallet, flung it on the bed, then straightened and looked back at June, peeking from behind her fingers. Lord, I can’t do it.
Marva ran into the kitchen, June close behind, and returned with the broom. Using the handle, she tried to push the body toward the door, but with no success. She threw the broom aside and clamped her sweaty palms on the dead man’s ankles through his pants. As long as her hands didn’t touch his body… She yanked, but something was causing a resistance. Sweat formed on her brow.
“Help me, nuh!” It was more a plea than a command. June sprang closer to her sister, but stayed behind her.
“Let’s ... roll him over,” Marva panted.
June held back, moaning like a wounded animal. Marva gave her a slight push, bringing her within inches of the body. They knelt, and June grasped the man’s shoulder with both hands, while Marva grabbed his belt. Together they rolled him on to his back. His eyes and mouth were open and blood trickled from his mouth and ears. June fell backwards with a scream. Marva rushed to her side and hugged her, stroking her hair and murmuring, “It’s all right, Junie. It’s all right ...”
How many times had she spoken those words?
Minutes passed before June stopped trembling and crying. A flash of lightning followed by a clap of thunder galvanized Marva into action. She pulled the straw mat out of the way, and, motioning to June to open the door, bent over and grabbed the man’s legs once more. Thunder rolled again, and Marva swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Summoning all her strength, she pulled. This time the body gave and slid over the smooth, linoleum floor. Beads of perspiration ran down her face and fell on the dead man’s khaki pants. Once Marva got to the door, she had no choice but to let his head drop the one step to the ground outside.
Senses alert, she stopped and listened. The storage door still rattled and the wind rustled through the leaves like whispering ghosts. A shiver ran through her. It was unlikely that hunters, or any of their father’s laborers, would come through their property on a night like this, but one never knew. With June sticking to her like a shadow, they took the familiar path down the slope leading to the river. Swish-swish went the corpse as Marva dragged her father’s lifeless body over the carpet of dry leaves.
It must have drizzled earlier, for the asphalt on their little access road gave off a strong
scent that Marva loved. The sweet aroma of recently-picked bananas floated on the night air. Why did everything seem so right on a night when so much had gone wrong?
She walked backward, not looking down at the dead man’s face, and even with June at her side, giving her weepy directions, Marva occasionally stumbled over a rock or a vine. Her arms ached, but she couldn’t stop to rest. She’d spent all of her seventeen years on this estate and therefore didn’t need a light. The impending storm and the seclusion of their home gave her a small measure of security.
By the time they reached the immortelle tree that stood near the bank of the river, Marva felt the first raindrops. A Trinidad rainstorm usually came down very fast and very heavy. They had little time to waste. The land dipped suddenly, and Marva knew they were near the water. She couldn’t go any further. She turned, stooped, rolled the body on to its side and kept rolling until it hit the water. The resounding splash was drowned out by a loud clap of thunder and the ensuing torrential downpour as the clouds burst open. She grasped June’s hands and raced up the slope back to the house.
Marva left June in the bedroom toweling her hair and returned to the kitchen. She eyed the three untouched plates of yam and salted fish she’d prepared earlier. Her stomach churned. She and June had not eaten since lunch, but who could eat on a night like this? Her mother had always told her not to waste food, but Mama would understand if she were here. Marva dumped two plates of the food in the bin, leaving the third in case June wanted it. Something struck the roof of the house and June was at her side, grabbing Marva’s arm, the towel wrapped around her head. They stared up at the ceiling, but heard nothing else. June disengaged herself and sat on the
stool.
Marva pointed to the plate of food on the counter. “You want it?”
June shook her head. Marva dumped the food in the bin, washed the plates and stood them in the dish drainer. Then she opened the refrigerator, pushing back the freezer door that always fell forward, and reached for the glass she’d placed there earlier. Putting it to her lips, she allowed the brandy to roll over her tongue before swallowing. She burped and rubbed her
stomach. That felt better.
While the rain pounded the galvanize roof, the wheels of Marva’s mind were turning. She and June would have left the house tonight, were it not for the storm. To give herself something to do, she went into the bedroom and returned with a comb and a towel. June’s abundant hair did not dry easily. Marva wished they had a hair dryer. She parted June’s hair in small sections, dried each one, combed it through gently, then twisted it in long braids. Neither of them spoke, and by the time Marva was finished, June had begun to nod.
Marva went with her to her room, watched her climb into bed and draw the big, stuffed teddy that Mama had made close to her chest. Marva pulled the blanket over her and waited until June fell asleep. Only then did she feel the tears prickling her eyes. She lingered a few moments longer then turned off the light, left the room and went into the adjoining one where her father’s body had lain.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle and Marva opened the wallet she’d thrown on the bed. As she’d hoped, it contained money – neatly-folded bills in different denominations with the blue ones - hundred dollar bills - on the outside as if protecting the smaller ones. Marva counted. Six hundred and fifty dollars and a few coins! He’d always kept money in the house, but no one,
not even their mother dared to touch it. Marva folded the bills, took them to her room and put them in her mother’s brown, vinyl purse. A couple hundred more would give them a start on their new life.
***
Marva threw the covers off and jumped out of bed then plunked back down as memories of the previous night hit her with the force of a bulldozer. The next minute she was up again and
running into her father’s room. Good. Nothing there. The room was just as they’d left it. The bed made, the straw mat twisted at an angle. She bent to straighten it then saw what looked like blood on it. Her heart pounded. She picked up the mat and took it outside.
The sun was just beginning to clothe the landscape in a bright golden veil and raindrops still hung like jewels from some of the leaves. Was it her heightened perception, or were the coconut palms greener, the air sweeter, the breeze fresher? In the distance a dog barked, a keskidee called, a truck rumbled.
A new day had dawned.
Bags of grapefruit, now wet, leaned against the shed where the pickers had left them. The remainder of the fruit inside the shed would be bagged on Monday for their customers. An idea took shape and sent Marva’s heart racing. She knew what she had to do. Mat in hand, she headed to the latrine.
When she came out, June met her near the door, rubbing her eyes, cheeks rosy from sleep, hair tousled. She seemed frightened. “I was looking for you.”
“I just went outside. Let’s go make breakfast.”
Over fried bakes and smoked herring, Marva shared her plans with June. “I don’t want to
stay in this house.”
She didn’t expect June to respond so she continued, “We’ll go by Tantie Beulah.”
An hour later, Marva drove her father’s old, green pick-up truck about a half mile along the track that led from their house to the main road. Another mile to the left brought her to a pay phone. Leaving June in the truck, Marva stepped into the little booth. She pulled out a piece of paper from her shirt pocket, opened it and dialed the number on the paper. After a few rings, a
man’s voice answered.
“Mr. Singh? When are you coming for the grapefruit? ”
“You have it ready?” the man asked.
“It’ll be ready by one o’clock.”
“All right, I have some things to do down on your side. I could be there by half past two.”
Marva gritted her teeth. “Okay, Mr. Singh.”
She hung up, and returned to the truck.
“We’ll put all the grapefruit by the road so they can load it up when they come,” she said to June as she drove off.
Somewhere, away from Egypt Village, a new life beckoned, but they had to hurry. Mr. Singh would expect more than the three bags of grapefruit the pickers had left. She and June had work to do.
***
Marva added the money she’d received from Mr. Singh to the bills in her mother’s purse. Nine hundred and ten dollars in all. She ran her hand over the smooth cover of her mother’s small Bible and the rosary beads. Apart from her mother’s photograph, they would be all she
would have to remind her of her mother.
June had already placed her one, pretty church dress with the frilled overskirt, a few cotton dresses, and some underwear into the suitcase. Marva added her only touch of luxury - three lacy bras and matching undies her mother had bought her along with her three long skirts, four blouses and the black dress she’d worn to her mother’s funeral. She was not bothered by her meager wardrobe. Except for trips to the store and sometimes to Point Fortin - the neighboring town - to do business for her father, she never went anywhere. Some slacks would have been nice, but her father didn’t approve of them.
Their packing completed, Marva zipped up the suitcase and took one look at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. Her calm, brown eyes belied her inner turmoil. No one looking at her would guess what had taken place last night. But then no one knew anything that took place in their little home. Their lives had been encased in a tight shell for as long as Marva could remember. She tied her bandana over her hair, and let her cream-colored blouse hang loosely over her full, brown skirt that fell way below her knees.
She called to June who was staring out the window. “Ready, Junie?”
June didn’t seem to hear.
She repeated the question and the girl jerked her head in her direction. “Y...yes.”
June wore a blue, plaid dress with a white Peter Pan collar that Marva had picked out for her, and a pair of low-heeled black shoes. A slim, black belt around her waist accentuated its smallness. Marva strode over and loosened the belt so it barely made an indentation. June’s pain-filled eyes looked into hers, but she said nothing. Marva’s throat constricted, and she turned away so June wouldn’t see the pain mirrored in her own eyes. They had no time to cry on each other’s shoulders. They had to get away from this house before someone came asking for their father.
“Let’s hurry, Junie. Make sure all the windows closed. I’ll check the doors and turn off the gas.”
Out in the living-room, she removed the picture of her deceased mother from over the door, and one of herself and June, taken four years previously.
Wrapping each picture in one of her skirts, she placed them on top of her clothing and closed the suitcase. “Let’s go.”