Miss Forde had spent many years living in a small white-washed chattel house in Nelson Street. Even in her advancing years, she was a firm believer in conducting oneself with decorum and a sense of modesty. Her fastidious nature wouldn't allow it to be any other way.
She was a slim old woman whose protruding clavicles provided the only shaping under her boxy house-coats.
With elfin features and skin the colour of polished bamboo, she may very well have been beautiful in her youth, but no-one in Nelson Street would have been able to attest to this. Now, she sported a perpetual frown and a hairy mole on her chin that only served to make initial impressions that much more unpleasant.
The old lady always sat in an antique mahogany chair next to one of the wooden French windows in her living room. From there she could crochet frilly doilies and watch passers-by as they went about their business. Being a lonely old soul, it was her primary form of recreation even if she suffered great discomfort as she did it. The chair wasn't particularly comfortable with its straight back and hard seat, but it had been a gift from her sister many years earlier. With her aging hips and joints, and mild back pain, she really should have sat in an upholstered chair, but Miss Forde didn't think them to be grand enough for her to sit in. They were for guests only.
Hypothetically, of course.
Over the years, she had ostracized herself more and more from her neighbours and was reasonably satisfied that she had done her best to keep them at bay. Her neighbour’s didn’t even know her first name and she liked to keep it that way. AsBajans always say, she didn't want them to "tek a six for a nine" and assume that she wanted to be friendly with them.
It seemed to her that as she watched her doilies yellow with age, Nelson Street slipped into a downward spiral. From her vantage point, smack in the middle of Nelson Street, she had watched in disdain as it had gone from a bustling trade centre to a veritable den of inequity over time.
Located in the capital of Barbados, the long, winding road was bordered on both sides by tightly packed houses that housed the unwashed masses, drug dealers, prostitutes and criminals. Dirty water overflowed in the gutters, the facades of houses went unpainted and brothels had sprung up on almost every corner.
Her only comfort was the knowledge that she didn't have to fall prey to all of the sinning going on around her. Even though the quality of life and the quality of people around her had changed, didn't mean she had to.
So it angered her greatly that she had to endure living next door to Charmaine. And in Bridgetown, where there was barely enough space to slide a pencil between two houses, "next to" was to be interpreted literally.
The steady flow of questionable looking men who went into Charmaine's house repulsed Miss Forde. She watched in disgust as the miscreants left after slaking their thirst, usually stumbling across the road to Stubby's rum shop to slam dominoes. The rest tended to exit cautiously, heads bowed, to hurry off to the large expensive cars they had covertly parked behind the nearby supermarket.
Miss Forde even recognized many of them. Some were politicians, others worked at the media houses and one in particular strongly resembled the head of a nearby church.
To make matters worse, Charmaine had the gall to speak to Miss Forde when their paths crossed. You may wonder why Miss Forde, despite her dislike for Charmaine, allowed these exchanges. The answer was simple: Lana.
Charmaine's seven year old daughter was a sweet childthat Miss Forde was completely enamoured with. Lana had beautiful brown eyes and a pretty brown complexion - obviously her father was white or close to it since Charmaine was as black as the day was long.
If she could have been honest with herself, Miss Forde would have been able to admit that she could see why Charmaine was so popular with the men. She had a beautifully proportioned, full-figured body and a cherubic face with a sweet dimple on her right cheek that Lana had inherited.
She encouraged Lana to visit whenever her mother was "working" and she always took the opportunity to teach the child about the Bible, morals and values. Miss Forde saw it as her civic duty to help raise the child. As a seventy-five year old virgin, she knew what it took to help Lana steer clear of the temptations that now ran amuck in Nelson Street.
But despite her best intentions, she sensed that all of her troubles would be in vain. Lana was extremely curious about what her mother did with the litany of men who visited and Miss Forde was often discomfited with Lana’s barrage of questions.
"Why the men make so much noise when dey come to the house?"
"My mummy say she like me to come over here so she can focus on her work and do a good job."
"Miss Forde, when I grow up I wan’ help people just like my mummy."
Aghast, Miss Forde would clutch her hat and hand bag before peeping over her shoulder to see if anyone had seen Charmaine addressing her. Provided the coast was clear, she would tersely reply, "Yes, I like having she around."
Then Miss Forde would usually scurry off, sometimes going as far as to leave the very groceries she came for, just toget away from Charmaine.
One particularly drizzly evening in the middle ofJanuary, Miss Forde was preparing some bakes. The old lady shivered slightly as she worked; the chilly wind that accompanied the rain had changed direction, whipping the rain through the window directly over the stove and dragging down the temperature in the room.
She quickened her feverish stirring. After all, it was almost 6:00 p.m.: Days of Our Lives was about to start.
In her haste, she neglected to close the window as she put chunky globs of batter in the oil. She savoured the heady smell of sweet spices as the edges of the bakes turned golden brown, her stomach growling in delightful anticipation.
A sudden gust of wind brought coin-sized rain drops with it that pelted the stove, landing right inside of Miss Forde's frying pan.
The water hit the oil in the pan causing it to spatter, shooting out tiny jets of scorching hot oil onto Miss Forde's skin. Startled, she stepped back too suddenly, knocking over the open bottle of cooking oil on the counter.
Down went Miss Forde, her arms flailing amidst globs of batter, as she slipped in the fallen oil. Pain shot from various parts of her body as she hit the ground. Sprawled on the floor like a squished spider, Miss Forde groaned pitifully as she tried, without success, to hoist herself off the floor.
The cloud of haze that filled her kitchen lifted and carried the scent of burning batter, out the window, waftedthrough the holes in the rusted galvanized fence and over to Charmaine's house.
Lana sniffed the tainted air and ran to her mother, who was hanging clothes outside
By now, the smoke and smell of burnt bakes had become far more pronounced and Charmaine realized that Miss Forde would surely have turned off the stove by now.
Charmaine dropped the clothes and dashed through her front door with Lana on her heels. She hurried down the moss-covered soft stone steps and across the patch of gravel in front of her house and over to Miss Forde's.
Yanking the door open, she rushed through the tiny chattel house, which was now filled with hazy smoke and found Miss Forde lying on the kitchen floor. Her clothes had soaked up the majority of cooking oil from the floor but the look of relief on her face was plain when she turned her head slightly to look at Charmaine.
Charmaine knelt next to Miss Forde and asked her gently, "I'm gine try to move you, okay?"
Miss Forde grimaced as she tilted her head slightly to look at Charmaine. There was nothing but compassion in Charmaine's face and Miss Forde was surprised to feel ashamed at how cold she had always been to Charmaine.
Abashed, she turned away.
Her breathing was laboured as Charmaine gently slipped her firm dark arm around Miss Forde’s slim brown waist and carried her slowly into the bedroom. Miss Forde winced with every step, the spasms in her back sticking her spine as she went.
Miss Forde lay face down on the bed as Charmaine quickly undressed her, wiped off the oil and covered her from the hips down with a clean towel. Miss Forde assumed thatCharmaine would give her a good rub down with some Bengie's Balsam - that always did the trick for all of her aches and pains.
But Miss Forde had her reservations about how much good it would do for the agony she was in; she didn't think she had ever felt so much pain. It felt very much like the pains her sisters had described when they spoke about childbirth. She tried to relax, but as the seconds ticked on, Miss Forde realized that no massage was forthcoming.
"Needles?!" Aghast, Miss Forde felt the time had finally come to break her silence. She didn't know what Charmaine was playing at. What kind of sick ritual was she planning to carryout?
She heard Charmaine sigh. "Lana, go and get me a glass of water please."
"Awww...but Mummy."
"Now Lana."
Seizing her chance, Charmaine continued her massage using one hand and picked up an acupuncture needle with the other. But Miss Forde never noticed.
All she felt were Charmaine's soft hands rubbing her back and soon the stabbing pain was replaced with a gentle tingling sensation that caused a moan of relief to escape herlips. A short while later, that sweet tingling gave way to a heavy numbness that Miss Forde had never experienced before. Her body felt leaden, but not in an unpleasant way; she likened the blissful lack of sensation to floating on a sun-drenched cloud. Miss Forde luxuriated in this feeling and became so removed from everything else that she didn't notice that Charmaine had stopped massaging her and was now only gently tapping specific points on her neck and back. All she knew, as she drifted off to sleep, was that she never wanted that feeling to end.
“So where yuh learn to do dat?” Miss Forde asked.
“When I went to Canada to do one ah dem work programs de gover’ment does organize. I train as ahacupuncturist; bout de same time is when I meet Lana fadduh. After I had she, I din’ wan’ raise my child in de cold so I come back home.”
Charmaine smiled at Miss Forde and placed the used needles inside her leather bag. I glad you feelin’ better. But it dark already I want to put Lana ta sleep before it get any later." She stood to leave, but Miss Forde stopped her.
A burning question was now pressing its weight against her conscience and she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep unless she asked.
The old lady couldn't hide the shame that coloured her face as she avoided Charmaine's eyes. "Oh, nothing."
Charmaine peeped around the door jamb to make sure the little girl was still watching TV before quietly closing the door.
"Yuh know... I t’ought you had Alzheimer's disease. The way you use to shut de windows when you see me coming or pull you hat down over you head to avoid talkin’ ta me..." Charmaine shook her head, bemusedly. "Das really why I useto send Lana ova hey you know."
Miss Forde gaped at Charmaine. "Wha’ you talkin’bout?"
"But ta answer you question, de main reason why so many men come fuh acupuncture is ‘cause my treatment get uh reputation as uh cure fuh impotence." Charmaine twisted her mouth, a bit uncomfortable by having to make this confession to Miss Forde.
The older woman stared at Charmaine in utter bewilderment. "Wait...so tha’ contagious? 'Cause I had the flu last week and I really can' deal with nothin’ else now. In my old age, I ain't got time for no more sickness."
Charmaine broke into uproarious laughter. Tears rolled down her cheek and her plush bosom heaved with every chuckle.
"N-n-no Miss Forde...Impotence means that de men aintable to perform in de bedroom." Charmaine explained between fits of giggles.
Ashen-faced, Miss Forde wrinkled her forehead. She had to admit that it wasn't what she had expected. True, it was less honourable a cause than she would have liked to support, but she realized that Charmaine was akin to a doctor if she was able to help so many people. Even if the...problems... may seem trite to an old maid like her.
She glanced up at Charmaine, the warm glow from the kerosene lamp, making her look all the more angelic. Charmaine wouldn't have thought she was losing her mind if she hadn't treated her like an outcast. And if she had taken the time to get to know Charmaine, she wouldn't have deprived herself of a wonderful friendship for so long. It was more than any old woman with such a bad temperament deserved.
Those emotions bubbled to the surface in Miss Forde's heart. Shame and guilt clashed like thunderclouds, consuming Miss Forde until there was no room inside her to store thefeelings. But they could only find one way to come out; tears swelled in the corner of Miss Forde's left eye.They slipped, not unnoticed, down her wrinkled golden brown cheek.
She had thought Charmaine was the scourge of the island and had wondered repeatedly what she had done to deservesuch a sweet child as Lana.
Miss Forde shook her head in wonderment at the situation. From that day she resolved to follow her own advice and never tek a six for a nine.
