HERE IS AN EXCERPT FROM MY UPCOMING NOVEL
"Is It Love'"

I HOPE THAT YOU ENJOY IT

Is it love when your actions are perfunctory?...
Is it love when your feelings dictacte your actions?...
 Is it love when your eyes become blind to the other's weekness? ...

“Hey Tan-may, you truly believe that I can get through this?” he questioned. Enrique  foolishly wondered if his great-grand mother had seen the whites of his eye turn to a bright colour of green because of the strong wave of jealousy crashing over him as he told her of the excess attention that Larna was getting. He thought that it was so strong that tangible evidence of his condition seemed entirely likely. However, Tan-may was blind. She had been that way for ten years now. Old age had transformed her once exquisite body into a now crippled figure, bed-ridden and plagued by numerous illnesses.

   “Anything is poss-ible son...only believe,” she whispered, turning her 101 year old body from her back to her left side to ease the fiery pain she was feeling. “Ya think ya in-love eh boy? Ya know what love is eh?” Tan-may enquired.
   “But May, I... I know it’s not all about the feelings. Its more than that,” Enrique slightly shouted to satisfy May’s request for repetition.
   “Son, I assure ya, what ya will cannot do, ya love do it for ya. I been wit Pappy for eighty years, from time I eighteen. An im do anyfing for me. Im stick by me through all in life. Is we love dat.....” The silence of the room was discombobulated by heavy coughs that seemed to take away Tan-May’s breath. Her daughter, Brenda Smith, also called Mam – Enrique’s grandmother – had stepped into the room with a quizzical look that turned into worry as she spotted the dry on Tan-May’s cheeks become moist. This always happened to May. She would cry every time she spoke of Pappy’s love. He had passed away about three years ago and she missed him ever so much.

  Enrique had forgotten. In his world of ‘confused love’, he had allowed his selfish desires to compel Tan-may into a world of nostalgia. Mam quickly got May some water and settled her down. Enrique watched raptly at May’s actions as every second ticked by.
   “I’m sorry May. I... I.... I was thinking of myself,” he said with a soft shuddering sigh.
   “No...... It’s ok,” she murmured. “I loved him in a way I dunno how explain. Come talk to me an other time. I feel sick,” she finished.  Mam had left the room to get May another pillow. Enrique kissed My goodbye and sauntered to the living room with his head bowed in shame and pain. He hadn’t completed the conversation with her.
   “Boy! Look where you going!” Mam thundered as she wrecked into Enrique whilst turning around the living room wall on her way to May’s bedroom. Her alcolado bottle went crashing onto the floor.

   “Mam, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking,” he quivered  
“The same way your women does make you blind and you cannot see... uh? Is look you not looking? Come and pick up those pieces of bottle off the floor,” she protested, pointing at the scattered glass pieces.
“Sorry,” he gulped and was on his hands and knees trying to clean the mess after fetching the closest dust pan and showel.
 
   Enrique took one last look at the house which stood like a secluded guard on duty. The wooden structure had lost its pink colour. It now stood like a silhouette in the dim light of the lamppost. The shingled fascia boards were the only parts that remained true to its structure. It reflected a bit of light from the lamppost.

   It was now 7pm, three hours late for Enrique’s shenanigan. He couldn’t stay staring at a house that would be there tomorrow. Besides, he had to get home fast. He started a short walk away from the house and as he did, the light from the post faded with the darkness and that was the first time he was made aware of the eerie sound of night insects which sent chills up his spine. Fortunately, he heard a vehicle approaching and saw its headlights. He instantly knew that it was his escape shuttle.
  
Enrique swung open the front door intending to rush to his cel-phone. He had left it at home earlier to avoid being tracked by Larna and Wonda. His mother, Sherine, was waiting in the living room. She wore a flowered red dress touched with tropical seams that swept the floor at her feet.  She had just tucked a South Pole sweat-jacket over her shoulders. She also wore her favourite bedroom slippers – the one with Sponge-bob on it.  “Goodnight Ma. What you still doing there? Your bed time is eight.” She did not answer, but only stared at him.
  
Her eyes were sizing him from head to toe. Jen and Greg lay languorously across the room on another set of chairs. They both looked at Enrique with questioning eyes. He slowly made his way through the short corridor that led from the front door into an expanse dubbed the living room. The room was scarcely furnished with expensive furniture. Enrique sat carefully next to his mother.
 
  He knew something was wrong and it might have well been his doing. A few months ago, he almost shocked Sherine to death with the news of his pregnant girlfriend. His Mom hadn’t known he had a serious girlfriend up until that dreaded night in September, two months before his girlfriend Wonda had a premature birth. Now 28 months later, he saw that same pain in her eyes.
   “Jen, Greg, go to your room,” was Sherine’s behest, as she turned around to face her son. There was a deafening silence for over two minutes. “What the hell is ya problem, boy?” she shouted. “Huh? What wrong wit ya?” Enrique wasn’t sure whether this was just another case where she would snort at him accusingly for his father’s abandonment; as if it were him who made her live through pain all her life… as if it were him who made the glow on her face to disappear.
  
He was certain moments ago that it had to have been his doing that caused whatever waited to be unfolded. But now, he wasn’t so sure. Sherine stared at her son with the horrified revulsion most people reserve for cold-blooded killers. “Boy, what did I do to be cursed wit you? Whha.a..a.a.t… oh God! Why? Why is this happening over again?” Streams of water rushed down her face. Enrique wasn’t sure whether he should comfort her or stay away.
 
  “Ma, what happened?” he forced out of his mouth knowing nothing.
   “What! What happened? Is you that happened! You! You waste of..... Is you-oo-o-o-oooo,” her tears stole her speech and she could not contain herself. “Get out!” were the only two words she could find to say. ‘SMACK!’ sounded a slap on his left cheek. The pressure jerked his face and destabilized his body. “Out, now!” Sherine got up and made her way to the front door. She opened it and stood motionless. Her clothes had soaked up most of her tears.
   “Can I get my cel-phone Ma?”
   “I said out!”
  
Enrique got up reluctantly. He strolled to the doorway and stood next to his mother. Sherine was fixated in a trance and hadn’t noticed him staring at her or even saying that he was sorry.
  
Noticeably, Enrique had not shared one tear. He hadn’t shared that for years now. He didn’t know how it felt to let his feelings of pain out. He kept it all inside. For as long as he could remember, he had always kept all his sorrows inside. Like the time at school when he got beaten by a girl in his class and he never said a word or when the people of the community use to throw remarks at him for having no father and being illegitimate and their sons used to bully him around. Even the time when his step-father first hit his mom and continued ocassionaly, he bottled the sorrow then too. He was a bottle of pain walking. He was madly in love - or so he thought - had a baby he hadn’t planned for and was confused. The only blessing in his life, he thought, was his job - a teller at Bank of St. Lucia. Everything else was a curse.
  
“Ma, I’m really sorry, for what I did.... that I don’t know.” Scepticism redefined his facial features. Or was it confusion..... even pain? He stepped out unto the front step. He stood there, a picture of his father - the man Sherine despised so, the one she hated with all her guts, the one she would have killed with her own hands if she had the chance. Enrique was clueless.
  
“You sorry? Go tell that to…, Wonda.” Sherine slammed the door in his face, leaving him out on the front steps bedazzled. Her eyes grew bigger with every tear that emerged. Why are these things happening, she questioned.
   Enrique – a broken image of a man – stood staring at a door. His front door. His crib. He was thrown out of the house he knew as home and was left to stare and be plagued by meandering thoughts. He had no idea what was going on.
  
Sherine dropped to the floor and rested her back on the door.  A door she could count on to lean on. The door that hid her tears from her son. A door that hid her tears from her neighbours... from the world. That door had remained true to her when everything and everyone didn’t. Sherine’s tears carried on, doing what they had always done – run wild. Her heart ached with pain. Her life, her dreams, her hopes; none had turned out the way she had wanted. Three children were more than she had planned. After Enrique’s dad left, she had needed company. She had needed security. Her future was in jeopardy and she was desperate.
 
  Sherine was desperate to prevent herself from succumbing to that overwhelming temptation of killing her first child - Enrique. Her desperation lurked furtively. However, she was even more desperate to save her revenge until she met Carlos once again. That man had gotten her pregnant and left. That son-of-a-gun had gotten her pregnant with Enrique and he was nowhere to be found.
   No. She’d wait. Until I get that Carlos, I will not take it out on his child, she had thought to herself on that black day of February 14. Valentine’s Day, day that is supposed to be the epitome love.
  
That day, doctors had informed her that she needed to get a C-section (Caesarean section) in order to give birth. Her baby was quite big, and her body was not fully prepared for a natural birth. “Damn you, Carlos!” she wailed before the doctors begun to operate on her. Her screams echoed through Victoria Hospital. Enrique was born on that day. Cut out of her womb. Cursed, she was to bear a child in any way, but natural.
  
Sherine was unconscious during the operation, but somehow her sub conscience had acquired the scene of the exact moment that the baby was held up by the doctors. Maybe it was the effect of the anaesthetic she was given.
   Dr. Ramsy offered a handsome baby to Sherine hours later after the operation was completed. She glanced scrupulously around her. She had to make sure it wasn’t a dream. She wanted to be sure that this predicament was all a dream. It wasn’t.
   “Sherine, aren’t you going to take this gentleman from me?” Dr. Ramsy asked, still offering the baby to his mother. She was hesitant at first, but when she finally took the baby, her heart sank. “You have a fine lad here. He is extremely strong too. For some reason, he resisted my nurses when they were trying to clothe him,” Dr Ramsy chuckled. “I even think he tried to make a pass at them.
  
His humour coerced a momentarily smile on Sherine’s face. He is already displaying his father’s irresistible personality, she thought. What more can he do to ruin my life?
   Enrique was the start of all Sherine’s troubles. After the birth, things at home with her mother deteriorated. There were constant reminders of what she had done.  “I pay how much money to send you to school and dats what you go and do with yourself, huh? You eh even finish school. Sé menm bagay la. Zòt paka tan lè moun ka palé bay zòt. (You see, ya’ll don’t seem to hear when people talk to ya’ll). I want to see dat Carlos, Carlos! Where him now?” her mother protested, day and night.
  
Sherine had gotten friendly to Carlos at the age of fifteen, despite the regular floggings that she got for seeing him. Her father had flogged her so bad once that the people of Rose Hill had threatened to take him to the police. Her teen years were spent getting to know Carlos. They would fetch water from the standpipe together every morning before school and walk through Castries -capital of St. Lucia - every afternoon. Even when they secretly met by Vigie beach, someone would see her and report to her dad. Then more beatings came.
  
Her friends at the Castries Comprehensive School would often enquire about the marks she had. But the teachers never saw it. “And even if they did, this is St. Lucia. There is no justice,” she often found herself saying.
   When she entered form five, after the third month, she had noticed that her period was six weeks late. She grew scared, but said nothing. Carlos was a student of the Vieux Fort Comprehensive Secondary School now. He was transferred since his mom moved to the south to live permanently.
  
Sherine waited for a couple more days before she grew into panic. Carlos was at the other end of the island now. He was all the way to the south. The times they spent doing multiple things together decreased each time Carlos made a visit. He would visit her monthly when his family made their visits to relatives in Castries. Although the frequency of the time they spent together diminished dramatically, the quality increased as their burning passions were extinguished with every visit.

   “Ay ay Sherine, how comes I not seeing or hearing you talk about your period?” Brenda asked her one Friday afternoon just after Enrique left. Brenda had noticed the way he left without even saying goodbye to her and instantly remembered she’d been meaning to ask Sherine about her observation. Sherine grew cold. She was caught by surprise. The question hit her like a baseball on the knee and her legs weakened. Her fair complexion turned to blue, then pale. It was thirteen weeks now since she last saw her period. How was she going to say that to her parents? They will kill me then bury me in the backyard. Nobody will even notice.  She was dumbfounded. Her tongue clung to her upper jaw.  She had no clue as to what to say to her mother or even her father.
  
“Ti mamay ou pa tan (Child didn’t you hear)?” Brenda’s calm instantaneously morphed into discomfort. Her blood pressure was pulsating in vicious spasms. Sherine had not had the chance to say a word to her mother when she was jerked off her stance by a powerful pull from behind. Bobby, Sherine’s father, overheard his wife’s ranting and immediately left his coconut shelling.
   “What I hear uh? Uh.......?”

An awkward moment of silence broke as Brenda allowed her husband to do the interrogating. She had no choice at times like this when his temper flared and his voice overpowered the midday church bells.
   “You doh see your period yet? What I hearing?” his muscular body overshadowed Sherine who stood like a cat next to a pitbull. His coarse, harsh, masculine voice silenced her puny whimpering and sent chills through her tender bones.
   “Bobby, let her…”
  
“Quiet woman! Lemme speak to my daughter,” Bobby snorted at Brenda who sank immediately into her chair.
   The model-like slender legs that exalted Sherine’s fully developed upper body trembled like a shak-shak  in a musician’s hands. Subtlety had fled the scene and she was defenceless. The awful silence emerged again, but only this time, Sherine wanted to feel it again to be reassured that she was still alive and standing. However, in her father’s mind it was just a few more seconds spared for her to defend herself and render his suspicions incorrect. Arrogance could have been seen jolting up Bobby’s body through erratic movements of his shoulders.
  
“So I eh give you enough time to answer me, uh? I’ll make you talk if you cannot talk.” Bobby disappeared through the side door of the house that led to an outside kitchen and left an explosion of words trailing him. Brenda knew what was going to happen. Sherine did too. And what better time for the second hand on the wall clock to take minutes to complete its task. Bobby’s voice had faded and Brenda found herself rushing next to Sherine who was all in tears now.
   “Sher-sher,” – a nick name that Sherine loved to hear from her mom – did you do anything you not supposed to? You know what daddy went for and I doh want him to hurt you. What is going on?” Brenda’s voice literally pleaded for her daughter to respond, but Sherine could not. She was sitting on the floor crying her heart out.
  
“Wicked parents,” she thought as her screaming turned into sobbing. “Why is daddy so wicked? I hate him! I hate them! I wish that they would die!”
   “Oh ou fam (Oh, so you’re rude)?” Those words were sinister. From anyone else it would have sounded like praise, but from Bobby, this meant trouble and worries. “I ask you question and you cannot answer, well I will make you talk.” In Bobby’s hand was what he called, “set-you-straight” – a tamarind whip with four plaited branches. It was kept in a tub of sea water so that the salt could harden it. And it burnt terribly. Bobby got that whip for Brenda the first time he found out that she had a boyfriend.
  
“Daddy, please,” Sherine wailed as the whip cut her flesh. “Why you beating me? I saw my period already,” were her next set of words as the whip landed flat on her back. The pain forced another shriek from her. Bobby’s hand was already in mid-air again and his attempt to pull back the whip when Sherine said those words failed as ‘set-you-straight’ took her on her back with tremendous force. The words that he had wanted to hear were floating in the air, and it didn’t mean the same. Bobby had just punished his daughter wrongfully. He stood there in disbelief, but no regret.
  
“You see you rude. Your mother talking to you and you not answering. Now you make me beat you for nothing uh. Go inside!”

The neighbours new that Bobby was at it again. La-La, a friend of the family was just in time to hear Bobby admit to flogging innocent Sher-sher wrongfully. “Mwen pas qwe’ sa. Ou bat timanmay-la pous anyen? Awa awa (I don’t believe this. You beat the child for no reason? Oh no, oh no). As La-la made her way into the house, these words started an argument amongst the three adults including Brenda who was quiet for the entire ordeal. Now both she and La-La were accusing verbally battering Bobby profusely.
  
Meanwhile, Sherine was nursing her pain. “I had to. I had to. That idiot would have surely killed me if he found out the truth. If I hadn’t lied daddy would have probably beat me to death. If he finds out that I slept with a guy he would probably get a stroke or go insane. Worse yet, if he knows that it’s the same guy he has been punishing me for, my funeral won’t be too far away. I can’t be pregnant now. I can’t. Not now. Not yet. Not whilst daddy is around. Oh God I’m sorry I lied. I had to. I really did.”

Her thoughts were not accomplishing what she wanted them to. Sherine was trying desperately to think the pain away. The places where ‘set-you-straight’ had visited, told of the contact that was made between whip and skin. Sherine was still feeling unbearable pain. One would have thought that time would really heal her now, but it seemed liked time was at war with her.
  
“‘Oh Carlos, I think I’m pregnant’. How stupid was I? This can be my cycle changing. It doesn’t mean that I’m pregnant. Or could it?” she whispered to herself. “What if I am for true, what if…?” Sherine was rubbing her lap vigorously and had not responded to the chafing action until she felt the heat on her skin increase extravagantly. Automatically, she got up to get some white petroleum jelly to place on the bruised area. “He doesn’t accept the fact that I’m growing up and that I would soon need a boyfriend. He doesn’t care that I am in form-five and will be leaving school soon. He treats me like a ten-year old. Why did mummy marry that loser? If he touches me again, I swear I will….” She could not finish those thoughts as she fought with an overwhelming urge of throwing up that she was not going to succumb to. She was too pissed at her dad. Subconsciously, a part of her wished that she was pregnant just to get even with him.
  
Sherine reached over her dresser, forgetting all about the petroleum jelly, and took a photo of Carlos that she kept hidden behind her mirror. She stared into his eyes like she did all the other times and whispered, “I really think I’m pregnant for you… but I think you’ll be the best father ever.” Tears trickled down her cheeks as she gently passed her fingers on the picture. “What am I going to do? What are we gonna do? This is really hard. Carlos I need you. I wish you were here. I’m sorry if it hurt you when I told you. I really am. I love you unconditionally baby. I love you.”  Sherine forgot all about the excruciating pain as she got submerged into an ocean of Carlos-thoughts.
  
For a full five minutes now the house had gone quiet, except that Sherine’s thoughts continued to speak surreptitiously to her. La-la and Brenda had managed to slap some regret into Bobby’s heart. He left the house as a result to seek a venue to think back on his actions. “Bondye’ padon (Lord I’m sorry) he whispered to himself as he settled between the roots of a huge mango tree a couple of yards away from his home. However, his peace was continually disturbed by the war-dogs of Rosehill and Marchand that met occasionally to test the testosterone levels and mark their territories. This was discombobulating to even the cats that stayed hidden inside their houses when the riot was on.

   “Oh Lord, what I’m I gonna do? What have I done to the person’s daughter?” Carlos thought to himself. He was the only one on Jeremie Street, yet he didn’t feel alone. He could have hear Sherine’s words reverbing in his mind. “I think I’m pregnant cause I haven’t seen my period in almost two months.” The expression on Sherine’s face as she confessed her dilemma to Carlos was that of one seeking seclusion and exile. The happiness found in the comfort of their seat in the living room at the time was stolen instantaneously. All the while they had been surreptitiously savouring the company of each other by borrowed stares. Now, the news of being pregnant froze them both for a few minutes. Earlier, they had been chatting away carefree. The soft cotton cushions that decorated the mahogany chairs made Carlos want to seat in them forever.
  
“This is risky. Your dad will figure out that I’m the guy he has been abusing you for, for so long. I cannot go on pretending that I’m just a classmate who wants to come get some schoolwork done with you because you are an honour student.” That was the last sentence he uttered before Sherine informed him of her circumstance.
  
Now, Carlos’ seat was getting unbearably hot. He could not stand to stay seated anymore. Both their countenances changed. Although news of pregnancy in those days was cause of celebration, Carlos was panic-stricken. He was dumbfounded for the rest of his stay – which wasn’t too long since he left on the point of Bobby’s entrance to the house to get a glass of juice.
  
He was the only one walking Jeremie Street in the physical, but was plagued by those accompanying thoughts of Sherine’s words continuously repeated in his mind. He looked like a wreck in his leather sandals, tree-quarter jeans and white polo shirt. This was his favourite outfit. It always brought him joy when worn. He always wore his best whenever he went over to visit Sherine. However, today was different. His Sunday-best went unnoticed. If anything, it brought him more pain than joy. The stress of his mistake was over burdening him.

And it was indeed a huge mistake – getting his school girlfriend pregnant. Although the Rosehill folks celebrated over news of a pregnancy, they despised teenage pregnancy with much condemnation. And even when the child has grown to be an adult, the stigma followed them to the grave. Twenty-nine year old Greg, forty year old Ben and twenty-two year old Tricia were present victims of that society. Even the people at Marchand and as far as Pave’ new that quality in Rosehill folks. To make matters worse, Carlos hadn’t told Sherine that his parents were moving to Vieux Fort in three days. He dared not to say anything to Sherine after hearing that he may already be a father. He loved her way too much to hurt her in that way. She needed him now and he had to find a way to stay.
  
Carlos had walked for long now and he was close to his home at La-Toc. He had thought long and had about his predicament from the time he left Rosehill. But it was not until he stood in the footpath that led down to his home that he got an idea. His teenage mind had concocted the most outrageous plan ever. In retrospect, the only plan that was close in degree to his, was one that Joe, La-La’s brother, had committed way back when La-La was ten years old. Joe was fifteen then and mischief was his alias. Carlos looked down the hill to see if his parents were in view. At his location he could have only seen a fraction of the house. The bushes and overhanging branches from the nearby trees claim most of the panoramic detail of his house and surroundings. The house stood innocently on concrete pillars and exuded a blue painted body of plywood, trimmed in white.
  
He took one step backwards and looked piercingly at his object again. He took another three backward steps, larger than the first step and stumbled over a stone in his way. He glanced sharply at his object once more. Still, there was no one insight. Carlos then made a complete 180 degree turn and burst into sprint motion. He ran as fast as he could for as long as he could without stopping. He didn’t care to look back now. He could careless about the consequences. All he knew was that he had to keep running in order to reach his destination.