The Dreaming by Andre Bagoo

Author:Andre Bagoo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Peepal Tree Press

BELMONT

We always knew Father would leave. We just didn’t know when.

On Saturday mornings he would wake us by putting on his favourite record: Vladimir Horowitz Plays Beethoven. When we came out in our pajamas, the curtains of the living room would be drawn. Father would be blasting the “Emperor Concerto”, which seemed an odd name for something so twinkly. In the armchair he had built himself, his leg would dangle over the armrest as he conducted the music, drank coffee, and read from The Sentinel, his favourite newspaper. Each sleepy child would be directed to the kitchen, not for breakfast but to read the roster of weekend chores he had carefully drafted and left on the fridge. If any child complained, Father would read out some article from his newspaper about global suffering.

You’re lucky you’re not a child growing up in Azerbaijan right now, he’d say. Or: Things are pretty bad in Haiti these days.

This Saturday morning routine started after we moved to Belmont. For years, we had lived in a cramped, cockroachinfested apartment on George Street in downtown Port of Spain. When my brother Jean-Paul was born, Father said we needed more room. For what seemed like a long time, Father would be away on weekends, coming back to George Street on Sunday evenings wearing tattered clothes speckled with paint, as though he were an artist. He would smell of sweat and sawdust, a mixture I would forever associate with him.

One night in the apartment on George Street, Father came into our bedroom. Sahara and Libya were asleep. But I was still awake, secretly reading a novel I had borrowed from the library.

Time to go, he said.

Time to go where? I asked.

Yeah, where? Sahara said, groggily.

Your mother waiting outside, he said.

Sahara was the oldest girl. It was her job to marshal the troops.

Usha, put that book away and let’s go! she told me.

When we got outside, Mother was already in the truck. She was wearing a bandana over her thinning hair and had a basket of freshly baked bread. The back of the truck held mysterious boxes and was covered with blue tarpaulin. Mother held JeanPaul, and I sat on Sahara’s lap. Father put Libya in the back, because she was always tomboyish.

We drove to the outskirts of the city. There was a full moon, but I did not know where we were going. The big buildings of the city gave way to strange gingerbread houses, tightly packed roads, narrow lanes. Then the truck veered sharply up a hill. It struggled to kick into gear and Father made an impassioned plea.

C’mon Betsy!

We made it to a white house at the top of the hill that overlooked the city. I remember being frightened to climb out of the truck, because the sparkling lights below us filled me with a sense of danger. This was a place where you could easily fall.

The house was sparse. The bare concrete floors were rough and cool. On that first night we slept on a mattress in one of the empty bedrooms.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.