Black Cake(27)

In the end, Lin’s finances were so bad that he’d had to turn to Little Man Henry. Lin should have known better. He should have known it was only a matter of time before Little Man would come to extract his price. Because as far as Lin had been able to observe, that was what most men in this world were about, the price you were expected to pay. And the person who would suffer the most would be his daughter, the only thing of value that he had left. Because the day was fast approaching when Lin would have to ask himself, What are you willing to do?





Covey





The Wailers were all over the radio that spring, and a bit of dance music could go a long way to making Covey feel better, even in times like these. Pearl had left for the day and Covey turned up the radio and shuffled to the music, holding her hair off her neck to cool her damp skin. Her back was turned to the kitchen door when Little Man walked into the house.

Since the fire, her father had warned her more than once to lock the front door when she was on her own, but Little Man had used the back way. Pearl must have left the gate open on her way out. And Little Man walked in without so much as rapping on the doorjamb.

Little Man had been showing up every Sunday for several weeks now, and during that time, her father’s fire-damaged shop had been fully refurbished. The connection between the two seemed evident to Covey. All the more alarming because her father hinted that Little Man was interested in what he called a closer relationship with Covey.

Whenever her pa raised the subject of Little Man, Covey would walk out of the room. Her pa would come to his senses, she thought, and surely, Little Man would come to realize that it was a preposterous idea to spend time with her. Yet here he was, all the same, walking unannounced into her family’s kitchen at the height of a weekday afternoon, like he owned the place.

“The Wailers,” Little Man said. “Good tune.”

“My father is not here,” Covey said.

“I know,” Little Man said. “That’s why I’m here.” He stepped toward Covey. “Aren’t you glad that I’m here?”

Covey held her breath. Little Man was now close enough for her to smell his too-sweet aftershave. Little Man was now close enough for her to feel his breath on her forehead.

“We could get to know each other a little better,” Little Man said. He tried to kiss Covey but she turned her face to the side. When Little Man leaned in again, she pushed him away but this time, he grabbed her wrists and held them back against the wall, his grip so tight that she thought her bones might snap under the pressure. At school, Covey had learned about a kind of toad in Asia that could twist itself up and make itself look dead, to ward off its predators. She held still and focused her mind on that one thing now, the toad’s red underbelly exposed, its fiery surface crisscrossed by black markings, its body filled with venom, just in case.

She kept her face turned to the side, her jaw tight, her eyes narrowed, trying to look fierce, but she was certain that Little Man could hear the pounding of her heart in her chest. It was a well-known secret that he had forced himself on girls before. She thought of the kitchen drawer with the knives. It was too far away to be of any use.

“So, you’re a shy girl, are you? Or are you just pretending?” Little Man lowered his voice. “I wonder, are you this modest when you go down to the beach with that Grant boy?”

So this was what people meant when they said your blood ran cold. Covey didn’t think anyone knew about her and Gibbs, except for Bunny and Pearl, who’d eventually found out. But Pearl once said that Little Man and his brother had people in every cove and village of the parish who owed them something. And when you owed something to someone dangerous, you were willing to spy for them. You might even be willing to hurt someone else, if it kept your own family from being harmed. The important thing was to keep the Henry brothers from taking note of you. But Little Man had already taken note of Gibbs. The mere sound of his name on Little Man’s lips was enough for Covey to understand that Gibbs might be vulnerable.

“What yu doing wasting yu time wit dat boy, eh?” Little Man hissed, releasing her wrists. He stepped back but hearing Gibbs’s name had left Covey’s legs so weak, she didn’t dare to move.

“You think Gilbert Grant is going to help your father to get out of debt, Coventina? You think Gilbert Grant, more interested in university than going out and earning himself a decent living, could ever come up with the kind of money your father needs to keep someone from cutting him open with a cutlass?”

“My pa…,” Covey began.

“Your pa,” Little Man said, “is a gambling man who couldn’t even keep his woman at home. Couldn’t even keep the titles to his stores. Did you know that, Coventina? Did you know those shops don’t even belong to your pa anymore? Oh, no? Well, it’s true. They belong to me. And if you don’t want your father to lose this house and don’t want to find yourself living in a shack, or worse, then you will watch your manners around me, young lady.”

Little Man turned away and stalked out of the kitchen without another word. The next evening, when her father told her that Little Man had asked for her hand in marriage, Covey couldn’t even muster her anger. She only whispered, “No, Pa, please, Pa.” This was a strange, new feeling for Covey, this feeling that had stolen her voice.

She sat alone in her room for how long, she wasn’t sure. She stepped outside and listened to the buzzes and clicks of the garden, to the sound of her father’s snuffle spilling from his bedroom window. She breathed in the moisture that was starting to settle on the leaves, that was turning the ripened fruit to rot. She slapped away a bug, wiped away a tear. Everything was the same, but nothing was the same. She wanted to find Gibbs and tell him, but she knew she couldn’t. Not now. Though he would hear about it soon enough.