“Are we going or not?” Yvette was looking around her, something lit and burning bright inside her, something which looked like the bright orange-red flowers of the poinciana trees. Flame of the forest, those trees were called. As bright as any midnight fire. I looked at Yvette. She had already accused me of being a coward for refusing to take my clothes off; now I could not refuse her dare without looking even more of a coward in front of the other girls. I would give in. We would go under the bridge. I was the Kingstonian. I was the one supposedly afraid of nothing.
“Sure, we can go under the bridge,” I said, struggling to sound brave.
“Well, all right then,” she said, triumph in her eyes, “Let’s go. Let’s go under the bridge!”
We started climbing down the banking, which was rocky and steep. Trees sloped down to the river forming a heavy green canopy overhead – cocoa trees, banana trees, breadfruit and a few mango trees. When they were in season, the district boys would raid them, picking all the ripe fruits, leaving the trees as bare as the backside of a newborn baby. We stayed close to the ground, clinging onto bushes, baskets under our arms, as we gingerly made our way down. Yvette was in front, followed by Sophie, Monique, Junie and finally me.
Water rushed swiftly and thundered over the falls a little way ahead. The sound was very loud, because there was quite a drop, and the water seemed to growl going down, releasing an ever-present puff of white spray as if it were the breath of some dragon. Grandy often told me the story of the man coming home drunk one night who tumbled down the slope and over the falls. It took days to find his mangled body. The river gets hungry for companionship every now and again, Grandy said, opens its mouth wide to take someone in. Even the youngest child knew enough to be wary of the falls. This was why we always went upstream, towards the bridge.
Before long we left the trees behind and were out in the hot sunshine again. We reached the water’s edge. We hitched up our skirts above our knees and wedged the baskets carefully under our arms. Beads of sweat had formed on Yvette’s upper lip and I watched as she lifted her skirt to wipe the sweat off her face. Her chest was heaving from the effort of climbing down the mountainside.
“So,” Yvette drawled, jolting me out of my thoughts, “why you staring at me like that?”
“And what are you using to know that I’m looking at you?”
Sophie and Monique giggled, while Junie shook her head.
Yvette hissed her teeth and began wading out into the shimmering silver pool of water where it looked like someone had thrown many golden sparkles. Her clothes started to cling to her slender frame and I could not help thinking how beautiful she was. She was one of the darkest persons I knew and certainly the most striking with her hair combed into four thick plaits. Beside her, Sophie, Junie and Monique seemed like wilted hibiscus flowers. Her mother, whom I had never seen, was still talked of as a beauty, so much so people were wary of her. You could never trust so much beauty. People said this was her downfall; why, young as she had been, she was “kidnapped” by Yvette’s father. I continued looking at the girl, who suddenly turned and flashed me a smile. I looked away quickly, but all the other girls began to laugh.
Before long we were crossing over to the other side of the river to set our baskets for the shrimps in the cool dark rushes.
I was the last to step into the water and I jumped back onto the banking for I had forgotten how ice-cold it was. Every year I forgot that. I took a deep breath and stepped in again. This time I stood for a while in the water without moving, letting my ankles grow accustomed to the chill, watching the tiny green and black groupers darting around my feet, before I started wading out, the water coming up to my ankles, my knees, then my waist and finally my shoulders. I was now holding my basket overhead like the other girls, swaying every now and again in the strong pull of the current, my dress clinging, pasting itself onto my body. I spotted some bright yellow guavas bobbing by on their way down stream, dropped from a guava tree at the side of the river, and if my hands had not been holding the basket, I would have made a dash for them.
The other girls reached the other side of the river near the tall green reeds, and were busy setting their baskets.
“What’s taking you so long?” Monique called, laughing at me. I was still making my way gingerly over to them. The others did not need to say it with their mouths for I could see it in their eyes: Watch the Kingstonian who knows everything; the Kingstonian who is having such a hard time crossing the river.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I yelled.
“Just make it this year,” Monique yelled back and everyone started laughing.
I made my way over to the reeds and set my basket, then followed the other girls who were now heading upstream to the bridge. Under the bridge, it was a relief to take off our dresses, clinging and cold, an unnecessary weight on our bodies. Junie unbuttoned my dress and I pulled it over my head. But I would not be taking off my panties, wet as they were. It was one thing to be naked with my friends in the privacy of my grandmother’s house where we took showers together, a totally different thing to be naked at the river where a complete stranger could come by. Without discussing it, all five of us kept our panties on.
Under the bridge was cool, damp and dark. Slimy green moss was everywhere. We all knew how deep the water was just by its stillness. If Grandy knew I was there, I’d get a fine beating. Every year there was some new story to tell. Did you hear what happened under the bridge the other day? Grandy, like other villagers, spoke of the water under the bridge as if it had a mind of its own.
There were cement platforms on which you could sit or stand, but these were covered with some kind of thick waxy green plant. I refused to even think about what might be hiding in there just waiting to crawl out. Then there was the huge crab living under the bridge for years and years. Every now and again, it was said, someone caught a glimpse of this crab crawling out of his hole, claws as big as a child’s arm. Grown men had supposedly lost toes, fingers, eyes or even had their stomachs gauged out by this crab. What would this monster do to us?
And what of the dreadful rivermumma? What would she do to us? Rivermumma loved children. Especially girls. And here were five of us to drag down to her watery kingdom; five new attendants to comb her long green hair and sing with her at night, luring other little girls to their deaths. I did not care who might want to laugh, I was not getting into that still dark water. The bridge started to tremble and for a moment I was confused. Was this retribution for disobeying my grandmother? My legs went weak and my breath came fast. My fear must have shown on my face because the other girls started laughing.
“Is only a vehicle passing,” Monique said.
“I guess you think that’s funny?” I was not seeing the joke.
“Verrrry funny,” Yvette replied, wrapping her arms around herself and falling backwards into the water. For a moment she disappeared under the dark surface, before emerging near the far end of the bridge. She drew my eyes to the bank behind her, where red ginger plants grew in abandon, their large clumsy banana-like leaves tearing easily in the wind. Beyond was a dense thicket of trees and bushes, home of the notorious sasabonsam, hairy monster with large blood-red eyes, sitting high in the trees dangling his long hairy legs, ready to catch whoever dared come into the bushes. Suppose sasabonsam came tearing out of those bushes right now? Just what would we do? Another shiver ran through my body.
Monique, Sophie and Junie squealed and jumped into the water, one after the other. They started doing powerful breaststrokes, sometimes diving under the water, or lazing on their backs.
“Come on, Gloria,” Sophie said. “Don’t be a chicken. Come in!”
“Yes,” Monique and Junie chimed in, “the water feels soooo good.”
“Last time I was in, it was soooo cold.”
“That’s until you get used to it!” Yvette