Distant+Whispers

abandoned the project. He had done his job. Had done exactly what they wanted him to do. He had
become their glorified, expensive proofreader. Now, there was no longer anything for him to proof.
They dug this hole. Let them pull themselves out of it.
Raj’s face suddenly hardened. “We have your services for one more week, ent, pahtnah?”
Denmark glanced up at Raj. That was his whole card. Raj was correct. Genesis was still under
contract for another week. These guys hadn’t actually opted out. Nor had he notified his company,
Genesis Consultants that he was returning one week early. Even though he was sure that Genesis
would accept his decision, it was going to be awkward. Especially if he walked off a project against
the wishes of the CEO.
Denmark turned away from the two. He felt trapped. He steeled himself internally to face one
more week at the company. He turned to face Raj and Manoj. Instead, he met the compassionate eyes
of Petra, standing quietly behind the two men. Raj seemed to deflate when he became aware of
Petra’s presence. The smooth bullshit coming out of his mouth dried up quickly.
“Mister Mukherjee,” Petra said, her eyes inspecting the floor, “if your friends, the other
consultants, have no more reports for Mr. Alexander then he has completed his obligations to
TnTClaims.”
“What!” Raj’s pleasant facade disappeared quickly. “Eh-eh! De man wuk fuh we! We tell him
what he gonna do!”
Petra suddenly pivoted, squaring herself up in front of Raj, her dark slender arms unfolding from
her chest, her balled fist heading towards Raj’s face. Raj’s mouth flew open. His arms jerked up in a
reflexive attempt to protect himself. But just inches from Raj’s face a finger flicked open from Petra’s
balled fist like a switchblade, stopping just shy of Raj’s nose. Her dark slanted eyebrows were storm
clouds hovering over the fire stoking in her eyes.
“Hush, Raj! Hush! What more yuh want to do? Yuh done mash up de project. Yuh put the company
in jeopardy while you were playing poodle dog to your friends. So hush! Yuh got no shame? Yuh not
‘fraid what go happen ef de workers dem lose wuk? All uh we go catch our tail, man! All uh we! Dis
Trinidad! Yuh tink it easy to find wuk? Eh hard! Listen! I’m responsible fuh he! Not you! Where yuh
friends, Raj? Dat dem dere!” Petra began pointing at the lights in the ceilings. “Dey was soucouyants,
Raj. Vampires! Dem come and suck yuh dry. Now dem flee! But de workers here not go dead! Dem
strong. And I’m strong. I am a daughter of Laventille. I know how ta pull t’roo.”
Petra’s trembling voice echoed throughout the operations floor. Her words were like a quick
summer rain, disappearing as quickly as they came, but leaving everyone wet. Petra took a trembling
breath. She was shaking. From far across the room a high-pitched voice yelled out.
“Ah not go dead, Petraaaa! Ah know how tah pull troo too!”
And then another. “Dem not go suck me dry, Petra.”
“Ah go pull troo, Petra! Ah from Sout’. Ah tuff!” another voice shrieked.
Like Trinidad’s famed Best Village Cultural competitions a battle of neighborhood toughness
began.
“Ah from Point, Petra. We know how tah fight!”
“Ah from Beetham. Yuh don’ wanta mess wit’ we!”
“Ah from Town! We don’ believe in no soucouyants what suck blood!”
Petra gazed at her claims people. She nodded at this one, smiled at anther and flashed her eyes at