SHOWCASE Saturday is Desmond day, and every Saturday is the same story. She could hear him calling by the gate just as she put the soup in a bowl to cool, and she ain’t even have to catch a glimpse of the long, narrow head through the curtain to know is him. And sometimes he reach while she still turning the split peas on the fire. Those days he sit down in the kitchen and tell her at least three times how good the pot smelling. As if he ain’t know she going to invite him to have a bowl with her, as if he ain’t see the pattern yet after all this time. And when it ready, Desmond sit down in the chair opposite hers, and after nearly every spoonful, he wipe his moustache with two fingers. And he compliment the dumplings, and the salt meat, and the thickness of the soup, and he can’t help but notice how orange the pumpkin is, and sweet, and he had swear he never would have taste a split peas soup like his mother could have make, but this one just as more-ish as hers (Desmond always take two bowls). Then after lunch, when the table clear, he sit down in the Morris chair in the drawing room till she finish wash the wares, and when she done, he stay and talk to her for about an hour while she sew. Miriam was a seamstress, and though readymade clothes more and more available, people in the neighbourhood still coming by her regular. Wasn’t till about the third time he visit that Desmond start bringing his clothes that want a needle. First it was only two buttons on one shirt that he ask her to sew on. Miriam One woman, four gentleman Illustration by Shalini Seereeram Say he “hopeless with needle and thread,” and he “know is a lot to ask but . . .” Miriam figure it must be because she sympathise a little too much that he come to take her for granted. She remember clear clear what she tell him the first time when he watch her sheepish. How is not everything a body could do, and what it take out of her to sew on two buttons?, and if he feel he can’t ask her a favour, that’s a bad sign. Of course, the first few Saturdays she was still wondering how he come to visit her in the first place. The first few Saturdays, Miriam change her dress before he reach, tie her hair with a brighter scarf than the one she’s usually wear in the house, and take the apron from around her waist (though she say a little prayer that nothing would have fall on her clothes). When Desmond come in the kitchen and stand up close, watching over her shoulder while she stir the pot, she find her face getting hot. She tell herself it can’t just be food that bring him. But now she ain’t so sure. When Desmond leave, he have a thick slice of sweetbread in greaseproof, and his three pairs of workpants darn, wrap in brown paper, and the parcel tie with twine. He wave to her from by the gate, a grin splitting his narrow head in two. “Saturday!” he shout like a promise as he stride off. “He come for a pair of able hands,” she say to herself as she watch him go. callers . . . A short story by Michelene Adams Sunday after John Rawlins wake up from a weekend of carousing with woman, he walk over by Miriam. He come in wearing dungarees, no string tie, no grease in his hair. Sometimes Friday and Saturday evening, she see him passing with one woman or another in the old Zephyr he buy third-hand from somebody living on the hill, but he don’t 48 WWW.CARIBBEAN-BEAT.COM
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