Pynter Bender (38 page)

‘They come fo' you, Pynto. Soldier-fellas come to de yard askin fo' you an' Oslo.'

‘I didn do nothing,' he said softly, weakly.

Patty shook her head, as if to say he'd missed the point.

The whispering of feet on the floor inside the house made Patty look up. Tinelle came to the door and seemed transfixed there. Patty lifted her eyes and smiled at her, and Tinelle's face relaxed.

‘This is Tan Pat,' Pynter said.

Tinelle walked over to Patty and kissed her. It was as if they'd always known each other. Patty seemed to understand this. She took Tinelle's hand and rested it against her cheek.

‘A little bit o' bizness between family,' Patty said. Tinelle returned Patty's smile and went back in.

His aunt dropped her voice. She'd counted twelve men, she said. They said that he, Pynter, had some questions to answer concerning Sergeant Sylus. They were not interested in Peter. They were sure that only Pynter could help them. He was the one that looked like the communist-fella-who-got-what-he-was-askin-for, not so? One of the men had taken out a piece of paper and read out some names. Oslo's was there, and a couple of others that no one in Old Hope knew. Pynter's was the last. Deeka swore on her life that Pynter knew nothing. They wanted to know how Deeka knew that. She told them she was certain because her grandson was no longer in the country. That worried them a little until Windy started crying.

They'd narrowed their eyes at the girl and told Deeka she was lying. And furthermore, she and the rest of the yard could look forward to a whole heap of sleepless nights until they found Pynter, or until Pynter came to them. Deeka followed the men down to the road, threatening them with murder. The men laughed at her, said good night and left.

Elena went to Cynty's house to speak to Tobias but the little man was no longer with Cynty. Cynty sent him away for reasons she would not tell Elena. Except to say that Tobias talked too much. He couldn't help it. And in these times a talking man was a man whose mouth was just as bad as a gun. What Cynty knew was that the wardens in Birdie's prison were preparing themselves for a fresh crop of young people. Somebody had to pay, somebody from anywhere would do. But Old Hope made more sense. It was where Paso came from. And it was a couple of hills away from Saint Divine where Sylus got passed away. And the little they got from Frigo when they caught him was enough to send them looking for Oslo and Pynter.

If Patty weren't already so upset, he would have told her what he was thinking while she talked. That there was no way through this. They would find him, sure as rain. Like they found Paso in the end. Instead he said, ‘How's Tan Cee?'

‘She good. Much better. I … '

‘I want to see her, Tan Pat.'

Patty didn't answer him. She pushed her hand into her bag and pulled out a purse. ‘Wish I had more. S'everything I got,' she said.

He shook his head but Patty stuffed the purse in his hand.

‘How you getting home?' he said.

‘Same way I come,' she said, pointing at her feet. It was all of eight miles to Old Hope. Night would meet her on the road.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. Now, she was looking at him with Deeka's eyes.

‘Lisen to me,' she said. ‘You not leaving like Birdie. Y'unnerstan? You not runnin from nobody like no criminal. When you leave dis place you leave here like a man. Full of all de dignity we teach you. Is what I want, is what Deeka want. Is what Elena an' Tan Cee want. Tomorrow I goin talk to dem soldier-fellas. Got a coupla dem who come to look for me an' say hello all the time at de store. I goin find Chilway an' talk to 'im. He got to have soldier friends he know. I'll walk through a million curfew
if I have to. Let dem shoot me if dey want; but you not leavin dis islan' like Birdie.'

He wanted to walk with her out to the road but Patty waved him back. He watched her till a bend in the road hid her from view.

The island sank into a well of silence. Tinelle said that the problems would begin when they started reading out names on the radio. Pynter sat with her in the darkness of her father's house, feeling that the whole island was crowding in on them.

The thought of the soldiers separating him from her filled him with a fear he sometimes choked on.

If Tinelle hadn't been so sure that the trouble would blow over, he would have gone and handed himself in. Sometimes he caught her in the kitchen staring at her feet, her eyes red, as if she had been crying, even though he knew she wasn't.

He heard the footsteps long before the man entered the gate, a heavy, solid stride. He felt Tinelle's weight on him. Her mouth was hot against his neck, her legs wrapped around him as if she wanted to take him whole inside herself and hide him there.

A knocking at the door, hesitant at first, then firmer. He pulled himself to his feet, dragging Tinelle up with him, and walked to the door.

‘Pynterrr,' she said.

‘I fed up,' he said.

Outside, the man called his name. Pynter pulled open the door.

He did not recognise the shape, standing as it was with the lights of the town behind it. Not at first. His mind presented him with a quick picture of Birdie, then abandoned it as soon as Peter said his name.

His brother slipped inside quickly. Pynter guided his brother through the darkened hall.

Suddenly Pynter felt at ease. Peter seemed to have the same effect on Tinelle. She dropped all the precautions she'd taken so far and lit up the hall with candles.

Peter stood in the middle of the space looking quietly across at him. Tinelle's eyes could not stop from shifting from Peter's face to his. Pynter thought he knew what she was seeing – they barely looked like brothers. And standing there, solid and at ease inside his body, Peter looked exactly like their father.

‘Deeka send me,' Peter said. ‘S'matter o' fact, I tell dem I comin cuz somebody got to take care o' you, fella.'

‘S'kinda late.'

‘They come to take you, dey have to take me too.'

‘Go back home,' Pynter said. ‘People don' want you here. You waste your time coming an' I wasting my time talkin to you.'

‘Don't talk like that, Pynter!' Tinelle's voice startled both of them.

Peter turned to Tinelle. ‘He tryin to make me vex – so I could walk out of this house an' go back home. Tell de backside, I not goin nowhere until I finish tell 'im what I come to tell 'im. A fella come home to look for 'im yesterday. No, not dem.' He shook his head. ‘A short, lil man. Important-looking fella with a pretty walkin stick and glasses.'

Pynter shrugged. ‘He say who he is?'

‘Deeka couldn't remember that part,' ceptin that the name was long, like a govment man o' something, with a whole string of things hook on to it.'

‘A string of?'

‘Titles an' tings like dat. Deeka couldn remember everything and she was de only one that meet 'im.'

Pynter's mind shifted back to a time in his father's house when a man with a stick with the head of a lion arrived and frightened Manuel Forsyth into sending him to school. He hadn't seen Bostin since. ‘This fella, he walk like he prefer to fly?'

‘Deeka say he walk tiptoe.'

Pynter smiled. ‘Bostin. He tell Deeka what he want?'

‘He want to see you. Urgent. Ask where he could find you.'

‘And?'

‘Deeka cuss de man. She tell 'im to haul 'iz arse from her place befo' she knock 'im down. He put this in she hand and leave.'

Peter handed him a letter.

‘Writes like a politician,' Tinelle chuckled.

‘Better than that,' Pynter said. ‘I remember telling you about him once,' he said to Peter.

Peter nodded. ‘Long time back. Y'all was in touch all dis time?'

‘No.'

‘Then how come…' His brother seemed to change his mind about asking the question. Peter shrugged. ‘I'll bring him to you if you want.'

‘How?'

‘Anyhow.'

‘From where?'

‘I'll find him.'

‘In this curfew?'

‘In any curfew.'

‘Bring him, then.'

He had to hand it to Bostin. He was dressed as meticulously as Pynter remembered him, a grey polyester shirt and blue trousers whose seams were pressed to a knife's edge.

He was now Principal Teacher Education Concerns Officer, Advisor on National Curricular and Extra-curricular Education Development Policy ANCEEDP (pronounced, Add-Seed, he instructed), with an eye firmly fixed on the Statutory Regional Board of Examination. He had cultivated a little paunch, as was becoming a person of his position. The cane, imported from England, silver-capped at either end, rounded the image off perfectly.

Pynter liked listening to him as much as Bostin enjoyed being listened to. Tinelle stifled her laughter in the kitchen while she prepared him the orange juice and Jacob's Cream Crackers that he asked for.

No food, thank you. Jacob's Cream Crackers with a pat of Blue Band margarine, Blue Band Gold if there was any about, would do him fine. Thanks ever so much, Miss McMurdo. Did she know that McMurdo was a Scottish name? A nice match one
would say, he nodded at them. Nice. Not all names had to have a history. In fact, a few names without any history at all were making history right now. Indeed, it was a common thing for commoners to marry into history – no disrespect meant, Mister Bender. Just look at the royalties of Europe! A handsome young man with a brain like that and a very pretty lady with a bit of history behind her name could do very dramatic things indeed. If he had his way, there would be a Ministry for the Family. Yes indeed! A Ministry for the Foundation of Society. He would name it personally, because that is what a family is, the foundation of society. And who will head that Ministry? A Minister, of course, he smiled, a Minister. And bright young people like Mister Bender there and pretty Miss McMurdo here will have a definite place in it. A well-paid place too.

‘You said you wanted to discuss, er, possibilities?' Tinelle slipped in politely.

Bostin looked up. ‘I said?'

‘Not tonight. In your letter to Pynter.'

‘Ah! You also read my letter?' The eyes popped wide with pleasure.

‘A wonderful letter,' Tinelle purred. ‘The, er, possibilities for Pynter?'

‘Self-taught, you know. If I may say so of myself, a perfect example of self, uhm, enhancement. Yessir. I am very much that. I'll tell you something else.'

Bostin frowned at a crumb on his knee. With a single finger, he flicked it into his palm, scrutinised the offending particle and then brushed it off onto the saucer.

‘I'll also tell you this. If I had the opportunity, I would have innovated something by now – some invention of importance, because I am an innovator. I was innovating since I born, researching and exploring. That's what my parents told me and I have no reason to be dubious about what they said. Innovating is my nature. I see you laughing, Miss McMurdo, but my father,
if he was alive, that is, would make a point of letting you know that. Anyway, I'm here to discuss another matter of urgency. I solicit your pardon. Jacob's crackers and Blue Band margarine always get me talking.

‘Now! Young man! Like I said in my note – I assume that you have destroyed the missive as requested? Yes? Good! As I indicated, I am aware of your present predicament and apart from my historical interest in you – I consider you one of my protégés – I have been prompted by certain interested parties to, er, to bail you out, to use their expression. And, granted my current position as Policymaker and Advisor, we've all agreed that a scholarship is just the thing.'

‘Who's the interested parties?' Pynter studied the man's face closely.

‘I am not at liberty to say, sir. But believe me they're well-`meaning. One of them I understand you had some association with? Some people have a conscience – a rare thing in these times, if I may say so myself.'

‘Which person I had association with that I don't know nothing about?'

Bostin responded with an expression of sympathy. But that was all, he wasn't giving anything away. There was no one Pynter could even vaguely think of apart from Sislyn. But Sislyn would know nothing about his present situation.

‘Tell me about the scholarship.' Tinelle came around and wrapped her arms around Pynter's shoulders from behind.