When
I was a child growing up in Trinbago, I used to sit in our yard under a tree.
We had a Portugal —(A fruit of the citrus family) tree, two avocado —zaboca
trees, a governor plum tree —(a small round purple in color fruit which must be
rolled and squeeze in the hand to soften, to get the sweetness and flavor) and
a caimite tree —(a milky fruit). One day while I was sitting under the caimite
tree, I heard some of my friends playing on the street, but I did not join
them, I stayed where I was reading and eating fruits. It was a sunny day and
one of the neighbors was over a tub washing clothes. She was pregnant and I
watch her walked slowly inside the house. A few minutes later I heard a pot spoon
hitting a pot. The food she was cooking smelt good. I continued reading so I
did not see when she came back to her washing. Suddenly I heard a male voice.
It was her husband. “I am home for lunch and you are not finished cooking!” He
shouted.
“I’m
sorry. The food is finished, let me dish out some for you,” She said in a soft
frightened voice as she turned off the pipe, then, slowly walking towards the
step to go into the house.
“So
you are going to give me raw food!” He said taking off his belt then he started
to beat her with it. I was in shock as I watched this woman with one hand up
trying to block the blows and the other blocking her belly. He beat her and she
begged him to stop, but he didn’t. I was scared and I started to cry. One of my
sisters shouted at me to come into the house, but I was glued to the spot. She
eventually came and took me inside. Weeks later our neighbor died in childbirth
and her husband got married soon after she passed. He was the first man I
detested…
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