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 joined in. She dived, emerging next to the other girls. All four of them treading water, looking up at me.
“Oh come on,” Junie begged, “the water’s real nice. You’ve no idea what you’re missing.”
“Look at this!” Yvette shouted. She dived and we saw her two skinny legs shoot up in the air. She remained like that for a split second before disappearing into the water. She re-emerged sputtering and laughing.
“You found it again!” Sophie shouted. “I can’t believe it! You always find the stone first!”
The stone was in the middle of the river and very difficult to find. It, too, was legendary, for it wasn’t unusual for someone to spend an entire day under the bridge and not find the stone. Like ole crab and rivermumma, the stone was said to appear only to those it wanted to stand on it. Now all the girls crowded onto the stone, held hands and started singing and shouting at the top of their voices. Every so often one or other of them would fall off the stone, because it was not large enough to hold four people.
“Let’s play a ring game,” Monique suggested.
“Yes!” Yvette agreed, arms flailing about. “A ring game! Let’s play a ring game!” She was having the time of her life.
“Which one? Which one?” Junie asked, equally excited. Anyone looking on would not have believed they were the same two girls who almost came to blows a moment before.
“Stagolee!” Sophie shouted. “I am Stagolee!”
The others chimed in: “Stagolee stole the cookie from the cookie jar.”
“Who me?” Sophie asked, bracing back and pointing a finger at herself and looking at the other girls.
“Yes, you!” they shouted back, in joy.
“Couldn’t be,” Sophie said, shaking her head and shoulders from side to side, denying the theft.
“Then who?”
“Number four,” Sophie said pointing and laughing at Yvette, “stole the cookie from the cookie jar.”
“Who me?” Yvette asked, pointing a finger back at herself and shaking her head.
“Yes you!”
“Couldn’t be!”
“Then who?”
“Number one stole the cookie from the cookie jar.”
With all the singing and rocking
