The Weight of Water (12 page)

And then she says,

‘You should have told me sooner.

Do you think Mama is an idiot?

This woman must think Mama is an idiot.

Tata thinks Mama is an idiot too.

It’s Tata and Kasienka now,

Isn’t it?’

I want to tell her that it will

Never be Tata and Kasienka –

It’s true, Tata doesn’t want her,

But he doesn’t want me either.

Mama is up and out the door

Before I can defend myself,

Before I can beg her to stay,

Before I can say ‘I love you

The Most.’

Guilty

We are playing Scrabble,

Staring at plastic squares and

Pretending to practise our English,

Permitting Polish and Swahili,

When Mama returns.

We know where she’s been because

Her face is swollen,

And she cannot speak.

Kanoro stands and moves to the door,

But Mama puts a hand out to stop him.

Stay.

‘Stay,’ I say,

Holding on to Kanoro’s shirt tail.

He brews Mama a drink

With something in it to help her play

Scrabble without wheezing.

Mama can’t look at me,

Even when I set down a long word.

I am glad Kanoro is here.

I wouldn’t have known

What to do with Mama

When she came home

All mixed up,

Like the letters in the Scrabble bag,

Carrying with her a terrible sadness

And showing it off so

Unashamedly.

Motherless

Mama is so angry with me.

White,

Light,

Silent anger.

She cooks my meals,

Washes my clothes,

Sleeps next to me at night.

But Mama slams the pots

so I can hear her anger,

And burns the stews

so I can smell it,

And she avoids my eyes;

Not an easy thing to do

When we live together

In one room.

She looks at me sometimes.

Sometimes I catch her looking.

And when I do

She turns away –

Slowly,

Deliberately.

         
 Enraged.

When I tell her I made

The swim team

She still won’t look.

She won’t look at me when I sit

Opposite her at dinner

Trying not to spill anything,

Even eating the onions.

She won’t look at me

In bed at night,

And if we accidentally touch,

She shakes me off like

She’s been bitten,

Like I’m poison.

So now I’m feeling too

Brittle to look at her.

Instead I stare at the

Hem of her dress,

Or a clip in her hair,

Or the rings on her fingers

When we speak.

And it all makes me feel

Like going swimming.

Desperation

It is

Not my fault

Tata doesn’t

Love you

Any more.

Can I say that to her?

Hope

Someone was cruel to Mama at work.

‘Sorry,’ I say.

Mama sniffs.

And now she wants to go home.

‘To Gdańsk?’ I ask.

She nods.

She hasn’t showered in days.

‘Really?’ I ask.

She nods again.

‘When?’ I ask.

Mama shrugs

Then puts her head into her hands and weeps.

Split

There are many Kasienkas now.

She has split into pieces and

Scattered herself about like fallen fruit

Beneath a leafless tree.

One Kasienka is Mama’s girl –

The Kasienka who chews quietly

And sleeps with a teddy bear in her arms.

She is muted and hidden and

Wants nothing more than to run to Tata –

To form a real family again.

Another Kasienka is Tata’s pilgrim,

The tight-lipped teenage Kasienka.

She is frightening and moody.

She is also William’s Cassie,

Shy-eyed and broad-backed –

A swimmer, but a girl before anything else:

A girlfriend with a mouth and breasts.

Cassie belongs to Clair too,

She smells of cabbage and fear.

She is a dumb, defiant victim.

But she is easily demolished.

If only I knew Kasienka’s Kasienka:

When I search for myself in the bathroom mirror

I cannot find her at all.

When I am alone

I do not know who I am.

When I am alone

I am nothing.

Part 3

Dalilah

You are the new girl in the class

And maybe they will hate you

         
 Instead of me.

They do it like this:

They look,

         
 They whisper,

         
       They laugh.

And it doesn’t sound like much,

But when it happens

         
 Every day

It feels like you’re walking uphill

Carrying a giant boulder on your shoulder.

You are the new girl in the class

And maybe they will hate you

         
 Instead of me.

Maybe they will notice your shoes.

I do.

         
 They are not like everyone else’s:

They are thick and buckled

         
 And you’re wearing knee-high socks

Which no one does.

But I only half want that –

I only half want you hunted.

Mostly I want a friend.

So when the teacher says,

‘Lily will need a partner,’

I throw up my hand,

Offer up myself to you,

And you look at me and smile

And that

         
 Makes

         
 My

         
 Day.

The Veil

Dalilah wears a purple veil and she is so pretty in it.

She is

         
 All eyes.

I make myself jealous looking at her,

Imagining my face framed,

My hair hidden beneath folds of fabric.

When I see women in the street

With veils down to their feet,

Chadors,

I am jealous too,

Jealous of their concealment,

Of a robe that would cover me

         
                 from head to toe

And hide me from the world.

It would be like a kind of armour,

A veil like that,

A veil that covered me

         
                 from head to toe

So no one could get in.

July 7

At 8.50 a.m. The Bell rings and we stand

To remember

What happened.

But Clair is looking at Dalilah

Forgetting,

Not remembering at all.

And at break we are surrounded

And Marie says,

‘Why did you say they deserved it?

I heard you. I heard you whisper to Cassie.

I heard you say that.’

And Dalilah looks at me because she was standing to remember

What we were all too young to remember

While Clair was standing looking at her.

In Mama’s Absence

There are balloons all over the place.

There are red balloons in the house

And more in the garden.

Helium balloons on string

To keep them from being

Captured by the sky.

William’s grandmother

Is having her birthday party

And she wanted balloons

Instead of waxy candles that would

Ruin the cake.

There is a barbecue in the garden

And William’s father

Is wearing a stripy apron and

Cooking everything outside.

Meats mainly.  

There is music

Coming from two heavy black

Speakers

Connected to an iPod

And a bouncy castle for the kids.

We both want to bounce

But his cousins are on it and they’re

Young –

And we don’t want to

Be like them.

Then William’s grandmother

Crawls into the castle and starts to jump

         
                 And jump

And I laugh

Out loud

With William.

I do not think she is like

Any grandmother

I have ever seen before.

I could not imagine Babcia

Bouncing.

So it’s OK for us to jump

Too.

And we do.

We hold hands and jump and jump

And I squeal a little

When I fall over,

When I fall on top of William,

Which I do

Again

And again.

William’s father doesn’t scowl

When we close

The bedroom door,

Just says, ‘Be good, kids.’

He turns on his computer