I take Josephine for an apparition, a ghost. I’ve lost all sense of time. So she thinks that if something’s a problem, then I should forget about it; what problems could I possibly have? Now, none. I feel light, I could float up and away in this plastic chair, above the bell tower of the church, gazing down at the tamarind tree. The Tamarind Tree, I say aloud, and laugh; there it is, still, the tree that offered shade to Livingston’s students, the ones who formed an emancipated society and owned land, the ones he was going to teach to be free. But many didn’t know what to do without the figure of the master. I watch the woman chuckling to herself, saying something I don’t understand. People have started to stream out of the church and into the hall, now lit blue again; I watch the little human forms trooping down the stairs. She smiles again.

‘How much fi everything, Miss Josephine?’ I ask in timid Creole. People will be coming out, searching for those crab empanadas. I’m steady again. I check the monitor: 110 milligrams per decilitre.

‘Nada, mamita. Your family already paid for it.’

‘No, Miss Josephine!’ I shove the sensor into my purse and hurry to stand. I’ve been so still that I feel like I’m really floating. My arms and legs are asleep.

‘Really, mami,’ she says calmly. She rises, too, slow, almost ceremonial. ‘You’re probably my grand-niece or some such, and with green eyes to boot! Good, prity gyal, just look pan dem, ancestors!’ She lifts an arm and waves an imaginary flag. I laugh again, looking at her. I insist in vain. I wish she’d give me a hug. She could be my Maa Josephine, or Big Mama Josephine. She’s made of sweetness, a great big sugar cake. I approach her, touch her arm, and thank her fervently in all the languages I know. Maa Josephine just pats me on the back. ‘All right, Mami!’

I could cry. I feel airy, lightweight. ‘Everything irie, Miss Lynton!’ Josephine cries. People have begun to flood the pavement. I cross and start down the street when I see a tall, slender woman coming towards me. Silvery sandals, knee-length purple skirt, form-fitting over-the-shoulder yellow blouse. Long braids. Impossible not to notice her.

‘Gyal! Whe’ yo deh?! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!’ Juleen shouts.

‘Miss Juleen!’ I yell back and give her a hug as tight as the last time I saw her at school.

‘I had to step out… You look gorgeous, Miss Juleen!’ She really is radiant.

‘An whe’ yo guain? Mami, we’ve got a thinkin’ run-
down,’ she says, coaxing me with her delicate voice and long lashes. ‘Where have you been?’

‘A thinkin’ what? That sounds exotic…’