Fire And Brimstone
Photo from UWISRC
Content Warning: Psychological Violence
Sou sat in the darkness of the mountains where they had exiled her. “I have one little outburst and suddenly every time I grumble, everybody tense.” She muttered to herself as she sat in her corner. She wasn’t troubling nobody, yet everybody walked on the other side of the street, casting furtive glances her way. They said she was scheduled for another outburst, some big display that would prove how “mad” she truly was. Sou just listened and grumbled, occasionally pulling on her pipe and releasing the smoke gingerly through her lips. The smoke is how they knew she was up, her greeting for the day— too much smoke and they would fly into a panic. Her lips had grown dark and chapped from the smoke, her eyes like bleeding slits darting from person to person. Her face as taut as her strained pleas to be heard, Sou was the picture of exhaustion. It wasn’t always like this.
Sou was vibrant in her youth, the main attraction due to her magnificent beauty and fiery personality. People from all over the island came to experience her— from all over the world. Sou was by no means an attention seeker, she normally kept quiet and behaved but she wasn’t at all afraid of the spotlight. Everybody complimented her profusely and she drank it all in. They all wanted a photograph with her, proof that they knew her and spent time with her.
“Sou just listened and grumbled, occasionally pulling on her pipe and releasing the smoke gingerly through her lips.”
Art by L.E.M., Intersect Antigua
She hosted many trips, picnics, birthday outings but then Sou fell sick. When she first started coughing and grumbling people weren’t too concerned and continued to visit her. Then came the outbursts, sometimes she would lose herself in a fit of rage, forget her grammar, and slip into her creole. With the outbursts came the doctors, warning them to stay away. All of a sudden Sou was “dangerous” and needed to be “monitored closely” for any new developments. Anything that didn’t look “proper” and sound “proper” was a threat. The youth seemed to be sucked out of her as her complexion began to grey. She still tried for a smile at strangers but when they didn’t nervously return it, they visibly cringed and retreated. The diagnosis changed everything.
Is one thing for people to suspect something off with you, is another thing when it get confirm. Sou knew how this story ended— isolation. News spread fast in this country and discrimination right behind it. Sou’s neighbours get warn that she chip off already and in the event of another episode they go have to move. People who she custom to, whose shops benefit from the crowds she bring. She remember how everybody would shout she and big she up. She used to make them proud they say but these days they quiet quiet. Windows and louvers shut because if they see she how they go look away? So, what choice she have but to grumble to sheself? She have nobody to listen.
“Is one thing for people to suspect something off with you, is another thing when it get confirm. ”
She didn’t blame everybody when they began to stay away. After years of using her body, littering where she slept, and making themselves at home for indefinite periods of time; perhaps she had taught them how to disrespect her. She had no autonomy, once you become well-known, people assume they have a right to your person. You become more of a symbol than an individual, worshipped or despised instead of loved and known. Sou had listened in silence when her visitors joked about her being unstable, about how she could chip off at any time and kill them all. She had listened with a quiet smile, afraid to ask what they meant and too timid to tell them to stop expecting her to clean up after them. Just like their garbage, her rage was building. They say it’s always the quiet ones.
Yes, Sou had no autonomy. When you come homeless, they think YOU have no right to your person. She could feel the madness bubbling deep in she, or maybe it was anger. Look how they cast she to the side now that she could no longer gi dem “nice time”. She didn’t even have a soul to vent to and so she grumble to sheself and feel the anger grow like coal pot on the fire of her madness. She know how the story go already. No sympathy for “mad” woman in this land. If they could hold she, is straight mental home they would carry she. They would never stop to think bout wey dem do, how them provoke she, they would only see the ugly black smoke and the brimstone hot anger.
Sou’s rage made her tremble and a chill swept through the neighbours. They were strong believers in ignoring until they could no longer see the problem. If they could do it with COVID, they could do it with her. So, even when she coughed and the tendrils of the black smoke began rising out of her mouth daily to snatch their peace, they ignored. When her once vibrant flesh turned dark and cracked like jabless heel, they ignored that too. They always said, if you were loud enough people would pay attention and help but the louder she got, the more they ignored. People see the fire and brimstone and assume that the day you collapse is hell, but true hell is all the silent days of torment leading up to that moment. Sou had made up what was left of her mind.
“She didn’t even have a soul to vent to and so she grumble to sheself and feel the anger grow like coal pot on the fire of her madness. She know how the story go already. No sympathy for “mad” woman in this land.”
Then on April 9th 2021, just a few days before her birthday, she keep she promise. Since she small the people round Sou love to keep sousou hand. Every month the hand change, everybody get a turn to collect as long as dem put. So the hand go, so life go. If you never put down how you go collect? And them people putting down for years. Them put she down when the man dem come collect from she body what they never put down. Them put she down when them find out madness never far from she. Sou bawl out for years but who does listen? Them put down the abuse and Sou never know how to do anything but hold um up. Now when it ready to leggo dem nah ready fuh collect them hand.
Culture of silence. Sou was normally so quiet but the moment she spoke up she was deemed problematic. So it was, for women in this land. They were expected to be the backbone, the spine everybody can climb. The moment they express dissatisfaction with being the societal ladder, there it was the scorn and the silencing. The women allowed to speak were the mouthpieces of men, but not Sou. She was fearless and free-spirited— one with nature herself. She was always watchful when she was younger but as the years went by and she deteriorated her watchfulness increased. There was a way in which society deemed people like Sou eyesores, and yet—they tried their best to act like those people were invisible. If you don’t see them, you aren’t forced to acknowledge that they are living, breathing people and not simply scourges on the face of the country. It’s harder to refuse them a dollar when you’ve made eye contact. Harder still to keep walking when you’ve come face to face with the reality of your privilege. Hold your breath and your head straight as you walk by, stay silent in hopes that your silence will make you invisible because if the needy can’t see you they can’t look to you for help. That’s the privilege people with autonomy possess—selective invisibility. For those like Sou, being invisible took a toll.
They would say Sou lose it after officials keep telling she man to stay way. He always climb the mountains to come see she, regardless of her cough, and the weather. She know him long time and he genuinely love she, even after she face start sink in and she eye come hollow and red. He used to take pictures when he visit and she sometimes wonder what he scheming to do, but the company was nice. He didn’t mind when she grumble or when the coughs shake she. He stick by she as long as he could and for her that mean everything. Come to think of it, that must be why she spare he.
Sou wasn’t a stranger to violence. In her youth she had many episodes, two notable ones to date. The last one went on for months leaving those who witnessed it shaking. It always happened around her birthday in April. Maybe it was some traumatic experience that triggered her, maybe it was the lack of help she received. Whatever it was, on April 9th, just a few days before her birthday, Sou’s hand had finally opened and the sousou would be plentiful. True to her last episode, Sou released her wrath on everyone as hot anger spewed from her mouth and her neighbours evacuated. Nobody believed in the system of getting and giving deservedly like Sou did. Everybody eventually got theirs, whether they liked it or not. Besides, if God hand was delayed in the sousou, she had no problem being His substitute.
“Dem people going learn today. Ah mek up like a chimney—chest puff out, mouth blowing smoke. The likkle bit a oxygen rattle in me lungs like pressure tablets in a tin, drownin’ out screams ah d neighbours bout how me “blow”. If ah madness dem want they go see it today.”
Sou pelt rocks at the people til them run in the house and shut up the windows. Vehicles start haul out with speed barely missing some frunted people with them phone out recording she meltdown. Sou stan’ up full height—somehow in the process of breaking down, taking a stand—and blow again. Vengeance was the Lord’s, but she? She was His hand in the earth.