Redemption in Indigo

'Take him inside and flush out his lungs,’ Kwame advised, taking pity on him at last.

Paama took the empty glasses back on the tray and walked Yao back to the house. Once inside, she made him drink a glass of goat's milk to soothe the irritation of the ginger, and then she passed him a honey-almond cake for the sake of comfort. He stood beside her at the window while she washed the dishes, and gazed outside, watching Ajit as he helped his father continue work on the trench.

Suddenly he felt very jealous.

'I wish I could stay out in the sun,’ he said angrily.

'But you can't,’ she replied with calm. ‘Not with your skin the colour it is.'

Yao did not ask why. He had asked why many years ago when he first struggled under the discipline of covering clothes, sheltering hats, and carefully timed outdoor sessions. Instead he said, ‘If I could choose, I'd want my skin to be. Blue. A really deep, dark blue.'

'Indigo,’ his mother clarified. ‘Yes, I bet you would.'

He did not look up at her, but he leaned against her in that affectionate way sons have with their mothers when they feel they are too old for all that babyish hugging and kissing. She leaned against him too, and splashed him with the dishwater, whether accidentally or on purpose he couldn't tell, but the smile she flashed him was mischievous.

'Your father and I have been thinking about travelling again. The Sisters have taught you all that a lay person can know, and it's time you boys were apprenticed anyway. What do you think?'

'I'd love to see what else there is besides Makendha,’ Yao said with enthusiasm. ‘As for being an apprentice? I know Ajit wants to be a tracker like Da,’ he added a little wistfully.

She glanced at him. Her face was sympathetic, but not pitying. ‘I'll teach you how to cook if you like. No need to be out in the sun for that.'

'Yes!’ he exclaimed, thrilled at the idea. Though he was her son and had grown up eating at her table daily, he was not immune to Paama's fame as a cook. ‘When can we start?'

'Today if you like. What would you like to make?'

He did not have to think for very long. The memory came to him, as the memories often did, although he found it impossible to discuss them with anyone except his twin brother.

'Chocolate cake,’ he declared.

Paama guided him through the recipe that very evening. It went rather well. He even tried a slice of the end result on Constancy, the family cat, and she too seemed to agree that he might yet have a future in the art of providing humans with sustenance.

* * * *

Karen Lord was born in Barbados in 1968 and decided to explore the world. After completing a science degree at the University of Toronto, she realised that the course she had enjoyed most was History of the English Language. Several degrees, jobs, countries, and years later, she had taught physics, trained soldiers, worked in the Foreign Service, and gained a PhD in sociology of religion. She writes fiction to balance the nonfiction she produces as an academic and research consultant. She lives in Barbados and now uses the internet to explore the world, which is cheaper.

Acknowledgements

To Dr Peter Laurie, for reading the very first draft, giving me excellent advice, and recommending that I enter the manuscript in the Frank Collymore Literary Competition; to the Reverend Dr Carol Roberts, for proofreading my PhD thesis and Redemption in Indigo and doing a brilliant job with both; to the Frank Collymore Literary Endowment Committee, whose award supported me both emotionally and financially as I strove to take my writing more seriously; to Nalo Hopkinson, for bringing the news of a local award to an international audience, and for continuing to promote Caribbean speculative fiction, not least through the example of her own award-winning works; to Small Beer Press, for accepting this manuscript; to Robert Edison Sandiford and other authors, for directly or indirectly helping me to navigate the business side of a writing career; to my father and my sister, for more than I can express; and to everyone—friends, family and strangers—for reading drafts, giving feedback, and keeping my muse motivated with their enthusiasm and interest, to all of you I say, ‘Thank you'.