A Kind of Eden by Amanda Smyth Page A

Mountains, the coastline up to Toco. She would love Las Cuevas, the Marianne River at Blanchisseusse. But not this trip. It would make for complications. And Trinidad is small; Safiya would hear about it soon enough. Why make things more difficult. There will be other opportunities further down the road.
    He says, ‘Next time.’
    â€˜But you’re coming home at Easter.’
    â€˜We can always visit for a holiday; I don’t have to be working here.’
    â€˜There are lots of places in the world to see,’ Miriam pipes up. ‘You promised to take me to Vietnam one day.’
    This is true, he had promised. But that was then.
    â€˜And Venice.’
    â€˜Venice is infested with rats and the canals smell awful, especially in the summer.’
    â€œWe could go in February for the carnival?’
    â€˜If you want Carnival, then Trinidad is the place.’ To Georgia, ‘Do you know how many people take to the streets and party? Thousands and thousands. They come from all over the world. The children’s carnival is incredible.’
    Miriam looks out of the window. ‘Well, that settles it then. We’ll just have to move to Trinidad.’
    And as they drive along the final stretch of the Windward Road and head towards the capital, he wonders for a moment what it would be like if Miriam was serious, if she wanted to live here. He had never actually considered it.

    For the moment, Miriam is avoiding any difficult conversations, and he is relieved. He doesn’t blame her. It was something his mother used to say—don’t look for trouble, it will find you soon enough.
    In her own way, he can see she is trying. He notices her new clothes; every day she models something different. To protect her hair, this dark new shade he does not like, she has taken to wearing a cowboy hat, and it looks, he thinks, ridiculous. She applies lip gloss, and checks herself in a white plastic mirror. A new habit. But there is something about the way she is holding herself together, her effort, that makes him pity her, and he doesn’t want to pity her.
    The fact is: Miriam has lost her moisture. She carries a dry quality like bread when it is old. She is only forty-six, and yet a part of her seems to have given up; she has relinquished a fundamental part of herself. He has met many mature Trinidadian women who, despite their years and personal struggles, hold on to something: a love of life, an easiness with themselves and the world around them, a certain
joie de vivre
. Yes, Miriam has had a difficult time, but she needs, now, to learn to kick back, to let go. At twenty-five, Safiya is dripping with moisture; and she will still have her moisture when she is Miriam’s age; of that he is certain. He wants to be there to see it.

S IX
    It is Tuesday afternoon. They have returned from the beach and everyone is cooling off inside. He sits in the veranda flicking through a local guide to the island when Miriam suddenly appears; he can see at once that she is agitated.
    â€˜Can you show me how to turn down the air conditioner?’
    â€˜Sure,’ he says, and follows her to their room.
    She is wearing a long T-shirt with a slogan on the front, it says: Go Girl! He wonders why she has bought a T-shirt like this and if it perhaps belongs to Georgia.
    â€˜It’s freezing,’ she says, ‘like England.’
    â€˜When you’ve been in the sun all day the air con feels cold. I know that feeling.’
    He adjusts the temperature and shows her how to work the digital control system. It is similar to the one in his apartment in Trinidad and easy enough to operate. He is about to leave when she sits heavily down on the bed.
    â€˜Please, come. Just talk with me for a minute. It feels weird. Everything feels weird. I don’t know what we’re doing. Here we are in paradise, but you’re out there looking at maps and I’m in here alone.’
    Her voice is shaky, and he