The Red Bra. (Short Story).

No one observing him standing there, not too far from the lingerie department, would believe that he has heard what has just been said. But, indeed, he has! In fact, he desperately resists the urge to turn in the direction of the somewhat familiar voice.

His eyes, fixed firmly on one of the many glass-panes that outline the limits of his country store, he observes on a nearby tree the few coloured leaves that continue to defy the frequent gusts of wind hurling their fellows tumbling in a whirl of dust along the unpaved road. Something most others would surely deem futility. Instead, he wonders whether he has really heard the words he thinks he heard a while ago.

And right now, as if to clarify his unexpressed uncertainty, he hears the voice again.

"What's wrong, young lady? Why do you stand there staring at me like that? Did you not hear what I asked? Did I not speak clearly enough or (raising her voice) loudly enough? Shall I repeat my request?"

As if repeatedly rehearsed before, two nearby heads immediately rotate from left to right and back again, as if to forestall the repetition of the question.

"Well then, my dear, how do you answer?" the voice inquires. "Yes or no?"

"Oh well, I really don't know, ma'am," the young lady in attendance answers, at the same time glancing at the figure standing before the glass-pane as if he were hypnotised by the image of himself reflected there.

He, the owner of the store, feels her eyes lingering upon him, but still manages to withstand the urge to turn around. Rather, he thinks, "There's something not quite right here. The voice is surely hers, so too the high and mighty attitude. But that cannot be Virginia!"

Now as he attempts to concentrate upon the leaves that still refuse to fall, he sees instead the image of a younger woman framed within the glass-pane. As she approaches, walking head-down against the autumn winds, he hears the peeling of the bells that summon all the villagers to worship at the little school house, just around the corner, some Sunday morning long gone by. He watches as she turns the corner and disappears into a whirlpool of dust and fallen leaves. But he is certain that he hears her footsteps as she mounts the wooden steps and enters through the age-worn doors.

"That's she, all right," he whispers aloud, forgetting for a moment just where he is and what the circumstances are. But he soon remembers and resumes his silent reminiscence.

"Yes, siree, that is Virginia Primson--the always proper, pink-faced, podgy darling of the village. The preacher's daughter, always simply but well dressed and mannerly. She whose name was always mentioned when unforgiving parents admonished their own children."

Smiling, he continues, "How well do I remember all the simple people of the village convinced that he, the son and only child of the one store owner here, was destined to seek and to receive Virginia's hand in marriage. He whose only mandate was to be always fully prepared to receive and carry on the business that his father had so well-established."

Recalling such things, he feels a worm of apprehension creepy-crawling up and down his spine. But he soon regains his apparent composure and smiles as he remembers that it has never happened. He has always been so dedicated to his father's wish, that there was never ever time for such banalities as dating, courtship and proposals.

"So here am I," he concludes," on this gusty autumn day, not filthy-rich, but well provided for--a respected citizen of his community, a happy (though still quite eligible) bachelor. And Virginia, what has become of her? Well, she's still a model of decorum. She's a fine lady, fairly attractive--though no beauty, to be sure. Poor soul, not long after her mother's unexpected death and that of her father, who seemed unable or unwilling to let the woman rest in peace, she withdrew into a fiercely guarded private life, within the confines of the modest house she had inherited. Poor Virginia Primson! She's too perfect for this world of ours. Oh well, perhaps she-"

But now he hears that voice again, but still cannot believe it, as it interrupts his thoughts.

"Pink? Pink? Not pink my dear, nor crimson, mauve or violet! Red! That's what I said. I want to purchase a red bra!

Red-faced, he finally turns around to confront the owner of the voice. Though embarrassed, he is more angry, angry that the others must have heard her and, moreover, at the possibility of a scandal that could shatter the peace and quiet of the village.

"Virginia, dear," he calls out as he approaches, "What seems to be the problem?"

"Seems to be the problem? Just listen to him, just listen to old Whimpy there! Always so condescending. No guts at all--no retaliation, even to a swift kick in the pants," she responds, at the same time acting out the kick and forcing the old Whimpy to instinctively go through the motions of protecting his now threatened parts.

"My! My! He eventually observes, "how have we changed! Little Miss Do Good seems to have lost her cool."

"And fat old Whimpy's still the same, growing yellow and brown with rust. Just like the leaves he so loves to contemplate."

"Victoria, please, consider the other customers. They're not accustomed to such scenes."

"Afraid you'd lose your zombies," she retorts, "and your supply of blood? You and your living dead! I care nothing for your kind. Thank God, I've been awakened--my ageing body has been revived. And just in time too! I feel the summer heat refusing to succumb to the threats of autumn. And like the leaves of summer, I intend to go with the winds of change--to follow rumble-tumble wherever they may lead me. And even though the wintry days must come, I intend to blossom into full life out of the doldrums of my recent life."

"Virginia! I mean... Miss Primson--"

"A RED bra! That's what I ordered. I want to feel my virgin nipples tingle fire-red with passion, passion stifled too long, deep within my breasts. Am I appalling, Whimpy dear? Do I embarrass you? You know, for a while there, I thought I saw your cheeks betray a touch of redness. Could there still be some life within the hulk? Who knows?"

"My dear, Virginia, you really must... must... must really leave now."

"No more, my dear boy, I shall leave now. I should have known that I would never find the object of my quest within your stock."

Still trying to discover an appropriate answer, the Whimp now watches as she turns and begins to leave the store. And for a moment, he thinks he sees the face that always was no more than just a face, begin to rearrange itself into a face that makes his heart grow restless.

Three days later, a pair of eyes observes the huge figure of a man making its way along the dusty street. They see the gusts of wind tug at his pants as he slowly but steadily approaches. And they watch him become repeatedly engulfed by dusty spirals of leaves pursuing their uncharted journey.

He, for his part, desperately hopes that he has left behind the aura that for such a long time has held him captive within his glass-walled cell. And as he nears the ivy-covered, thatched-roof house, he wonders if the cooling winds have raised some colour in his cheeks. But he does not see the pair of eyes that carefully take note of his every motion.

Then, as he knocks upon the thick oak doors he feels his bone-tired legs threaten to give way beneath his much too heavy body. He looks down with pity at his feet; then, with a grasp, he feverishly tugs at his pants-legs in a vain effort to cover up the blood-red socks he wears. And now he hears the fast-approaching footsteps and watches a familiar face appear there at the open door, and begin to re-arrange itself.

Moved by an unusual quickening of his pulse-beat, he hears a voice that sounded somewhat strange, address the face, "Hello, Virginia, and a good day to you."

Now he hears himself being welcomed by a familiar voice, "Good day Cornelius Comber, I've been expecting you.

Tickled pink with satisfaction, he watches as she takes the red roses from his hands and lifts them to her nostril. He hears her say, "Red roses I have always loved." And now, he feels his cheeks burn red as he realises that she has recognised the emblem on the neatly wrapped box he takes from under his light coat.

Just at that very moment, a gust of wind, bearing the last of the resistant leaves, throws up a dusty curtain that blinds them to the world around. But Cornelius Comber clearly observes the already re-arranged face assume the outlines of an unblemished beauty that invites him to come in out of the cool autumn air. Urged on by the blustering winds, he enters the small but comfortable room that brilliantly reflects the flames that sparkle in the fireplace.

Horace I. Goddard

A Selection of Barbadian Proverbs with correspondences from other countries

A

1. A coward dog keeps whole bones. (British.) a) A coward is full of precaution. (Somalia)

2. A man's best friend is his worse enemy. (British)

3. A fool says in his heart there is no God. (Bible)

4. A friend in need is a friend in deed. (British/Afghan))

5. A man's home is his castle. (British)

6. A man who cahn tek back 'e word ain't a man.

7. A barking dog seldom bites. (British) a) Barking dog saves biting. (Jamaica)

8. A dog that brings a bone will carry one. a) Whoever gossips to you will gossip about you. (Spanish)

9. A wicked boy chile is de heaviness of'e muddah womb. (Bible)

a) A bad son gives a bad name to his mother. (Ivory Coast)

b) It's a bad child who does not take advice. (Ashanti)

10. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. (British)

11. A man's mouth reveals his thoughts.

12. A t'ief t'ief from a t'ief an' mek God laugh.

13. A good name is better than riches. (British)

14. A bad chile is bettah than none at all.

15. A man dat live a big life should not die a pauper.

16. A licensed dog is a proper dog.

17. A liar must have a good memory.

a) Liars should have good memories. (Swahili)

b) Lies come back fuh haunt yuh.

18. A half loaf is better than no bread.

19. A forced-ripe man (woman) ain't no man (woman).

20. A square peg cahn fit in a roun' hole.

21. A good deed is worth returning.

a) A good deed is something one returns. (Guinea)

22. A fool and his money are soon parted.

23. A kind word turns away wrath.

a) Peaceful talking drives away anger.

b) Soft words turn away anger.

B

24. Birds of a feather flock together. (British)

25. Blood t'icker dan wata. (Jamaica/Br.variant)

26. Black bird may fly high but calm live in de sky (Calypso).

27. Black pot and soot is brother an' sister.

28. Between a rock and a hard place (Saying).

29. Between the devil and the deep blue sea. (British)

30. Bettah yuh know, bettah yuh speak.

a) Bettah yuh know, bettah yuh do (say).

31. Bettah a half loaf dan no bread at all.

32. Because yuh piss frothing, yuh t'ink you'se a man.

33. Beggars calm be choosers.

34. Bread is the staff of life. (British/Ashanti)

35. Before the storm, there's always a calm.

36. Beware of strangers bearing (bringing) gifts.

C

37. Children is de riches o' life.

a) Children are the reward of life. (Congo)

b) Children are a poor man's wealth. (Danish)

38. Crave all, lose all. (British variant)

a) If) you want all, you lose all. (Jamaica)

39. Confession is good for the soul.

a) Confessed faults are half mended. (Scottish)

40. Careless talk causes a man his life.

41. Come see muh, an' come live wid muh is two different t'ings.

a) "Come see me" an' "come lib wid me" a two different t'ing. (Jamaica)

42. Cat luck ain't dog luck.

a) What is bad luck for one man is good luck for another. (Ashanti)

43. Charity begins at home and ends abroad. (British)

44. Cut out yuh nose and spoil yuh features. (British variant)

a) Nuh cut yuh nose fi spwoil yu face. (Jamaica)

45. Crapaud wearin' collar-n-tie.

46. Cou-cou ain't done 'til de pot tek off de fire.

a) Cou-cou ain't done 'til de pot turn down.

47. Curiosity killed de cat.

48. Cast yuh bread 'pon de wata an' it shall return to yuh.(Bible)

49. Cut eye can't kill! Cut eye doan kill nobody.

D

50. De frog seh wha' is sport fuh you is death fuh me.

51. Dem higher up an' bettah off now.

52. Do so doan like so.

53. Discretion is the better part of valour. (British)

54. De wall have ears. (British variant)

a) Even the night has ears. (Tanganyika)

b) Even flies have ears. (Tanganyika)

c) Bush hab ears, wall hab yeye. (Jamaica)

55. Doan spit up in de air an' let urn fall back in yuh face.

a) If you spit in de sky, it wi' fall in a you face. (Jamaica)

56. De pot callin' de kettle black.

57. Doan heng yuh hat wey yuh han' calm reach urn.

58. De higher de monkey climb de more 'e show 'e tail.

a)De higher monkey climb de more him expose. (Jamaica)

59. De longest day got an end.

b) De higher monkey climb de plainer him tail show.

60. De longer yuh live de more yuh does learn (hear).

a) De longest day got 'e own night.

a)De more you lib de more you learn .(Jamaica)

61. De blin' leadin' de blin' an' both gine fallin de same hole (ditch). (British variant)

a) De blind had nuttin' but him 'tick. (Jamaica)

62. (When) De cat out de rat tek possession.

a) (When) De cat away de mouse does play.

63. De more yuh look de less yuh see. (Also Jamaica)

64. De same stick lick Tom, lick Dick.

65. De same knife stick sheep will stick goat.

66. Doan count yuh chickens before dem hatch. (British variant)

a) Doan count you chickens before dem hatch. (Jamaica)

67. Duppy know who to frighten.

a) Duppy know who him frighten.(Jamaica)

68. Doan trouble trouble an' trouble won't trouble you. (British variant)

69. Doan let yuh right foot know wuh yuh lef foot do.

70. Do good and good will follow yuh.

71. De berry doan fall too far from de tree.

72. De puppy lick 'e mout'.

73. Doan bite off more dan yuh can chew.

74. De dog dat bring a bone would carry one.

75. Doan seh de fust t'ing dat come to yuh mout'.

a) Do not say the first thing that comes to your mind. (Kenya)

76. Doan judge de book by de cover. (British)

77. Doan start wha' yuh cahn finish.

78. Doan throw out de baby wid de bath water.

79. Doan put off fuh tomorrow wha' yuh can do today.

80. Dead man can tell no tales. (British)

81. Day does run till night ketch um.

a) Day run, but night ketch urn. (Tobago)

82. Do fuh do ain't obeah.

83. De devil find work fuh idle han's to do.

The late Dr. Lorris Elliott was professor of English at McGill University. He was a novelist, anthologist and dramatist. He contributed significantly in bringing Black writing to the fore in Montreal.