Lost Love Songs of Boysie Singh -  Ingrid Persaud

Lost Love Songs of Boysie Singh (eBook)

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2024 | 1. Auflage
480 Seiten
Faber & Faber (Verlag)
978-0-571-38652-9 (ISBN)
15,99 € inkl. MwSt
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FROM THE WINNER OF THE INDIE BOOK AWARD FOR FICTION 2021 'With Ingrid Persaud's, assured, wizened and brilliant hand at the pen, these women become vitally, thrillingly, and unforgettably alive.' MARLON JAMES 'A voice that has a vibrancy of its own.' RACHEL JOYCE 'A talented and engaging storyteller.' Sunday Times 'Persaud has a knack for finding the sublime in the ordinary.' SARA COLLINS, Guardian From the award-winning author of Love After Love, comes an epic of wonder, danger and risk. This is the tale of four women. Popo: brilliant, vulnerable and stuck. She's determined to free herself from the traps of her past. Mana Lala: a devoted mother - her only connection to her man is their little boy, and she will do anything to keep them both close. For Doris, well, he's glorious and once she's licked him into shape, her husband presents an opportunity to climb the social ladder. She's heard the awful stories, but she's sure they won't be hers. Rosie just wants to mind her business, her lover, Etty, and her store. Four lives, connected and controlled by one man: the notorious, charismatic gangster Boysie Singh. Pull up a chair and let these women tell of the man they believed could love, help or free them, and how some of them survived to tell a tale at all. PRAISE FOR LOVE AFTER LOVE 'A beautiful book. I adored it.' RICHARD OSMAN 'Full of wit and soul.' TRACY CHEVALIER 'It made me ugly cry.' JESSIE BURTON 'Glorious' RACHEL JOYCE

Ingrid Persaud's debut novel, Love After Love, won the Costa First Novel award, the Author's Club First Book Award and the Indie Book Award for Fiction. Other prizes include the BBC National Short Story Award and the Commonwealth Short Story Prize. She was born in Trinidad and lives in London.
FROM THE WINNER OF THE INDIE BOOK AWARD FOR FICTION 2021'With Ingrid Persaud's, assured, wizened and brilliant hand at the pen, these women become vitally, thrillingly, and unforgettably alive.' MARLON JAMES'A voice that has a vibrancy of its own.' RACHEL JOYCE'A talented and engaging storyteller.' Sunday Times'Persaud has a knack for finding the sublime in the ordinary.' SARA COLLINS, GuardianFrom the award-winning author of Love After Love, comes an epic of wonder, danger and risk. This is the tale of four women. Popo: brilliant, vulnerable and stuck. She's determined to free herself from the traps of her past. Mana Lala: a devoted mother - her only connection to her man is their little boy, and she will do anything to keep them both close. For Doris, well, he's glorious and once she's licked him into shape, her husband presents an opportunity to climb the social ladder. She's heard the awful stories, but she's sure they won't be hers. Rosie just wants to mind her business, her lover, Etty, and her store. Four lives, connected and controlled by one man: the notorious, charismatic gangster Boysie Singh. Pull up a chair and let these women tell of the man they believed could love, help or free them, and how some of them survived to tell a tale at all. PRAISE FOR LOVE AFTER LOVE'A beautiful book. I adored it.' RICHARD OSMAN'Full of wit and soul.' TRACY CHEVALIER'It made me ugly cry.' JESSIE BURTON'Glorious' RACHEL JOYCE

I raised my head and my sleepy gaze followed the line of interlocking black hairs that trailed up his belly.

Boysie, you hear somebody outside?

He sucked his teeth in a long steupse.

No.

You think Dave reach back?

Less the talking, nah. He’s in some carnival fete, two drink in he head. It’s Ash Wednesday before you seeing that ugly face.

While he’s there talking he flipped me over and sat on my face. Shoved his laar straight down my gullet.

This will shut you up.

I stopped breathing just in time. He kept ramming until I gagged. Put a shilling on my mattress and all man come the same way. So long as they don’t rough me up where it shows, I ain’t vexed. Otherwise, they’re interfering with my livelihood. When he’s ready Boysie’s hand can be like a hammer. I tired warn him. Do your do but leave my face alone. And best not to mark up my leg or my hand either. A little licks every now and then. Fair enough. Back, backside, stomach, tot-tots is all right. Dave does go crazy if a mark showing and I didn’t tell him so he could charge extra. Them times I does run or else it’s more licks on top of what I done take.

Boysie shifted and jooked me from behind. Forget all the long talk. In that position he’s finishing in two-twos. Of course I ah-ahed and ooh-oohed as if this jook sweet like sugar cane. My noise gets him going. Shame he can’t finish looking at me.

Afterwards, eyes half open, he tugged the chadar to cover up, and propped himself on the crocus bag pillows, stuffed thick and firm with dried coconut husk.

Aye, Popo, bring your sona a cup of water, nah.

You ain’t no sweetheart. Get your own water. And where my money?

By now he should know I ain’t making joke but he can’t help himself.

Money, poi poi? What for?

Boysie, doux-doux, a little freeness now and then is all right. But ain’t Dave warn you to pay or don’t show your face here?

He skinned he teeth. Soon as he leaves I best clean up this room, yes. Them dirty wares belong in a bucket ready to wash by the standpipe.

Ain’t I is your man? Last night when I bring rum and roti you did well glad to see me.

I watched him cut eye.

You think Dave will say, oh, as you bring thing for Popo, take one on the house?

Dave Leach is an asshole, old neemakharam. Why I must pay for milk when it’s my cow?

I buss out laughing.

Oh gosh, don’t carry on so nah, man.

You is my woman. Story done.

Boysie saying I is he own when two of we know that by the time he leave and reach the road he done forget me. Until that laar needs a warm hole I might as well not exist. I played like I was vex vex.

Look at my crosses. Dave saying it’s he cow and you here bawling is your cow.

He pawed at me until I offered his greedy mouth my tot-tots. He had a dry suckle half-hour ago. It doesn’t matter. Each time he latches on it’s as if he never got breast before. Can’t seem to help he-self. I gave him a minute or two on each side then gently tugged to get away.

It’s my dood all you man drinking and I ain’t have a farthing to show for it.

He grabbed and suckled hard then kissed me like he was leaving Trinidad.

That Leach and the whole maakaachood gang he’s posing up with can wait right there. You see me? I ain’t paying a red penny.

Aare! Get Dave vexed. Next thing he’ll buss your head.

Boysie looked like he’d sucked lime. I poked he chest.

And what about me, eh? Dave might let you get away with thing but who getting your share of the licks? Me. Put a little something in my hand let we keep everybody sweet, nah. Hard ears, I said no. Now, stop harassing me and bring a cup of water fast before you feel my hand.

Boysie doesn’t give a shit about how much ruction he’s bringing on my head. In fact, it’s the direct opposite. He over love a fight. Feel he’s a big badjohn. I must ask him how much years he have. Can’t be more than a year or two above me so, what, twenty-two, twenty-three. And that right there is the problem. Young and strong. Older fellas don’t carry on so. They understand not to cause commess. I treat them nice; they pay and crawl back where they come from until the next time. Boysie thinks giving me sweet eye and bringing a little food does spring open my legs for free.

I wanted to wash myself and sweep this place. But he’s only play asking for water and pushing me with he foot. Joke or no joke, I fell off the mattress and landed on my bottom. Lucky thing this house leepayed just the other day. Say what you want, I does make sure every few months this hut’s leepayed good and proper. A regular, nice Indian fella, at least thirties, he does help me. Together we mix cow dung with white mud from the river, throw in some water and use that to plaster the walls and ground, smoothing it with a cloth.

Suddenly an elbow jooked my side.

Popo, for the last time, move your blasted korheellary foot and bring my water. You’re getting lazy like the rest of them girls.

Oh, so I lazy now? I wasn’t lazy for you last night, though? And which rest of them girls you’re talking about? Them does bother with you when your pocket empty? Damn poohar, yes.

I pulled myself off the floor and took my cool time zipping my dress. What he go do me? I felt a hand rubbing my leg before he yanked me and I fell on top him. He watched me straight in my eye then kissed me hard. I ain’t go lie. That look does tingle even a hard-back woman like me.

The sun was sweeping a gentle light under the door and throwing tiny circles on the walls.

Instead of bothering me for water make tracks nah, man. You’re lucky I let you stay the night. Go now before anybody see and tell Dave you left morning time and I ain’t even charge for an hour.

Boysie stretched like a stray cat.

Bring the water and I go leave you in peace.

All right, but put on your clothes. I ain’t want no fight breaking out. See me here? I ain’t ready to sit down in no hospital or worse yet, a funeral home.

I picked up an empty bucket and eased the door open to a glowing orange sky. By the roadside was a standpipe. Filled to the top and that bucket is nuff clean water for the whole day. As I turned to walk back I heard my name called.

Popo. Popo. What happen? You’re deaf or what?

My stomach dropped and my skin felt instantly cold. Only one person says my name like it’s dog they’re shooing. When that voice says jump, I only ever open my mouth to ask, how high? And don’t think I’m the only one ’fraid him. Dave is the kind of fella you’re never sure will hug you up or cuff you down. All depends on he mood. And watch nah, he’s a proper boss man in Port of Spain. When it comes to running girls, gambling, protection money, that kindna thing, whole parts of the city locked down tight in he hand.

What you have for me?

Aye, boss, things slow.

Carnival Tuesday morning with all them Yankees and Limeys in town and you ain’t have work? What happen?

Ease me up, nah, boss. This evening I go have something for you. For sure for sure. You see me toting water. Soon as I bathe I’m hitting the road.

Dave put he two hands on he hips like a market woman.

All these years together and this is how you’re treating me?

I ain’t lying, boss. Today will have plenty work.

I was talking loud loud, hoping please, Ram Sita Ram, Boysie had managed to slip out. If he hadn’t by now he would be stuck. They’ll see him clear. My hut doesn’t have a window he could jump out of to make tracks through the bush. Leave by the door now and Dave’s bound to spot him.

So wait nah, you telling me it didn’t have fares last night? Nobody ain’t even see you by the gap. You wasn’t with that waste-of-time coolie Boysie Singh?

Me? You done tell me to run Boysie if he come looking for freeness. I know what’s what.

His bloodshot eyes bored into mine.

Popo, you know what he’s after?

Well, yeah.

No, chupidee. Boysie...

Erscheint lt. Verlag 23.4.2024
Sprache englisch
Themenwelt Literatur Historische Romane
Literatur Romane / Erzählungen
ISBN-10 0-571-38652-0 / 0571386520
ISBN-13 978-0-571-38652-9 / 9780571386529
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