The Preasure Release Valve

THE PRESSURE RELEASE VALVE

Derek Selvon

The world was still flat back then and you couldn't feel the

August sun burn your face and shoulders or the searing hot asphalt

under your bare feet. Two months holidays from school meant one thing

to a thirteen-year old boy living in his fourteen-year old nation;

play. Play as hard and fast as you can before the sun sets or worst –

you get called inside to do a chore or run an errand and every boy on

Knox Street, San Fernando knew this. From the time the kis-kee-dee

woke you in the morning, you brushed your teeth and powered up on a

high-octane fuel of tea and bake with salt fish or smoked herring or

cheese or the ever-faithful Blue Band Margarine and you went outside

to face the day like a rapacious predator preying on time. Run, don't

walk. Cricket, football, schooch, three-hole, giant step/baby walk,

red light green light one two three, hop scotch, moral, tag or rescue:

do what you want. Every unfenced yard, every mango or guava or bird

pepper tree, or shallow-bennie plant was everybody's property- you

could make a "chow". You were laughing or crying, arguing, quarreling,

fighting or just "liming". You could scoop up seven colours and

jumperbelles from the drain with a Klim-pan or make a kite with brown

paper, flour paste, coconut leaf stems and your mother's old sheets or

shoot green lizards with hard grass stalks from slingshots made from

rubber bands and bicycle spokes. But if you wanted to show off how

brave you were and risk getting into trouble and a possible cut-arse

all you had to do was pelt a stone or two at Tire Service.

The Tire Service Company Ltd. Was housed in an old, ugly, two

story, acre large galvanize building surrounded by a galvanize fence.

The front of the structure was on Cipero Street and the back was on

Knox Street. Rubber pellets, old tires and bales of assorted wires and

cables were delivered at the back and the end product of new and

repaired tires were packed on trucks for transport at the front of the

building. The galvanize would reflect the sunlight during the day like

a blinding beacon but at night after the workers had left, the

compound was poorly lighted and dismal and foreboding noises came from

there. One was a creaking; banging clatter that occurred all through

the night, which my father explained was caused by the cooling and

expansion of the steel and galvanize that contracted in the heat of

the day. The other was a thunderous hissing that shattered the silence

two or three times a night. My father said it was caused by a

"pressure release valve." The latter haunts my nightmares even today.

I named it "The Girl Screaming Monster Noise."

Throwing stones at the building was entertaining because it made a

loud noise on contact, but it was nothing compared to the ruckus the

machinery inside made. The problem was Mr. Cooper; the foreman with a

colossal mustache, hated it. He asserted that it was hazardous to his

men and would rush outside the gate with his hands on his hips and

barrel belly protruding.

"Who do dat?" he would shout. "Why allyuh so? Who do dat?"

You were quickly identified by your loyal playmates because one; you

were stupid to do it in the first place and cause trouble, two; nobody

wanted to drink medicine for your fever and three; Mr. Cooper knew

every boy by name and would sometimes reward you with shiny ten cent

and twenty-five cent pieces if he affirmed that you were 'good' but

would without doubt complain to your parents if you were 'bad' or

"wotless" as he would say. The money could buy Snow Cones from the

unhygienic vendor who passed by on his bicycle in the hot midafternoon

sun. Still, pelting a stone at that building was something you just

had to do sometimes.

We lived next door to the Company on Knox Street, the galvanize

fence bordering one side of our yard. It was home and everywhere else

was somewhere else but with two daily newspapers, two AM radio

stations, one television station and a big public library in San

Fernando; you couldn't escape the link with the rest of the universe.

There was Dr. Eric Williams, the nation's first Prime Minister,

wanting to build schools all over Trinidad and Tobago, cane farmers

and oilfield workers were striking in protest for better wages and

conditions and Black Power activists in dashikis and sandals were

staging protest marches for, well, black power. The police were

indiscriminately beating citizens and Rastafarians were "chanting down

Babylon". Teenagers wanted to be a hero like Luke Skywalker and be

able to disco dance like John Travolta and own a color TV and the

biggest record players with enough LPs and 45s to last a lifetime and

afros that won't go flat on one side; bell bottom pants with bells as

big as their sisters' skirts and shoe heals as tall as El Cerro del

Aripo . I needed somebody to please explain to me why they were

building so many nuclear bombs when there were already two World Wars

and millions died and what it meant that the country was now a

Republic?

It was the end of one of those days when the malevolence came

home and I began to die. Andy, Ricardo and I were sitting on the curb

talking about cigarettes and the two sisters down the street and

speculating about breasts and masturbation and mulling over how fast

Haseley Crawford really was when my father called me. I went to him

and he was sitting on his work bench smoking a cigarette; the glow at

the tip was brighter than the fading sunset behind his silhouette. His

command was simple; the one usually reserved for this hour:

"Go an' wash yuh foot an' pick up ah book."

I complied without gripe and was settling downing to some hot tea

with hops-bread and black pudding (blood sausage) sliced, dipped in

egg and fried when Roger and Terrance, cousins from next door came

bounding up the stairs. They were both about seven or eight years old,

their eyes were wide and wild with exhilaration and they were out of

breath.

"Uncle Irving! Uncle Irving come quick! It have a chile crying in

Tire Service!" Terrance gasped each word.

"Hush yuh mouth boy, is cat mating. Is so dey does go." My father

dismissed him with a wave of his hand and a wry smile.

"No Uncle Irving is ah child! It saying mammy!" Roger hopped from

foot to foot. My father sucked his teeth in disgust.

"Boy, ah tell alluh dat is how cat does go." But he got up and went

into his bedroom and came out with his Colonial army-issued flash

light: a brass World War Two monstrosity that could bash the head of a

man or a hippopotamus. He took deliberate but hurried steps down the

stairs and I left my dinner and hurried at his heels. If this could

ignite his interest, it was in all probability too good to miss. Roger

and Terrance were already out the gate to the part of the fence on the

street.

"Come on this side Uncle Irving. Come on this side." Merle and

Teresa, the mothers of the boys were already there.

"Dat really sounding like a chile, Uncle Irving." Merle said with

confidence as we approached them.

"Alright, alright. Allyuh hush leah mih see." But he listened, his

head tilted on one side. He would have the final say for he was the

perpetual expert on every topic and in every situation.

"Hush allyuh," Teresa said to the boys and we listened. I could

hear Neighbor Rodney's eight-track distorting a 'Bob Marley and the

Wailers' song down the street.

"Mammiee, ma-mee." It sounded like a cat in heat to me; but my

father knew better.

" Kelvin! Kello!" he called, "come out here boy, come quick."

Kelvin came out on his porch in his underwear scratching his

testicles. He was my father's nephew; the son of an older sister and

Merle's husband. He was a short, red, burly man with shoulder length

hair and a rich beard and a tattoo of the head of a Native American

chieftain on one arm and a ship's anchor on the other.

"Eh? Wha' allyuh seein' dey? Ah manicou?" but he wasn't about to be hurried.

"Come quick boy." My father insisted. "Put on ah pants an' come quick."

"Is ah baby Uncle Kello," Terrance informed at the top of his

lungs, "come an' see."

"Hush yuh mout, you." Teresa admonished. By now there were faces

in the windows and inquires from the verandas.

"Wha' it is? Wha' allyuh see?" Mrs. DeVertuil and Mrs. Herbert

came inquiring in their thin nightwear and slippers. Mr. Herbert was

bareback. A little crowd would soon assemble.

"Whey it is? Whey it gorn?" Kelvin came out with a flashlight and

a baton to kill the manicou. I could see him thinking: curry and yam.

"Kelvin, put down de wood and help meh wid dis galvanize. You hold

dis." He gave me the flashlight. "Flash the torch where ah could see,

eh." That was a warning.

They both held the edge of a galvanize sheet and ripped the nails out

but we could see nothing inside the compound.

"Hush allyuh. Let we listen." Kelvin said and the people stopped

breathing. My father went through the fence into the compound and

Kelvin and I followed. The beams of the flashlight created eerie

dancing shadows all around me. "Hush, hush. Listen, listen."

"Mammy? Mammy?" I crawled through some tangled steel and came face

to face with a troll or a demon dwarf or some kind of fiend come to

life from a Heman cartoon and it started to hobble toward me. "Mammy?

Mom?" At the same time the pressure release valve went off right

beside me, louder than I ever heard and something came out from my

chest never to return and a scorching iron burned on the canvas of my

mind the image of a three year old girl. Her tiny hands were tied in

front of her with red and black electrical wire. She wore a bloody

white vest and her pretty pink panties were tied around her neck.

One eye was blood-shot from a blow and the other looked out helplessly

from a plastic face stained with tears and mucus and semen. Blood and

shit left tracks on her legs and

feet and her vagina was a torn little mass of flesh slowly dripping

little drops of blood.

I bawled and she shuddered and screamed and screamed. The noise from

the pressure release valve ended and there was hot steam everywhere.

My father said softly;

"Kelvin, lift up this chile, leh we go from here." She protested

in fear but he took her up and we went back through the fence and it

was like bringing the neighbors waiting there a gift from hell. He put

the child to stand in the street and sat down beside her and said

nothing. My father said nothing. I looked at everyone and the girl

looked up at everyone. Merle broke the silence;

"Oh God," she said, "is ah chile in truth. Wha' happen, she

fall down?" Teresa stood with her arms fold observing the girl with a

perplexed look. I watched her face as the complete horror pierced her

understanding and she wailed from the depth of her.

"Oh God allyuh, somebody rape this chile! He rape de chile, he rape

de chile!" She kept spinning round and round, shaking both hands at

the wrist as if pleading with everyone to make it all go away. The

women surrounded the child, fussing and crying uselessly. The men

backed away from her like she had a disease. The girl started to

scream once more; terrified of the many hands on her.

"What is 'rape?'" Terrance asked meekly. Mrs. DeVertuil noticed

him and spun him round at the shoulders.

"Allyuh chirren – go from here. Go across de road!" she ordered

and a group of four feet tall people submissively moved.

A car came speeding up the street stopped about fifty feet from

the gathering and a man and a woman came out. I recognized them as the

young couple who had just moved in on Cipero Street two houses down

from Tire Service. They were both teachers. The woman walked slowly

toward us and everyone just stared at her.

"Raquel? Raquel?" she asked and the women moved away from the

child, "Raquel!"

"Mammy!" the girl shrieked and her mother snatched her up in her

arms, clutching her to her chest.

"What? What happened?" Nobody answered. Nobody met her gaze. Some

turned and walked away. She held the child away from her and looked at

her and saw it all in a one second fleeting glance and the fountains

in her heart broke.

"No, no, no! Baby, baby, baby! Raquel! Raquel! Who will do this?

How somebody could do this?" She wept and wept. Her husband took four

or five hasty strides toward them, then turned around and walked away.

Hurried toward them and walked away again. He covered his ears with

his hands and looked at the sky in every direction as if something big

was falling from there. The infant fell asleep in her mother's arms,

or at least I thought she did. My father went to the man.

"Dis chile have to go by the hospital, now-now." He told him.

Mrs. Herbert and Merle helped the mother up. Teresa put out her

hands to help with girl but the mother shook her head and tightened

her embrace. They huddled toward the car- a picture that would make

John Lennon call for war or Brezhnev launch one his precious ICBMs. As

the car drove away, the pressure release valve bellowed again and

nobody spoke for a few seconds, then Merle said:

"Ah tell allyuh it was sounding like a chile yuh know" and

everyone started to talk at once. They became judges and doctors and

parents, police and yes, politicians – all politely supporting each

other's opinions; agreeing to the last syllable. The conversations

changed to different but related topics as each felt ashamed to be the

first to go indoors. My father said to me;

"Go an' wash yuh foot an' go in yuh bed" and I went home. My

dinner was still on the table but I went straight to bed and the

pressure release valve didn't sound again that night. I heard my

father come in and light one of his cigarettes with his Texaco Star

lighter and I slept away my last night as a child.

No bare feet children came out to play on Knox Street the next

day or the day after but eventually they did. I never played on the

street again, ever; I became an adolescent and later a confused young

man in what was supposed to be a Brave New World. Teresa was sick for

a week with Merle fussing over her and a policeman without a uniform

came by and asked questions and took notes. A little article about the

soon to be forgotten episode was tucked away on the middle page of the

newspaper and the roaring of the pressure release valve evolved into

the sinister Girl Screaming Monster Noise to accompany my nightmares

of sinister dwarf demons and trolls with bloodshot eyes menacingly

screaming "Mammy! Mammy!" as they tortured bloody naked children tied

with electric wire.

I saw Raquel again four years later. It was Independence Day

and she was with her mother on Cipero Street waiting to see the parade

with a red and black and white paper replica of the national flag in

her hand like the insulated wire and white vest she wore that night.

She was singing; Jesus loves the little children, all the children of

the world.Her eyes darted from side to side, looking everywhere but

seeing nothing. She was locked away in her own little head, away from

the world where the children who Jesus loves lived and I hated her. I

hated her for the loss of the thing that left my chest that night and

for letting the dwarf demon kill her mind and for the Girl Screaming

Monster Noise in my brain that woke me up some nights sweating and

terrified and I hated the nation where the trolls with bloodshot eyes

hid and ate and lived and I hated Jesus who doesn't protect all of the

children that he loves all of the time. A month later; John Lennon was

murdered and a year later Dr. Eric Williams died. He didn't build all

the schools he wanted to, but the ones he did build produced many

professionals and intellectuals and many semi-literate you thugs with

cocaine and beautiful guns. The year after; Brezhnev also died but his

ICBMs stayed alive; hibernating and waiting.

San Fernando, in time, became a city. Cipero Street became a

businessmans' paradise. Tire Service was torn down and houses on Knox

Street were enclosed with an assortment of high walls and barb-wire

fences. New multi-story buildings were built and a park where parents

won't let their children go and play because of the violent

pseudo-American young men playing basketball and pushers and

prostitutes who existed there on the sunset coloured evenings and on

the cool guilty nights. There was no Mr. Cooper to police the

morality, rewarding the good with shiny coins and judging the bad as

"wotless". Since the world was no longer flat, I jumped on a planet

with new wars, new Olympic heroes and hip hop and dance hall, compact

discs and Pac-Man and Space Invaders and Video Arcades and Cable TV

and cell phones and personal computers and HIV/AIDS. A planet where a

sneer was more acceptable than a smile, where defiance was more

tolerable than compliance, where a man's clothing described his worth

and where babies were born without fathers and people forgot to be

afraid of hibernating nuclear bombs. A planet where the Girl

Screaming Monster Noise came to live with me.