Bordeaux. All the old figures resurrected to a distant reality.
Old, shaky, fire-eating Miss Ewing. Captain; Berbice hermaphrodite.
_Macaume!_ Blacks, girls in particular, on the banks of the _lamahau_,
at night talking about her. The baboos, behind pots of _rotie_ and
_callaloo_, beating on the back of a frying pan--
Hack ba la la
Hack ba la la
Mahaica is comin' down!
The Hindu settlers begging for rain. Wouldn't the water in the
_lamahau_ do?
Staring at her, the very coolies. Wildly.
Miss Ewing, at last, late one night, getting a midwife to finger her.
This way, then that. Sometimes she refused. And Miss Ewing, heartless,
lavished boxes and clouts. Thumpings. And then free of one ordeal,
another ensued. Urchins in the _lamahau_ dusk slinging paining words
at her. Swell belly Seenie. Swell belly--
Jahn Belly, Quackah Belly,
Swell like a cocoa
Her own swollen in time like a ripe jelly cocoanut. Aiming at the stars.