She held her breath as she squeezed the handle of the door quietly, aware that the slightest noise would wake them, and eased herself in. There was still no sign of them; perhaps they were sleeping. That would be good - at least she wouldn't have to explain why she'd taken so long to get home. The quiet darkness of the house was interrupted only by a pale night light in the bathroom. They had got it for Ravi, to stave off the shadows cast on the passage when he came crying to them in the night.

She carefully eased her shoes off by the couch; anything else would disturb the perfect symmetry of the house. That was one of the things that annoyed her about her marriage: everything had to happen at the perfect time to have the perfect result. She paused, leaning forward slightly. It was nothing - just Yoki the cat on his usual late-night prowl. Gathering him up in her arms, she headed towards the kitchen. As usual, everything was neatly packed away in old ice cream containers and lined along the counter. The first container she opened revealed the spicy scent of banta choka. The second had daal pourri; the third, rice; and the final container held curried fish. As usual, each contained only one serving. She pushed them aside. The food was another thing that she had come to hate. Yoki rubbed against her leg and mewed inquiringly.

'Nutten yuh eat either. By di way, yuh nuh get yuh dinna aready?' The cat purred heavily as she scratched behind his ears.

'When yuh tink dem a go cook something nayga can eat, eh?' she went on, still addressing the cat. 'Every day is either roti or rice; choka dis, choka dat. Man!' She sighed deeply.

Together they slunk into the bathroom. There she carefully washed her face to remove the excess make-up leftover, and carefully examined her body, looking for teeth marks, love bites, or any other trace of the happy violence that, leaving work, she'd gone to, and was now home from. The cold water smarted against her warm skin and erased the last traces of her day. Minutes later, as she dried herself, she realised she was not wearing her wedding band. Oh well, she thought. She would retrieve it tomorrow.

The bedroom door was framed by a thin oblong of light. The low hum of the television made her nervous. She eased the door open and saw they were all asleep. It was funny the way they slept, their backs all turned to the door, their bodies covered up to the neck, leaving their shaggy heads out. Even from the door, she could see their crowns, perfectly round even in the still unconsciousness of sleep. That, too, was something she hated about this house: this family, their perfect crowns.

Strangely enough, it was this perfect crown that had attracted her to Krishna Babdeosingh. The first time they met, it was his head she'd first noticed. He was sitting in the row of chairs behind the nurses' station, the spread of his hair from the centre of his head not obvious as his head was then bald. He had sat complaining to his brothers: 'Look pon mi head, di damn barber shave mi head to the scalp.'

There was a roar of laughter, into which he bravely continued: 'Damn barber nuh have nuh mirror an mi couldn't see sey him a shave off mi head so clean. What kind a Hindi Bap a go tink mi be, eh?'

A babble of speech had followed, which made everyone turn and look at them in surprise.

It was at that point that Sister had come over to them to chide them for their vulgar laughter. But as he visited his aunt daily, she could see his hair pushing through the whiteness of his scalp and covering it, at first in a fine film of blackness which later filled itself into a wonderful halo that seemed to have a life of its own. It was out of this shag of hair that his crown became visible and began to mystify her. She had never seen hair grow in such a fashion before. All the hair around her had either been plaited as quickly as it grew or carefully pressed straight as soon as it became too kinky. The fine hairs which surrounded the centre of his head fanned easily into the roots of those which rippled away. From where she sat, she could not see the hair ends, only the obvious centre from which they grew. The dazzling spiral from which they came left a beautiful centre which he had later explained was his crown.

She had never been attracted to a man that was not black, brown or some combination of black and white; and Krishna was Indian. Indian. His Indianness mystified her; everyone she knew was some interesting mix of black and white. Krishna was new, exciting; what did he do differently from other people? She was ready with questions, but not for the differences between their lives. He had avoided her questions about his life and his family, at first; and when the answers came, they were too much,

'Cherry, things at my house are somewhat different from at your house,' he told her, once they were married.

Their wedding happened suddenly while on vacation in Aruba. They had known each other for six months. Perhaps it was the brilliant blue of the sea, or the bright sunshine, or the sweet Aruba rum that blinded her to the possible responses to their marriage. Only in retrospect did she realise she had not even met his family. Oh, she knew them from their encounters at the hospital, but they did not know who she was. Funny how she did not object when he insisted they spend two weeks at her home before going to his parents'. (Although her parents were shocked at first, they were elated at the prospect of having an Indian son-in-law. She could only imagine the corresponding delight with which his parents would receive her).

He hardly ate while at her house, but spent considerable amounts of time fasting; and at the end of the two weeks they departed for Clarendon. Her enthusiasm couldn't be contained: going home as Mr. & Mrs. Babdeosingh! For the first part of the drive, he showed things that fascinated him every time he drove along the road: the sudden dips, the long turns, the unexpected views. Afterwards, she could not tell how it started: how, in the van, he suddenly began attempting to explain his life to her.

'How so?' She put in. 'Come on, man, you a act like seh 'cause yuh a Coolie yuh nuh do some a di same ting dem like whey normal Jamaican do. Unno cook ova deh? Bathe? Sleep? Sh-t? Eh?'

'See, that is one of the things 'bout my yard, you must watch you mouth. Certain words can't come out a yuh mouth in the presence of my family. Yuh have to understand from now that you haffi humble youself and just go with the flow or else you will drown. We different.'

His speech caused an uneasy silence to settle between them. As far as she knew, all Jamaicans were pretty much the same, except for their skin colour; the idea that this was not so turned her crestfallen over what she'd assumed would be a happy homecoming. She began to feel fearful. But what could be so different? After all, there was just one Jamaica.

There was no excitable chatter when Krishna introduced her as Mrs. Babdeosingh. Jaws dropped and eyes flashed angrily. Then the baby started to wail and everyone crowded around to pacify it - a welcome distraction. Yes, after the infant was settled, she encountered icy stares. They made her feel as if she had entered another world, one in which she was an unnecessary interruption. The deafening silence was hardly broken by Krishna's parents' stiff welcome and his sisters' glares. Across the room, children huddled against their respective parents, aware that something big was happening.

After the introductions, the family sat stiffly in the hall, staring at her. For once in her life she became aware of her difference. Each man and child boasted a beautiful crown which sent thick locks of hair bounding over foreheads, ears and napes. The women had piles of hair tightly wound at the nape and beautiful bangles that jingled lightly at every movement. Her own bare arms, her shoulder-length hair which revealed little of its German ancestry, her gray eyes and coffee skin - they were ... different.

It was his mother who broke the silence. 'Krishna, show Cherry to your room and show her around. If she going live here she might as well start to get to know the place.'

'Yes, Mai.'

And with that one order, the roomed emptied itself, leaving them alone. She turned on him angrily, but no words came. She inhaled, exhaled, and tried again.

'Krishna, what yuh madda mean when she sey that we going live here, eh? Mi tink sey you live pon yuh own! Why everybody a' stare pon me like a' di fus dem ever see a woman? And is so over you yard always crowded, dem people deh nuh go a dem yaad?' She had never intended to ask the last question; it just spilled out.

'What yuh mean? All a we live here!'

'Where? Yuh obviously nuh see how much people did in ya so. A nearly twenty people that; dem hold? Whey me a go hold?'

'Come mek mi show yuh then.'

With that, the tour of the yard began. She saw it all: the garden with its strange vegetables; the pond with ducks and turtles; huge spreads of almond and jackfruit trees which created wide, cool swathes of shade along the fence; from where they walked, she could see there were benches hidden beneath them. It was so different from the narrow yard which edged her house. Such wide open spaces! But what amazed her were the houses that stood along the periphery of the yard. Beautiful white houses for each son. Krishna, being the last son, lived in the east wing of the main house, while his sisters lived in the west wing with their parents.

'Well, this is home for you from now on. You can eat, drink, do anything you pretty much like, except come here after six. The gate closes at six and we don't let anyone in after that.'

It was way past six when she got here, and she did not have to stand at the gate and knock and ask to be let in.Here she was queen. She eased back through the door; there was little space on the bed for her. The wide living room oozed with a coziness that seemed eager to wrap itself around her, and she settled easily into the arms of the overstuffed sofa. It was always easy to run away from Krishna when the differences became too much ...

She had left that first weekend after her marriage and returned home to her mother, muc She spent most of the time sleeping and eating yams and beef.

'Girl, what do you? You eating like food going out of style.'

'Boy, Mama, Krishna ... Boy, mi nuh know whey fi sey!' She sighed heavily. 'Things different at his house bad. Fi one, the first morning mi get up fi go in the kitchen, mi see di whole a' di woman dem in there a' cook roti and callaloo. Them draw tea and such and mek sign to me fi set the table. Ten places, so me set them. Den them show mi one next table on the back verandah wid ten seat; them tell me fi set that too. So mi like a fool set dat too. After the breakfast done, them send me go call Krishna. When mi go in deh, him bathe and ready, and so him just come wid me. So mi start draw chair fi siddung wid him, when im modder call me and mek mi know sey only the man dem eat inside, the woman dem eat on the verandah. A, bex so till, after mi nuh dog, whey me a, eat pon verandah for?! Mek matters worse, the one Krishna lef' before me even get fi speak to him. All a' dem strange ooman deh an me, not even one a' dem would a' talk to me. So me decide fi tek a walk around the yard, them have some strange statue round the place, man wid monkey head, elephant head. Picture wid some six-hand blue people, and all sort a' candle a' burn night an day round them picture. Boy, Krishna did tell me sey them different, but this anno 'different', them strange! Put pon top a' dat, them hardly eat meat, and one day dem ask mi if mi woulda like something special. Who tell mi fi go sey ox tail and bean? The madda start cry and ...'

It was one of the things she had insisted on when theycame here to live. No posters of contorted gods and goddesses, no statues, no burning candles, none of his music. Nothing Indian. She wanted Jamaican, just Jamaican. Perhaps they would have survived all of their differences, had it not been for the unexpectedness with which Ravi entered their lives. It was afterwards that she learnt that Ravi was born in a perfect time, in the face of the beautiful dawn. But his birth ended all beauty ...

When Ravi was born, all the rituals associated with a Hindu birth were followed. Krishna gave her a thick pair of gold bangles that jingled slightly when she moved her arms. At last she was feeling accepted. But all the romance which surrounded Ravi's birth ended when her mother came to visit. As they had drinks in the hall, Cherry's mother had casually asked: 'So when yuh a' go christen him, eh?'

'Christen?' Responded the first Mrs. Babdeosingh, stupefied. 'The boy has already been named and blessed by the pundit, so what you mean by christen? Didn't Cherry tell you?'

'Pundit? Pundit?! Yuh tink sey mi a' mek unno tek mi one grandson tun im inna devil worshipper?! Unno mus a' eediot if unno feel so? Yuh and tink that Cherry nuh tell me how di whole a' unno worship them picture - picture pon de wall. Unno can galang go a' hell, but unno nah tek fi mi one grandson! Bout pundit bless him, bless nutten! Him a' go christen as one Anglican, like Cherry an the rest a' we.'

The silence that followed was deafening. Again the ranks closed. It took Cherry a few moments to realise that Krishna was no longer by her side, but was instead standing among the throng of his brothers and sisters with Ravi. The ranks were drawn tight. But what hurt most was the way that Krishna's face was closed. He never looked in her direction. She felt that she had betrayed his trust to keep their lives private, shut out from the world's prying eyes. She had spoken and had betrayed him in his kingdom. Things blurred before her eyes; she felt weak in her stomach, her knees buckled, and the floor pulled her into its bosom.

When she awoke, she was alone. The darkness of the room covered her shame. Outside the door, music thumped, and the laughter of the family and the constant tinkling alerted her to the fact that the daughters and wives were probably dancing. Her shame fenced her in. She would wait for Krishna. But he never came: That night she never saw Krishna nor Ravi. She assumed they were both somewhere in the west wing. She hardly slept; instead, she slowly packed her clothes. As night dissolved into dawn, she prayed for him to return. 'Please, please let him come so I can explain.' It was funny that she always prayed in English, as if God never understood anything said in patois. A low rap on the door indicated that her loneliness was over, her prayers had been heard, Krishna was returning.

'Cherry, open the door.'

He was alone. His words were brief and heavy,

'Pack your stuff, we moving out.' There was no explanation. She indicated to the suitcases on the floor; he closed them and ushered her out into the hall and disappeared momentarily, returning with Ravi. That was the last time she was ever in the Babdeosingh family house.

Ten and a half months after Ravi's birth, Aashish was born. This time her mother moved swiftly around, making preparations for his christening.

One week after Aashish's birth, Krishna disappeared with both sons for two days. When he returned, there was no need for a christening.

After that, she kept delaying the christening. She could not bring herself to tell her mother the truth; she could not betray him again. Cherry hated the fact that the boys took nothing from her, that they were tiny replicas of their father, Indians. There were times when she hated them for the way they looked. That was why she got Yoki.

The afternoon's passion warmed her body still. She had long since grown used to leaving Elewayanna's strong arms and returning to the sofa and a late night movie on television. Krishna often slept with his sons; his desire for her had waned after she got pregnant with Aashish. She had tried unsuccessfully to reignite their love life, but he found numerous excuses to avoid sleeping with her.

That was how she justifed Elewaynna. They had met on the paediatric ward on one of her rotations. He was jet black, with a horribly nappy head. He had no crown, no thin lips, no veins that showed their blue and green lines as they traced the back of one's arms, legs, forehead. His blackness precluded such displays. They had stumbled upon each other in the store room one day. Their eyes locked. She had fumbled and dropped the sheets.

Krishna didn't seem to mind; his life revolved around the boys. Gradually, she quit all the duties of a mother. She stopped cooking, washing, spending time with the boys. She didn't realise how far apart she had drifted from them until she came home one afternoon and saw Ravi reading to Aashish and Krishna. She didn't know when he had started reading.

'Tell me again, Bap, about Ram and Sita,' urged Aashish.

'No, Daddy, tell us about India,' pleaded Ravi.

'Ok, I'll tell you about India first, then Ram and Sita. Your great-grandfather was born in Calcutta. Times were hard ...'

Her senses dimmed. What of her and her history? No-one noticed her standing there, looking over their shoulders and watching the way their hair danced as they laughed and listened to the story Krishna was telling them about their noble heritage.

It was behind them on that sofa that she began to know who Krishna was and how he felt about her difference. 'You know, I am the first person in the entire Babdeosingh family to never have been married by a pundit. Yes, all Babdeosinghs, here and afar, have always been married by pundits around the pole. That was why I insisted that you boys would be named and blessed by pundits; you know, to carry on tradition. And when you marry, I hope that a pundit marries you. God knows, sometimes I wish I had been. And then we would not have to hide so much of who we are. That is the worst thing in life, you know!' He chucked themeach a kiss and continued the story.

She had always assumed that he felt nothing about the way people gawked at him and his family when they went on their excursions; about the way they babbled in Hindi and English. She had always thought their marriage an inconvenience on her side only, that her normalcy brought him into society and made him respectable. It was standing behind him that she realised he was rueful of their marriage.

A few days later she came home to an empty house: no sign of Krishna and the boys. She called his cell; it just rang.

The silence was deafening. When she finally got through to him, he sounded annoyed. 'Why are you doing this to yourself? We agreed that this is what is best for Aashish and Ravi. You decided to give custody to me on the grounds that you are morally unfit. And you also agreed to leave us the hell alone. How many times do you want to hurt us?'

'What are you talking about? Why on earth would I agree to any such thing, eh? These are my children! Krishna, Krishna you can't ...'

He broke in on her. 'Were they your children, too, when they walked in on you in our bed with your lover?! You are incredible!'

'Krishna, I don't know what you are talking about!'

'THE DIVORCE!'

'What?!'

'Not that crap again, 'I don't know what yuh talking bout, Krishna ...' Cherry, that game is over. It has been over from before Aashish was born. I went through hell for you, broke with my family, bore shame and dishonour for you. And what did you do? Slept with whoever you could find. I just want you to leave me alone!'

The clang at the end of the line echoed in her mind for days. She called in sick to avoid the stares.

But now all that was over; Krishna was home with her, and the boys were neatly wrapped up in bed with him. Her family was whole once more. Krishna understood things; he was not angry anymore.

She drifted off into a pleasant dream. She dreamt that they were in Aruba once again, laughing and in love.

Next door, Mr Jones called to his wife. 'Jocelyn, Babdeosingh that use to live next door here get married again!'

'What! Who would think that after all he's been through him woulda married again?'

'Him married again, though. Look at the pictures of him and his wife in today's Flair. Says here that she is from India, that they met through mutual friends last year while he was visiting relatives in India with his sons.'

'Hope Cherry does not see this. I'm not sure how she going handle it.'

'She still think is come she coming home, too late to catch them before they fall asleep?'

'Yes. Can you imagine, even after a year she still thinking that? Poor girl, what a price to pay! Who would believe that that doctor boy would beat her so bad in front of her husband and pickney dem? Bust open her head ... '

'Lawd, Jos,' interrupted Mr. Jones 'Let's not talk about that. If you want to help her, go look if she fall asleep in the chair again and help her into bed.'

'And to think that she still along wid the man.'

Jocelyn shuddered in disgust. 'I left some food for her on the counter. Ah hope she eat it ...'

Next door, Cherry slept, dreaming of parasailing across sky-blue Caribbean seas.

- Rhonda Kareem