A Prayer for Chantal

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

• A Prayer for Chantal
• Amanie Mathurin (bio)

My cousin’s death preceded my grandmother’s by twenty-six years. At least that’s what the official records say. But if you asked anyone—from a distant relative to the village gossip—they would say with certainty that the beautiful young child and the stoic old lady died at the very same time. They would assert this as an established fact, for no one can forget the day of their dying.

And as sure as they are to insist on this plain truth, they will just as certainly use beautiful as the first word to describe Chantal. Whether you asked men, women, young or old, everyone agreed: Chantal was just as beautiful as her mother, Cynthia. As a child, I had always been fascinated by Cynthia, my mother’s much younger sister. She didn’t come around much, but whenever she did, I made every effort to be near her, trailing behind her for every minute of the few hours she visited. Her larger-than-life presence filled every crevice of my grandmother’s tiny house, her animated laughter spilling through the wooden-framed windows and out into the dirt yard. The house, much like our village, could not contain Cynthia.

I often wished that Cynthia was my mother, and as a child, I sometimes resented Chantal for the indifference with which she treated her mother. Cynthia possessed a beauty that simply did not belong in our little village where almost all of the women seemed to be built short and squat, as if pushed down into the narrow dirt paths by the very weight of the bananas they graciously carried atop their heads.

Cynthia was nothing like these women whose broad features and calloused hands belied an inheritance of cruel labour and a future of scarce reward. She was tall and curvaceous, her long elegant body stretching up towards the sun, embracing a faraway place well beyond the sprawling green of the banana fields. Her body effortlessly arched towards the heavens, and her delicate features angled towards the only conceivable place deserving of her beauty. Her smooth, light complexion paired with high cheekbones and a head of thick curly hair easily evidenced the native Kalinago blood running through her veins.

But beyond these physical characteristics, Cynthia’s appeal lay in the air of ease and luxury she embodied. It was an air unfamiliar to us all. She lived in Castries, the capital city, and on her rare visits, she brought back stories of the restaurants where she ate, the boutiques where she shopped, and of course the wealthy men whose company she kept. These tales sounded as fantastical as the mysterious stories of folklore that my grandmother used to regale Chantal and me at bedtime.

I was always excited when my aunt arrived, bearing gifts of chocolates, books, and toys for both Chantal and me. I looked forward to her daring outfits—tight denim dresses, mini-skirts which hugged her wide hips and thin blouses stretched taut over her breasts. An aroma of perfume always followed her, as did the sound of raucous, carefree laughter. [End Page 60]

But most of all, I envied Chantal because Cynthia was present. Alive. It didn’t matter that she only showed up once a year, if so much. I had never met my own mother who had died tragically at twenty-four, bringing me into a world that I would learn to navigate without her. The only evidence of her existence were three faded photographs my grandmother kept tucked into her well-worn bible. In those photos, my mother looks nothing like Cynthia. She was not fortunate enough to share her sister’s fine features or alluring stature. Where Cynthia was tall and shapely, my mother was short and heavyset with unimaginative features and coarse hair. Chantal was lucky enough to inherit her mother’s looks. I was unlucky enough to take after my mother in much the same way that she resembled my grandmother—aggressively uninspiring.

As unbelievable as it may sound, I never envied Chantal’s good looks. This was perhaps made easier by two simple facts. The first was that...