Not a Fairytale by Shaida Kazie Ali Page B

things in the water.
    Poison-Parkie marched towards her. Just as he opened his mouth to shout at her again, he saw her undo a red and yellow collar from her neck and drop it into the pond. He froze. Next, she poured the rings off her fingers into the willing, waiting water.
    The old woman didn’t even look at him, just turned and walked away. She must be bladdy mad, he thought. He knew that babbie women wore real jewellery, not the fake stuff his wife bought from OK Bazaars in Adderley Street when they went shopping on Saturday mornings. It was like winning the jackpot. He’d make a fortune. Much more than the pennies he got when stupid courting couples threw their money into the pond on wasteful wishes.
    Poison-Parkie was thigh-high in green water, trying to retrieve the jewellery with thirsty fingers. He had one gold ring, but the bigger piece, the necklace, was eluding him, drawing him down, further into the water. His head went under.
    The children snuck in. Each to a designated target. A black swing. A red slide. A yellow seesaw.
    In the pond that he had neglected for too long, Poison-Parkie’s feet slid out from under him, and his head knocked against the grey, concrete wall. Slimy green water turned ruby red, like the jewellery he would never reach. He heard the children’s giggles bubbling faintly in his ears, saw his world turn black.
    Bilqis Paruk paused at the gate. Should she go back to get her jewellery? Keep it for her grandchildren, Salena or Faruk? No, she wouldn’t. She wanted to teach her son Hanif a lesson after he’d asked her for the trinkets to give to his wife, as though they were his due, as though she owed him anything. After all, what had she lost? Just a few worldly possessions, duniya things. She strolled out of the park, the children’s laughter following her home.
    Of course, Hanif hit the roof when he couldn’t find his mother’s jewellery, but by then Bilqis had moved on.
    I love Salena’s stories; I could listen to her for hours, but eventually I am free to go home. Nazma greets me at the door, lugging what looks like a bird cage behind her. Perched inside it is a giant lizard. Her birthday present from Gregoria. I pretend enthusiasm.
    In my bedroom, I settle into my extra-sized bed with its view of the back garden, the pool and the lake beyond the fence. I’ve decided that what I need is a sacrifice to heal my sick body, and while I can’t bring myself to agree to an animal slaughter, I have the next best thing – a mink coat Jimmy bought in a moment of lavish forgetfulness. While I’m not exactly an animal activist, I am vegetarian, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in fur, not even fake fur. So I tell Salena we have to bury the coat in the garden as a means of atoning for my sins, real or imagined. Salena looks dubious but is prepared to indulge me.
    I lounge back in one of the pool chairs and watch Salena dig. She’s chosen a spot near the fence, which separates the pool from the glossy man-made lake. Through the links in the fence, I can see three toads observing Salena’s progress, occasionally croaking and ribbeting encouragement.
    I go into the kitchen to soak some bread for them. When I get back, Salena is nearly done with the digging. I surreptitiously push the bread through the fence. I don’t want the neighbours to report my transgression to the home owners’ association. Salena tells me to stop feeding the toads. She says I’m destroying the local ecosystem: they should be eating insects, not bleached white flour. Of course she’s right, but I feed them anyway.
    The shallow grave is complete and I dig out the incense sticks which I burn every Thursday night, the way I was taught to do as a child. The smoke makes Salena cry. I lean against her for support, hold her hand, and we offer up a prayer for the souls of the dead minks. I wonder if they were Everglade minks. If so, then at least they’ve come home. The toads continue to croon, and in the encroaching dusk