SHORT STORY
Talisman Banana The banana was a vibrant yellow baked enamel, and it sat on top of the world. Earth was made of lapis lazuli and gold. The necklace was unique. Mother always corrected me and called it a talisman with a crescent moon. She could call it whatever she wanted. I called it the necklace, and if I was feeling exceptionally ornery, I called it the Talisman Banana. On long summer days, with no TV, because it rots the brain, I hid in corners of the house, concocting mousetraps. When I visited mother on the screened-in porch, she’d be relaxing in a rattan chair with cucumber slices over her eyes. The talisman banana would be around her neck as usual. I’d start singing as I raced through the room, doing laps through the kitchen, dining room, formal living room, and the living room. I could have toys in this room. “Hey, Mr Talisman, Talisman Banana,” I crowed. I thought I sounded like Harry Belafonte. I did not; even though I dropped my voice to its lowest register, I still sounded like an 8-year-old girl. “Those aren’t the lyrics,” mom would declare. She could only be bothered to flick her wrist in my direction as if I were a fly. Mother’s necklace felt out of place. Other mothers wore little crosses of gold or heart-shaped gold lockets. The hearts and crosses were crowned with a small diamond chip in the centre. They also wore these everyday pieces like talismans. The crosses protected them from evil. The hearts opened life up to love. On fancy pants occasions, the mother’s wore a strand of pearls. Each one trying to out Grace Kelly the other. Not my mother; she didn’t need a pearl necklace. Mom had the talisman banana. Once, while she was playing Barbies with me, I asked her why she only ever wore the Talisman Banana. “It keeps away the deepest evil,” she said. I wondered what the deepest evil was, but she’d never say.
24
