The Empty Hammock

by Barrett, Brenda

  Tonight, when she should be feeling on top of the world, she was just feeling low. The usual pleasure of opening her own door and breathing in her own space was gone. There was just emptiness, and for the first time in her life she had the strongest urge to review her life, and to catch up on who she was, before it was too late. She turned on the television and switched on all the lights while she shrugged off her work clothes and kicked off her shoes.

  “Three people were murdered today after gunmen…” she hastily switched the TV channel. She was too tired and depressed for that.

  “The murder rate for this year has reached a record high; so far 600 people have been murdered…” She switched again.

  “It has been eight days now since the sudden disappearance of Gretna Jarrett; her kidnappers are demanding one million dollars for her return…” Okay that’s it. No more news. She switched the channels and music blared. The canned laughter from the comedies irritated her.

  She looked at the clock, but it was only nine o’ clock. What did people do in their spare time? She couldn't believe it; she was a workaholic and didn't know how to have fun.

  Her last boyfriend, Nick, had suffered from her negligence too. He must have hated her guts when he broke off the relationship. She could barely spare him any time or attention, especially to do fun things. When he had wanted to go to the movies or a party, she had wanted to study the competition’s marketing strategy. That was probably the time he snapped. She could barely remember them breaking up, but they must have because he had walked into her office with his wedding invitation and a self-satisfied look on his face.

  She remembered looking at him and saying, “But we are still together. How could you cheat on me like this?” And Nick’s stony expression when he said, “Ana, we have not even spoken for six months. When we broke up, you said it was not the right time because you didn't have it scheduled.”

  That was a year ago. Probably the same time her dog ran away.

  She turned off the television and headed for the bathroom for a long hot soak in the tub then a manicure and pedicure. She would eat a ton of chocolate and call… She paused. Actually, she didn't have anyone to call. She had been so caught up with work that she had neglected her friends.

  She looked at herself in the mirror and started to make faces, eventually laughing at her attempts. Then she stared at her face intently. She could see herself as a little girl with ponytails; her little face crumpled into misery after one of her escapades landed her into trouble.

  When her father was really angry with her because of one misdeed or the other, he would drag her in front of the mirror and declare, “Face yourself like a man.” He would hold her scrawny shoulders as she scowled defiantly at herself, until she broke down in tears.

  “I'm sorry, Daddy.”

  “No,” he would say quietly. “Tell Ana you are sorry. Look her in the eye and tell her you will not do it again.”

  She would have to look herself in the eye and confess, “Ana, I will not do it again.” For some strange reason, the bizarre punishment actually worked. She was more aware of herself and the consequences of her actions.

  Her father was a good parent and she missed him terribly. His death had left a big void in her life. He was the person she went to when she had personal problems. His was the shoulder she cried on when she had problems with her career, or school, or boys. They would take long walks together in silence. Her father believed that silence was a healer of troubled thoughts.

  She was always aware, though, that she, and the rest of the family had to compete against his addiction to history. His favorite obsession was the Tainos. He knew their customs and their beliefs and was always searching for enlightenment on how they lived while they were in Jamaica.

  Even before his death at the family house in Rio Bueno, surrounded by his loving wife and tearful family members, her father’s main concern was to “warn” the people of the coming invasion of the Spanish and the regret that he failed. He had spoken of the past with such conviction, as if he had actually been there in the years when the Tainos were in Jamaica.

  She wiped a tear that had escaped her eyes and turned away from the mirror. The diagnosis by the doctors was that her father was suffering from a delusional disorder and that his mental condition had reached a chronic stage. But the memory of her father’s sad expression, as he gazed at her imploringly, will forever haunt her.

  “Ana please,” his raspy voice had tugged at her heart strings. “I am not going mad. I was there.”

  “Where, Dad?” Ana had asked, tears streaming down her face.

  “In the past. I know things the history books don’t.” His eyes had been alight with a hidden fire.

  Ana had squeezed his hands reassuringly and nodded.

  “You believe me, Ana, don’t you?” he had asked worried, his thick eyebrows drawing together over his sunken eyes. “Your mother doesn’t understand and your brother thinks I am psychotic.”

  “I believe you, Dad.” Those last words spoken to her father replayed in her mind like a broken record.

  Lies to reassure a dying man that he was not alone, that the bond between them was still very strong. She had watched him as he peacefully closed his eyes, secure in the knowledge that he was finally believed.

  Ana left the bathroom and tried to forget the sad expression on her father’s face. She moved like an automaton toward her wardrobe and pulled her clothes from the drawers and flung them in her bag. There was now an inexplicable urgency for her to go home to Rio Bueno.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The drive out of Kingston was refreshing and the air felt better the farther she drove from the city. It was the middle of May and the summer season was approaching.

  She smiled as she remembered the poetic line, ‘We have neither summer or winter nor autumn or spring,’ penned by a famous poet whose name eluded her—she hadn't paid much attention in English class during high school.

  She loved history though, something she picked up from her father. She used to love to hear about old-time days, and her African grandmother would indulge her for hours, happy to have a captive audience.

  She drove over Flat Bridge, a bridge that was built by the Spanish some time after the discovery of the island. The water was still and deep green, not even a ripple on its shiny surface.

  Ana remembered driving over the bridge on her way to Kingston as a little girl and hearing exotic stories about the river. The main one being that a mermaid lived in its depths and would make her appearance at night, combing her long black hair and singing strange songs of a different language. Her father used to insist that she was a Taino mermaid and that he had seen her.

  Whenever she reached this spot she always thought that she was well and truly on her way home. She was a rural girl at heart. There was just an inexplicable tingle when she headed into vast farmlands and spotted the blue, welcoming bands of the sea.

  She grew up in Rio Bueno; the coast was washed by the Caribbean Sea while the Cockpit Country loomed over the inland. The small township was not far from Duncans in Trelawny and only six miles from Discovery Bay.

  The sun was shining and the sky was brightly blue with little wisps of clouds. The air was cool so she turned off the car's air conditioner and wound down her windows.

  She knew what was missing—music—she was a reggae enthusiast and Maxi Priest was her favorite artiste. She pushed the CD in the player and started singing aloong, “Alone in the crowds on the bus after work I’m daydreaming…” she was singing loudly and bobbing her head.

  Life was good. She would be at work now, but for the grace of God, she thought feelingly. Which reminded her, she would go to church with her mother every day, if she so desired. For the next three weeks, that she would be at home, she decided to be mommy’s little girl.

  She waved to all and sundry as she accelerated her way to Rio Bueno: to the little boys who were selling June plums and otaheiti apples on the side of the road, and to the Rastafarian who s
old statues and clothes in the dark, damp caverns of Fern Gully. The sugar loaf pineapple vendors looked at her oddly as she swept pass their stalls. She was happy and free.

  ******

  Her mother was watering her rose bushes when she pulled up at the gate. She was in a brightly colored housedress and a washed-out looking tie head.

  Her mother grinned and waved as she got out of the car. “You must have driven like all the demons of hell were at your back to get here,” she laughed. “You are early.”

  She hugged her mother tightly and breathed deeply.

  “It’s good to be home, Ma.”

  “Bout time,” her brother said, walking down the steps his lithe form encased in jeans. He was broad in shoulder and narrow of hip, a real charmer, his straight hair was slicked back and his glasses made him look like a schoolmaster. His chocolate brown eyes were laughing at her behind the frames and she suddenly wished that they were children again.

  He grabbed her from their mother in a body tackle and hugged her.

  “I missed you, Little Ana,” he said, laughing. “I have been here a day now and have no one to take the cussing when mama decides to dish it out.” His tall frame towered over hers as he stared down at her.

  “Oh stop it,” Clara Méndez said, as she turned off the garden hose. “I only use my stern voice to give wise counsel.”

  “Are you on vacation Carey?” Ana asked as she looked at the house. It was situated at the top of a hill, on two acres of very fertile land, overlooking the sea. It was surrounded by greenery, mostly palm trees. Ana could see that the mango trees were heavy with fruit and the pear and breadfruit trees were covered in blossoms.

  “I'm now in private practice with Lawrence and Paulson, so no more traveling between hospitals; I want stability and more money. I told you all of this last month.

  My wife is visiting her parents in Miami and I am not cooking, so I took a couple of days to use one stone to kill both birds. Besides, I realize I don't see enough of you, ‘miss high powered marketer.’

  He took Ana’s suitcase from the car, “how long are you planning to stay? The whole year?” He groaned while he pulled her bag into the house.

  “Breakfast will be served soon,” Ana’s mother said, heading into the house. She understood the dazed look that was in Ana’s eyes. After leaving the concrete jungle that was Kingston and coming to Rio Bueno, one had to sit down and absorb beauty in pieces.

  Ana stood with her hands akimbo, inhaled slowly, and gazed at the sparkling blue of the Caribbean waters, which seemed as if it was in competition with the blue of the sky. If she were a painter, she would spend a lifetime capturing all this beauty: the blues, the greens, the lawn in the front yard, the trees in the backyard and beyond, and the mountains in the distance.

  Her mother’s flowers were starkly beautiful in the driveway, the different colors and hues blending together to create a picturesque splash to the green lawn.

  She had never felt like this before, so overwhelmed by the beauty of nature. Tears streamed down her face as she sat in the driveway unmindful of her clothes. She suddenly felt as if nature was telling her something, as if there was something that she must do.

  “Ana, are you alright?” Her mother and her brother were peering at her as if she had two heads.

  She looked at them through tear-washed eyes and shook her head. “I…I… love this place,” she sobbed, “I love this country, I love the people.”

  “It’s a nervous breakdown,” Carey said matter-of-factly. “She was under too much stress at work. It’s just catching up with her. Up you go, young lady.” He scooped her up from the walk and carried her into the house and deposited her gently on a sofa.

  “I want to go back outside,” Ana said, trembling.

  Carey looked at his mother and shrugged.

  “What was she talking about?” Clara whispered. “I have not seen such madness since your father. Do you think it’s inherited?”

  “No, Ma,” Carey said hesitantly. “It is just a reaction to the stress she’s been undergoing; we’ll just have to allow her to get plenty of rest on this vacation.”

  Ana sat across from them, the weird feeling that she was on the verge of a self discovery was closing in on her, she barely registered that her mother and brother were sitting across from her or that she was sitting in the living room that used to be her father’s showpiece with all his Taino artifacts.

  “Ana, listen to me,” Carey said and knelt before her. “I recommend that you sleep as much as you can while you are here. How many hours have you been sleeping at night?”

  “Oh…about five or so.”

  “Not good enough,” Carey said, looking at her worriedly. Her hazel eyes looked more green than brown at the moment. She was obviously troubled. “Let’s hook you up with some food and then you can regale us with all your Probe Inc. happenings. How is that girl you hired for a secretary, the one that speaks like she is on the verge of an asthmatic wheeze?”

  Ana nodded and forced a laugh. “She’s as whiny as ever.” She was struggling against the feeling that she was desperate and she needed to do something urgently.

  ******

  Breakfast was Carey and Ana’s favorite: fried fish with bammy. Their mother used sweet cassava and made the bammy from scratch.

  “How is it?” Clara asked worriedly. She was always trying to get it right.

  “It's good Ma,” Carey answered, taking one more from the basket that was in the center of the table. “Tell me how you do it again?”

  “Well I…” Clara was getting ready to expound on the finer points of making the bammy, when Ana piped up.

  “It has in a bit more salt than the natives would have made it.”

  “Well, well, Miss Bammy Maker,” declared Carey curiously. “How do you know this?”

  “The original people, the Tainos, used to grate the root on a board that they covered with small pebbles until it formed a paste. Then they would put it into a wicker tube, which they would hang on a branch, they would then attach a heavy stone or some other weight to it to force the poisonous liquid out through the wicker. They would leave the paste to dry and pound it with a stone mortar to make flour, add sea salt for flavor and pound, to form flat cakes; they would then bake it to perfection on a clay griddle.”

  Carey’s fork was half-way to his mouth, and Clara was just staring.

  Ana continued to eat as if she didn't say something out of the ordinary.

  “Ana, I thought you had no time for anything besides marketing. “How could you remember this and not my birthday last week?” Clara asked incredulously.

  Ana looked up, “I don’t know, it was just there in my head. Probably Dad told me,” she said staring from her brother to her mother. “Your birthday was last week?”

  They looked at each other and then continued eating. Ana was definitely not herself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Ma, I want to see that treasure chest you were so agog about,” Ana declared after breakfast.

  They were lounging around the back in hammocks. Ana was peeping at the sky through her leafy kingdom as the breeze gently swayed the hammock.

  Carey laughed. “I was so frustrated last night that I could not get the rusty lock off the thing, I gave up. The way mom described it, I thought it was a big, old treasure chest that you’d see in the movies. Instead it was more like a tall shoe box with a handle,” he said and looked at his mother who was in the process of getting out of the hammock.

  “Come, Ana. I am sure, between the two of us ladies, we can open the box.”

  Clara and Ana hauled the chest from where she had stashed it into the corner of the veranda and stood over it. The box was rusty with age and had algae growing at the sides and on the top. It was sealed closed by rust and a heavy looking lock that seemed as if all its properties had merged together over the years.

  “Wow, this is exciting,” Ana said, gushing. “There could be treasure in there. Dad should be here to see this.”


  “Well, I can’t agree more,” Carey mumbled. “Then he would be the one to have to tussle with this sealed shut baby here.”

  “Where exactly did you dig it up, Mom?” Ana asked curiously.

  “Under that tree,” Clara said, pointing to a palm tree. “I wanted to plant some flowers over there. It would have been good to look at while hanging in the hammocks, but now I'm not so sure, I want to find out if there is more treasure there.”

  “Well lets clean it up,” Ana said enthusiastically. “We have to open it today. I won’t sleep tonight if I can’t see what’s inside.”

  After putting on gloves, each of them took a side of the treasure chest to clean.

  “Remember the time when Dad found the human bone in the bottom of his lettuce garden?” Carey asked, “he was deliriously happy for weeks. He dug up the whole place looking for more but only found that one bone.”

  “It was a foot bone,” said Ana. “The National Heritage Trust gave it to the local Taino museum.”

  “That’s when your father started going crazy,” Clara muttered. “He kept going down to the palm trees. Said he had to warn them. When I asked who, he clammed up.”

  “He was watching too much sci-fi,” Carey said laughing.

  Ana frowned, “the Tainos were his passion. He knows their history more than anyone in the world. It’s as if he thought they were his people.”

  Clara laughed, “well I am certain that I'm of African decent, and that my parents came here on a slave ship. Just take a look at my hair, she grabbed off her tie head and wiped her face with it.”

  Her hair was sticking up all over her head. The coarse short strands were braided in big plaits that refused to stay down.

  “How I hooked up with a man who was so fascinated with the past, I don’t know. He was lecturing history at the University of the West Indies when I went there.”