Crickets' Serenade

by Blythe, Carolita

  “I don’t allow myself to get nervous,” I heard Lewis say. “But that’s because I always prepare myself thoroughly, so I’m always ready with a reply.”

  The man laughed a little and they started heading back in the direction of the house. They continued with their talk, but as they moved further away, I couldn’t really make out what they were saying. When they reached middle ground, they turned to face each other, shook hands, and walked around the side of the house. That’s when I realized who Lewis’ guest was. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, hoping I was wrong.

  I was used to seeing Lewis in the company of other leaders and government officials and football stars and famous artists. But I had never seen him in the company of a gunman. I had first seen this man’s face in the newspapers while living in Stepney, and when the country people talked about “city devils,” it was to people like him they referred. I had seen his face in The Gleaner a few times during the election—once bearing the caption, “Political violence. Is this one of the orchestrators?” So I couldn’t figure out why Lewis, a man who claimed to be so moved by any and every such incident, would be laughing and talking and shaking hands with such a man.

  I had seen the look of concern on Lewis’ face during the election. I had heard it in his voice. He couldn’t possibly have faked it, could he? I shut my eyes tight. When I opened them, I realized that my evening was not yet over, because heading toward the spot in which I stood amongst those orange trees was Lewis. My heart leapt into my throat. Before I could react in any way, he was less than three feet from me—and he suddenly stopped. I held my breath, half expecting that he had sensed my presence and was about to turn questioning eyes upon me. But as suddenly as he had stopped, he resumed walking,

  I remained still for a few seconds, trying to contain my heartbeat. I couldn’t imagine where he could possibly have been going in the middle of the night. I had managed to avert discovery, and should probably have been satisfied with that, but instead of letting him go, I started after him. By the time I emerged from the orange grove, I could hardly make him out. He was a faint shadow along the small lane, moving quickly in the direction of Skyward. I kept myself hidden, sticking to the very side of the road. If he was heading back to the old house, what possible reason could he have at such an ungodly hour? Perhaps he had another meeting with some other unsavory character.

  He reached the small, familiar incline and raced upwards. I waited until he got to the top of the hill and began descending it before I began my climb. But when I got to the top, all I saw was that lonely old house and Lewis sitting before it, staring straight ahead. Skyward looked haunted in the dark of night—a big, dead structure standing alone in a place that was so far from everywhere else. It was chilly and a bit damp, but Lewis didn’t seem to notice. I must have remained there for about twenty minutes and in that time, Lewis made no movement, no sound. He seemed almost not of this world. I had set out on this mission to find out as much as I could about Lewis Montrose. All of a sudden, I wasn’t so sure I wasn’t better off being ignorant of everything.

  Part III

  -27-

  The garden parties stopped suddenly, and six months went by without any invitations. Marilyn and Paulette had a falling out. No one seemed to know the exact reason why. Then suddenly, in the spring of seventy-nine, the gatherings were back on again. Neither Paulette nor Marilyn ever felt the need to explain what had caused the hiatus. They just went about as if nothing had ever happened. As was customary, we all sat in the shade of Paulette’s lazy tamarind tree, sipping on mango and passion juices and eating finger foods. Not much had changed, yet there was something different. Paulette was unusually quiet, and the conversation seemed a little forced. When Paulette did speak, she was distracted and anxious. Marilyn did her best to try and steer things in an easy direction.

  “Up on the north coast, in has moved Delores Branson of the publishing Bransons,” Marilyn said. “She has been accompanied to the island by two men, and let’s just say, they are not relatives. My sources tell me they have rooms in the estate and that they are both quite friendly with Mrs. Branson.”

  “Well, where is her husband?” someone asked.

  “Gone by way of divorce. And his deep pockets are financing Delores’ little love nest. But she is not the sweetest of berries, so he probably considers it a small price to pay to be rid of her.”

  A few people continued to make small talk, but even the usual conversational hotbeds of extra-marital affairs and deviant sexual behavior didn’t bring about the level of excitement they usually did. Suddenly, there was silence. This didn’t just last for a second or two, but closer to a half minute. It was a silence I never would have believed possible with the first class talkers I was in the presence of—women who made Mavis Parker seem mild mannered.

  “Well, this won’t do,” Debbie Dean said. “Why don’t we all go for a walk or go ride. Leave Souci and Paulette to talk.” I looked around, and the women presented their best “everything is okay” smiles. They all lingered a bit. I knew they didn’t want to miss whatever it was that was about to take place, but Debbie herded them along. And so, there I sat with Paulette. She was holding a glass in her hand, but she wasn’t drinking from it. She was just twirling it around slowly and listening to the ice cubes clink against each other.

  “I knew something was wrong,” I said. “What is it?”

  “Well, I suppose I’m quite a bit nervous, Souci.”

  “About what?”

  “About your husband.”

  “What about him?”

  “About his policies.”

  “What about them?”

  “Souci, David donated so much money to Lewis’ campaign. And he didn’t do it as any kind of payoff or to guarantee himself a certain place in the business community if Lewis were elected. He did it because he’s known Lewis for over twenty years, and because he likes Lewis, and because he believed in what Lewis stood for. He did it as any friend would do another.”

  “Okay …” I had a bad feeling about where the conversation was headed. I looked at the women walking off toward the house, and I couldn’t help wishing I was with them.

  “Lewis has very definite ideas about the non-Jamaican companies doing business here. David is president of the number one bauxite producer on the island. Now Lewis has raised the mining taxes to an exorbitant rate, and he’s just introduced a referendum that will not only raise it more, but will also give the government a large share in the mining interests. I would just think that Lewis would be a little more lenient in his treatment of David’s company.” She put her glass down on the table next to where she was sitting. I don’t know if she meant to slam it, but she did, and the sound startled me. “Souci, why is he treating my husband the way he is?”

  “What way is that, Paulette?”

  Paulette had been sitting three seats away from me, but she got up and moved to the empty chair beside me.

  “Like David is a complete stranger. Souci, friends don’t treat each other like that. The taxes are so high, there’s no way David can continue business and turn much of a profit. David calls a friendly meeting to try to come to a solution that could benefit both sides, and what does your husband do? More or less, he tries to buy out David’s company. And the awful thing is, he is now completely unwilling to compromise on things. Not fifty-fifty. Not sixty-forty. For him, it has to be one hundred percent. And David would rather return to Canada than give in anymore. There is only so much of his dignity and beliefs a man can give up. What I want to know is, if this was Lewis’ grand plan all along, why have us at Reach for dinners? Why strike a deal with David? Why act as if he had acquiesced. Why continue to act like a friend?”

  “I don’t know what to say, Paulette. I wish I did. I don’t know anything at all about this. I mean, I haven’t seen a word of this in the paper …”

  “Lewis and Bob Lindsey are friends. Lewis gave Bob a very high profile position at the newspaper. I’m sure there’s
a lot Bob chooses to ignore when it comes to your husband … things that wouldn’t have been ignored if Sam Bennett was still editor.”

  “But Paulette, it was Sam Bennett’s choice to resign.” Some clouds moved overhead, and the leaves of the tamarand tree began to tremble. There was a storm moving in. I could only hope it would come quickly.

  “You really think it was that easy? Why would Sam Bennett, who adored his job and adored this island, just decide without any provocation, to suddenly resign? And even more, to leave Jamaica altogether and go to England where he hasn’t been since he was a little boy?”

  “I heard Lewis mention that he had some family concerns.” I was on the defensive, but I didn’t really know or believe what I was saying.“What family concerns? He has no family in England. Souci, mark my words. Lewis needs to be careful because what he wants and what he gets may be two completely different things. The policies he set forth at that economic conference were great, but it’s not enough to offset the other things. If you could talk to him, maybe you could make him understand. Souci, I was born here. I’ve lived here every day of my life. I don’t know any place else the way I know this island. I don’t love any place like I love Jamaica. I don’t want to leave. I don’t particularly like the cold, and I don’t want to go to Canada. I like my life here, Souci. I like my friends. It’s the only world I know.”

  “The problem is, Paulette, I’ve come to understand Lewis as a person who does what he wants, when he wants and no one can change his mind. You can look into his eyes and tell that his mind is made up, and when that look is there, you know there is nothing you can do about it. I’m sorry.”

  Paulette smiled a sad, strange smile. She shook her head slowly, got up and walked off. I sat there under that tamarind tree, watching her move further away. She walked past the house and in the direction of the front yard. I wondered if she was going to go for a ride, maybe try and clear her mind. I wanted to yell out, “Look, Paulette. Lewis and I may be married, but we are not really husband and wife. What I say to him doesn’t matter. I have no power at all over him. There is nothing I can do that would affect his way of doing things; his term in office in any way.”

  A faint sound of laughter came from the women in the house. I looked up at the clouds, which seemed to be drifting off over to the mountiains. I couldn’t tell if the storm had passed.

  * * *

  Two nights after my conversation with Paulette, I was driving with Henry into Denham Town. Denham Town in 1979 Kingston was probably not a place many people looked forward to visiting. It was one of those “downtown” places I had heard it was best to keep away from. But it was also Henry’s home, and I was excited to see where he lived; to see another side of Kingston. It also seemed the farthest place from Reach—the farthest place from Lewis Montrose.

  We arrived in Denham Town a little after midnight. All the houses there seemed to be fighting for space—one just crowding out the next. There were no farms or fields or tree-filled groves like in the country. There were no rolling hills or flower gardens like in the Hope River Valley. Some yards even had three or four homes crammed within. “Laborite Zone. Nationalists Beware,” was painted on the side of one house. “Montrose = code word for Mephistopheles,” was painted on another.

  “What I don’t understand,” I said while staring off at the signs, “is how you live here in West Kingston, and work for Lewis.”

  “Seems strange, huh? But is not really. See, ’Enry don’t concern himself wit’ politics. De t’ing is, dere is people living in West Kingston who support de National Party. Is just, dem don’t draw a lot of attention to dat fact. Besides, most people have more important t’ings fe worry ’bout like buying food an’ sending dem chil’ren to school.”

  “So, nobody bother you about working for Lewis?”

  “Please. Dem know ’Enry do gardening fe rich folk, but dat’s it. Dem nuh know de people me work for, an’ is none a dem business. De way ’Enry see it, you husband more dan generous wit’ de money him pay. Him let ’Enry alone fe do ’Enry business. Dat’s all dat concern me.”

  “What do you think they would do if they found out you worked for him?”

  “Call me traitor or communist lover, probably. De Prime Ministah not very popular where ’Enry live … as you cyan see. But him nevah been popular here. Dis part a town is not Nationalist zone. Got some people who t’ink dat because Mr. Montrose is on friendly terms wit’ Castro, him a go do to Jamaica what get done to Cuba. But is just talk. Some people just like fe mek noise so dem cyan feel like dem is important. None a dat business concern Henry.”

  A few young boys were standing about a street corner. They weren’t really doing anything, just watching whatever car or person happened to pass on by. Henry drove past, and they stared into the passenger side window. Suddenly, one of them jumped into the street directly in front of the car. Henry slammed on the brakes, and the car shook to a halt. My body lurched forward. The country people used to tell tales of people getting ambushed in the dead of night. I had read of such stories in The Gleaner during the election. The last thing I wanted was to be part of one of those stories, though it struck me as kind of funny. I could just imagine the headline: “Prime Minister’s Wife Caught in Ambush, And Caught With Other Man.” Everyone who was out on the street turned his attention to Henry’s car.

  “Jesus, Henry, we should get out of here,” I said. “We might be in trouble. And that mon, he might be hurt. We should call somebody.”

  ““Please, mon,” Henry said between giggles. “’Enry should back up an’ roll ovah him fe good measure.”

  “Henry, you crazy?” I noticed one hand appeared on the car’s hood, then another. A round, smiling face appeared next. Lips twisted into a large grin. The young man bounced back onto his feet and directed the car to move on. It was the same young man we had run into at the dancehall.

  “Sugar, you know dat one day you a go run in front a somebody cyar dat ain’t got no brakes. You need fe watch you rass.”

  The young man ran off down the street laughing.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

  “Not’ing, mon. Is just Sugar. Him crazy. If him have a smoke or somet’ing fe drink, him get mellow. If not, dat’s it, mon. Him just all ovah de place.”

  Henry started the car up again.

  “Those other boys don’t seem to be doing much of anything.”

  “Seem dat way. But dem is kind a like de neighborhood police. Like guard dog. Dem is not just sitting ’round watching not’ing. Dem is making sure nobody who don’t really belong ’round here come in an’ start causing trouble. Been quite a bit a dat lately … trouble. People don’t leave dem door open anymore. Dem ’fraid dem might come back an’ find dem house empty, wiped out. Some places you walk, dem stop you an’ ask you what side you for, an’ have mercy on you if you don’t give dem de answer dem want fe hear.”

  Henry stopped the car in front of a tall wooden gate that was hinged to a concrete fence on both sides. I couldn’t see much of the house behind the concrete, only the very top of it. As I walked out of the car, I almost tripped over a small dog that was so bony, I could see his ribs even in the limited light. The dog had sores all about its head. He was panting and looking at me hopefully, as if by chance, maybe I had come with a plate of food just for him. I stepped around the dog as Henry opened the gate, which didn’t seem that secure on its hinges. It gave way to a yard of dirt. There were a few patches of weeds, but not a blade of grass. The house was very small. It was the last one on the street. A few feet away, a wall of corrugated zinc formed a dead end. “LABOUR PARTY ZONE” was painted across it. I began walking on ahead of Henry.

  He grabbed my hand and whispered into my ear, “We have to be quiet ’til we get to de back a de yard. Me landlady nevah miss Sunday mass, an’ she don’t like temptation going on on her property.”

  I laughed, but Henry put a hand over my mouth.

  “Me serious, mon,” he said. He led the way ar
ound the side of the house, past a lime tree, and past a free-standing bathroom, which was housed in a tiny shack behind the main house. We ended up at another small house a few feet behind and to the left of the bathroom. Actually, it was more like a two-room shanty. The room to the right, Henry said, belonged to a young woman and her sister. It seemed way too small a space for one person, not to mention two.

  When I lived in Stepney, I thought Kingston was filled with mansions and manors. I never dreamed that there were homes even smaller than the ones in the country. The room to the left, which was Henry’s, was little more than a twelve by twelve rectangle with a cot, a small dresser and a tiny wooden table. There was no window.

  “Not much, is it?” Henry said as I looked around the room.

  “It’s not bad. Not bad at all.” I looked at the bare walls. “If you had a couple of pictures, it wouldn’t be too bad.”

  “Yeah, some pictures like you have up at you house. But if ’Enry did have pictures like dat, ’Enry wouldn’t be living here, now would he?”

  Denham Town felt warmer than any place I had ever stepped foot in. It was so humid, I was aware of the space my body was taking up. I was aware of each tiny dot of perspiration running down my neck and along my back. I tilted my head back and looked up at the ceiling, which at first I thought had a couple of black stains on it. But as I kept looking, I noticed the stains moving. That’s when it dawned on me that they weren’t stains, but groups of mosquitoes.