Crickets' Serenade

by Blythe, Carolita

  A group of secondary school girls in green pleated uniforms were seated in one of the middle rows. They passed notes around.

  “Certain western nations have claimed that our government’s overseeing and regulation of the bauxite industry is illegal. Illegal on what grounds? Illegal to them because their companies are no longer getting the product at give away prices? They can no longer rape our soil of the ore and transport it to their home soil for processing, thus cheating us out of labor and taxes. And as for my relationship with Mr. Castro, have we turned Communist by virtue of it? We were given the beautiful, well-needed gift of a hospital by him. Have the patients who have benefited from its services been injected with Communist serum?

  “You might also have questions about the Samuel Bennett incident years ago, which has suddenly surfaced again, and no less at such a fragile time. Yes, Mr. Bennett’s tenure as editor-in-chief of The Gleaner did end when I came to power. I know many of you look to him as an esteemed member of Jamaican society, a part of our heritage to take pride in, much like ackee and saltfish, reggae or Red Stripe Beer. I know this because I still sometimes hear his name mentioned in the same breath as my father’s. Samuel Bennett is a part of our heritage, but we should be no more proud of him than we are of slavery.” Near the back of the room, a man operated a video camera. I was pretty sure this speech would be replayed on JBC news that night.

  “Let me give you a little background on the Bennett family. Samuel Bennett was born on the island just after the turn of the century. His mother, Ophelia, in her day, had the distinction of being known as the most cantankerous woman alive. For over three decades, she and her husband Jonathan ran a large sugar mill just outside of Savanna-La-Mar. He inherited the family business from his father, who had inherited it from his own father, and so on down the line. The Bennett family benefited magnificently from the slave trade, building a huge sugar empire off the free labor, a point Mrs. Ophelia Bennett had no qualms in acknowledging. With her domineering ways and caustic badgering, her husband eventually struck up quite a friendship with a popular sugar by-product. You all know just what I’m talking about.”

  There was some laughter and a few “yeah, mon’s.” I was just hoping the story was coming to an end.

  “Ophelia spent her time focusing on the business and on their only child, Samuel, who eventually left the island for school abroad. Now, it’s true that Sam Bennett began his career as a journalist in London. It’s also true that he won worldwide acclaim for his articles depicting the continuous bombing of the city during the war. That part is well- known. But back to his mother for a second.” Lewis pulled out a textbook, flipped to a bookmarked page and began reading from it. Only, he didn’t really look at the book much. It’s as if he had the passage memorized.

  “Business wise, as I understand it, the worst thing to happen to this Caribbean island and all others was the end of slavery. I’m not an oppressive thinker, mind you, but let’s face it, both parties benefited from the previous arrangement. We paid the workers with food and shelter, they gave us their labor. We made life easy for them. They didn’t have the headache that goes with governing and earning a living. Like children, they seldom had cause for worry.” He shut the book with emphasis.

  “That quote was not made up. It can be found in this secondary school history reader I hold here in my hand.” He held the book up to the crowd, then placed it on the podium. He then pulled out another text and began reading from that.

  “It took a man of iron will to oversee the plantations. The field Negroes were lazy, perhaps not their fault, perhaps a characteristic of their breed.” The crowd grimbled. Lewis closed the book and looked up.

  “I don’t think I need to read any more of that garbage,” he said. “But if you would like to discover more of what’s in the piece I just read from, the novel is entitled, Plantation. Its author is Steven Bond.” He paused and looked into the crowd.

  “You’re looking at me as if to say, ‘Why does this man fill us with this useless information?’ Allow me to apologize. Steven Bond is only a pen name, a pen name used by one Samuel Bennett.”

  There was murmuring and surprise.

  “I didn’t make it up. It’s something Mr. Bennett has gone through great pains to cover up. It was written long before he became editor-in-chief, when it was still alright to say such things, even though he lived in a predominantly black nation. Samuel Bennett must have tried to recover every one of these novels. Fortunately, my father held on to a copy, just in case Mr. Bennett ever stepped out of line with him.

  “Sam Bennett is a product of the planter society, just as prejudiced as his mother. The only difference is, he is better at camouflaging his ideas, to an extent, with the written word. He is conservative. He is single-minded, and woe unto those whose politics he does not agree with. I ask you, is that fair journalism?”

  There was some applause, but it wasn’t very enthusiastic. My stomach grumbled, and I looked toward the back of room. I kept hoping Lewis would end his speech, but the minutes kept drifting by. He made a joke and there was a little more laughter. Finally, an hour-and-a-half after he first started speaking, he began introducing his team of supporters. James Alvarez’s name was called first. When he introduced me, I did as was expected of me. I walked to the podium and took my place at his side. He placed his arm around my shoulder, then leaned in and kissed me square on the mouth. And it wasn’t just a small peck—like at our wedding. It was too long and too involved and too real. He looked at me for some time, and I looked at him. I knew it was all being done for publicity, but the weight of that kiss still caught me off-guard. I wondered how Jesus felt at the moment of Judas’ kiss.

  “It is with these people, this field of players, that I have been able to do what I have. I especially want to single out Souci, who has been everything any man, any politician would ever want in a wife.” He was laying it on a little thick, I thought.

  “I want to thank her for her warmth, her loyalty and especially her patience,” he continued. “I am not an easy man to live with. Her blessing and support has aided me in coming to the decision I have come to. I know many of you are wondering about the date of our next election. This speech was not to declare that, but rather for me to try to soothe some of your fears and to answer some of your most asked questions. The policies I have instituted cannot fit neatly into a four or five year box. The fruits are only now beginning to ripen. I am here to ask you for just a little more time. In time, you will see for yourself the mature fruits of our labor, and you will be pleased.”

  I looked out into the crowd. I could tell the people didn’t really know what to make of this news. I didn’t know what to make of it. A few people applauded. Most just stood by silently or mumbled to each other. I was feeling a little warm, so I just tried to stick it out until all the cameras had been turned off and we were able to leave. I took a few deep breaths and tried to recall the lyrics to “Michael Row the Boat Ashore.” That’s when everything turned white, then went blank.

  I was once again taken to the hospital at the University of the West Indies where I tried to explain that my dizzy spell was the result of not eating. I had not taken breakfast or lunch that day. They wanted to rule out the possibility of a concussion since I had banged my head against the platform when I had fallen. They ran a few tests, asked a few questions, shined a light in my eyes, and poked me in places I didn’t think a concussion warranted being poked in. I was finally released, but only after being informed that I was to expect a follow-up housecall from Dr. Evans the next day. But when Dr. Evans arrived the following day, he had Lewis with him. I had been laying down in my bedroom, but sat up as both men entered. Dr. Bennedict had a grin on his face. Lewis just looked puzzled.

  “Well, you’ll both be happy to know that there are no physical abnormalities,” the doctor said. Basically, Mrs. Montrose, you just need a better diet. Don’t skip meals.”

  “Is it anemia?” Lewis asked.

  “No, it’s n
othing as dire as that. That’s why I have you both here. It’s actually something quite positive. Mr. and Mrs. Montrose, you are about to become parents.”

  If I hadn’t been sitting when those words came from the doctor’s mouth, I would surely have fallen. Every ounce of blood drained from my extremities. I felt my fingers and toes tingling. The room suddenly became as quiet as a tomb. All the movement around me stopped.

  The doctor said something about leaving Lewis and me alone to discuss the happy news. His voice came out dream-like and warped. He expressed his congratulations again, forced his hand into Lewis’ and walked through the door, shutting it behind him. The resounding noise jarred me back to the present. My eyes found their way to Lewis’ face, which had taken on a blank expression. He did not move. He didn’t say a word. His hands hung limply at his side. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks and years seemed to pass without any words being spoken.

  “Maybe there was a mistake,” I was finally able to stammer out. “I never thought this could happen in a million years. I was careful. Very careful. I guess you’ll want to know who … you’ll want to know who.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Lewis said in almost a whisper. He brought his right hand up to his face and ran the back of it across his mouth.

  “Does he know?”

  “I just found out myself,” I said as I shook my head.

  “No. Does he know our situation?”

  “You mean that we’re not really together, or that we weren’t? No. He doesn’t know a thing.”

  “Does he really not know or is this another Michele Blackshire situation?” He had that cold, unsettled look in his eyes again. He walked quickly to the window, pushed it all the way up and stuck his entire torso out.

  “That’s the truth. He doesn’t know. You know who it is, don’t you?”

  The wind blew in place of his response.

  “What will you do to him?”

  “I don’t do things to people,” he said behind clenched teeth. “Now, it’s all settled. You will have the child. It will be given the name Montrose and it will be brought up as my own. This other party does not need to know otherwise. But if your relationship is still ongoing, it must end, and end immediately. Everything will be announced in the paper within the next few weeks.”

  “Maybe it would be best if I just left.”

  He said nothing.

  “Just end our arrangement here.” I got tired of waiting for Lewis to respond. “Maybe it was stupid what happened, but at least I have good timing,” I said. “The baby would arrive in time for the election, if you would call one for early next year. You couldn’t buy any better publicity than that.”

  If looks could kill, I would have been laying in that patch of earth in Stepney beside my parents and the rest of my lost family. Lewis bolted from the room without saying another word. I didn’t know if the situation was best treated as Lewis had mapped out, but I did feel it was best to end things with Henry. This saddened me greatly because I had come to rely on him. I had come to look forward to my nights away from Reach—my nights in the unpredictable and exciting world of West Kingston. I had come to enjoy the ease and freedom I felt while laying on Henry’s tiny cot. I had become used to his touch, and I had come to enjoy feeling attractive to another person. But now, things had gotten far too complicated. Another layer had been added to an already multi-layered existence—and I had to gain just the slightest bit of control over my life.

  -31-

  November 14, 1979—the day the news services would be announcing the expected Montrose baby. I hadn’t spent a night in Kingston since Dr. Evans’ news, and I missed it something awful. I would have given most anything to join Henry and the rowdy crowd at the Rialto to see the new Shaolin Monk karate movie. I missed the feeling of the cold seawater at Hellshire Beach washing up against my feet. The past month had seen me “too tired” or “too busy” for these things, when in actuality, I spent most of my nights sitting in the upper vestibule at Reach trying to figure out how to regain some control over my life.

  I wasn’t in love with Henry, but it wasn’t until I stopped spending time with him that I realized how much I depended on him—how much more bearable he made things for me. Everything about Henry was simple and real. Everything about my life was now all turned around and upside down. Nothing appeared as it really was. My marriage was a lie, and now my child was going to be born into the biggest lie of all. I felt I needed to just stop and scream the truth to anyone who would listen, but that was impossible. I felt that Henry should at least know the truth, but I had no idea if that would really do any good. What if he wanted to be involved in the baby’s life? What if he refused to take part in the lie and objected to the baby being named Montrose? I could have just waited until the paper announced my pregnancy—which would have been the easy way out, then I could gauge Henry’s reaction before I spoke to him. But I knew I owed him better than that.

  I didn’t tell Henry we needed to talk. I just told him I wanted to spend some time with him someplace quiet, someplace where we could be alone. He offered his room, but I felt strange going there now. Besides, I didn’t want to have to through a long ride with weird, uncomfortable silence. I suggested someplace not too far from Reach and we ended up behind the Blue Mountain Cafe, which had long been closed. Henry walked around the side and along a tree lined path that slanted downwards, then joined with another path cut through spongy grass. The land came to a sudden end and fell steeply toward the Hope River. Henry sat right at the edge, his feet dangling over. He had brought two of those warm Red Stripes he was always drinking, and sat them in the grass to his left. He patted the grass to his right and lifted his head slightly in that “come over here” gesture. It was almost pitch black, but I could make out the river’s twists and turns. It was so secluded back there, I felt as if Henry and I were the only two people left in the world.

  Suzette Reynolds, who was a year ahead of me at Stepney Primary, used to write down what she wanted to say to whichever boy she happened to be sweet on. She would come running through the school gates with a piece of note paper or toilet paper in hand, mumbling the words to herself. I never really got into the habit of practicing what I had to say before I actually said it. It just seemed a waste of time and good mental energy. But as I stood on that raised embankment listening to the water trickling along below, I actually wished that I had one of Suzette Reynolds’ cheat sheets.

  “’Enry ain’t spend time wit’ you in a while, but you don’t seem too happy to be here.”

  I couldn’t figure out how to say what I had to say. Actually, I still didn’t really know what I was going to tell Henry—the actual truth, or the Reach version of the truth.

  “’Enry wasn’t planning on spending de whole time here. ’Enry was t’inking, maybe we could go on down to de botanical gardens and lay down under one a dem flamboyant trees an’ look up at de stars.” He started patting the grass around him.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Need rock stone fe open de beer wit’.”

  I started feeling around, too. I found a small rock, but Henry rejected it.

  “Too small an’ round,” he said. He seemed to give up on finding a rock and pulled his keys from his pocket. He put the jagged part of the key up against the bottle cap and flicked at it a couple of times. The top flew off. He offered me a bottle, even though he knew I hated warm beer. I shook my head.

  “I’ve been turning some things over in my head,” I said.

  “What kind a t’ings?”

  “Things between me and you.”

  “Sound real serious.”

  “It is.”

  “’Enry don’t too like serious.” He took a sip of the beer and let out a deep sigh before continuing.

  “We nah go see each odda no more, huh? Whenever somebody say dem been t’inking ’bout t’ings, it mean trouble. Dat’s wha Donna say to ’Enry when she break t’ings off.”

  I reached my hand forward and dropped t
he small round rock I had found. After a few seconds, a small splashing sound was made. “It’s just that … I just don’t really know what’s going on. The whole thing with me and Lewis is so strange right now. And then there’s the whole political thing.” I figured if I just started talking, something of meaning would eventually come out.

  “’Enry figure dis would come some day. Me mean, is not like you just some normal, everyday girl. You de prime minister wife.”

  “But that’s just it. I am normal, or I was. Just an old country girl from Stepney. It’s not like you need to go to school or anything to be a prime minister’s wife. It just kind of happened to me. Only difference between us is that more people know of me. Who knows, maybe you can get back together with Donna, since you love her.” I pulled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.

  “Donna seem so far away. You was always right here. Anyway, I don’t t’ink I cyan do any more. I cyan’t brainwash her. Is all up to her now.”

  “I’m sorry, Henry. I’m sorry I ever let this happen in the first place.”

  “Why you sound like you blaming you’self? Is not like you put a gun to me head an’ say, ’Enry, kiss me right now. Last time ’Enry check, him wasn’t exactly kicking an’ screaming an’ calling fe de police. ’Enry a go tell you a likkle story. When me was fourteen, me live in Bog Walk wit’ me modda an’ fadda an’ sister. Everybody know ’Enry fadda was running ’round wit’ some woman here in Kingston. It get so bad, me fadda stop coming home altogedda. Everybody tell ’Enry modda she should find a nice mon who care ’bout her. But she love ’Enry fadda bad. She love him so ’til she just drop dead one day. Forty years old. Nobody know why. Some say it was because she love him to deat’. Dat’s when ’Enry come to Kingston looking fe him daddy.” Henry became quiet for some time. He just looked down into the darkened river and drank his beer. Maybe he was listening to the water trickling by. Maybe he was listening to the crickets or to whatever bird or animal was whistling off in the distance.