Crickets' Serenade

by Blythe, Carolita

  I dreamt of a storm from my youth that raged through the Stepney night while I lay in bed with the covers pulled up over my head. The wind whipped around so violently, I thought my small house would have been flung through the air like Farmer Bygrave’s goat had been the storm before. In my dream, morning eventually came, and it brought with it a strange calm. I awakened to find the mangoes I had coveted just days before, splattered about the ground. Their ripe yellow flesh had turned the same shade of red as Stepney’s dirt. I awakened to find a tree balanced against the church. It had crashed through the stain glass window; the same one that had taken the congregation five years to save up enough money to purchase from a businessman in Brown’s Town.

  Then my dream took a strange turn. I dreamt that in the calm, I was transported to the ruins of a Kingston mountainside. And as I walked through the mud that sucked my ankles down like quick drying cement, I realized I was not alone. Walking next to me was a young girl who had a far away smile and sparking eyes. Her mouth never moved, but I was able to sense her words, “You will never truly leave Reach. You will never truly leave Reach.” There was something so deep and sorrowful about her eyes, I became frightened. But before I could say anything to my newfound acquaintance, she veered off the road on which we were walking and disappeared into the mountainside. I was left with a strong sense that I had met Elsie Smalls.

  These were the images that had taken over my mind. I knew I was dreaming, but just couldn’t seem to wake myself from it. I tried to open my eyes, but they felt as though they were glued shut. I tried to raise myself up onto my elbows, but the weight of my body was too great for them to support. When my eyes finally did open, and the fuzzy images before me started to clear, I realized that I was lying in a twin bed. I studied my hands and discovered an I.V. sticking out of the forearm. The room I was in was painted white, and the strong scent of disinfectant clung to the air. I looked around slowly. I was in a hospital. I studied the line of my body, which was covered with a sheet. My stomach was no longer protruding. There was no longer a baby in me, but I had no recollection of ever giving birth.

  When I got back to Reach, a woman I had never seen before greeted me. She wore a white uniform and approached with her arms outstretched toward the baby. I moved the baby closer into my body.

  “Of course. It’s only natural you don’t want to put her down. It’s your first few days with her. But, mark my word, in time, you’ll be calling me in to do all the work.” She moved her right hand toward me. “Mrs. Dickinson. I’ve been employed by Mr. Montrose to help in matters where the baby is concerned.” She excitedly led me to the guestroom she occupied.

  “How long have you been here?” I asked.

  “Since the day you left for the hospital, so it’s been a week. But I’ve had quite a bit to keep me busy. You’ll see.”

  The baby’s crib had been moved from my room to the guestroom Mrs. Dickinson had taken over. And it had been painted a pastel green.

  “Why is the crib in here?” I asked.

  “Well, seeing that my sole purpose is to take care of the child, I just thought it would be more practical if she were nearer to me. That way, I wouldn’t have to run through the halls in the middle of the night to feed her or to rock her to sleep, and you can go about your business without having to worry about the little things.”

  “But I don’t mind worrying about the little things.”

  Mrs. Dickinson had this big, booming laugh. “So you say now, but after a couple of high pitched wails at midnight and at two and four in the morning, you’ll think differently. Anyway, as you see, I’ve had the room re-painted from that light blue it was before to a cheerier butterscotch.”

  “Butterscotch. Is that what you call it?”

  I walked across the room slowly, looking over all the changes.

  “The blue never bothered me at all,” I said.

  “And that’s fine. But shades of yellow are better for the baby’s disposition. Besides, I like sunny.” She followed my eyes to the crib. “It was cherrywood before. That does nothing for the baby. Besides, the pastel green goes well with the yellow walls.”

  I tried to say something, but I suppose I wasn’t quick enough because before I could open my mouth, Mrs. Dickinson was on to another topic.

  “I must say you have good timing,” she said. “You picked the stormiest six days to be confined to a hospital. I haven’t seen a storm that bad for quite a few years now. Trees were being pulled out of the ground from the roots. Shanties were blown clear away. And the roads have been terrible.”

  “I thought I dreamt it.”

  “Oh, this is no dream. More like a nightmare. It’s been nothing short of a miracle getting out of here to get supplies. With little baby Montrose being born in the eye of it, I thought you might have named her ‘storm.’ ”

  “No. It’s Charlotte.”

  “That’s a good strong name. You and Mr. Montrose decided well.”

  Actually, Lewis hadn’t decided at all. Charlotte had been my decision and mine alone.

  “Your husband was very worried when he saw you in the hospital. You were so weak.”

  “Lewis was at the hospital?”

  “Well of course. That’s what husbands do. Actually, it happened so suddenly, he missed the actual birth, but he was there soon afterwards. He was quite relieved everything turned out well.”

  I managed to force a smile. I don’t’ know why I was so surprised that he had shown up at the hospital. I’m sure it looked nice in print: “Prime Minister Montrose at University Hospital for the birth of his first child …”

  I looked around the room—at the butterscotch paint and the green crib and the giraffe trim on the walls.

  “You did all this in six days?”

  “Well, your husband is the prime minister. And don’t worry about me. I’m not one of those privacy freaks. Whenever you get a notion to come in and visit with or hold or play with your little girl, you should feel free to do so. My door will always be open to you.”

  “Who did you say hired you again?”

  Her smile disappeared. “I didn’t.”

  “Then may I ask who hired you?”

  “I was called into service by your housekeeper, at the request of your husband, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “And you shouldn’t have any worry. I’ve worked the past twenty years as a nanny and come with many references. I started out as a pediatric nurse in Clarendon. And I speak French.”

  “French?”

  “I’ll be spending so much time with your child. It’s always a plus to know a second language.”

  “But who speaks French in Jamaica?”

  “No one. But that’s not the point. Your daughter will need it when she goes to France.”

  “France?” I looked around at the bright walls and at the stars painted into the corner of the room.

  “You seem very nice, Mrs. Dickinson. And I’m sure you are a very good nurse.”

  “An excellent nurse, ma’am.”

  “Yes, but the thing is, me and Charlotte don’t really need a nurse.”

  “Every new mother of your importance needs a nurse, ma’am.”

  “Why? Everybody where I come from did it by themselves. Some people had three children all under the age of five. They managed. Look, you don’t have to worry about finding another position …”

  “That’s because I already have one here with you and the Prime Minister.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Dickinson.” I shook my head, then excused myself. The baby was the only thing in my life that was truly mine, and I wasn’t about to share her with a French speaking nurse from Clarendon. When I reached Mrs. Moore’s apartment, I tapped lightly against the door. Mrs. Moore appeared immediately.

  “Something wrong, ma’am?”

  “There’s a woman upstairs whose been hired to take care of Charlotte.”

  “Yes. Mrs. Dickinson. A fine nurse.”

  “Yes, I’m sure of this, but
the thing is, Mrs. Moore, I don’t need a nurse, or nanny, or whatever it is she is called.”

  “All right.”

  I had long before realized that alluding to something didn’t work with Mrs. Moore. I don’t think it’s because she didn’t understand what was being said. Quite the contrary. She just didn’t believe in misunderstandings, so if you meant “yes,” you had to say “yes,” not “perhaps,” not “maybe.”

  “This is really strange for me because I’ve never done this before,” I said.

  “I have to let her go.”

  “Has she done something wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Then may I ask why you want her to go?”

  “I want to take care of my daughter myself. As long as I’m here and I’m all right, I won’t be needing a nurse. That’s my decision.”

  Less than an hour later, Mrs. Dickinson was climbing into her car and speeding off down the driveway. But the following day, while I was moving the crib into my room and setting things up the way I thought they should have been set up, I had quite a start when I looked up and saw the French-speaking nanny from Clarendon standing behind me.

  “Mrs. Dickinson, did you forget something?” I asked.

  “No, ma’am. I’m here to be of assistance …”

  Maybe I was having one of those déjà vu moments, I thought. Maybe I had not really let Mrs. Dickinson go the day before.

  “…to be of assistance to you and the baby,” she continued.

  “But Mrs. Dickinson, didn’t we have a talk yesterday and you agreed to go?”

  “Yes. Yes, that is what happened. But your husband feels it’s best for me to be here.”

  -33-

  On August 14th, the island was caught in the tail-end of a hurricane. There was constant rain and wind and twigs and branches flying around. In the afternoon, I heard quite a bit of commotion coming from the first floor, so I walked into the vestibule and peeped out the window. Lewis’ car was in the drive, along with several others. I saw a number of his cabinet members covering their heads with their jackets and running from their cars to the verandah for cover. I moved to the top of the stairs where I could see them pass into the hall. Lewis led them into the living room, and the door was shut behind them. For three hours, nothing changed.

  Mrs. Moore started buzzing around preparing dinner. When she called me downstairs, I expected to be the only one served in the dining room, while Lewis and his ministers were served in the living room. But as I walked into the dining room, I saw the table set for eight. The door to the living room opened and the group filed across the hall and into the dining room. They were all very serious. Lewis glanced at me before taking his seat. He nodded slightly, then sat. Everyone seemed uneasy. They were all very quiet, and whenever there was conversation, it was forced. Todd Dean and James Alvarez spoke of the storm outside and the chances of them making it back down the mountain. I could tell something big was about to happen. It was in the air. I tried to focus in on everything that was being said, but they didn’t let much of anything out.

  One of the cabinet minister’s mentioned something about preferring to remain at Reach because the lightest drizzle usually knocked out his electricity. Lewis shook his head absently. He hardly touched any of his food. He looked up suddenly and his eyes locked in on mine. I didn’t look away.

  “Doesn’t look like the lights here are going to hold up either,” James said as the tiny bulbs in the chandeliers flickered, then alternated between spells of darkness and light.

  “Mrs. Moore.” Lewis mumbled her name hardly loud enough for me to hear. But it was as if she had read his mind, because moments later, she entered with candles and placed them throughout the room.

  The French doors had been bolted shut, but they vibrated from the wind. The minutes passed, the soup cooled, the shadows on the walls grew longer. The dinnerware was eventually cleared away, and tea was brought in. “We can take this in the living room,” Lewis said, “where it’s more comfortable.” The men all picked up their cups and began moving into the living room. Lewis lingered a bit. We were the only ones left in the room.

  “Mrs. Moore is going to prepare the guest rooms. No one should be on the road in weather like this,” he said.

  “You’re not finished with your meeting yet? It must be something big,” I said. Lewis just shook his head, then he looked out into the storm.

  “Agnes is worried about you,” I said.

  “Agnes is always worried about me.”

  “Yeah, but this time, she’s really worried. She just thinks that postponing the election is bad. She says lots of people do.”

  Lewis walked over to and closed the dining room door. But he didn’t move any farther into the room.

  “So, she’s taken you on as her messenger.”

  “No. For the first time ever, I agree with her. I don’t have a good feeling about things. I don’t think things are good. People aren’t happy. When you were elected, they were so happy. They thought things were going to change here. They thought Jamaica would be a better place for their children. Now, now they’re trying to send their children off the island.”

  “Change takes time,” he mumbled.

  “I guess. But it shouldn’t hurt so many people.”

  He shook his head slowly, but didn’t say anything.

  “Lewis, how come you let Paulette leave Jamaica?” When he didn’t answer, I kept talking.

  “She loves this island. People should never be forced to leave the place they love.”

  “I don’t believe the Benson’s were forced, Souci. David is entitled to make a livelihood anyway and anywhere he can.” He put his hand on the door handle and pulled the door open. I stood and spoke quickly.

  “But why not here? Why does he have to give up so much of his company?”

  “It seems so simple, doesn’t it, but there is so much more at work here. I have nothing against David. I like him, but it’s not a situation where I can have things both ways. I tried to cut him a break, but it wasn’t working out. Besides, it’s business. I can’t play favorites. Bauxite is our biggest industry. There is no reason why foreign companies should be reaping all the benefits from it. I think we’re better served if the industry is government-controlled, that’s all. It’s not like I’m singling David out. This is something that’s being done across the board, and I’ve tried to explain it to him. He’s not happy about it, but I think he understands. He’s a businessman. It’s a little different with Paulette because she sees it as a personal affront. We haven’t been great friends over the years. My association with her was mainly because of my relationship with David. Still, I would never willfully do anything to hurt her. As for David, I really do like and respect him. It’s just unfortunate that in our scheme to restructure things, he is being caught in the middle.” He tried to pull the door farther open, but I was determined to keep him in the room with me.

  “In Stepney, if you could grow the biggest and best yams and could make all the money in the world from it, but it would hurt the farmer next to you and prevent him from making his living, you would either bring him into your farm or just get rid of your crops altogether.”

  “I wish it was that easy, but this isn’t Stepney, Souci. We’re talking about an increased number here. It’s a million-and-a-half farmers versus five, lets say. In such a case, you have to sacrifice the five.”

  “Yes, it’s easy in Stepney. But maybe that’s the way things should be. Sometimes I think people in the city, people in power, make things tougher than they need to.”

  Lewis was quiet and still for some time. He pushed the door closed and walked toward the table.

  “Souci, do you view me as something evil and only out for myself?”

  “Yes, Lewis. I think you are two people rolled up into one. I think you’re a man who is so caring one day, and so cold the next. Yes, Lewis, I am afraid of what you might be capable of. I can’t understand how you can talk about your mother the way you do. I believ
e that Elsie Smalls is lying in the ground now because of you.”

  Those were all the things that had been going through my mind. They were all the things I wanted to say for so long. They were also the things I didn’t say. I just shrugged my shoulders.

  “Many people view me so. It’s funny how sometimes what you intend is not what occurs.” There was a flash of lightning. He looked toward the window.

  “Lewis, you asked me one time what I would be doing if I wasn’t at Reach?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, lots.”

  He just looked at me.

  “Maybe it’s time I find out. I think it’s time I find out what my life will be like away from Reach. I think it’s time for me to leave. You’ve won your election. You don’t need me anymore.”

  “Once again, Souci,” he said calmly. “Our arrangement is one term, plus an extra year if I run for and win the next election.”

  I stepped away from the table, pushed the chair in and stood behind it.

  “But there is no next election. At least not any time soon.”

  “In time,” he said softly.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means, now is not a good time for you to go.”

  “But you don’t need me anymore.”

  “Now is not a good time for you go,” he repeated.

  “Lewis, you can’t make me stay if I don’t want to.”

  He just kept looking at me. I couldn’t read what his eyes were saying.

  “Souci, you are not afraid of me, are you? Because I’m afraid of myself. Things I never believed myself capable of, I’ve done. People I’ve never believed I could bring harm to …” He abruptly stopped speaking, and his eyes shifted. He retreated to the door.

  “Very, very soon, we’ll see some progress. I just need you to hold on a little longer.”

  “An election date will be set?” I felt a heavy weight being lifted from me.

  “You really want to leave?” he asked quietly, ignoring my question. “After all this, you really think you could live in Stepney?”