The Other Side of Paradise: A Memoir

by Chin, Staceyann

  I close the Mills & Boon romance novel and decide to call my own father after school tomorrow.

  When the last bell rings, I quickly make my way to the telephone booths on Church Street. It is Friday evening, so the phones are busy with people checking to see if relatives abroad will wire them money for the weekend. I wait while a woman on the phone asks her daughter if she will ever come back to Jamaica. I cannot hear the answer, but the woman nods as tears roll down her cheeks. She reminds her daughter to send money for the children’s school fee. “And don’t forget you say you was going to send me a new hat fi Easter. All right, all right! Me know it expensive. Take care and cover up good from the cold.” When she says good-bye, her nose is running and she is wiping her eyes.

  I slip into the narrow booth. I search for the number in the big yellow phone book. I trace my finger down the long list of Chins. There are four Junior Chins listed right after Joan Chin. I draw courage from the memory of Summer demanding answers from her estranged father and dial the number with an address on Leader Avenue. I jump when someone answers on the first ring.

  “Hello.” The voice on the other end of the phone is deep, melodic.

  “Hello…” My voice cracks.

  “Yes, hello? Hello? Hello?” His response is impatient. “Is anyone there?”

  “Hell—hello. Is this Mr….?” I have no idea what to say.

  “Hello? Hello? Who is this? To whom do you wish to speak? Hello? Who is this? What number is it that you want?”

  I take a deep breath and grip the receiver. My fingers ache. “Is this Mr…. is this Junior Chin? I want to speak with Junior Chin.”

  “Yes, this is Junior Chin. Who is this?”

  “This is Staceyann Chin and I want to know if you are my father.”

  The silence on his end of the phone is made louder by the sound of cars honking as they pass by me on the street. I look at a bright red Honda going by and wonder, if he has a car, will let me ride in it?

  “Oh, Staceyann…”

  My name sounds so sad on his lips, not excited like I had imagined. Maybe he is worried about how much money it would cost to be my father. I know that he has other children. And children are very expensive. I want to tell him that he doesn’t have to give me any money. I just want him to go places with me and talk to me about the books I read. I want him to know that being my father isn’t going to be expensive.

  I remember Summer’s speech to her father.

  “I really don’t want your money,” I begin. “I can take care of myself. I’m going to be somebody someday, a lawyer or a doctor. Doctors and lawyers make a lot of money. I won’t need any of your money. I just want my identity. You know, my roots. I want to know if I got my nose from you and my crooked little fingers. People say I must have got those things from you. My mother’s nose is different and she doesn’t have any crooked little fingers. And I’m a really nice person, I read a lot of books and I get good grades, and…and…”

  He sighs. “Okay. Can you come by my office on Tuesday? Do you know where it is? It’s on Barnett Street—right in front of the police station. You can come right after school.”

  “Yes, sir! Okay, see you on Tuesday, sir!”

  I run all the way to the furniture store. At the front desk a round-faced, friendly woman with clear nail polish on her fingers is talking on the phone. When she puts the receiver down, I say good evening and ask for Mr. Chin.

  She wrinkles her brow and asks, “Which one of the Mr. Chins you looking for?”

  “I am looking for the owner of the place, Mr. Junior Chin. He said I should come today.”

  “You have an appointment? And what is this in regard to?”

  The phone rings.

  “I am Staceyann, his daughter. And he told me to come.”

  She doesn’t say anything else. She just points me in the direction of his office and picks up the ringing phone.

  “He is around the back. Is the last door behind the red rolls of upholstery—just go down there and knock.”

  I navigate my way around the giant rolls of red cloth. I step over the planks of wood and follow the long hallway. I tap lightly on the door.

  “Come in.”

  I hesitate.

  “Come in! Just push the door and come in!”

  The office is a small room with piles of furniture paraphernalia all over the chairs, the desk, and the floor; bits of red velvet upholstery, wooden legs for chairs, floral cushions for couches, nails, hammers—I have to clear myself a path to a chair.

  “Sit down there, young lady.”

  I sit down in front of the desk. He looks at me for a long time before he speaks. He is kind of handsome, and darker than most Chinese people. His hair is a little wavy and peppered with gray. I never imagined my father with gray hair. The pictures of my mother are youthful and vibrant. Every hair is in full color. He doesn’t look like someone my mother could be with. He is kind of old. Handsome, but old.

  “How can I help you, little miss?” I am confused by his question.

  “Well, I called because—because…well, I mean, you are my father. We should get to know each other.”

  “What are you reading?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You say you read a lot. What are you reading now?”

  I don’t want to tell him about Blade and Summer, so I lie. “I am reading a book called The Silver Sword. It’s about some children who lost their parents in the war and they are going somewhere to try and find them. The children are Polish. They are from Poland.”

  “Young lady, we have to talk about some things, here.” He is silent for a beat. Then he continues. “Do you know how a woman gets pregnant?”

  “Yes, of course,” I reply. “First, she has sex with a man, and then he gives her sperm and the baby grows in her for nine months, but only sometimes—I was born at less than seven months. That’s how I am with everything. I do everything fast. People say that is why I am bright, because I do things before I am supposed to.”

  “Well, if your mother and I had had sex, then you could be my child. But I never really had sex with your mother. There’s no way you could be my child.”

  “But I’m half-Chinese…” I don’t understand what he is saying.

  “I know, but you didn’t get any of that from me.” He holds my gaze as he says it.

  “But people say I look like your other daughter…” I am floored.

  “I know. I know. It’s obvious that you are of Asian descent, but there are a hundred Chinese gentlemen in Montego Bay. It must have been one of them, because it was not me. I am very sorry. But that is the truth. Believe me, young lady, if I had had sex with your mother I would tell you.”

  His eyes look like he is telling the truth. I don’t want to call him a liar. I do not want him to be a liar. It does not matter that people say I look exactly like his daughter Karen or that I have ankles that turn in like his. He says that I do not belong to him and that is that. I want to scream at him and call him a bastard, a piece of shit, a coward. I look at his face again; he believes every word he is saying. He looks right at me and I see that this is very difficult for him. Suddenly, I want to protect him. I say the most comforting thing I can think of. “Well, I guess that’s all you can say, there’s really nothing more. My mother said you are my father, you say you are not. She is not here to contradict you. Don’t worry about it, sir. There’s nothing else you can do.”

  I pick up my bag and stand.

  “You know something, Mr…. I really appreciate your telling me. Big people don’t tell children things because they think we are too young to understand. But we understand a lot more than most people think. The thing is, I feel like a big person most of the time. Thanks again for your time, sir, good evening.”

  I leave the building with the staff staring and passing comments on how tall I am, how much I look like my mother. Another Chinese man who looks very much like my father stops me at the door.

  “Stop there, man
. Stop a little bit.” He takes me by the shoulder. “What is your name?”

  My eyes fill up. His face seems magnified. “Staceyann. Staceyann Chin.”

  “Okay, Staceyann. Your father is not here every day. But I am here every day. My name is Desmond. So I am your Uncle Desmond. And you can come and see me anytime you want, you hear me? And if you need something fi school—a book, or a pair of shoes—just come here and I will try and see what I can do, you hear me?”

  I am sobbing now. Uncle Desmond is very kind, but I don’t want him. I want my father. I want my father to call me back and tell me that he was just joking with me. That he made a mistake and that he is sorry.

  “Listen to me, Stacey.” Uncle Desmond shakes me gently by the shoulder. “If I am not here, ask the lady inside. She is my wife. She is your Auntie Joan. And she will help you, you hear?”

  I nod and head out toward the front of the store.

  The workmen, staining a new dresser, nod and tell me I look exactly like my sister. “You are the dead stamp. And you have the same body as your mother. She was slim and neat just like you!”

  I have never seen these men before, yet they all seem to know my mother. I walk to the taxi stand, hugging my schoolbag to my chest so that I won’t fall to pieces. Auntie is going to be upset because I am late. My uniform needs to be washed for school the next day. I want to kill my father who is not my father. I want to be dead.

  Part II

  God Helps Those Who Help Themselves

  I know that if I want to get out of Paradise I have to find a way to go to high school. If I end up at a secondary school I will be stuck doing needlework and home economics, with no chance of ever getting a college education. But high schools cost money and my mother has not sent one penny since she went away almost two years ago.

  Andy says that since I am almost eleven years old, I am old enough to get a man to pay for me to attend Mount Alvernia. I want to ask Delano if his father could help me, but since we never speak when we pass each other on the street, I don’t know if that makes any sense. The most he will do is wave. I am so worried about the money, I can’t sleep at night. Finally, I ask the school secretary if I can just have a word with Sister Cecile. As soon as the door closes behind me in the office, I burst into tears.

  “Come, come, now. There is nothing that cannot be solved with the Blessed Virgin and our Lord and Savior. What is the matter, my child?” Sister Cecile’s voice is clear and kind.

  “Sister, I want to go to high school, but I don’t have any money! My father is rich, but he is never going to come and save me. My mother doesn’t remember that she has any children, and the boys who live in my auntie’s house are trying to rape me every day! I have to go to high school, Sister Cecile!”

  Sister Cecile’s yellow wrinkled face is still while she listens. She tells me she can’t do much today, but if I pass my Common Entrance the nuns might have a word with my father for me.

  After school I go back to the store to visit Uncle Desmond. He smiles when he sees me. “Come in, come in, man. Come meet your two cousins. Lief and April, this is Stacey, Uncle Junior’s daughter. April, take her round the back and show her where oonu like to climb up.”

  Lief, who is eight or so years old, nods at me and then disappears. April is a pretty little girl of about six years old wearing the white uniform of Mount Alvernia Prep School. “Come on, Stacey.” She takes me by the hand and drags me past my father’s office to the stack of mattresses in the back.

  “Okay, just hold on to the plastic covering and pull yourself up to the top. And try not to tear the plastic. People don’t like to buy mattresses that are not covered.”

  After much huffing and groaning, we settle onto the crackling plastic-covered stack of mattresses. April digs into her pocket and pulls out a handful of coolie plums. She hands me half of the small tart fruits and looks me up and down. “So you are my cousin, then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What you mean, you don’t know? Is either you are my cousin or you not. Don’t Uncle Junior is your father?” I chew the tangy flesh of the plum so I don’t have to answer. I wish I were dressed in a crisp white uniform too.

  I turn to my books with a fury. In October I study every evening until there is no light to see. November brings long days at school doing mock math tests and multiple-choice questions and reading comprehension from morning till the dismissal bell rings. As soon as we are done, the tests are graded, and the top results are announced right there in class.

  In the first week of tests, Miss McBean calls my name for every exam. I walk to her desk and proudly collect the sheet of paper with the big red 100% written on the front. Every time my name is called I feel I am marching closer and closer to being at Mount Alvernia High School for Girls. I can’t wait to see the back of Chetwood.

  The whole class prepares for the Common Entrance Examinations with extra lessons after school. The children who do extra lessons do better on the actual exam. But the lessons are very expensive and Auntie does not have the money to pay every week. I ask Uncle Desmond to help. He gives me enough to pay for the whole term. I tell Auntie that Miss McBean says I can do the extra classes whether I have the money or not.

  “You see, Stacey. God makes a way for everything.”

  I nod and turn back to timing myself on the take-home mock exam.

  After my extra lessons, I spend the evenings eating coolie plums with April at the shop. One evening, just before the Christmas holidays, Uncle Desmond pulls me aside and tells me that today my father is working in the back office, so we should leave the mattresses and play near the front of the store, “because I don’t want to get into any more hot waters with him, you hear?”

  I nod, but I hover near the office, waiting to catch a glimpse of my father. Auntie Joan catches me peeking into the office and sends April and me to get an egg sandwich from the store across the street. When we come back, the office door is open and Uncle Desmond tells us we can play on the stack of mattresses again.

  I tell Auntie Joan, “I wish I could just go home with you and April and Lief. I wish Uncle Desmond was my father.”

  She puts her hand on my back. “Stacey, listen to me. It doesn’t matter who loves you or who doesn’t want you now. You do well. You keep to those books. You are very bright. I hear you are getting nineties and hundreds on the mock tests. Just keep at it and one day you will show everybody what you are made of! And everybody will want you then! But it is getting so late, and I don’t want you out on the street too late. Them boys out there getting crazy.”

  When Auntie asks why I am so late coming home, I tell her that Miss McBean kept us or that I couldn’t get a taxi. She says she hopes all this late traveling helps me to get into my first choice for high school.

  You are allowed two choices for high school. The better I do on the exam, the more likely it will be that I will pass for one of the two girls’ schools that everyone picks: Mount Alvernia High or Montego Bay High. All the boys want to go to Cornwall College, where Delano is. If I lived on the other side of Paradise, in the neighborhoods where the children climb into shiny cars and go to school at Mount Alvernia Preparatory School, I would definitely pass for my first choice. All the children who go to Alvernia Prep will pass for good schools. Their parents have the money to pay for the extra lessons taught inside the very high schools they want them to attend.

  Christmas day passes without any mention of my eleventh birthday.

  When we get back to school in January, we have only a few days before we take the Common Entrance. On the morning of the exam, Auntie gives me a new eraser and two no. 2 pencils. Elisha wishes me luck.

  Auntie tells her that the exam has nothing to do with luck. “Everybody in Paradise knows that she is very, very bright. She is a bright child. I know she will do well. She study hard and last night me say a special prayer for her.”

  I am surprised and happy to hear that Auntie thinks I am bright. I tell myself I will try harder to make
her even more proud of me.

  Inside the classroom, which the invigilator refers to as the examination room, all the chairs are lined up in four long rows. We cannot speak to each other. We are to write only when we are told and to stop when we are asked. The soft rustle of paper is eerie in a room usually alive with the sound of arguments and beatings and laughter. I finish the math questions and we are given Mental Ability next. When that is done we get a break for lunch. I eat my banana chips alone and head back in at the sound of the bell. The English test is so easy I finish before everybody in my room.

  On my way home, I see Delano on the opposite side of the taxi stand. I wave and he motions for me to come over. My heart is beating so fast I can hear the blood pounding inside my ears. I fiddle with my no. 2 pencil in my pocket and cross the street. Up close he looks the same as he did when we left Westmoreland, except that his hair is much shorter. I stand in front of him, surprised to see that we are the same height. It has been almost two years since we have stood this close. I want to hug him and kiss him and tell him about my terrible life in Paradise, but he casually leans against the wall and asks, “So how was the exam?”

  I wish I could touch his hair, but instead I step away and put both hands in my pockets. “It was very easy. I think I passed.”

  “Okay. Me did know that me pass long before, but me never say anything to anybody. Sometime is good fi just hold your mouth and wait.”

  Our eyes meet, but he quickly looks away. “All right, Delano, I won’t say anything to anybody.”

  He straightens his epaulet. “Anyway, you know where me live now?”

  “No.” I want to ask him if his father is good to him, if he has heard from Grandma, but he seems so uncomfortable standing there that I just smile and wait for him to continue.