Red Jacket

by Mordecai, Pamela;

  Last but not least, thank you for the photo. I am indeed glad to know what you look like! I won’t go on any longer, and you mustn’t feel obliged to reply at length. I’ll be happy just to hear back from you.

  With love,

  Phyllis

  Having read the letter, she plunges into the dark of the covers. No mind the pills she’d taken, her head feels like an anvil in a busy smithy. True, Phyllis hasn’t acquitted herself badly in the letter, but her resentment still sputters, refusing to be put out. Whatever fear, confusion, and isolation she’s ever felt, she now puts down to what they’d done, the lot of them. While everybody else is living life, she’s been scrutinizing herself, assessing, deciding she wasn’t good enough, and then setting herself some giant task to prove she was not only good enough, but better than everybody else. More than once she decides that the migraines are a way to punish herself, inflict pain as a reminder of her sentence to perfection.

  She’d been out earlier to see Carlos, Sylvia’s baby, a wonder child, to hear Maisie tell it. They are relocating to Calgary at month end and not planning to be back for three years, by which time she’ll have moved on, where she has no idea. In all likelihood, she’ll never see them again.

  It’s October twenty-first, a Sunday, and twenty-four degrees Celsius outside, some kind of record, according to the news. Rugs of leaves in love-bush colours curl over themselves. From a payphone near a window upstairs in Robarts Library, Grace looks at people scooting about on bicycles and on foot, in shorts and T-shirts. Lord! It’s not that hot! Still, better a bright, warm day to do what she is about to do. After hours of debating about whether, when and how soon to call her birth mother, she has decided the phone conversation is inevitable and so better done sooner than later.

  “May I speak to Phyllis, please?”

  “This is she. To whom am I speaking?”

  “It’s Grace. Grace Carpenter.”

  “Grace? Grace! Can you hold one minute, please?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  A few seconds’ silence during which Grace recalls Phyllis’s letter in response to hers, a kind of proper, stiff writing, nothing as simple and forthright as the letters she’d written to her as a teenager.

  “Sorry, just closing the door. Are you all right? Is everything okay?”

  “I’m fine. Everything’s fine, thanks. I was just calling to touch base ... finally ... I’m ... I’m sure you must have heard that Gramps, old Mr. Carpenter, passed away last month?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and a stupid thing, for of course Phyllis knows. She’d sent condolences in her letter.

  “We do know. Someone sent a telegram to Granny Vads, a man named Mr. Hector. But thanks for making sure. How are you?”

  “Like I said, things are fine. Not easy, but that’s nothing new. I’m sure you know how it is.”

  “How is the weather, Grace? It doesn’t seem too cold yet.”

  “It’s colder here than in New York.” Small talk, white people talk. Safe.

  “Since you wrote, I glance at the Toronto weather too.”

  “I’m now accustomed to it, more or less. I don’t really think I’m ever going to like it. Gramps says ...” Grace stops, remembering there’s no more Gramps. “Gramps gave me advice about staying warm, from when he was in the war. I have good boots and I make sure to wear something on my head.”

  And, she recalls absurdly, a stolen green plant in my room.

  “Do, take his advice, dear. I still hate all the clothes, but every time I cheat, I regret it. Garlic and white rum and honey take me through every winter.”

  Grace takes comfort from the mention of the white rum. She wonders what Phyllis would say if she knew that, though white rum may be hard to find, there’s plenty of ganja in her dorm. She thinks, Why not? “Garlic is easy to find, but white rum would be a different thing. There are other herbs I could put my hand on easy, though.”

  “That mayn’t be worth the risk!” A chuckle. “Of course, your Granny Evadne still swears by Mr. Carpenter’s infusions.”

  “I was there. I saw him make them, and give them to people and treat himself with them. I can tell you for sure that they work.”

  “I still think you’d better not try any remedies of that kind. Not till you finish and get the white people’s piece of paper.”

  The two of them laugh.

  “You know what you’re doing for Christmas, Grace?”

  “Well ... not yet.”

  “No pressure. Just asking. You could come here if you want. Granny Vads and I can offer a rollaway bed and of course some good St. Chris food.”

  The cooking tempts her, but Grace thinks, Don’t spoil things by rushing them. So far, so good! “Thank you, but I don’t know yet. I might have to stay here and study. The last couple Christmases I spent at my roommate’s house, and I can go there again if I want. I usually don’t decide till the last minute.”

  “No pressure at all, Grace.”

  “I have to go now. I have a class.”

  “Thanks for calling. Call again whenever you like, and reverse the charges next time. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Grace appreciates her offer. She doesn’t have a lot of spending money. “Thanks a lot. Bye.”

  It’s just as well things happen the way they happen. Since the first phone call, she and Phyllis talk on the phone a couple times and write letters now and then. So when Phyllis calls the Scotts on Christmas Day to wish her Happy Christmas and say that she just now found out she has to come to Toronto for a meeting right after Christmas and is wondering if she could spend the evening of the twenty-seventh with her, Grace isn’t sure what to do. She feels she shouldn’t say no, especially as it is Christmastime, the season of goodwill and all that. However, according to plans, they are supposed to stay in Warsaw till the thirtieth, then go back to Toronto to meet Gilberto, Steph’s boyfriend, who is coming back from LA so the two of them can go out on New Year’s Eve.

  After three Christmases, Grace and the Scotts are good friends. She spends a few days there during the year too. They are down-to-earth people. If you factor out house, car, and middle-class comforts — ha-ha — they are not so different from her family. Gramps would say they have class; Ma and Pa, brought-up-cy. She feels kin with Andrew Scott, Bruce, and Susie, maybe sake of their red hair, freckles, and red skin. Not that her red and their red is the same, but still. Mr. Scott puts her in mind of Pa, not saying much but always there, so you feel he will fix anything that needs fixing.

  Phyllis says Grace must consider and let her know. When Grace tells Steph why she may have to go back to Toronto on the twenty-seventh, Steph spins out of the room and rattles downstairs. “Alicia, can Grace’s mother stay with us? She’s coming to Toronto on the twenty-seventh and wants to see Grace.”

  “Heavens! Is she coming from St. Chris into this cold?”

  “No, Ma. Not that mother; her New York mother. She’s coming to Toronto for a meeting after Christmas.”

  “If you two sleep in the study, she can have your room.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “And if she takes the three o’clock bus, she can be here by five.”

  “Cousin Albert, Alicia! She can get a ride with him.”

  So Phyllis is coming to the Scotts, where they will meet each other for the first time. In a way, she’s glad that somebody else decides. She is still put out by this whole two-mother business.

  Three days after Christmas, at a quarter to six, Albert’s BMW stops in front of the square brick farmhouse. He hops out, scoots round to the passenger side, and opens the door. A tall, slim woman steps out, wearing a long, fur-trimmed black suede coat, leather boots, and gloves. Over her shoulder is a commodious bag made of tie-dyed African cloth, its purples, blacks, greens, and reds a little faded. Her head sports a low Afro of feathery reddish hair. She smiles thanks at Albert, looks around, observes Grace, and makes straight for her. Grace sees puss eyes, red skin, a face freckled on cheeks and nose. A “fine�
� nose.

  Phyllis doesn’t give her a hug, for which she is grateful. She’d decided it would be hypocritical to run into the arms of a person she’s never seen before. Instead her mother takes both her hands, leans back, looks at her face for a long while, then says, “May I kiss you?” Grace nods and awkwardly offers a cheek.

  Alicia Scott slides up, introduces herself, Andrew, Steph, Bruce, and Susie, tells Bruce to take Phyllis’s suitcase upstairs, ushers her inside, takes her things, sits her down by the fireplace, offers everyone drinks, and asks about the ride down.

  “As usual, I drove too fast, Alicia,” a grin splits Albert’s face.

  “Phyllis, I’m sorry if he flew at his usual speed. Albert, please apologize.”

  “No need. I like going fast,” Phyllis smiles at her chauffeur.

  “You look exactly like her!” Stephanie shrieks when she and Grace go into the kitchen to fix snacks.

  “No, sir!”

  “Don’t be daft. It’s like she spat you out.”

  Well, it may be she’s spat out where looks are concerned, but Grace is sure the similarity ends there. Thank God Phyllis doesn’t seek her out or try to be chummy. She talks quietly. Her laughter is genuine, but restrained, her clothes nice but Grace sees neat patches on purse and scarf. Though she doesn’t seem to say much, by next day they know she plays the flute well, drums and piano a bit, likes classical music, has a vinyl collection of classics in ska, reggae, calypso, and Chrissie tambu, likes long walks, sews, embroiders, and knits, in addition to her work running the children’s centre at the convent.

  Grace doesn’t know if she likes her or not.

  When Alicia Scott says, “You must be very proud of Grace,” Phyllis responds, “I am.” When Andrew says, “She’s a great credit to you,” Phyllis replies, “Sadly, I had little to do with it.” When Steph declares, “You two are like peas in a pod! Grace can’t have inherited much from her dad!” Phyllis studies her hands.

  27

  Letters and More Letters

  4 January 1980

  My dear Grace,

  I won’t try to tell you what it was like to see you. Only to say that God is good, and his grace truly amazing! I am so proud of you! Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter and Gramps were clearly God-ordained. I knew, never mind how much I missed you all those years, that they had a home and family, brothers and sisters to give you, none of which I had. I have given God thanks for them, every day, and those thanks I now repeat many times over.

  Of course, I realized when I came back how foolish I’d been! I’d brought my camera, for I’d faithfully promised Daphne and Granny Vads pictures. I couldn’t believe that I’d left without taking a single one! Perhaps you’d be good enough to ask Stephanie if she would let me have copies of the ones we took on the steps? I would be very grateful.

  I am back at work, stealing a little time to write. It’s always a challenge starting a new year. Some of our mothers are lucky enough to have somewhere to go with their babies at Christmas — to their relatives, or to families who volunteer to share Christmas, or to the homes of the fathers of their babies, one or two, that is. We work hard with the fathers if they are around. We try here, make a big effort, but there is no hiding that this is an institution.

  I must go. Have a good semester and please write when you can.

  With much love,

  Phyllis

  P.S. Granny Vads and I would welcome a visit during March break, if you’d like, and I will underwrite the bus fare. She’s not so well, and it would cheer her up greatly to see you.

  4 February 1980

  Dear Phyllis,

  I am sorry it has taken me so long to reply to your letter, which got here quickly. I think it only took two days. My excuse as always is work and more work. I am truly grateful I’m not one of your young mothers! Starting the year is hard enough with me alone. If I had a baby, I don’t know what I would do!

  I was pleased to finally meet you too. Of course, I didn’t spend years and years imagining what you looked like, since I didn’t know you were there at all. But I have wondered one or two things since Gramps gave me your letters. I’ve wondered if I resembled you, and sounded like you, and what other things we might have in common. Stephanie says I look like you “spat me out,” so I guess that’s one query satisfied. I’ve decided we do have one thing in common. You must have been very determined to keep writing those letters, and Gramps was always saying he was going to crown me Miss Determination. The first time I remember him saying it is when I was trying to teach myself how to blow a conch shell. I must have been five or six!

  My life in Wentley Park seems so far away now, like another life, never mind I left not very long ago.

  Thanks a lot for the invitation to visit you in New York and the offer to pay my bus fare. I can’t afford to go away for reading week. I have so much studying to do at that time, and after that I must keep my head in the books until finals. I promise to keep in touch, though. Please say hello for me to Grandma Daphne and Granny Vads. Perhaps I can finally meet them in the summer.

  Must go. Till next time,

  Grace

  12 April 1980

  Dear Gracie,

  Nothing I would love more than to see you walk up and get that cerfiticate but we cant make it for money tight and we have to try to use it the best way. We save what we can ever since you leave, but is that money bring you home so you could see Gramps before he pass and since that time things continue tough same way. Mark you I am thankful we are in the rural and not town where people fighting the whole time for sugar, rice, and flour what a pass things come to when country people better off than town people. God have a way to run his jokes sometimes never mind that this is no time for joking but when you is God you could make joke as you wish and we are lucky that he laugh and distract himself for if he look hard down here he get so vex that this time he swallow the whole island for it plenty more sinful than the wicked Port Royal city in Jamaica that he so long ago send earthquake to swallow up under the sea. You never say if you get the letter Princess write to say thanks for the book of poems by the Red Indian young people. She read them out loud for us the ones she like. She and Edgar like pomes and the two of them make up some together when he come to visit us.

  All of we send love sorry to take you away from your studies to read this please write when able Mister Wong ask for you every time I go to shop he say to tell you to walk good and take care

  God bless,

  Ma

  27 April 1980

  Dear Ma, and Pa,

  I well understand why nobody can come to graduation. I will miss you and Pa. Don’t worry, though. I know you will be thinking of me and the Scotts promise to take plenty photos. I will make sure to send.

  Phyllis thinks she can come, so I will have family present. She and I get along pretty well though it is still strange for me. Ma is the mother I grow with, the mother I know and love with all my heart. Also Phyllis is so close to my age. Since her Christmas visit, we talk on the phone and write, so we are getting to know each other better. She says if I want, I can come back to New York with her after graduation and stay there for a while before I begin my studies at University of Michigan. That way, I can meet Daphne and Granny Evadne. Only thing is Granny Evadne is suffering badly with rheumatoid arthritis. If Phyllis has her hands full, I won’t burden her further, so I’m still considering. Of course, if I go, I will help all I can.

  Phyllis says I must know I am smart for I’ve done so well at U of T and so many universities have offered me fellowships for graduate work. I think I’m fortunate. If I know to work hard, it’s because you, Pa, and Gramps have given me such good example, so I am saying a big THANK YOU and I promise to keep trying.

  How are Pansy and Mortimer and the children? And Edgar? Is he still at Miss Carmen’s? And Stewie, Conrad and Princess? I pray Pa continues strong and the two of you are keeping your pressure under control. Salt beef and pig tail not worth dying for!

  I send love an
d hello for all, esp. Mr. Wong and the Williamses.

  Grace

  28

  A Graduation Fuss

  “I can’t take this, Phyllis. I wouldn’t feel right.”

  “Why not?”

  “A thousand dollars is a lot of money.”

  “It’s yours, Grace.”

  “Not if I don’t take it.”

  “It’s yours whether or not you take it. It’s been in a bank account with your name on it for years.”

  “There’s plenty things you could use it for.”

  “That’s true. But you’ve read my letters; you know when I opened that account. I put in a few dollars a week, whatever I could. There’s still money in it. I’ll keep putting in what I can, for as long as I can.”

  “I don’t need it. I’ve managed. I can still manage.”

  “It has nothing to do with whether you can manage or not. How could it? I didn’t know where you were, what you were doing, anything. I just put the money in, probably more for my sake than yours.”

  “Please don’t get upset. It’s the end of a long day, a day that’s supposed to be a happy day …”

  “Can’t you see it as part of the celebration, my contribution?”

  “ … and it is late and everybody is tired. And is somebody else’s house.”

  “Grace, I fully appreciate that this isn’t my home or yours. I wouldn’t think of causing any kind of upset. But I’ve looked forward to this for years, thought about a moment like this every time I got a pay cheque.”

  “Look, I’m really glad you could come, that somebody from my country, of my race, and my family was here to see me graduate. That’s plenty. You don’t need to do any more. You certainly don’t need to give me money.”