Coffee, Cream and Curry

by Judy Powell

  “Mama, don’t talk, please. I know. You tell me already to be careful of people, that them not always what them appear to be. Me remember everything you tell me, Mama.”

  The woman in the bed could only continue to cough, stare up at her son and nod. Talking was now out of the question. Once she had her coughing fit she was too weak to even whisper. Creamy gathered her in his arms, hugged her gently then laid her back in the bed. A tear rolled down one cheek as he stared at his once beautiful mother then he leaned forward and whispered, “I goin’ now, Mama. I goin’ to get Jean to come stay with you right now.” Then he turned and, without looking back, picked up his canvas sack, went through the door and pulled it shut behind him.

  There were four of them on the cart headed for the west - Creamy, an old woman and her grandson, and a girl who may have been in her late teens. The old woman and the boy dozed quietly. The driver was silent as he flicked his whip from time to time at the rump of the mule. Creamy and the young woman sat at the very back of the cart, dozing.

  They were almost an hour into their journey before the morning started to warm up. Creamy opened his eyes, rubbed away the last vestiges of sleep and breathed in the crisp morning air. He looked at the sun just beginning to rise over the hills. It was a beautiful morning. The sky had no blue in it, only red, orange and yellow hues that made it look like a painter’s canvas.

  As the cart trundled along the dirt road the dew on the bushes and trees made the green leaves glisten and the warmth of the early morning sun gently baked Creamy’s skin and lifted his spirits. With a slight smile on his lips he turned to look at the girl who sat beside him, her head resting against a sack full of cabbages. Her eyes were still closed but Creamy felt the urge to talk and he wondered if he should wake her. This was totally uncharacteristic of him but today was different from any other day. It almost felt like the day he was freed from slavery. On an impulse, he touched the girl’s arm and said, “Hey.”

  With a groan and a slight stretch the girl slowly straightened her body and opened her eyes. She turned her face towards Creamy and then a questioning look entered her eyes.

  “Is you wake me up?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, but me think you would get crick in your neck. You never look too comfortable.”

  The girl rubbed the back of her neck and yawned, covering her mouth with her other hand. “You right,” she groaned. “Me neck feel stiff.” Then, looking around her, she asked, “Where we are?”

  “We jus’ pass Discovery Bay.”

  “After all this time, das all?”

  “Yeah,” Creamy said with a smile. “This not exactly the queen’s carriage. One lickle mule can’t go so fast.”

  The girl smiled back, her tiny white teeth glistening behind full lips. Creamy stared at her and before he could stop himself he asked, “What you name?”

  “Elizabeth,” she replied.

  “Elizabeth? You have fancy name.”

  The girl ducked her head shyly then looked up at him and said, “My mother say she name me after a white girl because I jus’ as good as them.” She lifted dark eyes, almost defiantly, and stared straight at Creamy. He looked back at her admiringly. This petite ebony-skinned girl was probably as poor as he was, but seemed so proud.

  “You make a fine Elizabeth,” he grinned.

  “And what you name?”

  “Crea… Aah, Ezekiel.”

  “Crezekiel? What kinda name is that?”

  He laughed out loud then looked back down at her, still chuckling with amusement.

  “No, me name Ezekiel, after the man in the Bible. But from I was a pickney them call me Creamy.”

  “Why? You drink a lot of cream?”

  Creamy shook his head. “No, them call me so because of my skin.”

  “Oh.” The girl looked him up and down, seeming to notice his paleness for the first time. “And you don’t mind that name?”

  Creamy was taken aback by her question and quickly answered, “Yes, but…that is what they call me.”

  “Well, if I don’t want people to call me by a name they can’t because I would never answer them.” The girl looked at him, a hint of stubbornness on her face. “You say you Mama name you Ezekiel after a man in the Bible? Don’t you think that was for a reason?”

  “It don’t matter…”

  The girl cut him off, “Yes, it do matter! If my Mama did name me Ezekiel after somebody in the Bible then I would think that is a special name. And nobody could call me no nickname either.”

  Creamy felt his face grow hot and he looked down at the rough road. Somehow, he felt ashamed. This skinny young girl was more of a man than he was. She was proud of her name and felt he should be proud of his, too. Their mothers had given them special names and yet all he was to the people in his community was Creamy - not black, not white, but a blend of the two that only brought him rejection from both sides.

  He shook his head then turned to look into the girl’s defiant eyes. He said nothing. Instead, he nodded his head slowly then turned his gaze back to the dirt road as it disappeared slowly as they trundled along. He knew what he should do. He was not going to try to be on either one side or the other. He would be true only to himself. From here on, he resolved, he would be none other than Ezekiel.

  For the next six hours Elizabeth and Ezekiel enjoyed each other’s company and conversation. The old woman and the young boy had, by this time, woken up. As the eleven o’clock sun hit their bare heads the woman pulled out a basket full of mangoes and oranges. She even had a whole roasted breadfruit and pieces of red herring in her basket. To the surprise of the two young people she placed the basket in the middle of the wagon and invited them to partake. Elizabeth’s delight was obvious as she grabbed a Julie Mango from the top of the pile. She bit into it and juice spurted out, some of it hitting Creamy on the forehead. He laughed, wiped it away, then reached into the basket and took an orange for himself.

  It was almost seven o’clock in the evening when the cart finally arrived in Negril. The old woman and the boy had already gotten off in Montego Bay but Ezekiel and Elizabeth remained on the cart. He learned, with much surprise and pleasure, that they were both on the way to the same plantation. A friend had recommended her for a job as a nursemaid for twin babies who had recently been born. They got off the cart and walked to the gate together.

  ******

  It was September and five weeks had passed since Ezekiel had been hired on the plantation. The work was hard. He was up before dawn every day and chopped cane until the set of sun. Sometimes he was assigned to night duty at the boiling house where the stalks of cane were put through the huge sugar mill so that the sweet juice could be extracted and collected in huge kettles and boiled. The steam from the mill, the heat of the furnace and the overly sweet odour of boiling cane juice always made Ezekiel slightly nauseous. He was always relieved when he was sent back to the field.

  So far he had been able to send money home twice and he got word that, with the medicine, his mother was showing signs of improvement. He had not been able to return for a visit but he planned to talk to the foreman to see if he could get three days off in the coming week. He would have to negotiate this one. He had gotten into a fight the week before and the foreman had come down hard on him even though he swore it was not his fault. He seemed to have made enemies of two men who constantly taunted him, and the one time he dared throw angry words back at them they had attacked him. After that he stayed out of their way and kept his mouth shut.

  As Ezekiel lay on the bed his thoughts ran back to his village. He recalled the days right after emancipation when they had had so much hope for the future. Freedom was sweet on the tongue in those days when they still had thoughts of prosperity and happiness. But those dreams had soon been tempered with reality. Over a year later he had not accomplished much. But this job was the light at the end of the tunnel. It was back-breaking work but he was good at it, and the wages were reasonable. He finally felt that he would make it.


  Then his world turned upside down.

  One night, soon after completing his sixth week, Creamy left the other men at the canteen and dragged himself back to the sleeping quarters, exhausted. It had been a long day and he was too tired to eat. He was just drifting into sleep when a shout outside jerked him wide awake. The door to the sleeping quarters flew open and the foreman walked in.

  “You, boy, get up right now!”

  Ezekiel rose from the bed slowly, blinking. He was groggy and confused.

  “Yes, Mr. Robinson?” His voice was scratchy with sleep. “What is the problem,

  sah?”

  “You know what the problem is. Come with me.”

  Ezekiel frowned, but without another word he put on his boots, grabbed his khaki

  work shirt and followed the foreman out into the night. His heart pounded but he tried to keep calm. He wanted to ask the foreman if this had something to do with his mother but he was too afraid to utter a word. He did not want to hear the worst. They arrived at the estate office and Peter Robinson pulled the door open and stepped inside, Ezekiel right behind him.

  As soon as the foreman went over to the desk two black men stepped out of the shadows. Ezekiel stopped short and stared at them. This could not be news about his mother. He recognized these men and they knew nothing about her. They were the same ones with whom he had fought. He was filled with a sense of foreboding because he knew that nothing good was going to come out of this meeting.

  The foreman stood behind his desk and looked at him. “Hubert and Casey say they know who stole the money that disappeared from my office.”

  Ezekiel drew in a shaky breath but said nothing.

  “It was you.”

  “Mr. Robinson, why you say this?” Ezekiel’s voice sounded shrill even to his own ears. “I don’t know nothing ‘bout no money.”

  “Really, now? Casey, let’s hear it.”

  The shorter of the two men took a step forward and, without looking at Ezekiel,

  said to the foreman, “Yes, boss, is like we tell you. We see him sneaking out that same night.”

  “You see me?” Ezekiel’s voice trembled. “What a lying…”

  “There were two witnesses.” The foreman glared at Ezekiel in disgust. “Don’t

  even try to deny it.”

  “Yes, boss. We see him, yes. Him did have a black bag in him hand.”

  Ezekiel took a step back and shook his head in shock.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” The foreman stepped forward and the two

  men followed.

  “I…I jus’ don’t believe dis.”

  Ezekiel’s heart raced as the horror of the situation filled his mind. He could be

  locked up for a long time for a crime he did not commit, and only on the testimony of two men who hated him.

  He spoke with urgency. “Boss, please. Is all a lie. These men hate me. Them hate me ever since I come to this plantation. Don’t believe them, boss. Give me a chance!”

  “A chance? A chance to do what? Bring the money back?”

  “No, boss! I don’t know nothing ‘bout no money. Give me a chance to prove that

  me innocent.”

  “You think I am an idiot, boy?” The foreman’s voice was a growl. He looked at

  Ezekiel’s accusers and shouted, “Hold him, boys! Don’t let him run off.”

  Before Ezekiel could move the men were on top of him, wrestling him to the

  ground. As he fell under their weight his head bumped on the hard floor.

  Ezekiel woke up in a dank, dark cell that he knew had held wayward slaves in the

  past. The shackles and chains were still embedded in the walls but he lay on the ground, unfettered. That was small consolation to him because if he did not find a way to prove his innocence he could end up in prison for years, denying his mother her last chance at life.

  The next time he woke it was to the sound of someone calling his name. With a jerk

  he opened his eyes and sat up. His body was cramped from sleeping on the cold, hard ground and his stomach growled from lack of food. Although he could see the sunlight through the narrow slits at the top of the wall it was dark inside the cell and, as his eyes focused in the dimness he made out the form of a woman standing over him.

  “Ezekiel,” she said softly.

  He knew that voice. It was Elizabeth.

  “What you doing here?”

  “The whole plantation hear about what happen last night. I bring you some food.”

  “They let you in here?”

  “They know you can’t escape. Men outside the door, anyway.”

  Ezekiel gratefully took the tray from Elizabeth’s hands and surveyed the fare. Boiled

  green bananas, callaloo and fried plantains were on the plate. His stomach growled in anticipation. He picked up the fork, cut into one of the bananas, and gobbled it down greedily.

  “You bring any coffee?”

  “Boy, not even a thanks for the food and you demanding coffee.”

  There was a smile in Elizabeth’s voice as she knelt down on the floor beside Ezekiel and handed him a mug. The strong scent of coffee hit his nose, perking him up instantly.

  “I make it black. That’s how you like it?”

  “That’s exactly how I like it,” he said, looking her over from head to toe with a

  grin. He cleaned his plate quickly then handed the tray back to Elizabeth who sat on the floor beside him, her arms around her knees, watching.

  “What you goin’ do?”

  “Bwoy, I don’t know. This is a hell of a thing to get out of.”

  “Just tell them the truth.”

  “You don’t think I been doing that all this time? When you have people who hate

  you just because of your skin color is a hell of a thing.”

  “I know the man them that accuse you. But you know what? I believe the

  foreman have something against you, too.”

  “Why you say dat?”

  “You don’t think that him believe them a little bit too easy? I believe because

  him have a touch of black in him, him have a chip on him shoulder. You don’t think so?”

  “How you know him have black in him? An’ furthermore, what dat have to do

  with me?”

  “Bwoy, you doan know how this worl’ run? I feel that the man look on you and

  almost see himself because jus’ one touch more o’ black blood and him would be in the fields cutting cane like youself. Next time you see him look on him nose good.” She grinned. “You ever see a backra with a nose broad like that?”

  “You thinking deep, girl.” Ezekiel grinned back. “Maybe too deep.”

  “Well, you might think so, but I know what I am saying. But back to your

  problem. What you goin’ do?”

  “I was going to appeal to the foreman again. But since you think him might not

  like me that plan don’t seem to make much sense anymore. Now I don’t know what to do.”

  Elizabeth rubbed her eyes then spoke slowly. “I think your best chance is to appeal to the Busha. Go past this foreman and appeal to the real boss. I hear him can be a fair man.”

  “An’ how the hell you expect me to get to the plantation owner? See me here,

  lock in the cell. You goin’ free me to go see him?”

  “Well, I can’t free you but I can get a message to him.”

  “How?”

  “Remember, I work in the big house and I see the family every day. You forget is I

  look after the children? I can put a case to him wife and ask her to present it to him. She a nice lady. She will listen.”

  “I will take anything you can do to help me, girl. But I still don’t know how I

  would prove that is not me take the thing.”

  “Well, I was thinking…I will tell them that you was with me that night. We can tell

  them that we friendly from long time. Remember, them see we
come here together.”

  “But that not true. What if you get in trouble?”

  “An’ de man them what frame you, them not telling truth neither. So why you

  care ‘bout that? Anyway, you have any better idea?”

  Ezekiel was silent then he said, “No. I can’t think of a thing.”

  “Well, then…” Elizabeth rose, tray in hand, “…we have a plan.” She smiled at him

  then slipped back through the door, pulling it shut behind her.

  Later that day as Ezekiel sat in the dark in nervous anticipation he heard the door

  to the cell open. A burly black man entered the room. It as the foreman’s assistant.

  “Come with me,” was all he said then he turned and strode out of the room. Ezekiel

  had to rise quickly and hurry after him.

  When they got to the great house he was taken through a side door into a room that

  looked like a library. Books lined several shelves. At the back of the room there was a huge desk strewn with papers. There was no one in the room.

  The man shoved him inside then slammed the door shut leaving Ezekiel to stand alone, confused. Within moments the door opened again and this time a tall, lanky white man wearing a broad straw hat entered, Elizabeth trailing behind him.

  “So…what is this I hear about money missing from my foreman’s office?”

  As he spoke the man removed his hat, and turned to face Ezekiel. His thin face was tanned and his brown hair was graying at the temples. He pushed his spectacles higher up his nose and rested calm, brown eyes on Ezekiel. The man looked him over, a slightly questioning look in his eyes then he said, “Liz, here, has been trying to give me some other story about the incident. Now you tell me what happened.”

  Ezekiel’s heart pounded in his chest. He knew this was his last chance. He looked

  at Elizabeth who stared calmly back at him, and was comforted by her strength. Taking a deep breath, he began to speak. He explained how he had been picked on by the two men who accused him, then went on to describe a night spent in the arms of Elizabeth. He spoke with confidence and as he continued he began to relax in the owner’s presence.

  The man listened without interrupting and Ezekiel felt that he might have finally found a sympathetic ear. At one point he became a little uncomfortable when Elizabeth kept staring at him then at the white man, but he kept on talking.