by Alex Wheatle
“Hortense,” Joseph called. “Time fe ya bed.”
“But, Papa. Me an’ David playing ah game.”
“Don’t boder let me ask yuh twice.”
“Yuh never sen’ Jenny to bed when she don’t waan to go.”
“Don’t argue wid me chile! Go to ya strikin’ bed before me box yuh!”
“Papa, yuh always t’reaten to box me but yuh never t’reaten to box Jenny. An’ she could do wid ah mighty box! Her crooked smile deserve it.”
“Gwarn to ya bed!”
Hortense knew it was an idle threat, for her father had never struck her in anger throughout her life, but she stomped into the house and found her sister was already inside. Joseph could hear them quarrelling until Amy rebuked them. David, seventeen years of age, emerged from the pit toilet and walked towards his father. He noticed that Kwarhterleg was falling asleep, pipe still in his mouth. Joseph recognised his own dark eyes in his son’s gaze and the same complexion. But there was no anger there, no haunting loss in his forehead, no loneliness shrouded around the eyes. Just a simple love of life, patience and respect. Joseph envied him.
“Papa,” David called gently. “Yuh box de Preacher Mon fe true? Mebbe me shoulda walked down to Preacher Mon plot an’ talked to him. Mama said when yuh gone dat she’d bet her last flour dumpling dat Papa woulda raise ah storm.”
Joseph sucked his pipe for two minutes before answering. “Me box him yes. Trut’ ah de matter is Preacher Mon never like me an’ me never like him. From de day me arrive inna Claremont me realise dis. Him t’ink me don’t know dat him spread rumour about me ah devil chile. So it was bound to happen one day. Preacher Mon know where me stan’ now.”
“Don’t trouble ya head, Papa. Yuh nah de only one who waan to strike Preacher Mon down. Der are udders who feel de same way.”
Joseph wondered who these others could be. David changed the subject. “Papa, Mama affe gwarn to de river tomorrow to wash clothes. So me t’ought dat me should control de shop inna de marnin. Dat’s wha’ yuh waan me to do, Papa?”
Smiling, Joseph realised that at least the Most High blessed his traumatic life with godly children. “Yes, mon. Me don’t waan to ask Kwarhterleg becah him ’ave nuff trouble pushing de cart. But if Miss Jo come ah shop ah marnin den don’t charge her. She inna mad money trouble. An’ if Misser Patterson wife come give her discount. Dis tobacco smoke nice. Madly strong but him dry it out good dis time.”
“Yes, Papa. Me remember. Papa, me gone to me bed now. Goodnight.”
“Wait up, David. Preacher Mon tell me yuh nah der-ya ah church today. Where yuh der?”
David took his time in answering. “Jus’ walking, Papa. Yuh know, de Most High mek ah beautiful country around dese parts, Papa. Sometime me jus’ like to tek in de air, walk ah hilltop, y’know. It mek me feel good.”
Joseph smiled. “Ya mama t’ink yuh find girl to court wid.”
“Nuh, Papa. Me don’t ready fe dat yet. Me waan me own yard before me t’ink about dem t’ings.”
David went inside. Joseph nodded. “Ah good bwai dat.”
An hour and a half later, Joseph awoke Kwarhterleg with a glass of goat’s milk containing two drops of rum.
“T’ank yuh sa,” Kwarhterleg accepted. “Mon, me getting seriously weary dese days, Joseph. Me bones creaking like dead wood when fatty woman ah sit down ’pon it!”
Joseph took a sip from his own glass. “Yes, Kwarhterleg, age ah catch up ’pon yuh. Res’ yaself inna de marnin. David will look after de shop.”
Kwarhterleg downed his drink and Joseph helped him to his feet. He led him to his sleeping quarters in a corner of the kitchen. A pile of empty crocus bags formed Kwarhterleg’s pillow.
Before Joseph retired he made a cross with the toes of his right foot in the dusty ground immediately outside the front door. He sprinkled his drink on the cross before draining the last of it and could hear the shrill cicadas from the surrounding fields. “Aaaahhh. Yuh t’ink me would ever forget, Screwface?”
Entering the bedroom, Joseph could just make out in the dark Jenny and Hortense fast asleep coupled together like two spoons, Hortense was snoring into the nape of Jenny’s back. They were sleeping on a mattress full of straw. David was curled around his sisters’ feet. Joseph kissed both his daughters on the forehead, taking his time to tenderly stroke Jenny’s left cheek. Jenny twitched, her subconscious feeling a warmth of familiarity. Joseph studied the contours of her face for thirty seconds as if he was remembering something from long ago.
He made his way to his own bed where he found Amy in her usual position against the wall. Not making a sound, he undressed to his shorts and vest, folded his clothes and placed them on a wooden chair beside his bed. He ran his fingers over the rippled, flaky black skin upon his left shoulder; a knife wound. He wondered if he would be hated even more because of his striking of Preacher Mon. As he lay down he felt the comfort of Amy’s hand upon his chest.
Closing his eyes, Joseph saw an indistinct image of his mother form in his mind. It was the end of 1907. She had just reached home from a seven mile round trip to the post office. A letter was gripped tightly in her left hand like a wad of dollar bills. The seven-year-old Joseph, who was feeding guinea fowl at the time, heard his mother’s call and ran to the house with his four sisters, brother and father. His mother looked the happiest she had been for a very long time and she felt the pages of the letter. It was a letter from Joseph’s brother, Naptali. Inside the envelope were two American bank notes.
‘Dear Mama,’ she started reading. Everyone was silent.
Joseph opened his eyes and wondered if his recurring nightmares would ever end. “Madness!”
Chapter Two
Rising with the first herald of roosters, Amy went outside to view her homestead. The sun was already creeping over the eastern groves and hillsides, creating a reddish-green glow. The air was cool at this time of the day and Amy yawned extravagantly, stretching her arms and filling her lungs with cool Jamaican air. She dressed quickly for she knew that time was against her. She collected two clay water urns and started the one and a half mile trek on foot to the nearest stream, a tributary of the White river. Amy washed her face here, the fresh water energising her body. She then filled the jugs so that her family could swab away the night and sip coffee on her return. She didn’t say much to the other women, just the occasional ‘good marnin’. She knew they all had work to do and there was little time for ‘susu’ talk.
Balancing one of the urns on her head on her way home, Amy grimaced for she knew she would have to make a longer journey to scrub her family clothes in the river later on. When she reached home she placed the vessels on the hard-baked apron of ground before her front door and set about waking her family. Hortense and Jenny were the first to use the water, freshening their faces from the same plastic bowl using a small cake of carbolic soap bought from Mrs Clarke’s tiny shop in the market. They then dabbed their fingers into the ashes of the dead fire, spread it across their teeth and cleaned their molars with a shared toothbrush, rinsing out their mouths with water. Coconut gratings were melted so that Jenny and Hortense could moisten their skin; they didn’t want to be teased at school for having ‘grey knees’. They dressed quickly and braided each other’s hair. Jenny had learned to ‘corn roll’ her own hair when she was only five years old. Amy went off to start work in the kitchen, frying eggs, slicing ardough bread and preparing mugs of coffee with goat’s milk. She presented her two daughters with a mango each to supplement their breakfast, all the time careful not to disturb Kwarhterleg who was still snoring a rasping snore.
David was the last of the family to take his ‘marnin fresh’ and by the time he did so, his mother was ready with his breakfast. Although he felt it was his duty to help out with the family business, he wanted to inform his parents soon that he needed to make his own way in life; a nagging restlessness had besieged him for the past few months. David watched his father preparing and sharpening his tools for his working day a
head and he thought to himself that however honourable work in the fields might be, the wider world must have more to offer than planting vegetables and selling them in the market-place in the centre of the village.
He knew that his father hoped that in time he would take over the farming duties and remembered Joseph’s habitual phrase, ‘if yuh put nuff work inna de soil den de soil will put in nuff work fe yuh’. But he heard from travellers and merchants who were passing through the village of gigantic boats dropping anchor in Kingston harbour, big loud towns where so many people lived that it was impossible to greet everybody with a hearty ‘good marnin’, and red-faced white people who lived in double-decker houses of seven rooms or more.
Meanwhile, as a weekly treat, Amy was preparing for her husband and son a cake that the locals called ‘Bluedraws’. She kneaded and folded cassava, flour and sweet potato, pressing it hard with her thumbs and fingers. She cut the dough into four round portions and fried these tasty concoctions until brown. She then wrapped the four cakes in banana leaf to keep them fresh and shared them equally between Joseph and David. She was rewarded with a kiss on her cheek from her son. Joseph offered her a warm smile, sniffing the dish. “Amy, yuh is one ably cook! Yes sa! Nuhbody else ah compare.”
David watched his sisters receiving money from their mother to buy lunch at school; vendors pushing carts would jostle and cuss-cuss each other for business outside the church-come-school. Sometimes fights would develop and Isaac and the teachers would have to rush out to keep the peace. The vendors sold cartoned juices, citrus fruits and a variety of snacks that included fried dumplings. “Hortense,” Amy warned, “if yuh lose ya money once more me gwarn lick yuh wid chicken bone ’pon ya head top when yuh reach home. Yuh hear me chile?”
Hortense nodded then ran up to her brother. “David yuh nuh walk me to school? Me cyan’t remember de last time yuh walk me to school. Yuh don’t love me nuh more?”
David laughed and picked up his sister, twirling her about. He put her back down and for a short second, Hortense was dizzy. “Hortense. Yuh ah big woman now. Yuh don’t need me to walk yuh ah school nuh more.”
“Me know me ah big woman but since yuh stop walk me ah school, Jenny jus’ run gone an’ lef’ me wid de older girl dem. Me cyan’t keep up wid her long foot an’ mon stride!”
“Dat don’t mean Jenny nah love yuh, Hortense,” said David. “She jus’ getting ah liccle older an’ she waan her own space.”
“Yuh t’ink Papa waan him own space from me, David? Him don’t love me. Him don’t really talk to me. Mebbe me should call yuh papa, David.”
Taking Hortense’s words in jest, David chuckled, knowing that when the time came to leave home, he would sorely miss Hortense’s unique charm. He glanced at Jenny kissing her father goodbye and whispered to himself, “Dat girl chile don’t need nuhbody else apart from her papa. De mon who tek ah fancy to Jenny when she come ah age will affe mek Papa feel very sweet!”
Hortense and Jenny set off and by the time Jenny had reached the bottom of the hill, Hortense was already fifty yards behind her. “See if me don’t tell David yuh run gone an’ lef’ me!” yelled Hortense. “When me sight yuh ah school see me don’t lick yuh wid me shoe corner!” Jenny ignored her sister. Now far ahead of her, she slowed down to a walk, enjoying her own company.
At the side of the house was the wooden cart off which the Rodney family used to sell their groceries. It had been patched up many times and had been through many sets of wheels; the village wheel-smith, Mr Price, was Jenny’s godfather. David smirked as he recalled his father promising the family a donkey two years ago. David sucked on the cool, amber-coloured flesh of a mango before setting off to work, pulling his brown cloth cap over his head. He tossed the mango skin to the dogs and paid no attention as they fought over the scraps. As he pushed the cart of limes, grapes, oranges, water-melons, jackfruits and coconuts downhill, he considered visiting Levi after his shift. Levi was a man he had befriended in the hills one afternoon four months ago. David smiled to himself as he recalled his first encounter.
After a morning’s toil on his father’s plot of land, instead of taking a high-noon nap beneath a palm tree as was usually his custom, David decided to set off for a stroll. He headed uphill to where the stubborn mists had settled; they couldn’t be shifted by the scorching sun and no breeze was forthcoming. David’s father always looked up in fascination at this lofty terrain but was too superstitious to investigate this area himself. David discovered that jackfruit, sweet-sop, hard chocolate, breadfruit and ackee grew freely here. He climbed a tall jackfruit tree that afforded him a generous view of the lush green valley below, the ugly dwellings of Claremont blemishing the beauty of the scenery. The horizon shimmered in the heat and David wondered what lay beyond the swerving hills. Using a machete that hung from his belt, David cut down a jackfruit that was more than a foot long and seven inches wide. As he descended back to earth he saw a most remarkable sight.
A man, or at least something that resembled a man, was standing at the base of the tree. His hair, if it could be described as such, seemed to David like thick clumps of blackened wool that stood erect on the head as if this being had just set eyes on Old Screwface himself. His beard was of a similar appearance, like that of an old fat-bellied goat, only blacker. He was holding the jackfruit David had just cut down and through the matted hair, David could see his white teeth; he wasn’t sure if this something was snarling or smiling. He was bare-backed and bare-footed, dressed only in a soiled pair of blue cotton pants that were roughly cut just above the knee.
Cautiously, David leapt down, not sure whether to scarper or offer his surrender. He thought of his mother’s words. “Nuh stray or wander inna foreign land becah yuh don’t know wha’ might happen to yuh. Old Screwface has many crooked an’ crafty ways to tempt de foolish an’ unwary.”
He studied this wild man with wary eyes, not even thinking about disputing the ownership of the jackfruit in his hands.
“May Akhenaten bless ya morning, sa,” the man greeted warmly. He presented the jackfruit to David who was wondering who Akhenaten was. “Me don’t sight too many mon up here ah hillside so me glad to see yuh. Me name Levi an’ me live up jus’ ah liccle furder more.” He pointed to the direction of his abode. “De jackfruit taste nice up here, mon. Why yuh don’t follow me steps up to me strikin’ plot an’ join me to nyam ah liccle somet’ing? Me about to fry some grunt fish an’ me gwarn roast some breadfruit. Me ’ave sweet-sop too. Wha’ yuh ah say, mon? Long time me don’t ’ave company an’ it seem dat fate carry yuh here ’pon de breeze.”
His curiosity overcoming his fear, David followed Levi to his hillside encampment, transfixed by the tangled hair upon Levi’s head.
Trading went well for David in Claremont market. Many of his customers were his mother’s friends, whom David had known all his life, or passing wayfarers who paused in Claremont on their way to the north coast; they proved to be the best customers. Others, who lived in the shanty huts down the hill, only offered fierce glares and aggressive mutterings, but David simply smiled at them, adding to their vexation. The people David knew warned of the perils of sin and how he should be looking for a wife now and setting up home, releasing the burden on his ‘ably mudder’. Mrs Grogan even introduced her daughter, Debbie, to David, asking her to do a twirl to showcase her ‘healthy body’ while she waxed lyrical about Debbie’s cooking prowess and her ‘strong breedable pickney hips’. Debbie, only fourteen years old, didn’t utter a word. She simply stared at the ground in mortification.
Mrs Clarke, who owned the nearby shop, informed David of the happenings and occurrences in St Anne’s Bay. She inspected David’s wares as she spoke, picking up those she liked. “Some of de fishermon affe move from de beaches becah de people wid money ah buy up land to buil’ hotel. It nah right, David. Dem get nuh money to relocate an’ dem cyan’t tek dem shanty hut wid dem. Me talk to one fishermon an’ him tell me him ’ave not’ing so him gwarn try him luck inna Kingston. Sa
me t’ing happen to some farm worker who ah toil ’pon land t’irty mile from here. Some ah de soil red, so de farm owner decide to sell him land to ah bauxite company. De farm worker lost dem job. Most ah dem packing up an’ heading fe Kingston. It nah right! It seem dat everybody ’pon de move an’ even up here inna Claremont where some people forget about we, tribulation will finally reach we. It nah right!”
When Amy’s friends paused from counselling David they shrilled the praises of Jenny and Hortense and how mightily Hortense sang in church last Sunday. Miss Jo scolded David for his absence from church but haggled over the price of limes even though David offered her half-price discount. Hardly any of his patrons referred to Joseph, just the occasional, “ya fader alright? Amy finally teach him how to smile?” Then they changed the subject, mostly complaining about the lack of a bus service. “Browns Town ’ave ah bus service! An’ Alderton! Why dem leave we out? Don’t dey know dat people who live ah Claremont need to travel too?” Others moaned about their sons going off to the ‘sin city’, Kingston, and relinquishing their responsibilities to their families. “Yuh ah good bwai, David, trodding in ya grandparents footsteps!” Mrs Coleman said inspecting the peppers. “Don’t forward ah Kingston like me eldest son where Old Screwface ’ave him backyard.”
David had learned not to disagree with his elders and humoured them with generous smiles and nods. He kept to himself the knowledge that there wasn’t enough good top-soil in the Claremont valley to serve all of its sons.
For those fortunate enough to own patches of land, business had been brisk for the Claremont farmers throughout the war years. Farmers with bigger lands beyond the Claremont valley were obliged to aid the war effort and they found that as soon as they plucked their crops from the soil, someone was waiting to take them to Montego Bay or Kingston for shipping to the motherland: England. German U-boats harassed and targeted these ships, sinking many. Subsequently, there were food shortages in most of the major towns throughout Jamaica for it was deemed that shipping foodstuffs to the motherland carried much more importance than feeding the Jamaican population.
