by Alex Wheatle
To make matters worse, many Jamaican farm workers were dispatched to the citrus groves of Florida, to aid the war effort there. However, none of this affected Joseph and his family who inhabited such a remote area that the authorities seemed not to acknowledge their existence or had simply forgotten. A few well-journeyed, tough-footed men knew of the fertile lands around Claremont and they paid a fair price for the groceries on offer, taking it back with them to places like St Anne’s Bay or the blossoming tourist town of Ocho Rios on the north coast where rich white people paid inflated prices for their wares. Claremontonians, despite their unease in the presence of Joseph Rodney, had no reason to dislike his produce and had to admit it was of a very high quality.
David reached home by 1.15 p.m. He was glad to finish his shift for the constant cuss-cussing of the other ‘higglers’ had grated his nerves. He found that his mother had hooked a string line from the kitchen to the house where the family’s clothes were hung out to dry. Kwarhterleg was lipping a mango by his tree; he hadn’t many teeth to bite with. “Afternoon sa,” he greeted David. “Ya mama, Hortense an’ Jenny are ketching dem sleep. Yuh waan to rest up an’ smoke ah liccle tobacco wid me?”
“Kwarhterleg! Yuh know me don’t smoke. Where Papa? Still ah work der ah him field?”
“Yes, sa. David, yuh waan go up der an’ tell him to rest himself. Harvest time ah come soon, by de end of de week. Tell him to save him energy fe dat. Serious t’ing.”
“Nuh trouble ya head, Kwarhterleg. Sometime Papa ketch him sleep under de palm grove up der.”
Parking the cart, David then looked in on his mother and sisters. They were blissfully asleep. He placed two coins each by his sisters’ heads, knowing that once they wake up they will both skip into the village and buy themselves ‘box juices’. He emerged again into the hot sun and approached Kwarhterleg, fingering in his pockets for more loose change. He tossed the old man two coins. “Hold dis, Kwarhterleg. Go buy yaself ah Red Stripe or somet’ing. Me gone to look fe Papa to give him ah money we earn today.”
“T’ank yuh, sa,” Kwarhterleg accepted gratefully. Before he had time to consider what drink he would buy for himself, David was gone.
Twenty-five minutes later, David found his father snoozing under a palm tree. “Papa. Papa. Wake up now mon. Me ’ave ah money to give yuh.”
Joseph focussed his eyes and saw his son counting out notes and coins on the ground. “Me sell nuff today, Papa. See de money der.”
Sitting up, Joseph found his straw hat and placed it on his head. “David, me trus’ yuh y’know. Yuh don’t affe walk up to me plot to give me ah money. Dat is madness. It coulda wait ’til me reach home.”
“Nuh trouble ya head, Papa. Me jus’ teking ah liccle walk ah hillside up der ah yonder.”
“Alright. But don’t boder get yaself lost. Yuh know ya mama don’t like it when yuh plant ya foot ah strange land.”
David picked up a mango from a collection huddled around Joseph’s feet. He took a generous bite, not bothering to peel the skin. “Papa, cyan me ask yuh somet’ing?”
“Yes, sa. Wha’ is it?”
“Papa, de Bible say dat de Most High made mon in him own image, y’understand?”
“Yes, dat true. Ya mama swear by de good book an’ she teach yuh good.”
“Den if dat true de Most High mus’ be ah black mon. Nuh true?”
Fidgeting with discomfort, Joseph didn’t know how to answer David’s question. “Well. Me nah sure. But when me once sight Preacher Mon old picture Bible, Jesus Christ always white an’ him ’ave blue eyes. So me feel so dey mus’ show dat fe ah reason.”
Not convinced by his father’s reasoning, David shrugged. “Papa, yuh t’ink black people inna de old days had mighty Kings and Queens like de royal family dat live inna mighty palace inna England? Yuh t’ink dat coulda be true, Papa?”
Searching his son’s face, Joseph wondered why David was quizzing him like this. “Nuh, mon. We come from slaves. Well, most of we. Me cyan’t see how slaves coulda ever be King or Queen. David, yuh been talking to mad Miss Blair inna market square? People say she one ah dem mad Garveyite. Marcus Garvey born inna dis land but people say Garvey talk pure fart. Even Preacher Mon say dat inna him service so Amy tell me. Yuh know Miss Blair? De old woman wid ah long mout’ an’ knock knock knees? Her husband pass away many moons ago an’ she live out near ah Crab Foot Gully where de grass grow long an’ holler wid de wind.”
David nodded. “She is one strange woman,” Joseph added. “Me feel so she coulda be inna de obeah t’ing.”
“Nuh mon,” David laughed. “Papa, Miss Blair ’ave her strange ways but she ah nice old woman. Me don’t know how yuh cyan accuse de poor woman of witchcraft. Papa, yuh been lissening too much to de higgler dem.”
“She talk madness, mon. Me don’t trus’ her. Me tell Amy dat if she come to buy anyt’ing den she mus’ give it to her free of charge.”
Laughing again, David enjoyed his father’s superstition. He then composed himself with another bite of the mango. “Papa, me talk to ah man de udder day who is well educated. Him know him letters an’ him cyan read mighty. Him tell me dat back inna de days of de never never der was dis African king who call himself Prester John. Dis Prester John was well mighty an’ him ah rule nuff people all over Africa an’ ah place call Asia Minor. An’ him wise like Solomon. Papa, yuh ever hear ah dis mighty mon?”
Joseph shook his head. “David, who ah tell yuh dis mad talk an’ loose words? Don’t lissen to dem, David, for dey waan lead yuh astray. Who ah tell yuh dis foolishness?”
“Jus’ ah mon who was passing t’rough,” David lied. “Me cyan’t even remember wha’ dis mon look like. But me generation is learning new t’ings dat ya generation cyan’t tolerate.” Rising to his feet, David attempted to mask his unease and disappointment. “Papa, me ketch yuh later. Mebbe we cyan share ah liccle rum when de moon ah shine bright an’ de cricket dem start quarrel.”
“Yes, sa.” Joseph looked at the money his son made for the day. “Yuh deserve it mon. Mebbe yuh coulda tek ah liccle money to court girl wid,” Joseph smiled.
Joseph’s last words were wasted for David was already climbing the field.
Hunched over his fire, Levi was lunching on a lobster, crab and callaloo when David emerged from the thicket. “Afternoon, brudder,” he greeted. “Yuh come jus’ in time. Yuh waan ah portion ah dis lobster?”
Levi’s makeshift home was situated on a sharp slope between two cedar trees surrounded by Blue Mahoes. Scraps of dead wood and warped sheet-metal formed the walls and a ragged length of corrugated aluminium acted as a roof. There was just enough room inside for a straw and almond leaf bed. A nearby smaller hut contained Levi’s cooking items, a selection of books, food, various sundries that a man required to live in the bush and brushwood.
“Nuh mon,” David finally replied, sensing his refusal might injure Levi’s feelings. “Me jus’ nyam ah liccle somet’ing. Where yuh get your lobster an’ fish from anyway?”
“From dis good brudder who live ’pon de coast. Him come check me from time to time. Me give him chocolate, ackee, sweet-sop an’ him give me any fish dat him ketch.”
Feeling the cooling hillside breeze that threaded through the trees, David sat down. “Why yuh don’t sell ya t’ings ah Claremont market?”
Levi rocked back in laughter, his mane of hair dancing in the air. “David! Look ’pon me! Yuh t’ink Claremont people would give me dem custom? Nuh, brudder! Dey would never understand dat me ah Nazarene. Dem would t’ink me was born from de seed of Old Screwface himself.”
“So yuh don’t ’ave nuh family?” David wanted to know.
“Yes, brudder. Of course. Me come from ah good well intentioned family. Dem sen’ me ah school in Montego Bay an’ der is where me learn to read.”
Looking inside the stores hut at the selection of books, David remarked, “yes, yuh mus’ read well mighty”.
Smiling, Levi said, “but education is ah dangerous t’ing. An’ de educa
tion me receive outta school prove even more deadly.”
“How is dat?” asked David, already feeling a dull ache in his backside.
Mimicking the countenance of a professor, Levi explained, “from when me learn dat Moses was ah black mon who did ah waan reintroduce de praising of de One God, jus’ like Akhenaten an’ him first wife, Nefertiti.”
Recalling that Levi had once related the tale of Akhenaten and Nefertiti, David couldn’t remember the finer points of the story. He nodded and faked understanding and allowed Levi to continue.
“Yuh see, David, Moses quarrel wid Pharoah was never about de freeing of de slaves. It was about Moses’ intention of establishing de praising of de One God – de God of Akhenaten.”
Still not grasping what Levi was saying, David nodded his head again. Levi resumed, enjoying his attentive pupil.
“Moses had many followers an’ Pharoah affe treat Moses intentions serious becah him know dat Moses was ah High Priest an’ ah Alchemist. He did know de high arts an’ sorcery dat dem both learn inna Heliopolis. It was ah High Priestess dat collect Moses from him bankra from de Nile.”
Raising his hand excitedly David exclaimed, “me know dat! Me know dat. Mama teach me dat from de Bible.”
Not liking David’s interruption, Levi resumed, his face now stern. “Moses grow up inna Pharoah house an’ learn everyt’ing dat Pharoah learn. But some call dese facts blasphemous. Even educated black mon will chant yuh down if yuh speak it. Even me own fader chant me down. Me decide to live ah simple life living by me own means. Me family disown me from dat. Me don’t waan to work fe nuh white mon an’ mek him belly get fatter, y’understand? An’ read der interpretation of de Bible. ME REFUSE TO CARRY DE CURSE OF HAM!”
David recognised Ham as the black son of Noah, but didn’t want to be led into a discussion. He had eavesdropped on his Grandfather Neville, who spoke of such things in secret gatherings and the subject had caused much controversy. David wanted to address his own circumstances. “Me waan to lead me own life, Levi,” he stated, his tone full of determination. “Me waan to travel far an’ see t’ings. Living ah Claremont cyan’t satisfy me. But me don’t know how to tell me Papa. An’ telling Mama would be worse dan dat. It would truly trouble her sweet head. But me ’ave made up me mind. Me will forward to Linstead first, mebbe find work ah bauxite place, an’ tek t’ings from der.”
Pondering his answer, Levi was fully aware of his growing influence on his new friend. “David, yuh live ah good clean life, an’ ya family too. Yuh live de way de Most High intended ah brudder to live. Me respect dat to de fullest! Yuh know, David, me been living up here ah hillside fe more dan ten years now. Sometime me don’t see people fe untold moons. Sometime me come down to look ’pon ya fader working him plot of land. An’ me see dat ya fader treat de soil like it ah gift from de Most High. Yuh tell me ya fader never go church all de time, but him still live Godly. Yuh see, David, we all come from de dirt an’ we shall return to it. So it’s Godly dat ah mon like ya fader live off de land. An’ yuh tell me yuh don’t waan to follow ya fader mighty footsteps?”
“Nuh mon!” David’s voice grew louder. “Yuh talk jus’ like me Papa! Levi yuh lucky becah yuh ’ave seen different places an’ different land. Yuh tek one step inna de big wide world an’ decide to live like ah bushmon. But inna me seventeen years me see not’ing apart from de pure hills dat surround Claremont. Me waan to tek ah mighty step inna de big world an’ mek ah decision meself!”
Standing up, Levi went inside his storage hut and emerged with a water coconut in his right hand; the top was scalped to allow drinking. “Tek dis, brudder. Nice an’ cool. It will quench ya temper. Dey say dat Maroon blood is mighty quick to boil.”
David accepted and drank, tipping the juice into his mouth.
“David,” Levi continued. “Me don’t waan to tell yuh to do dis an’ dat. Yuh affe follow yuh own destiny an’ mek up ya own mind about de problem. But me affe tell yuh dat de big wide world out der is dangerous.”
Suddenly, David laughed, causing the juice inside his mouth to dribble over his chin. He wiped his mouth with his left palm and said, “living inna Claremont cyan be dangerous too. De udder day poor Miss Mavis get run down by mad cow.”
Fixing David with a stare that spoke of disapproval, Levi continued. “Inna de big universe out der yuh affe rely ’pon de corrupt minds of mon. For example, mon an’ mon will mek decisions about ya life dat yuh ’ave nuh control over. Ah job or ah opportunity fe example.”
Raising his arms and showing his palms, David remarked, “but isn’t dat how de world go?”
“Not if yuh waan it to. If yuh follow ya fader’s footsteps den de only t’ing dat ’ave control over yuh is de soil dat grow ya food an’ de sun dat ah shine bright, giving everyt’ing life. Soil cyan’t lie an’ soil cyan’t never be corrupt. An’ living off de land yuh mek yaself ya own king. Me don’t ’ave nuh shoes an’ nuh shirt but nuh mon ah control me or corrupt me. Now, nah even de King of England cyan’t say dat wid ah honest heart.”
David bowed his head and stilled his tongue. He did not want to disagree with Levi. But the desire to bless his eyes on new pastures was something that could not be denied. He decided to inform his parents of his intentions after harvest; his father would need him that day. Following that he would leave and his father or Levi could throw no words at him to make him change his mind. Once gone he’d grow his hair like Levi, be a Nazarene like John the Baptist. Last week he had so enjoyed Levi’s tale of Jesus’ disciples warning him off approaching ‘the dirty, matted hair wild one’. As he read when Levi showed him a passage of the Holy Piby, no scissors would trouble his hair again. He’d walk into far lands and see the world but keep that black pride that Levi instilled in him. Yes, he told himself. Me time ah come.
Chapter Three
Two days until harvest Sunday. Amy, shaded by the zinc roof, was nursing a mug of rum and goat’s milk while sitting on an unsteady stool outside her kitchen, the choking smoke of burning tyre strips from her neighbours’ yard irritating her; Miss Panchita, who lived twenty yards away, was breastfeeding her three-month-old baby and wanted to ward off any mosquitoes and other insects; she had yet to register the birth of the infant in the parish capital, St Anne’s Bay, but hardly any Claremontonians ever did – the long trek put them off, notwithstanding the illiteracy that most Claremont folk shared and the subsequent fear of embarrassment.
Sighing wearily, Amy was much relieved that her morning chores were over; sweeping out the yard, scrubbing the cooking vessels in the stream, collecting wood for the fire and mending a pair of Joseph’s old cotton pants. She looked forward to this time of the day. Her daughters, meanwhile, were learning how to sing Rule Britannia at school and reading about the acts of bravery of Nelson at Trafalgar and the red-coats who thwarted the Zulus at Rourkes Drift. Amy thought it was a mockery for Jamaican children to sing the lines, ‘…Britannia rules the waves, Britons never never never shall be slaves…’ She felt her daughters should be taught to rely upon what the soil offered them rather than educated about the deeds of men who lived in a world her kin couldn’t comprehend. “Rule Britannia cyan’t mek de yam grow sweet,” she whispered to herself. “An’ Rule Britannia cyan’t mek me daughters be dutiful wives.”
Snoozing with his back against the mango tree, Kwarhterleg had earlier volunteered to decapitate, pluck and cook a chicken but Amy could not afford the luxury of stretching her own rest. She had yet to call on her sister, Jackie; buy a prize goat from Mr DaCosta, the local goat-herd; and then call in on her parents: she received a message while she was in the market that her father wanted a ‘strong word’ with her. She guessed it had to be about Joseph. It was always about Joseph.
Amy drained the last drops of her cocktail and for a short second, considered refilling her mug. “Aaaahhh! Joseph. Where ever did yuh come from?”
She reminisced to when she was eight years old. One quiet evening in the fall of 1915 Amy’s father heard a gentle tap-tapping upon h
is creaky front door. He opened the door cautiously and there was the fifteen-year-old Joseph, standing up straight with the setting red sun slowly dropping behind his right shoulder. The contours on the right of his head seemed to be glowing. He was nervously holding his tatty straw hat with both hands. His feet, apart from the blisters and sores, were the same colour as dried mud. His ragged, soiled vest and pants clung to him like an outer skin. His hair was dry, browned by over-exposure to the sun. Amy laughed when she recalled her father’s description of her future husband. “Lord me God, wha’ ah crazy sight me see dis balmy evening! Come look here family, der’s ah long bwai outside me door who black ’til him cyan’t black nuh more! Moonless night mus’ be him fader. Him ah dressed up inna him smelly reg-jegs dat even de curious dog dem would nah sniff.” Despite his words, Neville, Amy’s father, knew he was looking at a Maroon and he suffered a sharp pang of guilt; he knew that one of his forefathers had been conscripted by the English to spy on the Maroons.
Bowing slightly, tipping his head, Joseph greeted, “goodnight, sa. Me really sorry to trouble yuh dis fine evenin’. Me walk far an’ wide an’ me liccle weary. Me jus’ waan to ask yuh, sa, if yuh ’ave any work to give me. Me ’ave ah strong back an’ de midday sun don’t trouble me strengt’ inna me shoulder dem. Me cyan plant, sow an’ reap anyt’ing, sa. Me know how to pluck fowl, skin goat an’ chop off ah pig head top. Me well ably, sa. Me don’t waan nuh money, sa. Jus’ somewhere to lie me head when de moon ah shine bright an’ me don’t care if me ’ave to ketch ah sleep wid de dog an’ fowl dem. Me used to dem smell an’ it don’t trouble me.”
