by Alex Wheatle
“Nuh worry yaself, David. Me nuh understan’ wha yuh say but me love de Bible an’ me will learn from dat. Hortense ah sometime full ah stingin’ nettle but me will cool her fire. See if me don’t.”
Deeply upset and still sobbing, Hortense ran towards Jenny and pushed her over before bolting away. Jenny didn’t bother to chase her. She just got up to her feet, brushed herself down and said, “ya see, David, she full ah nettle.”
David watched Jenny pour herself water into a bowl for her morning fresh. Dat chile is old before her time, he thought.
Jenny then sought out Hortense, who was crying uncontrollably under the leaves of a Blue Mahoe tree about half a mile away from the family home. “Hortense, David affe go,” Jenny said softly.
“Go away, Jenny! Becah yuh don’t care fe David, he don’t love yuh. Go’long! Run to Papa.”
“Nuh him don’t! David love everybody.”
“Lie yuh ah tell,” snarled Hortense. “Dis is how it go. Papa only love yuh an’ David only love me. Yuh only come here to brag an’ boast becah David gone. If Papa ever gone me gwarn to laugh after yuh an’ tease yuh every strikin’ day!”
“Don’t say dat, Hortense! Yuh will bring bad luck ’pon we.”
Laying face down upon the grass, Hortense began to sob. Jenny knelt down and stroked her hair. “Come, Hortense, nuh cry. Me still love yuh. Sometime yuh get ’pon me nerves wid ya fire-nettle ways an’ yuh snore ya mighty snore inna me head-back. But me still love yuh. Me promise me will play wid yuh liccle more now David gone.”
“Yuh promise?” Hortense wanted confirmation, still burying her face into the turf.
“May de Most High strike me down if me bruk me promise. Stop cry, Hortense. Me will look after yuh.”
Rolling over, Hortense sat up and stretched out her arms. Jenny stepped into her embrace and the two sisters remained under the whispering leaves of the Blue Mahoe until the sun reached the western sky.
A change of clothes and fruits packed into a crocus bag that hung from his shoulder, David followed his father to the family plot. Earlier he had sought out Neville and bade a tearful farewell to him; Neville kissed David’s feet and anointed his soles with rum while praying for the spirits to protect him. Then, David had looked for Hortense to say a final goodbye, but called off his search, thinking he would inflict more damage than good.
Once they had reached Joseph’s plateau, Joseph, inexplicably, started to dig with a shovel in a spot a few feet away from where sweet potatoes were growing. David looked on curiously. “Papa, wha’ yuh ah dig for? Yuh find old pirate treasure?”
Joseph didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the soil.
David lifted his head and looked into the sky. “Papa, me don’t ’ave much time. Me waan to set off before de sun put on its crown an’ start blaze.”
Ignoring his son, Joseph threw his shovel down and started to forage with his hands. David walked over to him to satisfy his curiosity. He found that his father was pulling out pound notes and coins from the earth. He shook and thumbed the cash free of its soil and turned to David, laughing. “If only money coulda grow like coconut, eehh? Den we’d be rich like anyt’ing. Anyway, from de time we start sell our crops der ah market, me been putting ah liccle somet’ing by. It nah much but it will give yuh ah liccle start in dis mad world. At first me an’ ya mudder were planning to give yuh ah liccle money to buil’ ya own place. But me don’t see nuh reason why yuh cyan’t ’ave it now. Besides, David, yuh work mighty hard fe dis. Tek it, mon.”
Accepting the money gratefully, David embraced his father. It amounted to a little over seven pounds. “Papa, sometimes when me look ’pon yuh its like yuh is ah mon wid nuff untold stories to tell. But me coulda never expect ah better fader. May de Most High bless yuh. Papa, jus’ one t’ing me affe tell yuh. Don’t be offended. But Hortense would like to feel ya mighty hand ’pon her cheek too.”
Joseph nodded. “Yuh know ya two sister more dan me know dem meself. It’s nah dat me don’t love Hortense.”
“Me know, Papa,” David reassured.
“Ah mon don’t pick an’ choose him favourite chile. It kinda happens. It’s like somebody already set it.”
“Me realise dat, Papa.”
Pocketing the money, David set off down the hill, leaving his father standing alone. Unseen by both of them was Levi, looking down from a tree about half a mile away. “May Moses bless him every step,” he muttered to himself.
In the weeks following David’s departure, Hortense only spoke when spoken to. She would arrive home from school, dutifully and silently perform her chores and sit under her adopted Blue Mahoe tree, most of the time accompanied by Jenny. From there they would simply gaze out towards the southern hills, wondering what David was up to. Sometimes Amy could hear them singing a gospel song, Hortense’s pained, shrill voice betraying her bruised heart. Kwarhterleg voiced a concern about Hortense’s behaviour but Amy shrugged it off, saying, “Give her time. She’ll be alright. Jenny’s wid her.”
Jenny took it upon herself to bring her sister out of her melancholy, walking her to school, performing chores that were designated to her sister, whispering to her at night. Every evening she asked Hortense if she wanted her to braid her hair. Hortense would offer a forlorn look, replying, “but David nah here to see it!”
Relenting after the seventh week of David’s departure, Hortense allowed Jenny to braid her hair into a ‘corn row’ style under the Blue Mahoe. When Jenny had finished, she said, “yuh look pretty, Hortense. Very pretty. When yuh grow yuh will attract nuff mon fancy. Me nah tell nuh lie. Why yuh don’t come wid me to Gran’papa Neville so yuh cyan look inna de looking glass?”
A faint hint of a smile caressed Hortense’s cheeks. Her first smile since David left. “Yuh sure me look pretty? Me wish me coulda show it off to David.”
“Nuh worry, Hortense. David soon come ’pon ah visit. An’ when him come back him cyan see yuh pretty like today. Becah from now on me will braid ya hair like dis. Come, let we look fe Gran’papa! An’ if we behave good, Gran’mama might tell we Anancy stories.”
Hortense’s face opened into a broad grin. They set off together, arm in arm. The sisters called in on him on their return from school every day. Neville, who shared Hortense’s sadness, would place Hortense on his donkey and would lead her in country walks, teaching her old songs and slave spirituals. Jenny would occupy Melody’s time, always laughing and being delighted in the crafty and secretive ways of the Anancy character of Melody’s fairytales. In school drawing lessons, Hortense would sketch trees and landscapes, she always named the area beyond the horizon as ‘David’s place’.
Jenny covered her text pages in myriad doodles of spiders, some with human heads and some with human legs. She loathed to show any of her classmates her artistry and when the teacher displayed her work upon the classroom wall, Jenny refused to sketch again. At home, Amy noticed that her daughters’ long battle for Joseph’s attention had ceased. If there was a victor, Amy thought it was Jenny, who still enjoyed the intimate affection that her father offered her. But she found it strange that Hortense seemed to give up on her father’s love. Sometimes she blatantly ignored Joseph’s coming home from work despite his attempts on giving her his attention.
Instead, Hortense began to crave attention from elsewhere – any passer-by, new person in town or distant cousin she had yet to know. She was always first to the door when a visitor called and never too shy to enter an adult’s conversation.
Chapter Five
Claremont Late
July, 1951
Standing upon his wooden verandah, Isaac, in grey pants that were held up with braces, threw chicken bones and left-over slops to his dogs. Their coats dripping with rain-water, the skinny mutts fought each other for the best scraps. Isaac, the kerosene lamp making a crude shadow of his generous bulk, ignored the intense frenzy below him and looked up to the dark, threatening heavens, wondering when the persistent drizzle that had begun in the morning would end. “Jam
aica funny,” he whispered to himself. “When de sun ah shine, Jamaica like God’s garden, providing nuff shade ah beautiful green but when rain ah fall an’ de sky dark, I cyan imagine Lucifer an’ Beezlebub dancing inna de gulleys an’ ’pon mountain top.”
In Isaac’s role as preacher man for the Claremont valley district, he had just given counsel to a man who had just seen his eighth child being born. The man wanted to know if God provided any natural contraception for he could not afford a ninth child. Isaac advised him to sleep outside when he felt a stirring within his loins. Thinking about the man’s predicament, Isaac was about to go back inside when something caught his eye. Emerging from the grey murk at the bottom of the hill was a horse and cart approaching slowly around a bend; the man who held the reins gave the horse no respite with his stick. Isaac was curious. De light soon fail so why is ah mon making fe wid him wares at dis hour, he thought.
As the cart neared, Isaac heard the distinctive sound of a wailing baby. His curiosity piqued, he stepped off the verandah to meet the travellers, the rain pitter-patting upon his black felt stetson. Crowned by a black cloth hat, the man driving the old horse was a lantern-jawed, thick-set fellow; he was chewing tobacco in the left corner of his mouth, the few teeth he had were stained brown and his expression reflected the mood of the heavens. He presented Isaac with a threatening eye-pass before turning around and shouting at his passenger. “Dis is ah far as me ah go! Me don’t waan go any furder becah me waan reach home an’ me hear some strange tales about Claremont – obeah business, pagan business an’ all dat. De village ah der up ah yonder, one hour walk if ya feet nuh bruise! An’ may de Most High protect yuh!”
Not liking the defamation of his home village, Isaac returned the eye-pass with interest, thinking that this man probably lived in a major town for him to carry on in such a loose-tongued manner. Then, a young woman, her head wrapped in a black head-scarf, sat up in the cart, obviously weary. Tribulation was etched on her forehead and her eyes betrayed a grievous loss. She looked ahead at the rising hills before her and wept silently, closing her eyes for a few seconds.
Wiping her baby’s face free of the rainwater, she climbed off the cart, collected her two crocus bags and offered thanks to the man wielding his stick. The weary horse turned around obediently and set off again. “Ya lucky me come dis far,” the man said to the woman in a contemptuous tone. “Dis ride usually cos’ one shilling more.”
The woman’s child was wrapped in a tatty blanket and for a moment she was unsure of what to do next as the cart trundled haphazardly down the uneven hill; the two wheels were buckled, unable to run true. Only dressed in a printed blue frock and a white cardigan, she finally realised that Isaac was watching her. “Please, Misser. Me looking fe de Rodney family,” she said. “It’s very important.”
“De Rodney family?” Isaac asked. “Yes, me know dem well. Dem live inna Claremont, t’ree miles away. May I ask wha’ is ya business wid dem?”
The woman paused, looked upon her baby and replied, “him need feeding. Please, Misser. Cyan me come inside fe ah liccle while an’ feed me pickney? Before me set off again? Me foot well tired an’ me head wet up.”
Seeing the young woman’s distress, Isaac helped her with her bags and led her inside. He ushered her into the tiny room where he received guests and performed his counselling duties for his parishioners. Sparely decorated, it only had three wooden chairs set around an old desk with a hand-carved fruit-bowl upon it next to a well-thumbed Bible; a collection basket, full of coins, was resting on a small table in a corner. The Bible lay open at the book of Psalms; certain passages were highlighted with coloured pencils. The young woman noticed a white-painted, wooden cross that was nailed to the wall. A portrait of what the young girl guessed was a bishop or a high ranking official of the catholic church hung from, and dominated, another wall. It was signed in black with a Latin signature.
“Jacob! Jacob!” Isaac called.
Footsteps could be heard from the back of the house. Seconds later, Jacob, now a handsome young man of nineteen with a cheerful expression, appeared in the room. Dripping wet, he was wearing nothing on his feet and his clothes, hands and face were smudged with mud. Isaac glared at him. “Wha’ happen to yuh, Jacob? Yuh been bathing inna de wet soil?”
“Nuh, Papa. De gate ’pon de pig pen bruk an’ one ah de hog dem escape. Me affe chase after it an’ I did ah slip an’ slide. Dem hog really rapid an’ swift when dey waan to be. Nuh boder yaself, Papa, I never come inna de house wid me dutty shoe dem. I know Mama woulda curse me ’til nex’ year after she strike me wid de Dutchpot!”
A faint hint of a smile caressed the young woman’s eyes as Isaac shook his head in embarrassment. “Jacob, cyan yuh mek dis good lady ah mug ah coffee an’ mek ah liccle somet’ing fe de young chile. Mebbe yuh cyan mek some cornmeal porridge. If der is any t’ing lef’ inna de cooking pot, warm it up an’ bring it come. Don’t wake ya mama – she well tired from going ah river.”
“Yes, Papa. Me soon come.”
Jacob closed the door. Isaac turned his attention to the young woman, steepling his hands together. “Now, me chile. Mebbe yuh cyan tell me ya name?”
“Carmesha.”
“Now, Carmesha. It very late fe travelling ’pon dis hour an’ if yuh never did ah see me an’ try to mek ya own way to Claremont, if God don’t guide yuh, den yuh woulda surely find yaself los’. I see inna ya tears dat ya pickney is not ya only burden yuh ah carry. So why yuh don’t tell me wha’ is bodering yuh an’ I will try to help. I is ah mon ah God an’ good people come to me to unburden der worries.”
“Yuh know David Rodney well?”
“Yes, of course me know David Rodney. Amy’s son. Ah good bwai from ah saintly mudder. Him usually come home fe harvest an’ Easter but I don’t see him dis year or de las’. Him family well looking forward to see him come October.”
Dropping her head, Carmesha cried new tears. She embraced her baby close to her chest. “David dead,” she muttered, barely forcing the words out. “An’ de pickney me ah carry ah him son. Daniel is eight mont’s old.”
Isaac opened his mouth but no words came out. He could only visualise Amy, shuddering at the pain she would surely feel. He stood up, turning his back on Carmesha, his eyes locked on the cross. He wished that he could be the one, not Joseph, to comfort Amy in her dark hour of loss. Why did she ever take up wid black-heart Joseph? Isaac wondered. Becah I’m sure dat God has cursed Moonshine and his seed. Ungodly dat mon ungodly! “How? How did dis grievous t’ing happen?” Isaac finally asked.
“Police ah Spanish Town aress’ David an’ batter him ’til him dead,” Carmesha replied automatically, her voice tinged with great bitterness.
“But David never ah criminal?” Isaac said, trying to compose himself. “Why would de police arress’ him? He regularly attended my church when he was ah bwai.”
“Becah David ah grow locks ’pon him head,” Carmesha answered; her sobbing had ceased but the anger in her voice grew.
Not knowing what to say, Isaac marched to the door, opened it and shouted, “Jacob! De chile an’ de lady nearly dead fe hunger. Hurry up now mon!”
“Yes, Papa. Soon come!”
Closing the door, Isaac regarded Carmesha again. Her shaking head was half buried in the blanket wrapped around her child. But what he had seen of her, he felt an immediate attraction. If only he was twenty-one again, he thought. He placed his right arm upon her shoulder. “May de Most High bless yuh, chile. Yuh come wid grievous news, for David was much loved. Especially by his mudder, Amy. Ah Godly woman. Tell me Carmesha, so how long yuh been married to David?”
Carmesha shook her head, unwilling to lift it to meet Isaac’s eyes.
Patting Carmesha’s shoulder, Isaac didn’t allow his distaste for Carmesha’s unmarried status to show itself. “Anyway, ease ya worries. I will tek yuh up to de Rodney place meself, after yuh ’ave ah liccle somet’ing to eat. Yuh know how to ride donkey?”
Carmesha shook her head onc
e more. Isaac lifted his head and muttered to the ceiling, “Lord, wha’ ah cruel tribulation to strike de Rodney family. Give me strengt’ to deal wid dem mourning.”
After Carmesha had suppered and Daniel had dribbled most of the cornmeal porridge down his fleshy chin and onto his cotton gown, Isaac led Carmesha outside to his donkey. He fixed the rope reins around the donkey’s neck and helped Carmesha to mount, lifting her from the waist. He passed Daniel to her when she was comfortable. The heavens had called off its deluge but night was closing in rapidly; no stars had managed to penetrate the overcast conditions and the surrounding hills appeared stark and menacing. They set off in silence with Isaac grim-faced and fearful as he led his beast of burden. He tried not to show his dread of the dark to Carmesha. He recollected the last time he had set eyes on David and his hair was combed and clean – just like a good Christian boy, he thought.
Meanwhile, Jenny and Hortense were sitting on the dirt floor in the small back room of their home, an extension that Joseph had built in 1949 to house crops, herb jars, bottles of kerosene, a spare wooden plough and other household sundries. Under the light of a kerosene lamp, they were stripping the raw, hard kernels from corn cobs with a corkscrewing, crunching motion that had blistered and reddened their palms. They had managed about thirty each, throwing the ears of naked corn into crocus bags.
Now sixteen, Jenny had grown tall and had developed her father’s square jaw-bone. Her forehead was curved and prominent and her dark eyes didn’t seem to reveal what she was thinking. The corn-row plaits of her hair were as neat as she could make them and her lips were not generous, almost severe. Her chin was proud and defiant and she never allowed herself to slouch, even when sitting down. Hortense, now fourteen, was much prettier. She had round, doe eyes, full lips and a certain cocksure confidence in her expression. She favoured loose braids rather than corn-row. Unlike her sister, she had curves where most Jamaican men liked them; a slim waist, full breasts and a generous backside. Vitality marked her every movement and her head never remained still, as if she was worried that she might miss something to the side of her or behind her. Neville, remarked to Amy on many occasions, “Amy, yuh coulda never disown Hortense fe ya daughter, she look more like yuh dan yuh look yaself!” Hortense knew how to use these assets when she walked through the village, knowing that every young man’s eyes were on her. She had long ago perfected the ‘screwface’ glare to anyone who vexed her but she secretly loved the moniker that villagers had given her –Fire Nettle.
