by Alex Wheatle
“Papa, why yuh ah say dat?” Jenny asked. “Yuh don’t reach old age yet an’ ya back nuh ben’ yet.”
“Fate has strange t’ings in store fe we. Who knows wha’ madness might bring tomorrow?”
“Me alright, Papa,” Hortense grinned. “Jenny will look after me if Fate bring ah nex’ badness. Besides, wha’ cyan Massa God do to me now? Him tek away sweet David already.”
Smiling, Joseph ruffled the hair of both his daughters before marching off to his plot of land. Hortense thought nothing of the conversation and returned to feeding the guinea fowl, but Jenny remained rooted to the spot until her father disappeared from her vision. She sensed a dark foreboding.
Even though Joseph slept little, Amy would sometimes wake up in the dead of the night and discover that Joseph wasn’t beside her. She would find him in the kitchen, sometimes talking with Kwarhterleg but mostly smoking his pipe, staring ahead blankly, lost in some past terror that he dare not speak of. Amy put it down to David’s passing, thinking that Joseph, like her, had a tortuous time getting over the tragedy.
As the first sproutings of the new corn leaves appeared upon Joseph’s plot, he turned to Levi and said, “Levi. Me woulda never know wha’ to do if yuh never did ah help me. Me will be t’ankful ’til me laid to res’. But now me gwarn ask yuh fe ah even mightier favor. Me hope yuh don’t t’ink it’s ah liberty me teking. But me affe ask becah me affe do somet’ing. Me nuh know how yuh gwarn to judge me but me mind made up. De time has come. Levi, come sit down, mon, so me cyan tell yuh me story so yuh understand. Wha’ me tell yuh mus’ never escape to ah nex’ mon ears – especially ya fader Preacher Mon. It cyan’t even escape to Kwarhterleg or even Amy’s ears. Not yet anyhow. Me ’ave ah liccle rum fe yuh an’ some tobacco. Mebbe ya wise head coulda understand de troubles inna me mad head.”
Seven hours later, Amy was serving out a dinner of boiled beef, callaloo, yams, scallion and sweet potato. Carmesha was mashing the evening meal for Daniel as Hortense and Jenny waited patiently for their drinks of guava juice. For nearly a minute, Levi watched the family scene silently, remembering his own childhood. He saw his own mother in his memories. “Miss Amy! Miss Amy! Me affe talk wid yuh most urgent.”
Amy presented her two daughters with their plates and told them to pour their own drinks. She walked over to Levi with a wooden ladle in her left hand. She looked beyond Levi. “Where Joseph?” she asked.
Levi shook his head.
“Don’t tell me yuh don’t know! Now tell me where him der! It’s about time him spent more time wid him family!”
“Him gone,” Levi answered. “Him gone to do somet’ing him shoulda do t’irty six years ago. Dat’s all me know. Him did ah feel too guilty to tell de news fe himself. Him say one day him will come back but don’t know when. An’ also him did say him don’t ’ave de strengt’ to tell yuh himself de reason why. Like David did. Me sorry to tell yuh dis, Miss Amy.”
Dropping the ladle, Amy crossed her arms and looked out to the southern hills. There she gazed for the next ten minutes as Levi explained to her that until Joseph’s return, he would gladly work the land. Half an hour later Amy calmly told the rest of her immediate family what had occurred. Hortense rushed up to Levi. “Wha’ yuh do wid me papa? Yuh kill him? Me never did ah trus’ yuh! Blackheart mon yuh are blackheart mon! Move away from we house before me pick up rockstone an’ fling it after yuh!”
Levi dropped his head, turned around and walked away. He knew there was no sense in trying to reason with Hortense at this time.
Meanwhile, Jenny, her composure intact, simply walked away into a nearby field where she sat down amid the long grass. There was a controlled expression upon her face, refusing to yield to any emotion. She began braiding her hair while humming a hymn. She only returned when the three-quartering moon was high in the sky. Amy was sipping coffee at the kitchen table, sitting beside Hortense. A dog was snoozing by her feet.
“Ya alright, Jenny?” Amy asked. “Me don’t really know wha’ we do to de Lord to mek Him t’row tribulation inna we face. Me really don’t know.”
Picking up a mango, Jenny took a small bite and gazed at her mother in such a way to make her feel uncomfortable. “David dead an’ now Papa gone,” she said calmly. “Me surprise dat yuh nuh gone wid him an’ leave Hortense an’ meself ’pon we own. Me an’ Hortense are orphans now.”
“Jenny! How coulda yuh say such ah t’ing?”
“Becah yuh care more about family reputation dan Hortense an’ meself! Remember dem time Preacher Mon would give me licks inna church? Yuh jus’ ah sit down an’ say not’ing! Only when Papa ah lick Preacher Mon down him ah stop trouble me. Now Papa gone. As me see it only Hortense ah care fe me.”
“Jenny, ya upset,” said Amy, her eyes incredulous. “Yuh don’t know wha’ ya saying. Everybody’s brain inna mangle an’ mebbe when de sun shine inna de marnin we could t’ink more clearly. Why yuh don’t gwarn to ya bed an’ res’ yaself? Everybody has had ah cruel day ah tribulation.”
Displaying a perfect poise, Jenny eyed her mother coldly, like a boxer meeting his opponent for the first time at the weigh-in. “When de las’ time yuh come ah school an’ talk wid de teacher dem?” she asked. “When de las’ time yuh kiss me goodnight? When de las’ time yuh say t’ank yuh after Hortense an’ meself strip corn fe yuh? Ya heart made of rockstone! Ya feelings cool like de water dat ah flow down up where Levi live. Ya eyes still only see David. Me cyan’t remember yuh ever frying fe me an’ Hortense Bluedraws an’ yuh don’t like we going to Gran’papa Neville. But David did enjoy all dem t’ings der wid ya blessing… It’s like yuh never like breeding two daughter. Sometimes me t’ink me don’t ’ave nuh mama.”
Looking on wide-eyed, Hortense thought her mother would surely beat Jenny but Amy was too shocked to do so. Instead, Amy tutted, stood up and went to feed the guinea fowl, although she had fed them an hour previously. She secretly admitted to herself that David was her favourite. ‘Love de bwai chile an’ prepare de girl chile dem to love her mon,’ Amy recalled her father telling her when she was a teenager.
Offering her mother a dismissive glare, Jenny joined her sister at the table.
“Why ya start ’pon poor Mama?” Hortense asked.
“Me don’t care wha’ Levi affe say,” answered Jenny. “Papa mus’ ah run away becah Mama mus’ ah do somet’ing to vex him.”
“How yuh know dat?”
“Becah Papa don’t even like laying down wid Mama. After de midnight hour me see Papa ah rise up an’ go ’long to de kitchen where him ah spend de res’ ah de night whispering wid Kwarhterleg. So dey mus’ ah been going t’rough some kinda contention.”
“But yuh cyan’t say dat fe true. Sometimes Papa behave inna him funny ways an’ me see it dat if Papa gone fe good, den nuhbody ah push him out. Mebbe Mama was right dat ya upset an’ don’t know wha’ ya saying. Well, she upset too. Ya t’ink dat all becah yuh never see eye-water ’pon Mama face dat she don’t feel it?”
Biting another chunk of her mango, Jenny thought about it. Tears were forming in her eyes. “Now me know how yuh feel when David gone,” she revealed. “Me jus’ pray dat de Most High will nah offer sweet Papa de same fate.”
Hortense took Jenny’s face into her palms and kissed her upon the forehead. She then embraced her. Jenny was now crying uncontrollably, her tears dampening Hortense’s frock. Amy looked on from the chicken coop, feeling helpless.
“Now it’s just de two of we,” sobbed Jenny. “We against everybody else. We cyan’t rely ’pon nuhbody to love we. Nuh, Hortense! Better dat we jus’ care fe each udder. Promise me dat yuh will be always standing beside me. Promise me!”
“Of course,” whispered Hortense, not wanting her mother to hear. “Of course.”
The next morning, Amy fried Bluedraws for everybody. As Jenny accepted her dish she kissed her mother formally on the left cheek in a gesture of sorrow. Her eyes expressed no emotion and Amy found Jenny’s lips almost cold. Amy hugged her eldest daughter
with the realisation that she couldn’t remember the last time she had held Jenny in this manner. Her embrace wasn’t returned and Jenny quickly walked away.
Over the following months Amy watched her daughters form an unbreakable bond. They walked to school arm in arm together and their school friends soon realised they only had time for each other. Hortense and Jenny maintained their daily visits to Neville, taking Daniel with them; sometimes Neville would ignore Jenny’s and Hortense’s presence and take Daniel for long walks into the fields, just as he had done for David when he was a child. Melody’s Anancy story-tales no longer captivated Jenny, she was only interested in what Melody thought about her father and where he might have disappeared to. Although Jenny enjoyed her grandparents’ company, she would refuse to stay over for the night when invited to do so. “Nuh, sa,” she would protest. “If Papa come back inna de middle of de night me waan to mek sure me der to see him.”
To Jenny’s dismay, Hortense would happily accept sleeping over at Neville’s and whenever she did so, Jenny would return home in a sulky mood and start rows with her mother on the slightest of whims.
During one early morning, comforting Hortense after a nightmare when she imagined Jenny being murdered and buried beside David, Neville hugged her close to his chest and said, “love is nah de one t’ing dat define de human condition. Nah, sa. For animals an’ creatures cyan display love also. Nuh, Hortense. Wha’ defines we is we reaction to ah love lost or ah love never felt. Yes, Hortense! From ah love lost or never experienced is bred vengeance, jealousy, rage, sorrow, guilt an’ so many udder t’ings. One of de first sins was committed becah ah mon never felt he was loved. Me know yuh miss David but remember dis. Yuh would nah feel so much pain if he never loved yuh so greatly. So rejoice in dat fact. An’ be kind to ya sister, for she don’t know if she has lost her fader’s love for ever or if it will come back. An’ her soul will bruise from dat.”
Wiping her tears away, Hortense asked, “why don’t Papa love me like him love Jenny?”
Neville looked away from Hortense, as though he was remembering something from long ago. “De decision was made fe him by ah higher being. He had nuh choice. Yuh woulda affe understan’ ya papa childhood to truly find de reason. But becah ya fader’s love to Jenny was great, she will suffer now he’s gone. Now go back to sleep.”
When the sisters were at home together, they shared the cooking and washing duties. At night they sat up in bed whispering into each other’s ears. They giggled at jokes in church and shared secrets to each other while strolling in the fields. They washed each other’s hair in the river and journeyed home upon their donkey’s back, Jenny always in front and Hortense clinging around her waist as she sang a song her grandfather taught her. If a school girl wanted to fight one of the Rodney sisters, and they often did, they also had to combat the other. Unable to tolerate taunts like, “ya papa must’ ah gwarn to Old Screwface backyard!” and “David dead becah him fader de son of Jezebel!” no quarter was given. Hortense would often say before combat, “if ah blood appear den mek it run, if yuh ’ave ah piece of wood, den me will pick up rock, if yuh pick up rock, den me will find me gran’papa cutlass. Now, who waan come, come!”
Despite Amy having to explain her daughters’ actions to irate parents, she thought Jenny’s and Hortense’s close attachment was a positive outcome, borne from testing family circumstances. But as she watched her daughters arrive home from school arm in arm, only to acknowledge Amy with a quick nod before they changed clothes and disappeared into the surrounding fields, Amy couldn’t help feeling excluded.
Chapter Seven
Claremont, Jamaica
November 1953
Friday evening. The setting sun shone through the gaps of the far-off trees, creating amber rays that forced the people in Claremont market to squint. They were soothed by a freshening breeze that drifted off the Caribbean sea. The liquor bars that fringed the market square were soon full of thirsty men who had just returned from the fields, happy that their working week was over, happy they had work. They now wrapped their earth-soiled hands around warm bottles of beer and Dragon stout. Their women were at home, cooking the traditional Jamaican Friday supper of fish, ackee and ardough bread. Those who were well-booted sank shots of rum and pulled hard on foreign cigarettes that had recently become available: keen-eyed shanty girls would sometimes accept the offer of a drink from a man toking on an Embassy Filter.
The front of the post office was now blackened by the emissions of country buses. Three cars were parked outside the bakery, Mr DaCosta’s dairy and Mrs Walters’ dressmaking concern; she now had three sewing machines and had built a small extension to her home. Wide-eyed children peered through the windscreens. Recently married men constructed their new homes on the knolls above Claremont; many of them worked in the bauxite quarries twenty or so miles away, and shanty dwellers were still repairing or rebuilding theirs. Even Levi now had neighbours. Most of them grew marijuana for an income on any strip of land they could find up in the hazy hills. Stalks of sinsimilla could pay for a child to attend school for a month. The marketers saw new faces every day. There was now a bustle and a bangarang in the market square that the Claremont elders frowned upon; they especially disliked the Chinese family who were the proprietors of a new grocery shop near the market.
As the men drank, smoked their raw tobacco and played contentious games of domino, they watched the young women saunter by, and sometimes offered up their remarks. “Sweet girl inna de pink frock! Yuh waan to rinse an’ clean me bamboo inna ya tunnel ah love? It will tek nuff time becah me bamboo long like fishermon rod an’ broad like cedar trunk. But me ’ave nuff stamina!” The men’s comments were answered swiftly with raucous put-downs and fierce finger-jabbing, questioning, amongst other things, the man’s sexual technique, sexual orientation and who his real mother was. “Go away liccle bull-bottom-face bwai to ya strikin’ plot! An’ ask ya fake mama who ya real mama is an’ beg Massa God fe ah nice girl to court wid! An’ dutty rooster wid mosh-up claw an’ mouldy feader is ya real papa but ya fake papa don’t know!” These men rarely chanced their crude courting skills with Jenny, for they had learned from their embarrassing experiences with her sister, Hortense. Maybe Jenny has the same ‘whip’ tongue, they feared.
Now eighteen and as tall as most men, Jenny insisted on wearing one of her best frocks whenever she worked the family stall; her figure had filled out and she found it uncomfortable whenever a man presented her with amorous looks. She found it even more unsettling whenever a handsome man lavished her with praises. She loathed the bartering in the market, having to raise her voice to compete with the other vendors and higglers. But, as always, she kept her thoughts to herself, accepting her duties in her father’s absence. Sometimes, Carmesha and Hortense relieved her, but Hortense, her skin not thick enough to absorb the whispered comments about her ‘devil papa’, cursed and offended many. Indeed, on two occasions, Levi and Jenny had to come down and rescue her from a beating. That should have been Papa’s job, thought Jenny. She asked the question she had asked every day since he disappeared. How could he vanish jus’ like dat? Me was his favourite. His liccle angel. Why has he done dis to me?
Carmesha and Hortense had grown close and whenever Hortense had the opportunity, she barraged Carmesha with questions about Kingston. “Do de people live mighty? How big are de ships dem? How many rooms do de white people ’ave in dem house? Wha’ kind ah music dem lissen to? How do de young girl dem dance? How dem dress? Any black mon der rich an’ drive big car? Yuh t’ink ah handsome, polish-booted Kingston mon would say me pretty?”
Travelling on the odd occasion to Kingston visiting relatives, Carmesha did her best not to paint an idealistic picture of Jamaica’s capital. Kingston spat at the weak and laughed at the good-natured, Carmesha told Hortense many times. People live upon each other’s toes in sprawling government yards. A dozen or more families had only the use of one source of water – a standpipe in the middle of the courtyard. These yard
s were built after the 1951 hurricane and Carmesha, upon visiting her uncle who lived in Jones Town, could not believe the concept of an inside kitchen. So unhygienic, she thought.
Running parallel to the yards was an open sewer system that even the stray goats baulked at. It was an ideal habitat for flies and mosquitoes. Barefooted children suffered from horrific foot disfigurements, caused by blood-loving, burrowing insects laying in wait upon the dusty lanes that networked downtown Kingston. Gangs of bad men walked up and down flashing their ratchet knives but even they kept their distance from the Kingston lunatics who at night spoke and quarrelled with the moon. Kingston wasn’t a place for a nice country girl, Carmesha thought.
Not dissuaded by Carmesha’s descriptions, Hortense would reply, “But it mus’ be mighty exciting living inna Kingston. David survive it an’ me waan to see it fe meself. Carmesha, nex’ time yuh go ah Kingston, me beg yuh to tek me.”
Ready to leave the market now after she had stuffed the notes in her drawers and placed the coins into her small, cowhide purse, Jenny heard someone calling her. “Angel! Angel!”
Turning around, Jenny saw that a young man was running up to her. He was wearing a white Fred Perry T-shirt, cream-coloured slacks and polished, brown brogues. A blue flannel was protruding loosely out of his back pocket, his ‘sweat-rag’. His beer-dampened moustache was full but his sideburns and beard were wispy, not fully developed. He was sporting a brown, pork-pie hat with a black feather sticking out. He was tall and athletic with an easy smile but his eyes promised romance and an adventurous spirit. Behind him, two dogs were scrapping over spoiled green bananas.
