by Alex Wheatle
“Yuh calling me?” Jenny asked, not impressed by the smell of beer, thinking this man was a cocksmon.
“Do yuh see any udder pretty girl dat me coulda call?” replied the young man, displaying a clean row of teeth.
Giving her admirer a lingering eye-pass, Jenny had to admit the young man was handsome. Very handsome. But there would be rainbows in Old Screwface’s domain before she told him this. “Who is yuh to call after me? Yuh t’ink me any bluefoot girl who tek off wid any mon? Yuh t’ink yuh coulda carry me off fe ah grineah-bush? If yuh come wid dat intention me will fling rockstone after yuh. See if me don’t. An’ me name is not Angel!”
“Cool ya temper, sister! Me only trying to be friendly. Me was jus’ cooling wid ah Red Stripe an’ me sight yuh ah sell food der ah market. An’ me say to meself, Lord! Me sight ah pretty girl dis fine day! Me had to talk wid her. Me name Cilbert. Cilbert Huggins. Some mon call me Wire. Yuh cyan’t tell me ya name?”
“Wha’ for? We ’ave any business? Come outta me way becah me waan reach home. Me don’t ’ave nuh time to chat wid strange mon looking to sweet-talk ah nice girl to de bush. Why yuh nah go down der ah hillside where dem bluefoot girl will grine any mon fe ah single red cent!”
“Bloodfire! Yuh nuh easy, sister!”
“Don’t talk bad word to me!”
“Alright, alright. Cool yaself, sister. Look, me tell yuh wha’. Mek me buy some ah ya yam an’ breadfruit an’ give me some ah dem tomato too.”
Catching Cilbert with a stern glare, Jenny warned, “yuh better give me de right money becah me nah give credit.”
“Nuh worry yaself, sister.”
“Me is not ya sister!” Jenny rebuked before handing over the vegetables.
“Alright,” Cilbert winked, still flashing his molars. “We ’ave ah business now. Me one ah ya customer. So yuh cyan tell me ya name now?”
Almost succumbing to a smile, Jenny managed to stop herself. She felt her heart beating. He was devilishly beautiful, she admitted. And confident. The kind of man Preacher Mon raged against in his sermons about the temptations of the flesh before marriage. But Jenny wanted to learn more about her potential suitor. “Alright,” she agreed. “If yuh promise yuh nuh boder me nuh more.”
“Me promise,” said Cilbert, thinking he was getting somewhere.
“Jenny,” she revealed, accepting the cash.
“Well, dat is ah mighty fine name,” returned Cilbert. “Look, Jenny. Misser DaCosta holding ah party tonight. It’s him daughter, Elvira, birt’night. Music will be playing, yuh know, New Orleans jump-up music from de radio an’ yuh coulda lissen to mon like Amos Milburn. Me wire Misser DaCosta radio so we cyan tune into dis station dat broadcast direct from de jump-up city. Dem play nuh boring Frank Sinatra or dem kinda boring singer white mon. So, Jenny, yuh waan escort me dis fine night?”
Her curiosity aroused, Jenny wanted to hear for herself what her peers had been talking excitedly about for months. But she thought she would invite gossip from the market higglers if she stepped to Mr DaCosta’s with a stranger. And what would Hortense think? Maybe she wouldn’t like it if she had a bwai-frien’. It would upset things. No matter how princely a man looked she would never let him come before her sister. Nuh, sa! “Do me look like de kinda girl dat tek off wid stranger wid ah blue-swee smile? Yuh only know me for two seconds an’ yuh waan tek me out go rave? Me ’ave to know ya intentions first! Yuh know where me work so if yuh see me yuh see me!”
“Me not ah stranger nuh more,” Cilbert protested. “Me one ah ya prize customer!”
“Yuh t’ink yuh cyan sweet me wid ya sugar-talk? Like sugar inna chocolate goat milk? Go ’long, mon, becah me don’t ’ave nuh time to waste!”
Cilbert’s confidence was waning and his face betrayed the injuries to his ego. “Alright, look, Jenny. Me sorry dat me charge in like hungry bull. At least allow me to help yuh push de cart. Dat t’ing look like ah mighty struggle fe ah fine girl to handle.”
Jenny thought about it. Her legs were tired from standing up all day. “Alright. Yuh cyan walk wid me jus’ ah liccle of de way. But don’t get any ideas inna ya pants becah me nah ’fraid to fight any mon.”
The broad smile returned to Cilbert’s face. Jenny relinquished her hold on the cart and stood still with her arms crossed, waiting for Cilbert to take over. He flashed her a smile and started pushing. Jenny ambled beside him with a prissy grin. “So where yuh come from?” she asked, momentarily taking down her guard.
“Me family live ah Orange Valley, down below Walker’s Wood,” revealed Cilbert. “We’re related to de DaCosta’s ’pon me mudder side. Me training to be an electrician. Nex’ year me gwarn to learn at de University ah de West Indies der ah Kingston; me sponsored by Misser DaCosta – ah good mon dat. Me cyan fix anyt’ing, Jenny. Any radio an’ dem t’ing der. Me even fix Misser DaCosta generator after it get mosh up inna de fifty-one storm.”
“So yuh know about wire! Yuh waan me to clap me hand?”
“Nuh, Jenny. Me jus’ telling yuh wha’ me do. Me ’ave nuff ambition. When me finish me learning me waan leave Jamaica, go ah England an’ mek nuff money an’ den come back an’ buil’ mighty house. Some mon say der is gold to be found inna de London streets.”
“Me would never go ah foreign land. Me prefer to live de simple life an’ help out me family. An’ de only gold to be found is inna heaven.”
Cilbert paused and stood up. “Yuh tell me dat all yuh waan’ do wid ya life is to sell food ah market? An’ push dutty cart?”
“Me papa buil’ dat cart so tek back ya slander! An’ me family don’t strive fe de riches ’pon eart’. We jus’ live simple, praising de Most High. Living off de land dat de Most High provide we.”
Cilbert resumed shoving the cart; it proved difficult because of the wonky wheels. “But Jenny, our parents toil inna de land an’ work dem finger to de bone to give we ah better life. So de least we cyan do is show nuff ambition.”
Jenny thought of the strutting, cocksure men who always frequented the bars in town and who never attended church. “Ambition lead to vanity. Vanity lead to greed. Greed lead to sin an’ sin lead to deat’.”
“Yuh cyan’t really mean dat,” replied Cilbert. “Yuh talk like dem old preacher.”
“Better to talk like old preacher dan talk like ah fool who crave material t’ings.”
Regretting her last words, Jenny didn’t mean to offend Cilbert – he seemed nice enough, she thought. But maybe not the marrying type. And even if he did ask for her hand, how could she leave for England and leave Hortense? How could she even consider marrying him? Hortense still needed her. But he was so damn handsome!
Jenny had been drilled at church not to seek riches and be glad to live off the land where she walked. Isaac had reinforced this message on his twice-weekly visits to her house, which had started with the disappearance of her father. Hortense would always run off when Isaac parked his donkey but Jenny didn’t want to further embarrass her mother and listened to whatever Isaac preached to her.
Sensing that Jenny would not be an easy catch, Cilbert accepted defeat. “Jenny. It’s been nice walking wid yuh an’ getting to know yuh. But me affe gwarn to Misser DaCosta’s an’ help him set up t’ings fe de night. Mebbe we will see each udder again an’ we cyan talk some more. Until dat time.”
Cilbert waved, forcing a polite grin. Jenny wanted to smile and wave back but something stopped her from doing so. She watched him disappear over a hill and felt the gathering tempo from her heart. She rebuked herself for having carnal thoughts.
Reaching home fifteen minutes later, Jenny could smell the roasted mackerel and the steaming rice and ackee as she walked passed the kitchen; Hortense was seeing to the cooking with a sour expression upon her face. Kwarhterleg was aiding her, poised over the rice pot with gratings of coconut in his palm. “Afternoon, liccle Jen,” he greeted. “Afternoon, Kwarhterleg, Hortense,” returned Jenny. Hortense shot her a grumpy look. Jenny avoided her sister, not in the mood for what her mo
ther called Hortense’s ‘horse dead an’ cow fat’: the irrelevant details of her day. She should have been helping me in de market! Jenny thought. Leaving me all alone to deal wid all de shouting an’ bangarang! She approached her mother who was unpegging clothes from the washing line. “Mama, ah good day fe selling. ’Pon Friday we mek as much money as de res’ ah de week. But, Mama, sometime me cyan’t tek de rudeness ah dem new people who now live ah Claremont. Ungodly dem ah ungodly! Yuh waan me to go up to Levi an’ give him ah money?”
Now showing her exhaustion under her eyes and the lasting pain of a mother who has lost her first born, Amy smiled at her eldest daughter. “Nuh fret yaself, Jenny. Res’ yaself. Carmesha already promised me she would go up to Levi. An’ as fe de new people who talk wid nuh manners. Pay dem nuh mind. Dey don’t know de ways of country living an’ dey ’ave to learn manners.”
Presenting Amy with the day’s takings before entering the house to find her comb, Jenny then took the donkey’s reins and led him into the nearby field to graze while she braided her own hair. She hummed her favourite hymn, trying to rid the sexual image of Cilbert from her mind.
Having just changed Daniel’s undergarments, Carmesha passed her son into Amy’s arms. “Yuh know,” said Amy, peering at Jenny in the field. “Anyt’ing me ask her she don’t complain. It seem she finally forget about her fader an’ de contention she did ah give me liccle after dat. Levi used de donkey dis marnin but Jenny keep her mout’ quiet. Me surely been blessed wid Jenny. But sometimes me wonder if she alright, yuh know. Me feel dat me affe tip-toe around her becah yuh never know when she vex. Me affe remember dat she did feel it de most when Joseph gone.”
“Me did ah feel it too!” sniped Hortense from the kitchen. “An’ stop chat behind me sister back!”
“An’ me did ah feel it too!” interjected Kwarhterleg, his eyes lost in some memory of Joseph. “Serious t’ing!”
“Nuh trouble yaself, Mama,” Carmesha replied, turning her attention to Amy. “Jenny well ably. She sort out an’ deal wid t’ings inna her own way. She ’ave ah wise head ’pon her shoulder.”
Amy passed on some money to Carmesha. “Tell Levi dat him ’ave to grow more pepper. We running out. Me wonder wha’ dat mon ah spend him money ’pon?”
“Him probably ah plant it,” laughed Carmesha. Him coulda at least t’row away him smelly reg-jegs an’ buy new pants! An’ when me talk to him Levi talk back in riddles. Yuh woulda ’ave to be King Solomon to understand dat mon.”
“Yes,” Amy nodded. “But don’t jest wid him! Yuh know, Levi come like ah saviour to we since Joseph gone an’ lef’, although him look like de reincarnation ah Medusa ’pon ah bad day. So never vex him. Always talk to him nice. Lord give me strengt’! To t’ink dat Preacher Mon papa used to warn me when me ah girl chile, ‘beware of de blackheart mon becah dem ’ave serpents ’pon dem head an’ dey look fe children to mek dem dead.’ An’ now de so-called blackheart mon ah help we. Why yuh don’t find Levi ah pair ah Joseph pants?”
“Yes, ah good idea dat. But of course! Me know me affe talk sweet wid him. Me know dat, Mama. But sometime yuh don’t wonder where him ah come from? Where him family ah der?”
Recalling the first months when Joseph appeared in her life, Amy offered Carmesha a knowing smile. “Jamaican mon!” she chuckled. “So damn secretive an’ funny inna dem ways.”
“Jamaican women,” Kwarhterleg retorted. “So full ah talk dat de brain cyan’t work an’ reason. Massa God never tek him res’ ’pon de sevent’ day, him start work ’pon de vocals of de Jamaican women an’ him don’t finish ’til de patu dem hoot in de midnight hour. Ha ha ha! Serious t’ing.”
The Rodney women looked upon Kwarhterleg with sideway glances and angled brows.
“Amy?” Carmesha called, dropping her tone, ignoring Kwarhterleg’s histrionics. “It’s been over two years since Joseph gone an’ me affe say dat yuh seem to handle it well ably. Sometime ah nighttime me cry fe yuh when me sight yuh ah stan’ up outside de yard an’ look out down de road. Me know so it ah Joseph yuh look for. But most of de time it’s like yuh behave like him never exist?”
Considering her reply, Amy looked out to the southern hills; her expression was blank. “Yuh know, Carmesha. From de day me marry dat mon me was ’fraid dat him would leave me one day. Jackie did ah always tell me so, but now she don’t talk about it becah she t’ink me would box her down. An me would fe true! Me sister too free wid her opinion. Me papa keep quiet about de matter too; him know wha’ is good fe him! Papa used to tell me somet’ing when me was ah girl chile. Ya lose one, yuh gain one. And dat is certainly true wid David an’ Daniel. Carmesha, me papa love ya son it’s ah shame! Him always begging me to bring Daniel to him. But anyway, de trut’ ah de matter is dat me never feel dat bad when Joseph lef’ an’ gone. Me was expecting it. Of course me miss him but me don’t ’ave nuh time to pine an’ wail an’ bare me teet’ like hillside farmer who get up inna de marnin an’ cyan’t see nuh water inna him well. Water affe fetch. Dinner affe cook, corn need to be stripped. Work never stop. But yuh know, Joseph will come back. Me sure ah dat.”
Facing Carmesha, Amy presented her with a warm smile. “Carmesha, me well glad me ’ave yuh to talk to, udderwise me feel dat me would be talking to de Blue Mahoe tree dem.”
“Sometime yuh talk to de fowl,” joked Hortense. “An’ dem cyan’t tek ya cuss-cuss neider!”
Carmesha laughed before entering the house to find a pair of Joseph’s old cotton strides. She departed, leaving Amy staring in wonder at the southern ranges that were now looming, shapeless grey shadows in the oncoming Jamaican night. Kwarhterleg was still chuckling to himself.
Despite the night devouring the day, Levi was still toiling in the fields when Carmesha arrived. His mane of hair seemed to impede him as he bent his back, his fingers a blur as they worked the land. “Levi!” Carmesha called. “Levi!”
Levi stood up and turned around, offering a smile. He had to resist sexual thoughts as he looked at Carmesha. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been with a woman and the emergence of Carmesha, Jenny, Hortense and even Amy in his life had sorely challenged his Nazarene oaths. He had asked himself many times if he was stubbornly refusing to ‘be’ and ‘act’ like a man with a man’s faults and vices. Who was he to deny his manliness? While asleep in his lofty retreat he had frequently dreamed of having sex with them all.
“Levi. Me waan yuh to tek off ya dutty pants so me cyan wash dem down ah river. Here’s ah pair ah Joseph old pants. Put dem on becah me cyan’t tek ya smell an’ every time me stan’ up close to yuh me affe hold me nose tight like virgin holding on to her lover.”
Mildly offended, for he had bathed himself in the river two nights ago, Levi yielded to Carmesha’s orders without complaint. He pulled off his muddied, unlaced boots, then turned around so not to expose his genitals and whipped off his soiled, blue pants. He stood naked under the red-setting sun. Carmesha never saw his abashed face. She let her eyes feast on Levi’s body. His calves were bunched and well defined. His thighs were honed from many years walking up to his hillside home, the hamstring muscles clearly formed in a perfectly set arch and the small details of his back muscles rippled whenever he performed the slightest moves.
“Levi, isn’t it about time dat yuh come down from ya hillside an’ live wid de living?” asked Carmesha.
“Nuh, Carmesha. Me content where me der. Living me life wid nature. Lissening to de Natural Mystic. Nature cyan’t lie to me an’ dat’s where me get me fulfilment.”
“Don’t give me dat foolishness, Levi! Yuh know, Amy t’ink ya Godly but yuh know wha’ me t’ink? Me t’ink ya ’fraid ah living wid de living! Of course, yuh ’ave it easy up here so. Yuh don’t affe talk to anybody apart from we family. Yuh don’t affe sell food ah market an’ put up wid de higgler susu. Yuh jus’ keep yaself to yaself. David had his beliefs but him never hide himself like yuh. Him never live like ah small island. Nuh, mon! Me don’t t’ink ya Godly. Becah if yuh truly Godly den yu
h will nah fear nuhbody susu talk an’ live life nuh ’fraid ah scandal an’ dem t’ing der. Yes, Levi. Yuh ’ave it easy. We ’ave to deal wid people, reason wid dem an’ accept or try to ignore wha’ people say about yuh. It’s about time yuh defend yaself.”
“Why should me affe defend meself? Argument an’ contention is de devil’s talk an’ when mon come togeder dat’s all dem do.”
“Even Jesus Christ walk fe forty days inna de wilderness an’ had to resist Old Screwface temptations, but him come back to de living,” snapped Carmesha. “So, Levi. Sometime me wonder to meself if yuh too ’fraid to resist temptation if yuh live wid de living. Why yuh so ’fraid? Yuh t’ink dat if yuh live wid us dat yuh cyan’t be so damn pure an’ Godly? Mebbe yuh will find dat yuh jus’ like any udder mon.”
Finding himself nodding, Levi was unable to think of a retort. Carmesha, grinning triumphantly, approached him. “Why yuh tek dis family burden, Levi? Why? Becah yuh ’ave nuh obligation?”
Levi glanced at the spot where David was buried. “Becah when me hear dat David dead, me t’ought dat me was responsible. Him use to come to me fe guidance, yuh know, we used to reason an’ talk. An’ Carmesha, yuh say yaself dat de police kill him becah de locks ’pon his head. So me affe accept some part ah de responsibility fe David life. Me ’ave to honour him memory.”
“Foolishness yuh ah talk!” sniped Carmesha. “David had his own mind. David do wha’ him waan to do an’ believe me, nuff mon try an’ influence him wid dem talk but David formed him own opinions. So, Levi, yuh nah responsible fe anyt’ing! Understan’ dat mon.”
Levi could do nothing but nod again, thinking to himself that Carmesha was a mighty impressive woman. She walked up to him, offering his share of the takings. “Levi, wha’ yuh do wid ya money?”
Levi shrugged. “Not’ing.”
Now laughing, Carmesha turned and started down the hill. Levi watched her disappear into the coconut groves. His mind was forming a vision of making wild love to her under the palm fronds, tearing off her frock and running his hands over her generous breasts, rolling around on the grass, both of their naked bodies soiled by the dirt. “Yes,” he admitted to himself. “Me not nuh Nazarene. Me jus’ ah simple mon. Like any udder.” He heard Carmesha shout. “Levi! Me forget to tell yuh, yuh affe plant some pepper! An’ one more t’ing. De good book say dat mon affe multiply. Levi, yuh cyan’t multiply wid scallion an’ sweet potato! Until de nex’ time, see yuh!”
