Island Songs

by Alex Wheatle

  Momentarily blushing, Jenny soon regained her composure. “Well, me ah preacher mon’s wife so me affe look me bes’. Me cyan’t shame Jacob an’ dress like me ah penny ketcha. Nuh, sa.”

  Jenny and Hortense carried the drinks while Cilbert helped Jacob with the luggage. On their way to Trenchtown, Jenny stole quick, cautious glances at the stony-expressioned shanty dwellers, sometimes regretting that she had coerced Jacob into their move. But the sight and sound of Cilbert, whistling some doo-wop tune, convinced her that her move from the country was worthwhile.

  Upon reaching the government yard where Hortense and Cilbert lived, Jenny found that the neighbours had been expecting her and prepared a hearty meal. Laura and Mercy had been busy in Mercy’s kitchen and had cooked a soup dish over a coal fire that included pumpkins, yams, diced beef, roasted mackerel, bammy, green banana, peppers, callaloo and scallion. Jenny greeted her neighbours courteously, offering her hand and exchanging pleasantries. She thanked them warmly for the dinner but stopped short of revealing too much about herself.

  Mid-way through the meal, Bigger and Kolton appeared clutching bottles of rum, a carrot cake and box juices for the children who were not shy to meet the new residents. “Good afternoon, Miss Jenny,” Clifton, Kolton’s seven-year-old son, said. “Yuh look so pretty inna ya yellow dress. Ya pretty like de film star Dorothy Dandridge dat me papa love but me mama don’t know dat. Cyan yuh please buy me ah bicycle? If yuh smile nice to Misser Oliver he will give yuh ah discount. Misser Oliver sure like ah pretty woman! But him wife don’t know dat!” Jenny could only laugh and presented Clifton with a sixpence for his cheek.

  The men decided on a game of dominoes after dinner and their body language displayed that they didn’t want the presence of women to talk over or interrupt their game. Hortense likened them to Miss Martha’s husband’s friends who after dinner would retire to a different room in the house to sip brandy, smoke Cuban cigars and play games of cards. Martha would lead her women friends to the verandah where they would gossip and comment about the latest aristocratic scandal while downing fruity, rum cocktails.

  As Mercy and Laura washed up the dishes, Hortense linked arms with Jenny and took her on a tour of the government yard and the immediate area. She noticed that children felt free to run into any apartment without fear of rebuke and everybody seemed to know everybody. In one afternoon she had learned of the sexual conquests of a fifteen-year-old boy, the complete life story of Mervin the Moocher who lived in a shanty hut outside the government yard and told in no uncertain terms that Duke Reid’s sound system could ‘mosh Sir Coxsone into de ground’. Jenny listened to how the Chinese shop proprietors looked upon blacks with scorn, the voting intentions and political beliefs of a dozen men and that the feisty fourteen-year-old Miss Pauline was made pregnant by a one-legged, eight-fingered card shark who lived up in the Wareika Hills. Jenny felt that the communal lifestyle she had witnessed could be a little too intimate for her but didn’t relate any of her concerns to her sister. Walking with her head held high, Jenny smiled pleasantly to whomever she met and left them in no doubt of her good standing. “Praise de Lord,” she would offer when parting company. “An’ may He shine bright ’pon yuh.”

  For a first night in Kingston treat, Cilbert had acquired tickets for Jenny, Jacob, Hortense and himself for a talent show at the Carib theatre. Cilbert revealed that Delroy Dyer and his Mighty Invincibles would be appearing and it was also an opportunity for Hortense and himself to show their support to their neighbour. Although Jacob complained of tiredness and the need to rise early next morning to begin his duties with a Pentecostal church in the Red Hills district of Kingston, Jenny quickly accepted the invitation upon his behalf. “Jacob! Yuh cyan let Cilbert down! Him go outta him way to treat we. So ya coming an’ don’t give me nuh fuss!”

  “Jenny, my love. I only t’ought yuh might be ah liccle tired an’ mebbe yuh waan to res’ ya sweet head,” Jacob explained.

  “Nuh, sa! How could me be tired when me sister an’ me generous brudder-in-law offer to take we out fe de evening? It would be ungrateful to refuse.”

  The theatre walls were cracked and eroding. The wooden seats were hard and chipped and a single spotlight seemed to have a mind of its own, careering erratically all over the auditorium; the man operating the spotlight was toking on a huge spliff. Tobacco smoke had browned the ceiling and the aisles were full of cigarette butts, dead matches, fruit peel, nuts and soiled napkins. A partisan audience hooted in derision and threw polystyrene cups and other missiles whenever nervous-wracked harmony trios or soloists that they didn’t recognise appeared on stage. Some were unable to sing their first notes, deciding that no long-held dream was worth this abuse and opting for the relative safety of backstage; Kingston comedians long ago had decided not to chance their fortune.

  The Mighty Invincibles appeared on stage for their set dressed in hired sky-blue suits, white frilly shirts and black pointed shoes; their trousers and sleeves were woefully too short. They looked as uncomfortable as a group of lost English merchant sailors asking for directions in a seedy Trenchtown bar. Hortense and Cilbert leaped out of their seats to holler their approval but Delroy Dyer and his fellow band members took one long fearful look into the cursing patrons, then glanced at one another in dread and froze. The compere rushed out and smiled away the embarrassment as the crowd mocked and laughed. Jenny remained in her seat, watching the proceedings with apathy as Jacob tried to restrain a half-grin.

  Leaving the theatre, Cilbert, recognising the disappointment in Hortense’s face, led his party to a rum bar just off the junction of Half Way Tree. The streets were alive with ravers who were heading to a sound system lawn dance, groups of men huddled around lamp-posts and insect repellent fires who debated on everything from the size of Mr Manley’s feet to the offspring of the Lost Tribe of Israel. Jenny, unsettled by the noise around her, offered a disapproving glare to the shanty town whores making their way from downtown Kingston to solicit outside Devon House – an old colonial building that had been refurbished as a restaurant and club where middle-class Jamaicans listened politely to over-smiling mento bands performing beneath the umbrella of palm leaves. Jacob and Jenny, taking in their surroundings, noticed that motorists failed to stop at traffic lights and cyclists breezed by offering words of wisdom, utter nonsense and damnation.

  Taking a table upon the pavement, Cilbert paid for the drinks. Lighting his Buccaneer cigarette, he asked Jacob, “so, wha’ do yuh t’ink of de big bad city?”

  Jacob smiled. “Alive an’ loud. I never knew Jamaican people could be so colourful.”

  “So many beggars,” interjected Jenny. “Dem everywhere! Cyan’t de government do somet’ing about dem?”

  “Nuh, Jenny,” answered Hortense, sipping her rum and coke. “Only de fittest ah de fittest survive. Ya get used to it.”

  “Jamaica is meking money,” added Cilbert. “But de sufferahs don’t see it. Profits from bauxite an’ udder t’ings are banked inna foreign lands. Mostly America.”

  “Yuh intend to start ah family here inna Kingston?” asked Jacob, directing the question to both Hortense and Cilbert.

  “Nuh, sa!” Cilbert quickly replied. “Me see some ah dem children who leave school inna Trenchtown an’ all dem cyan do is stan’ up ’pon street corner an’ cut dem eye after people an’ look trouble. Me don’t even feel safe going to de picture house nuh more an’ watch film.” He remembered the assault he had suffered. “Bad bwai ah loiter der an’ trouble decent people. Der is not’ing fe de young inna Kingston. Nuh, sa! Me an’ Hortense agree dat we will ’ave children when we reach ah England. Dey will ’ave ah better chance der. Who knows? Ah son ah mine could be ah doctor or lawyer one day. Or even Prime Minister ah England!”

  For a short second, Jenny gazed into Cilbert’s eyes, liking the determination and conviction in them. “Jacob an’ meself are t’inking de same t’ing,” Jenny said.

  Jacob looked perplexed at his wife. “I cyan’t remember…” />
  Interrupting Jacob’s sentence, Jenny reasoned, “but me darling, Jacob. It mek sense. It’s ah blessing to come to Kingston an’ serve its people inna Godly way. But der will be ah time when me waan to start ah family. An’ yuh mus’ waan wha’ is bes’ fe dem. An’ England will offer dem so much more dan Jamaica.”

  Irritated, Jacob took a swig from his bottle of stout. Cilbert and Hortense exchanged a quick glance.

  “Well, Jacob,” said Cilbert, wiping his lips with the back of his right hand. “Yuh ’ave ah mighty job ’pon ya hands. Some ah de people inna Trenchtown cyan’t be saved. Most of de time yuh’ll be wasting ya words. Too many ah dem cyan’t read. Inna Kingston der is too many people wid wooden ears an’ concrete minds. An’ in me opinion, yuh cyan’t really blame dem. De Most High don’t shine bright ’pon de people ah Trenchtown. Since me been here, me see too much sufferation. Where is de Most High when He is most needed? Dat’s why nuff people turn to crime an’ badness. An’ de political people recognise dat an’ mek use fe dem. For dey cyan’t see nuh betterness. Nuh improvement inna dem lives. Dey feel de Lord God has forsaken dem. Me cyan’t see how yuh cyan change dat.”

  Jacob slammed down his bottle in a moment of rare vexation. He caught Cilbert with an intense stare. “Yuh ’ave never been ah religious mon ’ave yuh, Cilbert? So yuh don’t know of de comfort of ah good Christian life cyan give to so many people. I am not ignorant, Cilbert. While me der inna Claremont I get to learn about de sufferation of de people inna Kingston.” Jacob raised his voice. “Yuh don’t understan’, Cilbert. When ah people ’ave not’ing, nuh money, nuh material t’ings, nuh roof over dem head. Not’ing! Den all is lef’ is faith. An’ dat faith lead to hope. Widout hope der will be chaos an’ anarchy. So I see it as long as I provide hope, my time inna Kingston will never be wasted! Do yuh understan’?”

  “Nuh need to get vex,” cut in Jenny, smiling at her husband but her eyes still betraying her embarrassment.

  “Dat is alright, Jenny,” soothed Cilbert, blowing his smoke over Hortense’s head. “It’s true. Me nah religious but at least me nah like dem uptown people who gwarn ah Catholic church ’pon ah Sunday marnin an’ ignore de beggar when dem step outta church wid der high an’ mighty selves. Me like an’ admire any mon who feels ah mighty passion about him beliefs. Dat is fine by me. But de downtown people need more dan passion. Me fader tell me once dat de white mon give de black slave de Bible to read. But dis was ah trap. Ah trap to mek de black mon believe dat all der suffering will be alright becah dem will get der redemption when dem dead, gwarn to heaven an’ live an everlasting life full ah milk an’ honey. It was ah cruel trickster trick to mek dem obedient. Jacob, yuh don’t read de words an’ psalms ah Solomon? Yes, me don’t go to church now but when me ah bwai chile me read me Bible like everyone else. Every day.”

  Jenny leant in closer to Cilbert, impressed by his last statement. Hortense yawned, making it clear she was becoming bored of the conversation – she had heard this issue being debated many times in the government yard.

  Cilbert continued. “De mighty Solomon say.” Cilbert sang in a soft whisper, closing his eyes and recalling his days of churchgoing. Concentration lined his forehead and a grimace tickled his cheeks. “By de rivers ah Babylon. Where we sat down. An’ where we wept, when we remembered our home land. Dey tek we away in captivity an’ required from we ah song. But how cyan we sing der Lord’s song when we der inna strange land.”

  Now breathing easier, Jacob controlled his temper, stood up and dismissed Cilbert with a lingering eye pass. In response, Cilbert kissed Hortense upon the cheek and gave her a hug. Jenny looked away to the traffic. “Yuh should nah twist de words ah de mighty Solomon,” Jacob warned, his tone back to normal. “De song don’t quite go like dat. Anyone waan ah nex’ drink?” he offered, not wanting to prolong the argument.

  Cilbert looked offended. He raised his voice. “Dat is how me grandpapa used to sing it an’ him never wrong. De point ah de matter is, Jacob, is dat me ah look fe heaven ’pon earth. Me don’t waan to suffer all me life an’ den get me reward when me dead like how the white mon Bible promise. Nuh, sa! Dat is why me work so hard. Becah me waan me reward while me still alive. So me cyan enjoy it. Watch me, sa! See inna t’ree or four years when me come back from England dat me don’t live inna mighty house up der ah Strawberry Hill! Hortense, one day yuh affe tek Jacob up der an’ show him Miss Martha’s fine mansion. When ah mon see ah house like dat, how cyan him be satisfy wid him government yard or shanty hut?”

  Jacob took four strides before turning around and replying to Cilbert. “I respect ah mon wid healt’y ambition. But careful, Cilbert, fe de somet’ing dat mon love de most, cyan kill him also. De Most High is ah jealous God. Remember how de Israelites mek false idols an’ Massa God get vex. When Moses come down from him mountain an’ see wha’ happen, Moses ketch ah rage.”

  “Yes, me know dat story, Jacob,” replied Cilbert. “But Moses had plenty ambition. Him was ah High Priest an’ did waan to challenge Pharoah power an’ assert him belief of de one God. De sun God of Akhenaten.”

  Jacob momentarily froze, as if struck by something deep within his soul. “Beware! Don’t talk of such t’ings, Cilbert. Becah de Most High lissen to every conversation an’ cyan read every intention an’ every mon’s desire. My brudder believes dat too an’ now he lives inna de bush.”

  Jenny felt her husband’s words penetrate her heart and wondered if they were indirectly aimed at her. Surely he doesn’t know? Jenny thought. When Jacob returned with a tray of fresh drinks, Jenny made an effort to side up to her husband and place her right arm over his shoulders. Jacob, not used to public displays of affection from his wife, began to regale his friends with anecdotes and tales about his former Claremont valley parishioners. They all laughed but underneath their happy facial expressions they all yearned for the trustworthiness and familiarity of the people they grew up with.

  Preparing to leave, Cilbert downed the last of his Red Stripe bottles. “Well, Jenny, now yuh arrive mebbe me will find dinner cooked when me reach home from work.”

  “Yes, me love to cook,” said Jenny excitedly.

  Hortense looked obviously annoyed. “How cyan yuh expect dinner when some night me still ah work up der ah Miss Martha? Yuh cyan’t tek up ya two hand an’ cook fe yaself? Lazy ya lazy! Yuh expect woman to do everyt’ing?”

  “But sometime yuh reach home before me an’ instead ah cooking me somet’ing nice yuh gone off wid Miss Laura to help sell her goods. Ya first priority is me!”

  “Cilbert, me sick an’ tired ah yuh keep vexing about dis argument! Yuh know how me stay! Miss Laura one of me bes’ frien’ an’ she help we out many time. So me help her out. So quiet ya mout’, gum ya lip an’ accept de situation. Remember, we live ’pon de money me mek from Miss Martha. Ya money pay de rent an’ use fe saving. Remember dat.”

  Cilbert and Hortense kept on quarrelling until they reached home. Jenny had discovered that the single room and kitchen apartment had been divided by three white bedsheets hanging on a length of cord. When Jenny retired to bed beneath a single pink sheet, she made sure she was nearest to the hanging bed linen. Laying on her side with Jacob snuggled up behind her, Jenny could see Cilbert’s naked, silhouetted body, formed by the moonlight, moving in front of her. She found herself becoming excited and willed herself to look away. But she couldn’t. Every movement of Cilbert’s limbs was studied as he combed his hair before bed. By the sound of his gentle whispering and his shadowed body language, Jenny guessed that Cilbert was attempting to make up for the row he and Hortense had. Without blinking she watched Cilbert lay on top of Hortense and heard the moans and pleasures of love-making. She knew they were both naked and was surprised at their absence of inhibitions. Cilbert’s silhouette was now joined with Hortense’s and Jenny finally closed her eyes, dreaming that she could be the one to feel Cilbert’s body pressing down upon her.

  Forcing his crotch against the curve of Jenny’s backside and laying a hand up
on her left breast, Jacob suffered a pinch upon his penis – an indication that Jenny was not prepared to make love tonight. Jacob would discover that attempting to make love while Hortense and Cilbert were in the apartment was simply a forlorn hope. He would have to bribe Cilbert with a wink to take Hortense out for the evening or visit friends. “Wha’ ah palava!” Cilbert would giggle. “Even Preacher Mon get peckish from time to time.”

  Jacob became very popular with the people of Trenchtown. He spoke with the same tone of voice to everyone and looked people directly in the eye from the poorest shanty-town dweller to the uptown business man. Indeed, on Saturday mornings he would rise early and tour around the roughest areas of downtown, offering words of hope and encouragement. But even the Trenchtown moochers were shocked when Jacob ventured into the ‘Dungle’ district of Kingston – a massive rubbish dump area where the poorest of the poor and rastafarians squirmed out a living from whatever materials and rotten foods the downtown people had no use for. The stench of human waste, multiplying insects and crippled children did not bother him. It was only the looks of resignation that kept him awake at nights. Cilbert, vividly describing the ‘wild, dutty haired ones wid der blood eyes’ had warned Jacob that he was laying himself open for a mugging but Jacob ignored him, remembering the counsel of his brother, Levi. Jacob would say to Cilbert, “aren’t dey de people of de Most High? Don’t dey deserve to hear de word of God? Ya ever see ah picture of Jesus wid short hair? Yuh forget dat Christ allowed John de Baptist to pour water over him head even though de disciples an’ everyone else ah say dat John de Baptist was ah dutty, wild-haired mon? Why should de people ah de Dungle be forsaken becah dem wear dem hair long?”

  Jenny found work cooking in a downtown restaurant that was frequented by many men who lived on the hustle. She soon admonished the patrons who let slip Jamaican swear words. She also constantly reminded them of their ‘thank you’s’ and ‘please’s’ and she was quickly accepted as a ‘lovable eccentric wid country ways’. Even the bad men would greet her with, “marnin, Miss Jenny. May de Most High bless yuh ’pon dis good day.” Jenny, enjoying the respect that was offered her, would bid in farewell, “don’t forget to say grace before ya supper”. The criminals and political thugs would lope away half-smiling and went to perform whatever badness that they had always done.