Island Songs

by Alex Wheatle

  “Me feel sorry for Oliver,” said Hortense, not sharing Cilbert’s joy. “De immigration office refuse him application becah Oliver ’ave ah criminal record. Him t’ief ah bicycle wheel ah few years back – ah Chinee mon expose him to de police.”

  Cilbert didn’t seem to care about the fate of his neighbour, he only had eyes for his passport. “Too bad,” he said, not looking up.

  “Is dat all yuh cyan say, Cilbert? Oliver been ah good frien’ to we.”

  “Yes, but me cyan’t change de reality of de situation. Him t’ief ah bicycle one day an’ now him paying fe it.”

  “Sometimes, Cilbert, ya narrow-minded obsession wid ya own ambition mek ya cold to ah nex’ mon’s tribulation. Well, at least when re reach Englan’ me cyan look for Miss Martha. Me miss her deeply but me ’ave her address. She live inna place call Berkshire.”

  Jenny and Jacob emerged from their apartment carrying steaming mugs full of manesh water – a peppery soup. They gave one each to Hortense and Cilbert. “Well, dis time tomorrow,” Jenny said. “We’ll be sailing ’pon de mighty Atlantic. De same ocean we forefaders arrive from. Cyan yuh believe dat? Little we from de Claremont valley.”

  Looking alarmed, Jacob’s eyes betrayed some dread. He tapped Cilbert upon his right shoulder and whispered, “cyan we talk? In private.”

  Grinning, Cilbert assumed Jacob wanted the apartment for Jenny and himself so they could make love. Cilbert stood up, placed his right arm over Jacob’s shoulders and turned to Hortense. “Mon talk.”

  The men walked towards the stand-pipe in the middle of the yard. A squadron of mosquitoes followed them. “Nah boder yaself, Jacob,” smiled Cilbert. “Hortense an’ meself still ’ave to mek ah few more goodbyes so yuh cyan ’ave de place fe yaselves fe two hours or so. Every mon ’ave him needs, eehh?”

  “Nuh, nuh, mon,” Jacob replied, his voice tinged with desperation. “It nah dat at all.”

  “Den wha’ is it?”

  Jacob paused and looked at the dusty ground. “I. Don’t laugh! I am ’fraid ah de mighty ocean. I am ’fraid de ship will capsize an’ we will all drown.”

  “Ya joking wid me,” replied Cilbert.

  “Nuh, mon. I mek nuh joke. I get nightmares about it fe de last few weeks. I cyan’t even swim. My fader never tek me to de coast to teach me. Before I go to my bed I will pray to Massa God fe we deliverance an’ to bless we ship.”

  “Lord wha’ ah palava!” hollered Cilbert, restraining a chortle. “Why yuh never say somet’ing before? We pay £90 each fe we fare! Yuh waan to waste ya money? Look how long it tek we to save it.”

  Jacob felt his manliness was being interrogated. “Nuh, mon. I don’t waan to waste my money. But don’t tell Jenny about my fear. I don’t waan her to say dat I am ah meek mouse.”

  Cilbert patted Jacob upon his back. “Nuh boder ya godly self, Jacob. Me will look after yuh. Wid de help of fire-water! Dat will calm ya nerve.”

  Cilbert returned to Hortense and hugged her. Jacob rinsed the evening stickiness off his face at the stand-pipe, not at all encouraged by Cilbert’s words.

  The next morning, nine a.m. A clear, bright sky had blessed Kingston and white birds flew above the still harbour waters. Standing in a long queue of migrating Jamaicans all wearing their best clothes, Cilbert, Jacob, Hortense and Jenny observed the busy scenes around them in wonder and dread, carrying their peeling and battered second-hand suitcases. Cussing, bare-backed men off-loaded goods from tankers, dry bulk carriers and general cargo ships. Groggy merchant sailors were reporting back for duty. The sound of cranes and other lifting mechanisms filled the air. Proud-looking Jamaican harbour pilots, sporting stained sailor hats and cheap rings on their fingers, raced here and there, some coming into port in small, questionable boats following their navigating of a vessel into open waters. Funnels discharging smoke and exhaust fumes caused Hortense to cough.

  Cilbert, although linking arms with his wife, only had eyes for the passenger vessel named The Genovese Madonna that he would soon board. Awed by the size of the ship, Cilbert felt that his boyhood dream was now materialising before his eyes. Jacob, unsteady on his feet because of the amount of undiluted rum Cilbert had forced him to drink, observed the vessel with different feelings. To his eyes, The Genovese Madonna may as well have been a sea monster. Meanwhile, Jenny continually looked behind her, as if she was waiting for someone to call her back. An image of her father, to whom she bade farewell three days ago, loomed large in her mind. She wondered if she would ever see him again. Indeed, she doubted if she would ever bless her eyes on Jamaica again.

  Jenny had recognised the smile that her father had only reserved for her and standing upon his plot of land, Joseph asked her, “yuh sure yuh waan to go to Englan’, Jenny? Hortense is ah big woman now an’ she cyan look after herself. She stop cry fe me ah long time ago an’ Amy too. An’ now she ’ave Cilbert. An ambitious mon.”

  “Jacob ambitious too,” replied Jenny. “It would be ah mighty achievement to establish ah church inna Englan’.”

  “Yes it would,” agreed Joseph. “But Jacob love dis land an’ its people. So me was ah liccle surprise dat him tek dis decision.”

  “Didn’t St Paul love him land? But him travel far an’ wide to spread de gospel.”

  Joseph laughed. “Always de Bible student! May Kofi bless ya every step an’ never forget to lift up ya head an’ walk tall. Yuh is Maroon!”

  “An’ besides, Papa, Hortense will need me wid her.”

  Joseph fingered his chin. “Ya sure? Hortense ah big woman now. She certainly don’t need her papa!”

  “Yuh don’t know her de way me know her. She tough like coconut shell ’pon de outside but soft like uncooked dumpling inna de inside.”

  Jenny embraced her father and closed her eyes, her tears dampening Joseph’s rough cotton shirt. Five minutes later she stepped away, walking backwards and sideways until her father was nothing but a silhouette.

  As Cilbert stepped aboard, he looked around at the other passengers, trying to keep his composure. A fear of the unknown flowed through his veins mixing with the adrenalin. He detected a certain apprehension in the eyes of his fellow countrymen and found himself tightly gripping the left hand of Hortense. Jenny searched for Hortense’s right hand and clutched it eagerly as Jacob staggered behind, promising himself never to drink rum again. They were all led by a smartly dressed Italian deck officer to the cabin decks below; Cilbert had to assist Jacob down the steps of the companionways as Jenny smouldered in embarrassment. The grainy wooden beams of the interior of the ship reeked of the ocean, and Jacob fought to control what was shooting up his throat.

  The cabin, containing two bunk-beds pushed against opposite walls, was four paces wide and eight strides long. The porthole offered them a view outside of seven metres above the water line. “Wha’ kinda mattress dey call dis?” moaned Jenny, squeezing it with her hand. “It thin like white people lip!”

  Off-loading their luggage, Cilbert, Jenny and Hortense all felt a little claustrophobic. Leaving behind Jacob crashed out on one of the bunks, they made their way back up to the passenger deck and joined others who were leaning on the railings, looking into Kingston. Nobody said much. Many shed silent tears.

  Everybody dwelled on their own personal fates and feelings. Hortense recognised and felt proud that she and Jenny were the first females in their known family history to explore and see the world. She recalled her mother saying to her three days ago, “it seems all of de children of Kofi are cursed wid him curiosity an’ wanderings. So it was wid sweet David. May de spirit of Kofi bless ya every step but remember where ya home is an’ de people yuh come from.”

  Jenny’s head was full of panic and apprehension. Gazing at the rising hills that backdropped Kingston, it finally struck home that she was starting life in a foreign land with a man she couldn’t love. She fought to block out in her mind the cutting glare of her mother and the manner in which she crossed her arms when they parted. “Why everyone so sad?” she a
sked, masking her own anxiety and guilt as she glanced at the other passengers. “Dis is de time of we life!”

  An hour later, Cilbert heard Italian shouts and spotted a harbour pilot in a small boat that was attached by rope to The Genovese Madonna. Cilbert heard and felt the vibrations of the engines and propeller starting beneath him and could sense the ship finally moving. Hortense and Cilbert jumped up and down on the spot, waving and hollering to the crowds below. Tears were streaming down their cheeks and they hoped that their Trenchtown friends could see them. Even Jenny could not stem her sobs as Kingston, ever so gradually, reduced in size to nothing but a pale white and green haze that straddled the horizon. Hortense, surprised at her sister’s display of vulnerability, for Jenny rarely revealed her emotions in public, moved with Cilbert to include her in a warm embrace. “Trus’ Jacob to ketch sick,” laughed Hortense. “He should be wid yuh at times like dis. It nah like him to be licky licky. Me wonder who give him de fire-water?”

  Feeling the heat of Cilbert’s chest upon her breasts, Jenny replied, “let him sleep it off! Me don’t know how could he embarrass me so!”

  Jacob had recovered by the time of the evening meal that was taken in the ship’s passenger restaurant – a long hall just below the bridge. Many of the passengers had now grown accustomed to the sway and heaving of the ship and finally grasped that when The Genovese Madonna was riding a rogue wave, it didn’t herald imminent doom. Outside, the stars shone bright and there was a chill in the air that discouraged the Jamaicans to venture on deck. The Atlantic spoke in a whisper. Moustachioed Italian waiters served heaps of pasta and mince and poured red wine into glasses. The sea air fuelling their appetites, Cilbert, Jacob and Hortense couldn’t eat their meal quickly enough. In contrast, Jenny grimaced as she picked at her food with a fork. “De meat nah cooked right,” she complained. “Look how it red like bauxite!”

  “Stop ya fussing, Jenny,” said Hortense. “Yuh better get used to it. T’ree weeks we der ’pon dis ship.”

  “Well, me nah eat it,” asserted Jenny, slamming her fork down on the plate. “Me would complain if any of dese Italian people coulda understan’ English. Yuh see de way dey look ’pon we? Dem look ’pon we like country farmer ah look ’pon hog inna truck! Me don’t like dem. Me nah trus’ dem. Fe all we know dey might poison we. An’ dey ’ave dirty hand.”

  “Now, my love, don’t get vex an’ paranoid,” soothed Jacob. “It’s been ah very long day. I will get some more bread fe yuh.”

  “Nah boder yaself, Jacob,” offered Cilbert. “Me will fetch it. Me waan some more ah dat mince wid de red sauce.”

  Rising to his feet, Cilbert made his way to the kitchen, the low ceiling only a foot above his head. Standing by a hatch where an Italian waiter was serving wine and beverages for passengers who wanted a supplement to their original servings, was an elegant, amber-skinned woman. She was wearing a burgundy-coloured pencil skirt with matching jacket. Pearls decorated her naked collarbone. Her perfect black hair had been straightened and was parted on one side. Bright red lipstick coloured her thin lips and the foundation upon her face gave the appearance of caramel-coloured porcelain. Her posture was confident and superior, like a nineteenth century Parisian courtesan. Cilbert recognised her instantly and walked over to her.

  “Good evening, Almyna,” Cilbert greeted, catching a strong scent of perfume. He wasn’t sure if he should smile too openly.

  For a short second, Almyna’s eyes betrayed her astonishment but she soon regained her poise. “Well, well!” She ran her eyes over Cilbert and casually displayed the glittering wedding ring upon her left hand. “An’ der was me t’inking me leaving me old life. It jus’ goes to show dat yuh cyan run away from ya past, nuh matter where yuh go.”

  Almyna flashed a knowing smile.

  “Yuh look very fine,” complimented Cilbert, briefly glancing behind him to check if Hortense was observing.

  “Well, t’ank yuh, Cilbert. May me say yuh look fine too, considering everyt’ing. But me see ah liccle stress aroun’ ya eyes. Ya face nah so fresh nuh more. Me suppose it’s de strain of adult living. Someone ah tell me yuh was living inna Trenchtown. Dey tell me it rough an’ dutty down der. Mebbe dat cause de stress inna ya forehead. Yuh did look so cute as ah young bwai.”

  Almyna discreetly glanced at the ring on Cilbert’s wedding finger. “Me married two years ago,” she revealed, eager to announce her status. “To ah Misser Hubert Golding. Yuh hear about de Golding family inna Jamaica? They’re very important. We get invited to dinners at de governor’s mansion. Yuh mus’ ’ave heard of de Goldings?”

  Cilbert paused on the question, placing an index finger and thumb upon his chin, but he didn’t have a clue who the Goldings were. “Nuh, Almyna. But de name ring ah bell.”

  “So it should,” pressed Almyna. “Dem ah business family, involved wid banking, insurance an’ real estate. Dey ’ave ah beautiful mansion near Port Antonio over-looking de ocean. Hubert is over der. See how him handsome!”

  Almyna pointed to the tables where the first-class passengers dined. Hubert, tall and impressive in a dark suit, was of a lighter complexion than Almyna. Cilbert guessed he was a mulatto – mixed-race. Hubert’s hair had also been straightened and his thinly-trimmed moustache gave him the appearance of a young Duke Ellington.

  “Me really glad fe yuh, Almyna,” said Cilbert, checking behind him again. Hortense had finally spotted him and made it clear with a sour glare that she wouldn’t tolerate her husband socialising with one of his ex-girlfriends – especially Almyna.

  “Is dat ya wife?” smiled Almyna, who knew the answer to her own question; she had made her own enquiries on return trips to Orange valley.

  Cilbert nodded. Almyna rolled her eyes. “So yuh married Hortense! She very dark isn’t she? Very dark. Me cyan’t see not’ing but her teet’! Me never really notice it when me first see her. All me notice was how much rum punch she ah drink. Yes, Hortense was de licky licky one who made ah spectacle of herself when she start dance. Nah de right way fe ah lady to behave. She still ah slave to fire-water? Some people say dat addiction to fire-water cyan cause de skin to wrinkle quick time an’ will mosh up ya liver. An’ if she has, ya kidren will be born wid damage. She might produce cripples. But me suppose some mon ’ave dem strange fancy.”

  Biting his top lip, Cilbert refused to respond to Almyna’s offensive remarks. “Well, Almyna, it really fine to see yuh again but me affe go now – Hortense an’ me in-laws are waiting fe me.”

  “Go so soon? Dat nah polite, Cilbert. We born an’ grow inna de same place an’ dis is de first time we sight each udder fe years an’ all yuh cyan do is run to ya dark wife? Ya ’fraid of her?”

  “Nuh, nuh. It nah dat. It’s jus’ dat me affe look some bread, drink an’ t’ing fe dem.”

  “Den if dat is de situation she will nah mind if we link up some time ’pon de journey. Mebbe ah drink togeder fe old time sake? After all, we are family.” Almyna preened herself then offered a wicked grin.

  By the time Almyna had constructed her next pose, Cilbert was gone, anxiety spreading across his face as he asked for more bread and tomato-flavoured mince. He would never reveal to Hortense or to anybody else that Almyna and himself were second cousins. Almyna waited for her bottle of wine, glanced at her husband who was entertaining friends and for an instant a flash of sadness revealed itself in her eyes. Then, with bottle in hand and head held high, Almyna returned to her table in a sexy strut she had long ago perfected. Knowing that Cilbert was watching her, she theatrically sat upon Hubert’s lap and drained the contents of his glass. Looking on, Cilbert said to himself. “Dat girl is many t’ings but Lord me God, she know how fe walk an’ mek any mon tek notice.”

  Returning to his own table, Cilbert could feel the jealousy steaming off Hortense’s eyes. He tried to smile away his discomfort. Jacob, ignoring the sudden tension, accepted the bread and sliced it for Jenny. “Two slice yuh waan, me sweetheart?”

  Jenny didn’t hear her husband and
instead placed a comforting hand on Hortense’s wrist as she glared at Cilbert. Hortense’s lips stiffened, her eyes staring at her meal.

  “Wha’ did yuh expect me to do?” asked Cilbert, spreading his arms. “Ignore her? Me know Almyna all me life! Me never expect her to be ’pon dis ship. Anyway, she married now so don’t t’ink dat me up to nuh good.”

  Twirling spaghetti around her fork, Hortense’s eyes didn’t leave her plate. It looked as if she might use the fork on Cilbert.

  “More wine, Hortense?” Jacob offered, trying to diffuse the situation.

  Hortense ignored Jacob. “Cilbert, sit down! If yuh know wha’ is good fe yuh, stay away from dat red skin, brute of ah bitch! Look how she dress like dem blue-foot gal who stan’ outside Devon House looking to sell dem tricks. An’ her lipstick look like somebody sacrifice ah chicken over her mout’! Me don’t know how her head cyan tek de strain of all de grease inna her hair. Yuh coulda wring out her hair an’ tek de oil an’ mek truck drive. An’ she wear so much mek-up me surprise her cheeks don’t bawl fe mercy. She look like ah Jamaican version of Coco de Clown.”

  Jacob almost choked on his bread as he restrained a belly laugh. Jenny caught a fit of the giggles as Cilbert didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Feeling better, Hortense accepted more wine.

  The remainder of the meal was consumed in silence with Cilbert not daring to return Almyna’s flirtatious glances. As Hortense downed the last of her wine; she had drank four glasses, she turned to a nervous Cilbert and demanded, “me waan talk to yuh in private, inna de cabin.” She addressed Jenny. “Cyan yuh give me some time wid me husband? T’ings need to discuss.”