Even though there were five villages to pass through before I reached my home, I was back in my village in less than an hour. The place was barely recognisable. There were people everywhere, talking, laughing, singing, praying. Behind our house a dozen neighbours were stooped over cooking pots. The competing smells of curried goat, jerk pork and fried fish filled the air. It seemed like people had travelled from all over the district and even further afield to attend Grandma’s nine night, and this was only the beginning of the celebration of Grandma Melba’s life. Many more relatives and friends would continue to arrive over the next six days and it was the job of the village women to make sure that everyone was fed throughout all nine days and nine nights.
No one had noticed me in the dark and, after a few moments of searching, I found my grandfather sitting talking with relatives on the verandah. He stood up when he saw me, his long frame looking more bent than ever, and pulled me to him. I dropped my grip and surrendered to his embrace. Tears sprang from my eyes immediately.
‘It good yuh reach soh fas, Erna,’ Grandpa Sippa said, wiping the tears from my face with his handkerchief. ‘Yuh musa tired an hungry. Blossom round de back a cook food. Go get someting fi eat and den come back. Yuh need plenty food innah yuh body fi stay up all night.’
I’d barely eaten since the news of Grandma Melba’s death, but, encouraged by Miss Blossom, I drank a small cup of peas soup before returning to sit at my Grandpa’s feet where I fell to into an exhausted sleep to the gentle sound of many voices.
In the early hours I went to my bed, but didn’t try to sleep again. There seemed little point in trying to force something I knew my head was not going to allow to happen.
Daylight only brought further feelings of numbness. I slid from the bed and picked up the enamel jug, in which I’d put a small amount of water the night before. I opened the door, cupped my palm and filled it, splashing water vigorously over my face. I put on the plainer of my two church dresses and made my way outside, where I headed for the breadfruit tree.
As is tradition, the village men had built the ceremonial lean-to where Grandma’s body would rest in her coffin for the nine nights of ceremonies until her burial. It was constructed directly under the expansive foliage of the breadfruit tree; the one spot in our yard that the sun spared from its relentless heat. The lean-to was made from bamboo and wood, and decked with coconut palms and a huge array of lilies – the pungent smell of which remained with me long after the nine night was over. In front of the lean-to shrine was a duppy table, which was piled with food and bottles of white rum. The duppy table was there to keep Grandma Melba’s spirit fed on her journey to heaven. Her duppy would join the living every evening during the nine night to eat, drink and listen to music, only leaving the festivities at midnight, when the villagers would feast from the table themselves. On the last night, her duppy would finally pass from the world of the living into the world of spirits, and only then could Grandma’s body be considered to be at rest.
Her coffin appeared small under the elaborate lean-to. It rested on thick planks of newly cut cedar wood, laid across four of our Hall chairs. A stark white cloth hung loosely over it, though the coffin was currently still sealed from the night before. It would be opened again before sundown for two hours, a ritual to be repeated every evening at the same time until all nine nights had passed.
As I stood beside Grandma’s coffin, relatives and friends began to arrive for the day of mourning. Various people greeted me briefly, offering their condolences. Among the mourners were several of Grandma’s sisters and brothers, a few of whom were much older than her. It seemed so unfair that she was taken so early. But there was almost no time for me to fret, as every waking moment seemed to be filled with singing or eating and, as soon as one song ended, someone was ready with another. Many of Grandma Melba’s favourite church songs and old spirituals were sung: ‘How Great Thou Art’, ‘Amazing Grace’ and ‘We Shall Overcome’, and her favourite psalm twenty-three from the King James Bible was repeated over and over:
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
All day long people continued to arrive in the village, bringing with them even more provisions – firewood, water, baskets of fruit, vegetables, pots – everything that could possibly be needed to continue to feed the ever-growing crowd. The village men, who had made an early start digging Grandma’s grave, could be heard singing a popular island call-and-response song as they worked:
Hill an gully rider – Hill an gully,
Hill an gully rider – Hill an gully
A mek me beng dung low dung,
Hill an gully
A mek me feel up! Feel up!
Hill an gully – Hill an gully rider
Hill an gully
Took mi horse an come dung
Hill an gully
But mi horse done tumble dung
Hill an gully
Mi seh hill an gully rider…
As I stood listening and mouthing the words of the song, Great-Aunt Eula appeared by my side.
‘Erna, chile, yuh aright?’ she asked, pushing a large mug of Horlicks into my hands. ‘Yuh know de song?’ she added when I looked at her doubtfully. ‘Horlicks give yuh henergy. Henergy all day long! An just like yuh grandfada tell yuh, dis is a good way to start de day.’
‘Tank yuh, Auntie Eula,’ I said, before downing the sweet milky liquid.
A group of children were playing hopscotch in the yard, and round the back of the house the women were still busy with their cooking. Miss Gertie’s teenage son Maurice, who’d been put in charge of sweeping the yard, was getting a telling off from her for not dampening the ground first. ‘A dirt yuh want people fi nyam,’ she scolded, ‘yuh kyaan see seh de red dirt a fly everywhere!’
‘A figet mi figet, Mama,’ he replied, before running off to fetch a bucket of water.
I walked round the side of the house to find two young sisters who were washing up a constant stream of dishes. I offered to help and Miss Blossom appeared and handed me a bowl of yams to peel.
‘Dorcas ask after yuh yesterday, Erna,’ she said, after a few minutes of silent work. ‘Yuh see har yet?’
‘No, Miss Blossom, mi nuh see har yet.’
‘Weh yuh nuh go look fi har den?’ she replied. ‘Mi kyan manage yasso. It better fiyuh to be round pickney dem yuh own age.’
I took Miss Blossom’s advice and walked over to Dorcas’s house where I found her hanging out her family’s washing on a sisal rope stretched between two pimento trees.
‘Hi, Dorcas,’ I called out when I saw her.
She stopped at the sound of my voice, leaving a pair of khaki trousers hanging from one peg.
‘Mi did hear seh yuh back, Erna!’ she cried, rushing over to me, ‘Mi was jus a finish de washing and den come look fiyuh.’
She grabbed me and hugged me tightly. Her younger brother Nathan was sitting on the ground plucking the feathers from a line of colourful little birds – he’d caught them by tricking them into feeding from a piece of string covered in sticky gum on which he’d placed bird food. We broke our embrace and looked at him and laughed. It was the first time I’d laughed since my return. Then we strolled over to the mango tree and sat down. Dorcas was keen to hear about my trip to see my father.
‘Yuh ave ow many bredda an sista?’ she asked, looking visibly shocked when I told her about my new family. ‘Lawd, yuh fada nuh easy man!’ She poked a stick into the soft earth. ‘Dem like yuh?’
‘Mi nuh really
know fi tell yuh de truth,’ I said. ‘A short time mi did stay a de house. Mi nuh really get fi know any a dem yet. But mi know seh some a dem nuh like dem fada outside pickney dem.’
‘But him a fiyuh fada too, Erna! Soh dat a fi dem problem.’
‘Dem mada alright, though. She name Miss Iris an she was nice.’
It was like opening a tap, so desperate was I to share the overwhelming experiences I’d had with someone. Dorcas and I sat under the mango tree and talked until sundown.
‘Yuh have bout an hour lef before yuh hafi go pass over Miss Melba coffin,’ Dorcas said.
‘Mi know, but mi fraid fi see Grandma Melba dead. Mi frighten seh she ago live innah mi head as a dead sumady forever.’
‘Mi understan what yuh mean, Erna. Mi did go down a yard to see har not long after she did dead. She was lying on har back all wrap up. She did have two clothes iron innah har hand dem and har foot dem tie up together. Mi nuh know why dem do dat. But already, she nevah look like harself and dat is how I keep remembering har, but mi nuh fraid.’
Dorcas was still talking, but I had long stopped listening to anything she was saying. My entire body vibrated as I cried out uncontrollably. But, even as I was crying, I knew it would change nothing. I was terrified of seeing my beloved grandmother dead, but I was also driven by the knowledge that this would be my very last opportunity to see her ever again, even if it was inside her coffin.
The last residue of the evening sun was doing a shadowy dance under the mango tree. Much earlier on in the day, it had rained. Now, Dorcas and I silently focused our attention on a slimy fat earthworm that was digging itself back into a small mud patch.
‘Yuh betta go now,’ Dorcas said, ‘before it get dark, an yuh grandfada ave to come look fiyuh.’
My legs trembled as I made to get up from the ground. They felt as though they were ready to give way under me.
‘Steady, Erna, man.’ Dorcas said. She was already standing next to me. She drew herself even closer and lifted my right arm, placing it on her shoulder. ‘Let me come wit yuh, Erna. We can do dis together.’ She offered.
The walk back to my house took nearly twice as long with Dorcas struggling to hold me up for most of it. I had quarter-filled our tin bath with water and left it to heat up in the sun prior to visiting her. Back at the house, she helped me drag the old bath into the tiny wash house next to the latrine. She stood outside the door and waited while I had a quick wash down. When I rejoined her, I was feeling a little calmer. I put on my best Sunday frock and asked Dorcas to do up the buttons at the back and tie my two trailing waist bands into a big bow. She brushed the front of my hair back with her hands.
‘Let’s go an fine yuh grandfada,’ she said.
Grandpa Sippa was sitting on the verandah in Grandma Melba’s favourite battered wicker chair. It had gaping holes in places, where the wicker had rotted and fallen off. Smoke curled around the long silver hairs in Grandpa Sippa’s nostrils as he puffed on one of Grandma’s Cuban cigars. Grandma Melba had kept a good stock of her left-over cigars, and she’d generously sprinkled them with overproof Appleton rum before placing them in an old George Horner biscuit tin, tightly sealing it closed. Grandpa still looked as drawn and tired as he did earlier.
‘Mi ready, Grandpa Sippa,’ I said, in a whisper.
Grandpa immediately sat up straight and seemed more alert. He popped the partly smoked cigar down on the wall nearest to him, pulled himself wearily up from the old wicker chair and walked down the steps towards me. ‘Mi did worry seh, yuh gwaan run way an hide yuhself. Mi glad seh yuh come back innah good time. Mi know seh it nuh easy fiyuh, but de dead nuh nuttin fi frighten. De passing-over a long tradition from Africa time. It will help yuh grandmada go an har way to meet har maker.’
Grandpa Sippa placed a big reassuring arm around me, and together he and Dorcas led me the short distance from the verandah to the breadfruit tree, under which was Grandma Melba’s open coffin. As if sensing our approach, the crowd that had already gathered, and was in the middle of singing a dead night celebration song, went quiet for a moment. Still holding on to my hand, and with Dorcas still determinedly by my side, Grandpa Sippa moved us deftly through the crowd. Suddenly, there was a clear space and I could see my grandmother’s coffin directly ahead of me. I pulled hard on my grandfather’s hand and he hesitated briefly before moving me closer. I was tall enough to see inside, though I didn’t feel ready to look. My whole body began to shake again. I bit hard on my lips to stop my mouth from opening. I didn’t want to cry in front of all those people. I hardly noticed as my grandfather, assisted by my rarely sober Uncle Cleveland, lifted me in a single coordinated movement off the ground. The two men held me flat on their forearms and steadied themselves before passing me three times over Grandma Melba’s body. The whole ritual probably lasted less than a minute, before I was on the ground again. But, somehow, it felt a lot longer, and for a moment my head felt as though I’d been playing a vigorous game of hula hoop.
I looked around, but Grandpa Sippa was nowhere to be seen. My heart felt as though it was about to beat itself right out of my body. Then there was a tiny squeeze of my hand. Thank God! I thought when I realised that Dorcas was still right there by my side. A feeling of relief washed over me.
It was now time for me to look at my grandmother for the last time.
Grandma Melba was dressed in her favourite brown crêpe church dress, the one my mother gave her before leaving for England. Her hair was covered in an African-style white head-wrap. Another white cloth had been positioned beneath her chin, drawn up around her jaw, and tucked into place under the edge of her head-wrap. She looked beautiful and serene, except that the usual ebony shine of her face was now replaced by a strange grey colour and she laid as rigid as a dried-out cedar board.
The smell of death filled up my nostrils. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a dead body, but it was the first time I’d found myself having to linger over one. She was my grandmother and I knew that I wasn’t allowed just to have a quick peek and disappear. Grandma Melba died during the island’s hottest season and her body was already four days old, and there were still five more days to mourn her. I squeezed hard on Dorcas’s hand, as myriad thoughts rushed through my head. How I wished I’d been there to help my grandma when she must have needed me most. Had I been there, maybe she would still be alive. In the end, just standing there looking at Grandma’s unmoving body, the pain inside my heart and the smell of death all proved too much to bear. I pulled away from Dorcas and ran screaming in search of my grandpa.
‘Mi beg yuh, Winston,’ Grandpa called to his nephew, ‘go bring mi dat rum bottle over dere soh.’
Winston brought the bottle over and poured a generous amount of the strong white rum into my grandfather’s cupped hands.
‘Come, chile.’
I moved close to Grandpa Sippa. He patted my face gently with the liquid. I inhaled deeply and the pungent smell shot up my nostrils, delivering a stinging pain that caused me to slap myself hard on the side of my head in my effort to ease the sensation that was both unpleasant and somewhat pleasant at the same time.
‘Chile, trow yuh head back an drink dat down!’ Grandpa commanded, handing me a gill glass of the rum. ‘It wi clear yuh head.’
I drank the shot in one. A fiery warmth tickled my throat and lit up my belly. I tucked myself tightly into Grandpa’s chest and fell silent.
‘It was a big stroke dat tek yuh grandmada,’ Grandpa said after a while. ‘Mi did send fi de doctor, but dere was nutting him could do. Him seh she did gone de minute har body hit de ground. Mi poor Melba! Mi sure seh she did dead from a broken heart.’
I sat up and tried to take in Grandpa Sippa’s words. ‘Is what yuh mean, Grandpa? How dat could happen? Who coulda get innah her chest an break her heart open and kill her like dat?’
‘Chile, yuh is young still, and mi nuh tink seh yuh understan so good. Yuh grandmada nevah get over losing de other grandpickney dem. From dat day till the day she d
ead, she never stop fretting. Lawd! God know seh she did miss dem children. Not a day did pass when she nuh talk bout dem.’
In that moment I understood that it wasn’t me who had somehow caused my grandma to die. It wasn’t because I’d asked her for her wedding ring. It was the fault of the ugly Satan devil man, who took her beloved grandchildren away. It was the sadness she felt in her heart that made her die.
The huge turnout on the day of Grandma’s burial was befitting of the big-hearted, deeply loved woman that she was. The crowd spread all the way from the family burial plot to the entrance of the graveyard, and for several hundred yards either side. Only immediate family members and those who’d gathered early were able to get anywhere near the grave. Anticipating a large crowd, Grandpa Sippa had borrowed two loudspeakers from the dance hall crew, and a couple of his nephews had rigged them up to relay the service, call out the hymns and play Grandma Melba’s favourite spirituals, which resounded over the treetops. Women spoke in tongues and moved their bodies in ways that I later learned were traditional African funeral dances that had survived the slave trade. And in true African style it was not the mourning of a death, but the celebration of life, that took place. Grandpa read the ceremonial words himself as our beloved Melba was lowered into the ground. Only when the grave was covered in lilies did I notice his tears.
Chapter 16
Normal disappeared from my life after Grandma Melba’s burial. It took more than two weeks for all the family and friends to finally leave, and once they’d gone our house felt emptier than ever and our village felt like the saddest and loneliest place on Earth. If I hadn’t realised it before, it soon became obvious what a huge character my tiny grandmother had been. Everything seemed to have lost its heart and energy without her around. Nothing felt or tasted the same. I ate because I had to, rather than like before, when sitting down to a meal with my grandparents had been the big event of the day.
The Day I Fell Off My Island Page 13