‘I can’t afford to use the air condition, Erna,’ Tony had explained, ‘even for visitors. It eat up de petrol too quick.’
To be fair, we had managed most of the journey with the windows cracked wide enough to allow the Caribbean breeze to flow through. Driving conditions on some of the preceding roads had been fairly treacherous, but the village road still had a few nasty surprises, with potholes and craters which looked like they could swallow small trucks and which taxed even Tony’s admirable driving skills.
‘Is that Rose Hill School?’ I shouted, as we passed a tiny two-room structure. I could hardly believe my eyes, it looked minute.
‘Sure is,’ Tony replied, ‘mind you, the church is a bit of a clue!’ He gazed at the dusty buildings as we passed. ‘But most of the little houses gone now,’ he added mournfully, ‘everybody relative coming back from foreign and putting up some of those great big places we passed. More often than not, there’s not a striking soul living in them.’
We continued for a few more minutes before leaving the road and turning on to a red dirt track.
‘Dis is de track dat lead to the village, Erna,’ Tony said.
He needn’t have told me; I knew that track like the back of my hand. My heart raced with the realisation of how soon I would be seeing my beloved grandfather again. I felt like I should stop speaking, worried that I might somehow jinx everything. I even started wondering whether I was in the middle of a dream from which I’d wake at any moment, when we pulled up outside a new-looking three-bedroom property that my grandfather’s children had built for him, right next to the spot where the old house had been. The property looked solid enough and was painted a dull yellow under a red slate roof. The neat verandah was smaller than the original one and there was no sign of my garden. Sitting on the verandah next to an empty rocking chair was Grandpa Sippa, in a huge brown armchair that had obviously been placed outside just for this occasion.
As I clambered out of the car and walked towards him, I realised that it wasn’t that the chair was so big, it was Grandpa Sippa who had shrunk, shockingly so. Tony had underplayed his condition in his description of him. And I was sadly right about his eyes, because he didn’t say a word until I was standing in front of him, holding his frail hand.
‘Is yuh dis Erna?’ he whispered, in a voice like dry leaves rustling. ‘Lard almighty, is yuh dis fa true?’
‘Yes, Grandpa Sippa, is me dis fa true!’ I replied. I bent down and gave him as big a squeeze as his fragile frame would allow. My heart was still jumping around in my chest and my eyes welled with tears, but I was determined not to cry. I was here and I wanted to be as strong as I could be for my grandpa.
A young boy appeared carrying a chair.
‘Evening, Miss Erna,’ he said, as he placed the chair beside Grandpa Sippa.
‘And who are you?’ I asked him.
‘Mi name Peter,’ he said, ‘mi Mass Sippa houseboy.’
Peter disappeared and returned with two tall glasses of freshly made lemonade. He handed one to me and the other one to Tony, who’d joined me on the verandah.
‘Yuh want anything to eat, Miss Erna?’ the boy asked.
‘The lemonade is just fine, thank you, Peter. Mister Tony and I had a big fish lunch.’
‘Tony, weh yuh deh? Is Erna yuh bring fi see mi fa true?’ Grandpa said, peering at him.
‘Yes, Uncle Sippa, same Erna,’ Tony replied.
Grandpa Sippa blinked and his dull eyes released a trickle of tears.
‘It’s so good to see you again, Grandpa,’ I said. ‘I feel bad that I left it so long. But I am here now, and here you are.’
‘Is yuh one come?’ Grandpa asked.
‘Yes, Grandpa. It’s just me.’
‘Soh weh Patricia and de bwoy pickney dem? Clifford… No, nuh Clifford. Mi memory nuh serve mi, Erna. Wah de older bwoy pickney name again?’
‘Clifton, Grandpa. Clifton is the big one and Sonny is the little one. Except they’re both enormous now. They’re doing very well at school,’ I added. It didn’t seem right to even begin to explain anything about Patsy to him, so I just said, ‘Patricia and the boys all send you their love.’
‘But Violet, she nuh did have twin pickney dem?’
‘She did, Grandpa, your memory is still good. Doretta and Barbette. They’re eight years old now. Them and the boys went to live with Auntie Madge and Uncle Herbie when Miss Violet died.’
‘Yes! Mi did memba sinting like dat. Mi did worry wen yuh mada birt more gal pickney, Erna, because she nuh fond a gal pickney after she loss har first bouy chile. She nuh get ova dat.’
My mouth almost hit the floor with this revelation. I had no idea my mother had given birth to a child before me. I didn’t want to show my surprise, as Grandpa Sippa probably didn’t realise that he was giving away a long-held secret, but I had to find out more. ‘Who was the boy’s father, Grandpa?’ I asked gently.
‘It was de same man who mash up de other little pickney gal,’ he replied, his eyes coming alive with the memory. ‘Mi nuh recall har name. Dat was de reason me and Melba sen Violet outta de village. But she still come back wit belly.’
Delphine! That was who he was talking about. Delphine whose little boy Leslie had died before his first birthday. But the only person I remembered being violent towards Delphine back then was her father, Mass Calvin, who had beaten her mother so bad she’d run away and never returned. Surely it wasn’t him who’d got my mother pregnant? Or his own daughter? Ugh, maybe it was. I thought about what Monica had said, about the cycle of abuse. My mother. Delphine. Patsy. What horrors women have to endure.
I looked at Grandpa. I saw it would be too much to question him further about all this. The excitement of our meeting had clearly exhausted him and Peter, who seemed to have an almost psychic understanding of his needs, appeared from nowhere and offered to take him back into the house for a rest.
‘You go and have a lie down, Grandpa,’ I said, rising and kissing him on his head, ‘I’m going to have a little walk around the village and then I’ll come back and we’ll talk some more.’ I looked at Tony, who was sitting quietly sipping his lemonade. ‘Would you mind if I went off on my own for a bit, Tony?’ I said.
‘Nah problem, Erna,’ he replied. ‘I’m just gonna sit here and wait fiyuh to return.’
I stared at him for a moment, thinking maybe he was being sarcastic, but he had stretched out his long legs and looked very relaxed after our drive.
‘Mi could do with some more o’ dat lemonade though!’ he said, as Peter reappeared on the verandah.
‘Yes, sarh, Mass Tony,’ Peter said, and off he went again.
I wandered away from my grandfather’s house, through the old fields towards the deep gully on the edge of our land. The vivid familiarity of everything was intense, and a torrent of thoughts and memories jostled for precedence in my head. It was so overwhelming that I left the path and sat down in the middle of a dusty cornfield and wept. I wept for my mother, for my Grandma Melba, for everything that had happened, before and after I had left my island. Once again, I wished with all my heart that I had tried to get to know my mother better. It felt very strange to be back in the same place where she’d been born and where she’d given birth to me without her being around any more. Slowly, I became aware that the shadows were lengthening as the sun began to set behind the mountains in the west. I climbed to my feet and stretched and looked out across the eastern hills towards the rapidly darkening horizon. ‘God bless you, Mother,’ I said out loud.
When I returned to Grandpa Sippa’s house I found a small crowd waiting for me. Tony was right, I hardly recognised any of the visitors, apart from Cousin Petra and Miss Blossom, whom I had forgotten to ask about in my excitement at seeing Grandpa. Cousin Petra’s brown face had a few more wrinkles, but apart from that she looked good, her strong arms still youthful despite years of working a sewing machine and a machete. She was famous for her ability to cut an entire bunch of green bananas from a banana tree in
one swipe. I was very pleased to see her, and I’d put away something in the bottom of my suitcase for her. I gave her a hug and when I told her I’d brought something for her, her eyes misted with tears. I had hoped to keep my arrival quiet, because I still remembered Mother’s visit all those years ago and the avid expectation that went with it, along with horror stories I’d heard about how an entire village might appear in the hope that the returnee would have brought them all their wants and needs. Just in case, I’d bought a random selection of clothing and other knick-knacks from Brixton market in a last-minute panic, but these were intended merely as a gesture, as I had no idea who I would meet in the village. Clearly, I had underestimated the power of the bush telegraph, though, and the buzzing crowd seemed to swell around me as I made my way towards Grandpa’s door.
But first I had to deal with Miss Blossom. She must have been out and about getting provisions when we’d arrived, but now she sat in the rocking chair on the verandah, very much the queen of all she surveyed.
‘Mi glad seh yuh come back fi see us old folks before de good Lard finish him business with us,’ she said, eyeing me carefully as I climbed the steps towards her. ‘And yuh ave such a strong resemblance to yuh Grandmada,’ she added.
‘Hello, Miss Blossom,’ I smiled, once we were face to face, ‘you’re looking well.’
In truth, she looked all of her seventy-odd years, but she wasn’t nearly as dipsy as I remembered her.
‘Soh, a wah yuh bring fi mi?’ she asked.
I was slightly blindsided by her bluntness. ‘It was a rush trip, Miss Blossom,’ I said, in quite a loud voice, as much for the benefit of the crowd, who were hanging on my every word, as for my step-grandmother. ‘I only managed to bring a few bits and pieces for whoever can best use them. We can see how to work it all out tomorrow, if that’s okay?’
There was an ominous rumble from the crowd.
‘Well, if yuh kyan call coming back after seven years a rush, den a soh it goh,’ Miss Blossom replied, ‘but mi glad seh yuh come fine yuh Grandfada alive still.’
At that moment Tony walked out of the house, wiping his hands with a crushed handkerchief. ‘I put your cases in the spare room, Erna,’ he said, ‘just as Miss Blossom instructed me.’ He turned to her with a broad smile.
‘Tank you, Tony,’ Miss Blossom said, ‘yuh is a good boy to yuh Uncle Sippa.’
‘This is for you, Miss Blossom,’ I said, taking an envelope containing fifty pounds from my backpack and pressing it into her hand. It disappeared unopened into her apron pocket at lightning speed.
‘Tank yuh and God bless yuh, chile,’ she said with a toothless grin.
I looked round at the crowd, wondering what I should do, but Miss Blossom solved that for me.
‘Nah worry yuhself wit dem,’ she said, patting her pocket, ‘dem no better than crows looking for pickins.’
I gazed at their expectant faces. To say they looked disappointed would be an understatement. However, by now night had fallen, swift and dark, and they seemed to assume that the gift-giving was over and drifted away in different directions, leaving me alone with Tony on the verandah. Miss Blossom went back inside the house, but she returned moments later with Peter, who was carrying two lanterns which he hung on hooks either side of the wooden steps.
‘Yuh Grandfada will sleep now till tomorrow,’ Miss Blossom said. ‘Peter will show yuh to yuh room.’ And with that, she disappeared again.
Tony took this as his cue to leave as well. He stood up, stretching and yawning at the same time.
‘Thank you so much for driving me, Tony,’ I said. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘Tis no bother, Erna,’ he smiled. ‘Me do it for me Uncle Sippa. But is good to see yuh, mi got to say.’
I fumbled around inside my handbag and pulled twenty pounds from my purse, which I handed to him. ‘This is for the petrol and everything,’ I said.
‘There’s no need fiyuh to pay me,’ Tony replied, but the money slipped inside his pocket nevertheless. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he added.
I nodded and watched him walk towards his car, before turning and entering the house for the first time. I followed Peter along the dimly lit hall towards what I assumed was the spare room, because the door was open and light was spilling from it. As soon as he’d shown me in, Peter left me to settle myself.
Chapter 47
I passed a restless first night in Grandpa’s new house. It was baking hot inside the spare room and the bed, although it appeared fairly new and the sheets freshly laundered, sagged terribly in the middle, making sleep almost impossible. There was a rusty fan, but the noise it made was like the swarming of angry bees, which made it just as distracting as the heat. And then there was the usual tropical cacophony outside. In the end, I gave up my fight to get to sleep and settled on reading.
I awoke to the dull thud of the book as it fell on to the tiled floor. I yawned and opened my eyes. The different sounds coming from outside made me realise that day had broken, even though the dawn light hadn’t made its way over the hills yet. I sat up and looked around the sparsely furnished room. I still couldn’t quite believe I was back in my village, in my Grandpa’s house. Rubbing my eyes, I grabbed the towel that lay folded on a chair, and my wash-bag from my open suitcase, and made my way to the bathroom, which to my amazement was a proper inside room at the end of a short corridor beyond the kitchen. It had a basic hand-held shower, the water pumped from a massive black plastic tank erected on a platform at the back of the house. I emerged feeling much refreshed, put my kimono back on and went outside. Peter was waiting on the verandah.
‘Would you mind if I prepared breakfast for my grandfather this morning?’ I asked him.
‘Yuh nuh ave to do dat, Miss Erna,’ he replied, ‘mi will mek breakfast fa both of yuh.’
‘Thank you, Peter, but I’d like to do it just this once.’
‘Aright, Miss Erna,’ he said, ‘jus let mi know what tings yuh need.’
‘Give me a moment then,’ I said.
In my room I changed quickly, putting on a light linen dress and wrapped my hair in a clean towel. Then I followed Peter into the kitchen at the end of the hall, where he explained that Grandpa Sippa only took Ovaltine and a small bowl of thin cornmeal porridge in the mornings. He showed me where all the relevant things were and I set about making Grandpa his breakfast. I grated a small amount of fresh nutmeg into the Ovaltine and the porridge because it was something I remembered my grandmother doing. By the time I’d finished, Peter popped his head in and announced that Grandpa Sippa was waiting for me on the verandah, but that Miss Blossom was still in bed.
‘She nuh like to get up till the sun move past her window,’ he explained.
I followed him outside to find Grandpa sitting in the armchair, propped up with cushions, at a round metal table, which Peter must have placed there.
‘Good morning, Grandpa!’ I said, placing the porridge and the Ovaltine in front of him.
For a moment he stared at me questioningly, as if he didn’t know who I was, then he dipped his spoon into the porridge and smiled as he recognised the taste.
‘If mi nevah know soh yuh grandmada gone long time, mi would seh Melba cook dis wit har hand.’ He sighed deeply, putting his spoon down.
‘I remembered that’s how Grandma Melba used to prepare your porridge,’ I said, ‘and yuh still know how to work your charm!’
Grandpa Sippa nodded his understanding.
Peter appeared from around the side of the house carrying a metal bucket and started a chorus of ‘chick, chick, chick,’ and dozens of hens gathered in the yard to peck at the handfuls of shelled corn he threw on to the compacted earth. Suddenly I found myself back in my village childhood. I could smell the pigs that were penned beyond the chicken coop. I saw Treasure Girl and Bugle Boy, my lovely donkeys, standing there swishing their tails. I saw Grandma trying to shoo an untethered goat from her flower garden. I saw myself, Patsy, Clifton and Sonny running around the yard
playing and shouting with laughter in the dappled shade of the breadfruit tree.
‘I just let de fowl dem wander,’ Peter was saying, ‘dem nevah leave de lot. But I put dem back in de coop at night, because dat is when mangoose dem visit.’
At that moment, Tony, who appeared to have given himself the job of looking after me for the rest of my stay, arrived at the house to discuss my schedule for the day. Although we were cousins, I understood how things worked well enough to know that he was not offering his services for free, and I wasn’t expecting him to. It was, after all, a mutually beneficial arrangement. Peter had taken Grandpa Sippa back inside the house and Miss Blossom had yet to emerge.
‘It would be good to take a stroll around the village,’ I said, ‘see who I buck up on and what I remember. But first I would like to pay a visit to Grandma Melba’s grave.’
‘That might be easier said than done, Erna,’ Tony replied, ‘but let’s try anyway. Let me go get a machete.’
The heat was already oppressive as I followed Tony along a winding track that led through the tall guinea grass towards the hills on the northern side of the village. As we neared the graveyard, twenty minutes later, I understood why Tony needed the machete: the path was completely overgrown.
‘Nobody nuh look after graves, Erna,’ Tony said, as he slashed his way through the dense thickets of cerasee, bitter bush and Spanish needle grass. ‘Since yuh grandfada can’t do it, it nuh get done.’
‘That’s really sad,’ was all I could say, as mottled gravestones were revealed under Tony’s flashing machete. Eventually a small tombstone emerged from the brush. Its edges had already crumbled away and couch grass grew from the central space where flowers were meant to grow, had the grave been properly tended. My lips moved as I read the inscription:
Melba Florence James
Beloved wife, mother and grandmother
The Day I Fell Off My Island Page 32