Lucy pointed at Uncle Lewis who was waving to us excitedly as if he had not seen us for a while.
Uncle Fishy chose that moment to come and sit beside us, his fish-like appearance glistening with sweat.
He smiled at us, his teeth protruding from his gums.
“Clara, Lucy,” he said nodding.
“Hello Uncle Fishy,” we said in unison and giggled.
His face puckered into a frown at the name and his bulging eyes closed in pain.
“There is Fiona,” Lucy said, looking behind us.
I turned around and sure enough there was Fiona, Fitzroy’s first baby-mother; she had two children for him and two for somebody else.
She was dressed completely in black: dress, hat with veil, gloves and scarf. She had her four children sitting with her; hugging them alternately, while dabbing her eyes with her black handkerchief.
The church was filling up steadily and everybody was waving to each other and smiling. The small community in which we lived in rural Jamaica was notorious for its weddings; every other Sunday we were at one.
It would not be in anyone’s best interest to have a wedding and not invite the entire community. Formal invitations were unnecessary, we had one church, and once the wedding date was known, everyone would just show up at the appointed time. Even those whom you liked or disliked or who you would never want at your wedding, would show up.
“Look at that” Lucy pointed at Patricia, Fitzroy’s second baby-mother.
She was dressed in an off-white dress and her long hair was piled on the top of her head in a sophisticated style. She was the most stylish of the baby-mothers and the most educated. She was a pharmacist and worked at a pharmacy in the town square. Her son Leo was to be the ring-bearer.
“Yuh see that?” asked Lucy. “She wants to be the bride, that’s why she is dressed like that.”
Lucy cut her eyes at Patricia and Patricia retaliated by doing the same.
“Hehey!” Lucy exclaimed loudly, and everyone turned to look at us.
“Look pon Carmen!”
We all turned to see Carmen, walking up the isle with her twins. She was Fitzroy’s third baby-mother and was the youngest of them all, having gotten pregnant for Fitzroy in the tenth grade.
She was not very intelligent and had a severe stammer. She was unemployed and lived with her parents. Today she wore a blonde wig, which seriously clashed with her dark complexion.
“What time is it?” whispered Uncle Fishy.
“Three o’clock.”
“Wasn’t this thing scheduled for two o’clock?” his eyebrows rose quizzically.
“You know how these things are.”
“Well, I took a washout from last night” he mumbled, “and I expected that the reception would be starting right now.”
“Oh…” I said, “You are feeling hungry?”
“Vvvery,” he emphasized and rubbed his stomach.
I understood perfectly. It was a regular practice at weddings and it meant that the more food that was provided at the reception, the more successful the wedding was deemed to be. When there was a wedding, nobody cooks Sunday dinner.
The pastor and the bridegroom were standing in place and Miss Rebecca was playing the bridal march.
We all turned to the door, in anticipation to see the bride. Instead, we saw Ragina, her tight green dress emphasizing her voluptuous figure.
She paused at the door for a while, and Miss Rebecca stopped playing. She then hissed her teeth and strolled to a half empty bench near the front of the church. Everyone was watching her and she was preening for all she was worth, her long green wig swayed behind her as she stepped as if she was on a catwalk.
“Hello y’all,” she said in her affected American accent. “Hi Aunty Pearlita, long time no see.” She said mockingly, and waved to Aunt Pearlita who was trying to control her anger.
“Tief,” somebody in the back hissed.
Ragina looked up before sitting, “Oh, hi Lisa is you, yuh neva get di comb I sent for you in di barrel, to comb yuh tough wig.”
Lisa was about to argue, when the wedding march started again, this time Tanya was the one at the door.
Fitzroy stood nervously, his hands were twitching and his face was sweaty.
Tanya was resplendent in her white off the shoulder dress that Miss Zane, the village dressmaker, had sewn for her.
She came slowly down the isle; her serene features appeared to be a confidence booster to the intimidated Fitzroy.
Lucy was whispering furiously in my ear, “Yuh si that?”
“What?” I asked puzzled, while I tried to maintain a smile as the bride approached our pew.
“She used loud-mouth Keisha as her bridesmaid, and me,” she said, pounding her chest, “her only sister, only thing shi offer for me to do was to usher, usher!” Her voice rose angrily.
The bride stumbled when she heard and then continued her march, her hands clutching the bouquet tightly.
Keisha heard and stopped suddenly in the midst of the march, her chest heaving. Her tight blue bridesmaid dress neared bursting at the seams as she breathed, as if running a marathon.
She turned around to face us, her eyes blazing.
“Mi nuh have to do this yuh know, is Tanya beg mi. Mi deh here pon Fitzroy side a fambily!” she shouted above the strains of the wedding march.
The rest of the wedding party came to a standstill behind her, trying to calm her down, while Lucy cowered behind me.
The grinning congregation looked on and the wedding party filed to the front as previously planned.
Pastor Cummings was a young pastor and new to the district; he looked a bit flustered and out of his league.
“Ehem,” he started. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today for the holy matrimony of Fitzroy and Tanya…”
The wedding continued without a hitch until it was time to exchange the vows.
“Please say ‘I do’ after the following statements,” said the pastor.
Fitzroy looked uncomfortable.
“Do you Fitzroy, take Tanya to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold till death do you part?”
“I does,” he said loudly, causing the bride to jump and the pastor to cough uncomfortably.
“Fitzroy,” said the pastor softly, “its ‘I do’ and not so loud, please.”
“Yes sar,” Fitzroy replied, he grinned and his gold-teeth glinted in the sunlight that was streaming through the church windows.
Lucy shuddered beside me.
At that point, a soft moaning sound, like somebody was in deep pain, could be heard coming from the back of the church.
The vows were repeated and the wailing from the back of the church developed into a high-pitched keening scream, like the sound of a tortured animal.
We looked around; it was Fiona, her face twisted in a caricature of agony, bawling as if someone died.
Lucy whispered to me, “Did somebody tell her that this was a wedding and not a funeral?”
Everyone was looking at Fiona who was now holding her belly and bawling for all she was worth.
“Fitzroy,” she bawled, “poor Fitzroy.” She got up from her seat and sat in the middle of the isle.
“Fitzrooooy!!”
The shocked bride was standing at the altar, her face a study of consternation. Fitzroy was swallowing and looking hunted.
“Will someone remove that woman from the proceedings,” the flustered pastor said, while he straightened his tie.
Fiona was removed wailing and squealing, “Fitzroy rescue mi, Fitzroy rescue mi.”
Lucy was laughing softly and I could hear snickers and guffaws coming from other sections of the church.
The exchange of the rings came next.
Patricia’s son, Leo, the ring-bearer looked very handsome in his little suit, which was identical to his father’s. He held up the ring pillow with a little smile on his face, evidently he was proud of his role in his father’s wedding.
Then Ra
gina got up.
She flicked her wig over her shoulders.
“Fitzroy,” she said, in the hush of the crowd. “Why did you not use Craig for your ring-bearer?” her fake American accent amplified by the silence of the church.
Craig was her son and the same age as Leo.
“Why do ya have ta use Patricia’s dry headed bwoy?” Her accent was disappearing rapidly and she folded her arms and started to tap her feet.
“I go away far a lickle while and my child is aligned.”
“Maligned,” somebody said in the back.
“Whateva,” she said, snapping her fingers.
The church was laughing, I could hardly see straight, I was holding unto Lucy and we were having a ball. Tanya hung her head while Fitzroy swallowed convulsively.
“Silence,” the pastor interjected, “This is the house of the Lord, you can’t just interrupt the proceedings…” he did not get far with his statement when Patricia stood up.
“My son is not dry-headed. Your son,” she said, pointing at Craig, “is a little ‘barrel’ boy who has neither mother,” she spun around and looked at Fitzroy, “nor father,” disgust evident in her voice.
“Awoah,” said Ragina angrily, “because yuh tink yuh wuk a pharmacy, yuh betta than anybady else. Guwey gal, yuh bwoy head dry cause fi yuh head dry. Besides,” she said her accent chipping in, “everybody knows that Craig was born from good stock,” she said pointing to her person.
“Listen to me, you guttersnipe, I will not embarrass myself with you,” Patricia said regally, her head held high.
“Weh yuh call me?” “Weh yuh call me?” Ragina shouted, heading for the other side of church, her high heels clicking on the concrete floor.
“Low-life thief,” Patricia hissed, heading for Ragina.
“A second that!” shouted Aunt Pearlita, as she watched Patricia advance to Ragina.
The bride started to cry and the groom stood looking helplessly as his two baby-mothers headed for each other.
Before they could start fighting and entertain us further, Uncle Bob snatched Ragina in mid-stride and another cousin held Patricia. They were dragged out of the church, kicking and screaming at each other.
I was of two minds. I wanted to watch the wedding, but the proceedings outside would be even more entertaining with the two baby-mothers tearing each other to pieces.
It took a long while for the congregation to settle down.
Lucy and I were doubled up in paroxysms of laughter. She paused long enough to say, “mi tell yuh seh a trouble shi a teck up pon herself, fi guh married to a man wid four baby mothers.”
Uncle Fishy belched loudly beside me. “Fling on di ring and mek mi guh eat,” he shouted loudly, and the congregation started a fresh burst of laughter.
The bewildered pastor was obviously taken aback; his expression was one of shocked surprise.
He cleared his throat, “can we move on with the proceedings?”
“Yes sar,” the congregation declared, before the bride and groom could say anything.
We were all ready for the reception, especially since Fitzroy’s father had killed two goats and there were a variety of baked products, including sweet potato pudding.
The pastor continued and the wedding seemed as if it would be incident free from there on. However, the fateful question was asked, “Is there anyone in this congregation who is opposed to this man and this woman being married? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Everyone turned to look, as Carmen put up her hands.
“Me sar,” she sing-songed as if she was in primary school. “It’s been two months now since mi get some money from Fitzroy; mi need fi guh a hairdresser and get mi hear done.”
Everyone started to laugh as she pointed to her blond wig.
She ignored us and continued.
“Mi has to go to di dentist and mi has to buy clothes for di Christmas party next month. Mi can’t wear the same clothes mi wear last year.”
“Mi nah give yuh no money,” Fitzroy bellowed from the front of the church. “Yuh spen’ di money, weh mi give yuh fi di pickney dem, pon yuhself.”
“Is lie yuh a tell Fitzroy,” she said ringing her hands, “what if mi buy lickle necessities and go to the hairdresser. Mama tell mi seh a dat baby-father responsible for. How yuh can afford wedding and yuh can’t give mi lickle hairdresser money?”
Fitzroy shook his head in disgust and Tanya looked like she was ready to faint from embarrassment.
The poor pastor was completely out of his depth; this was not like anything that he had seen before.
“Get this woman out,” he yelled, pointing at Carmen.
“Are there anymore baby-mothers in here?” he asked Fitzroy.
“No sar, is just four of them,” said Fitzroy sheepishly.
“Can we continue now?” The sweating pastor asked.
“Yes sar,” the congregation replied, as the bride and the groom nodded.
The proceedings continued once more and then the signing of the register was to be done.
While the bride and the groom were in the vestry signing the register, they had arranged for Aunt Leonie, from the United States, to sing at that time. She had a deep rich voice that was beautiful to the ear. However, Miss Zane grabbed the mike from Aunt Leonie, her big bulk blocking her from the congregation and effectively pushed her away from the podium.
“Mi ask di one Tanya when mi was making di wedding dress, if mi could sing today and she said yes, suh gwaan guh siddung and listen.”46
Aunt Leonie bowed out to the bigger bulk of Miss Zane and we all sat in anticipation of hearing her; she was not known for her singing talent.
She started with an off-key rendition of ‘There is a Fountain filled with Blood’ and then followed with ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’.
Lucy sang along with Miss Zane, laughing intermittently.
“What did I tell you?” She said, a pleased expression on her face, “this wedding was a drama waiting to happen.”
“I now present to the congregation Mr. and Mrs. Fitzroy Spigg,” the pastor announced after the bride and the groom returned from signing the register.
We cheered.
We had no idea that the wedding would have actually continued after so many distractions.
“Mr. Spigg, you may now kiss your bride,” the pastor intoned.
Fitzroy grabbed Tanya and gave her a long winding kiss that had Lucy gagging beside me, and the congregation cheering loudly.
The wedding march was played once more and the bride and the groom walked down the isle. Their faces beamed, they looked happy.
We filed out of church slowly, with Lucy hemming and hawing all the way, “stupid, stupid girl,” she kept mumbling.
At the front of the church, we patiently waited until our time, to ‘congratulate’ the bride and groom.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Tanya whispered in my ear.
“No problem,” I said, hugging her, “it was the most eventful wedding I have ever been to.”
“Luce,” Tanya said smiling at her sister, “I realize you are not pleased with my choice, but I want your blessings.”
Lucy sighed and then relented, “okay Tanya, God bless your union and may you have many little pigs, I mean spiggs, with Fitzroy, don’t have too many though, he already has six.”
Tanya’s composure slipped a little, but she just hugged her sister.
She was as oblivious and calm as ever. Lucy and I just stared after her in awe, as she gracefully greeted Fitzroy’s entourage of baby mothers.
“They say love is blind,” I said to Lucy.
“But this beats blind,” Lucy retorted, “this is deaf, dumb and drug-induced as well.”
We laughed and walked together to the family house for the reception.
To Keep Her Man
I stepped through the gate; my heart was pounding with fear as I observed a severed chicken head lying on the dirty doorstep of the wooden house. The yard was cleanly swe
pt and a lone straggly orange tree supported a bloody rope.
There was a coconut broom resting on the faded blue boards of the one room dwelling. A basin with water was placed on a wooden table in the center of the yard, a white towel folded neatly beside it.
I sniffed the air tentatively as I pushed the gate closed. I could smell the acrid scent of incense and the sickly sweet smell of blood, which I realized, was sprinkled around the yard in an uneven pattern.
This was the home of Mother Mavis, a spiritual healer, in Jamaican terms ‘a obeah woman.’
Suzanne convinced me that Mother Mavis was the leader in the field of healing and hindering, so I drove all the way to Clarendon to see her.
I was desperate. My boyfriend Sam was leaving me for another woman; the only way that I knew to prevent this was to tie him.
It worked for Suzanne; since she visited Mother Mavis, her husband Kyle was as obedient as a puppy. Sometimes it seemed the poor man was in a trance.
An old woman, in a red tie-head with a pencil behind her ears, came onto the veranda and stood staring at me. She was short and fat; plaits of gray hair could be seen sticking through her tie-head. Her ebony skin glistened with sweat and her hands dripped with blood; I was ready to bolt.
This was unlike anything that I had ever done before. I prided myself on being a sophisticated Financial Controller with one of the leading companies in Jamaica. Standing in deep rural Clarendon, in the seedy yard of an obeah woman was uncharacteristic.
Probably Sam was not worth it; probably I should just count my losses and kiss our five-year relationship goodbye.
The woman on the veranda approached me and stood on the steps, her eyes were piercing and cold.
“Hick!” she shouted in the silence, her face contorted in pain, and her arms spread wide.
“Hick to all evil doers and sinful people.”
I almost jumped out of my clothes in fright.
She clapped her hands and blood flew everywhere, some landing on my light gray suit.
“Hick, me is a madda woman, a seer. I know from where you travel, I know where you want to go.”
I stood there in stunned silence. This was nothing short of bizarre. I didn’t know what to expect, but this was frightening.
Di Taxi Ride and Other Stories Page 3