“You probably used to a big house an’ big kitchen an’ maids an’ all dat,” I said apologetically. I had to speak loud in order to compete with the rain.
“I never go into the kitchen in my house. I cannot boil, nor bake, nor cook.”
His eyes drifted to a path that wound its way through some brush. He squinted into the darkness and wandered off, prowling about the area. He didn’t seem to notice the falling rain. He went several feet into the brush and disappeared from my view. When he returned, his gray button down shirt was spotted with raindrops.
“It’s so lonely back here.”
“Me nevah t’ink of it dat way.”
“I saw a few tombstones a little way up. Your mother and father …”
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What for? You didn’t cause any of it.”
“Do you miss them?” he asked as he turned toward the brush again.
“Me was ten when me faddah die, but me nevah know him dat good. Him wasn’t a mon who like talking. Him would have prefer if me was a bwoy, so me could play fe de national team or learn a trade or somet’ing, or just tek ovah ’de field from him. Me auntie work it fe a while, but it was just too much. We sell it to anoddah farmah ’bout five years ago. Me nevah t’ink getting rid of it would boddah me, but it had been in de family fe such a long time.”
“And your mother was a teacher?”
I had never spoken to him about my mother.
“She write a couple a learning manuals. Dem still use dem at Stepney Primary. She also used to write some romance stories fe de oldah folks ’round here. Me nevah really know her eiddah.” I thought about how my life might have been different if my mother had lived. “How you know ’bout me moddah anyway?”
“The people here are very friendly, very open.”
“Oh. Well, me faddah’s moddah an’ faddah grave a likkle more up in de ’ills. You cyan’t see it from here. You really got to walk up into de bush. Me auntie grave behind dere too.”
“It doesn’t bother you, having them so near.”
“Is only me family.”
“What about when you were a little girl?”
Lewis Montrose paced slowly from one side of the hut to the other. When he finally stopped, he did so directly behind me. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I could feel his eyes burning into my back, my legs, my hair. When he walked back into my line of vision, his eyebrows were knitted and his bottom lip was curled under the top one.
“At first, me ’fraid.” I started speaking because the silence was too uncomfortable. “But only ’cause me auntie used to tell me dese duppy stories to keep me from going out at night. She say me soul was restless, dat me sleep walk. Suppose she figure if she scare me, me would be too frighten fe do any a dat.”
“Did it work?”
When I shook my head, Lewis Montrose laughed. But the moment quickly passed, the laugh subsided, and he turned away and walked to the opposite side of the hut. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him leaning against the inner wall, looking directly at me.
“No, mon. Me nuh ’fraid. Not me. All dem grave become like everyt’ing else ’round here. Just like de pear tree or de lime tree. Just anoddah part a dis yard. An’ aftah Michele breddah die from de bad blood disease, she used to come ovah here, an’ we would lay out near dose graves an’ just chat de day away ’bout we life an’ we dreams.”
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked up at the thin sheet of water coming down. This gave me a chance to look him over. His hair was cut close. It was almost completely black, but a few speckles of gray peeped out. There were faint lines carved into his forehead. I wondered if he worried a lot, though that hardly seemed possible because I was sure he had everything a person could ever dream of. The laugh lines weren’t as strong. That made sense. I heard rich people just didn’t laugh much.
He turned suddenly, and I looked away. We stood in silence for twenty, maybe thirty seconds, but it seemed like forever. I opened my mouth and just couldn’t seem to stop it from moving.
“Here’s somet’ing you probably don’t know. De t’ree chil’ren me parents have before me was girl chil’ren. Two was stillborn an’ de oddah one, me sister Nola, well, she live to be eleven, den one morning, she just nevah wake up. De old timahs used to say dere’s some bad Obeah working ’gainst me parents. When me come about, me moddah was nearly fifty. True story. Me faddah go an’ visit dis Obeah ooman who live in dis likkle house in de back woods a Nine Mile. She tell him he an’ me moddah haunted by bad spirits an’ dat if dem ever try fe have a chile again, dem would only end up wit’ more deat’. So, me faddah and moddah nevah touch each oddah fe years. One day, me faddah find out dat de obeah ooman die. Him jump fe joy, ’cause him t’ink she was a witch, dat she had powers ’most as powerful as God, an’ dat she would nevah die. When she did die, him figure all her words go wit’ her. Him figure she was probably wrong ’bout him an’ me moddah having bad spirit, so dem set out fe have anoddah baby. Dat’s how me was born. But de same day me come into dis world, me moddah go out.
“Kind a hard fe believe me mek it dis far, huh,” I said as I pulled a frying pan from a wooden storage bin in the corner of the hut and placed it on one of the burners. “Guess me eiddah really lucky or somet’ing bad soon to happen.”
Lewis Montrose remained silent.
“Me auntie used to say dat me just have a lot a angels looking down ’pon me.”
I poured a portion of cooking oil into the frying pan, heated it, then scattered some shredded saltfish onto it. My hands were shaking, but I wasn’t cold.
“Anyway, me friend Michele, she’s de one who was wit’ me earlier, an’ she t’ink you de most handsome mon ever set foot in Stepney….”
“Tell her thank you for me,” he said, although the compliment didn’t really seem to please him.
“I will, but is not really a big deal. You would know wha me mean if you stay here long enough fe see de people who pass t’rough.”
He smiled.
“Anyway, Michele t’ink me should write a book ’bout me family. Me tell her, since me nevah really know any a dem, it would only be ’bout five pages. Besides, me is not a writah. Me nevah get dat gene from me moddah.”
“Umm hmm,” he said absently as he moved in behind me once again.
“Yeah, mon, a million duppy stories.” I tried to turn toward my left side, then toward my right, but I couldn’t see what was going on behind me. I began to wonder if I had made a mistake in not taking Greenie up on his offer to stand watch.
“But dem is no different dan de ones you probably know.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, Souci, I don’t really know any.” He returned to his place against the wall.
“You moddah nevah tell you any duppy stories?”
He shook his head slowly.
“What about Anansi stories?”
He looked toward the ground and shook his head again.
“Me nevah t’ink dere was anyone in all a Jamaica who didn’t know ’bout Anansi an’ breddah Tiger. I guess only black people know Anansi stories.”
He stood there shaking his head for a while. “I had a governess when I was a boy,” he said after some time.
“A governess?”
“Let’s just say I had someone who taught me the proper English way of doing things.”
“But you don’t live in England. Dem must have told you some kind a story.”
“Grimm Tales.”
“I don’t so much know de Grimm Tales. Guess I don’t know dat much ’bout English t’ings.”
Lewis Montrose’s eyes softened when he laughed.
“I said somet’ing wrong?”
“You’ve said nothing wrong that’s been of any real importance.” He wandered back out into the rain and yelled back to me.
“So, you have no family at all?”
“I have a couple cousins on me moddah side. Dem live in Alva, not too far away. I don’t t�
�ink me moddah get along wit’ dem much, so I don’t really know dem. Why you so interested in me family anyway?”
“Because I’m interested in you.”
I felt my face getting hot and my palms moist. Okay, gyal pickney, I thought to myself. Just stay calm.
“Uh, so … you live in Kingston?” I stammered out to him.
“Yes.”
“Probably in a big mansion, huh?”
“Maybe you’ll have a chance to see it sometime. Then you can judge for yourself.”
I tried to control the excitement his words caused in me. He wandered off again, but he didn’t seem interested in any one thing in particular. I was just happy I had my cooking to keep me focused, to keep my thoughts from completely spinning out of control. Once the food was prepared, I took one of the plates from the cabinet and placed a portion of the green bananas and the saltfish onto it. I made two cups of tea and guided Lewis Montrose back into the house.
“I figure you might be a likkle hungry aftah you long trip,” I said. “Is saltfish an’ banana. You do eat Jamaican food, don’t you.”
“Plenty of it,” he said. “Thank you.”
I couldn’t seem to stop my fingers from tapping against the edge of the table. I didn’t know how to ask my guest what purpose he had with me, so I said nothing while my stomach bunched up into knots.
“You’re not hungry?” he asked as he looked down at the lone cup of tea sitting before me.
“I’m having dinnah wit’ Greenie.”
“Ah, that’s right. Mr. Greene. He seems very fond of you.”
“I suppose.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“When did dat become any of you business?”
His eyebrows lifted in an expression somewhere between surprise and humor. “I’m just making conversation. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
I began tracing circles around the edge of the teacup with my right pointer finger. He hadn’t offended me. I just didn’t like being put into a position where I would have to lie.
“Well, Greenie’s a good person,” I mumbled.
“I see …”
“You evah been in love wit’ anybody?”
He looked away.
“Oh no. If you cyan ask de question, I cyan too. An’ it’s only fair dat you answer me.”
“I suppose you have a point,” he said.
“All right, then. So, you ever been in love?” I repeated.
“A long, long time ago.”
“Did it work out?”
He shook his head slowly.
“Yeah, nevah seems to, huh?” We shared a smile.
“Are you saying that a girl as young as yourself doesn’t have dreams of being in love?”
“Me is not a girl. Me is a ooman. An’ me is not dat young. Twenty-five. Besides, is really not wort’ it. Everybody me evah know who fall in love, is like dem die a likkle.”
His only response was an understanding shake of his head. He resumed eating … slowly, as if he were savoring every morsel. He was being deliberate, but it didn’t seem like an act. It seemed to be his nature. I closed my eyes and pinched myself on the fleshiest part of my forearm to make sure I hadn’t fallen asleep and dreamt everything. But when I looked up again, Lewis Montrose was still sitting in front of me. The self-control I had been fighting hard to exhibit suddenly disappeared and the words rushed from my mouth.
“Mr. Montrose, we been here close to an hour now. Maybe more. My intended husband is probably worried sick ’bout me. All dis time an’ still you haven’t really said a t’ing to me. Why is it you are here?”
“This is wonderful food,” he said as he placed his fork against his plate. He paused for some time, and I wondered if he had even heard me.
“Actually, I’m surprised you hadn’t asked me before.”
“Well, I figure since you de one who want fe talk, you would bring it up when you was good an’ ready, but, well, me was beginning to t’ink you would nevah be good an’ ready. An’ just in case you have any funny idea ’bout any’ting, I would like to let you know dat if me friends don’t see me or you come back on de main road soon, dem will come looking.”
He smiled. “Rest assured, I have no intention of harming you in any way. If I did, I would have done it by now. Have you thought that perhaps I just wished to enjoy the pleasure of your company.”
“No. De way I figure it, dere’s lots more important people whose company you could be enjoying right now. I ain’t hardly nobody, ’cept a country girl. An’ Stepney ain’t close to not’ing. I figure it must be somet’ing, have to be somet’ing fe you fe come all de way out here. Me mean, me nuh t’ink me do dat good a job bandaging you drivah’s hand?”
“It’s not like I can reach you by phone, Souci. Not that I would have spoken to you about this over something as impersonal as the telephone. But, since you’ve asked, I will get right to the point. During my journey here, I still wasn’t sure. But the time I’ve spent talking to you just now, talking to some of your neighbors before … the look in your eyes as you told that story about your parents … I’ve made up my mind.”
“Made up you mind ’bout what?”
“About asking for your hand in marriage.”
-5-
I was standing in the doorway looking off at the storm clouds. They hung so low, I could only see part way down the lane in front of my house. It was all like a hazy dream. I couldn’t even recall making my way from the table to the door. Maybe I really was dreaming. Actually, I was pretty sure of it. How else could I explain a proposal from Lewis Montrose. I took in the smell of wet grass and falling rain, then turned away from the door and looked toward the dining table. Lewis Montrose was indeed sitting there.
“Souci, are you okay?” he asked.
I moved back to the table and reclaimed my seat across from him. I looked at him for some time, waiting for him to crack, waiting for the “I’m just joking” grin to spread across his face. But nothing.
“It’s strange,” I said. “I know you was saying somet’ing to me before, ’cause I see you lips moving. But by de time it mek it to me ears, somehow it come out sounding like you was asking me to marry you.”
“That’s because I did.”
I tried to breathe, but the air just collected in my throat. I tried to move, but my legs wouldn’t allow me. My mind ran across some of the strange incidents I had already experienced in my life. On a stormy night, about a week after my twenty-first birthday, Deputy Spencer and his wife just happened to show up at our door with their son in tow. Everyone in Stepney knew that if the deputy didn’t aid in the process of getting Jasper Spencer wed, the deed would probably never have gotten done. I suppose Aunt Mattie also felt the same way about me. After all, I was almost past that “marrying age.”
They seated Jasper across from me at the table, and Mr. and Mrs. Spencer and Aunt Mattie looked on expectantly throughout the meal. They made small talk about Beryl Bygrave’s new batch of guava jelly, the virus eating away at the palm trees, and anything else that came to their minds, but all that talking couldn’t hide their anxiety. Jasper and I must have said three words to one another. In the end, the pressure of the whole situation petrified the poor boy so much, he ended up face down in his chicken soup, and had to be carted back home before dessert.
Tilford Greene had come up with quite a proposal himself. After keeping company at Tommy’s bar one evening, he simply said, “I believe me an’ you meant fe one anoddah. Is not like we got anybody else.” I just figured that was as good as it was going to get. Greenie was two years my junior and had just inherited his father’s multi-purpose business. It was around this time I said farewell to those daydreams of youth. What were my chances of ever leaving Stepney? Michele was as pretty and as spirited as anyone, and where did her dreams get her? And I wasn’t smart enough or rich enough to get to some big college in Kingston. I wasn’t pretty enough in the Miss Jamaica sort of way to win any beauty pageants. So, I resigned myself to a
life in Stepney and to years of getting older—too sad a thing to be done alone, since the only thing anyone really had going for them in the country was family.
I could hear the raindrops tap tap tapping against the corrugated zinc roof. The noise calmed me a little because it filled in the silence and drowned out my heartbeat. The wind whistled a sad song in the distance. I tried to lift my right hand, but there was a strange, prickly feeling running through it. For a moment, I wondered if Lewis Montrose hadn’t cast a spell. Maybe he had paralyzed me. But I soon realized that my arm had only fallen asleep.
“Well, this isn’t exactly the response … or lack thereof I had expected,” he said. Only, by the time his words made it to my ears, they sounded garbled and heavy, as if he were saying them while under water.
“I suppose me hear wha you say. Is just, you know, me auntie used to tell me stories ’bout people sometimes forgetting whole weeks an’ mont’s a dem life. I suppose me just a wondah if dat’s wha happen to me. Maybe I been knowing you fe a while now, but it just kind a slip me mind.”
“I’m pretty sure it didn’t. Souci, I,…” he stopped suddenly when my hand, the same one that had fallen asleep, jerked upwards. He flinched, as if he expected it to make contact with his face, but I only wanted to reach out and touch him. I only wanted to make sure he was real.
“You know, me know who Edward Montrose is, but me nevah really hear of you before. How do I know dat you not some obeah mon who come here fe do some magic ’pon me? Maybe you just come fe lead me someplace where you cyan chant some spell an’ sacrifice me away or somet’ing. Maybe dis is how you get all you victims. You get a couple a you followahs, dress dem up real nice, an’ den you change you’self into some good looking t’ing dat you know women a go be all fainty about.”
“I don’t think you realize it,” he said with a smile, “but there was a compliment in there somewhere for me, so I will say thank you. I’m not really sure how to respond to the rest of what you said. All I can say is, and I’m not sure if this will make you feel any better about things, but I’m a Catholic.”
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