Crickets' Serenade

by Blythe, Carolita

  “The Governor General’s wife came down with a serious case of German measles. Passed it on to her niece who was about five months along with child at the time. That was almost a catastrophe. Fortunately for them, the child was born without any deformities.”

  “Really. That family never seems to have a good run of luck. Remember when his wife got into that car accident?” The woman in beige, who had a soft, scratchy voice, sounded as if she was almost whispering.

  Both women nodded their heads. There was a short moment of silence until the woman in beige gasped.

  “Cheryl Lindo and her husband are almost through. It seems Mr. Lindo was never on the island long enough to suitably provide in the marital sense, so Cheryl set out to find attention elsewhere. It took a while, but Mr. Lindo finally caught on. I heard she was crying, ‘But it’s not my fault. If only you had been around more. I just did it because I was missing you.’ ”

  They both laughed.

  “That Cheryl. She never did know what was good for her. Jeopardizing such a fine existence, and for what, a shoemaker? I just don’t understand. If Preston cuts her off without anything, she goes right back to where she came from, Jones Town. She’s lucky she’s got her looks or she’d still be in Jones Town today, and hell’s probably got one up on that place.”

  “Oh, Paulette,” the older woman said.

  I picked up a British journal and began flipping through it. All of a sudden, I found myself staring right into Edward Montrose’s coal black eyes. I glanced at the article surrounding the picture.

  “… Fortunate enough to not lack the two main prerequisites for political involvement in those days, money and practically white skin, the Montrose’s were instrumental in building up the young commonwealth. They were descended from Irish and English stock with just the right hint of Negro blood—not enough to give them distinct African features, but just enough to make it acceptable for them to head a predominantly black nation. It was a caste system perpetuated by the colonialists and accepted by Jamaica’s overwhelming black majority….”

  I shut the magazine. An entire week had passed since my arrival in Kingston, but aside from our initial meeting, I had not seen Lewis at all. Actually, I had hardly experienced much of anything besides notebooks and Mrs. Eldermeyer’s all too proper voice teaching the finer points of e-nun-ci-a-tion. I had so many questions for my future husband, and I knew I couldn’t very well write Michele without any of the answers.

  “Agnes Gooding was here,” the woman in beige whispered.

  “Was she? I didn’t hear about this.”

  “It was a quick trip. Her husband was in town a couple of days for a medical conference. John ran into him at the University Hospital.”

  “I wonder if she saw Lewis Montrose.” The mention of Lewis’ name prompted me to look over at the women.

  “If there was any possibility, I’m sure she made it happen,” the woman in blue said with a strange grin.

  “Such a nice catch, but a little too enigmatic for my taste.”

  “Well, he’s been nothing short of dashing around me.” Both women giggled.

  “Paulette, you’re absolutely wicked,” the woman in beige said.

  “I know. Isn’t it just wonderful?”

  I didn’t realize I was staring until my eyes locked onto the eyes of the woman in the blue summer dress. I smiled. She just looked at me.

  But these women of society weren’t all that I was introduced to that afternoon in Maxi’s Salon. I was also given an introduction to a permanent. The procedure took place in one of three private rooms located toward the rear of the shop. It seems the women who received perms were careful not to let it be known that the fine texture of their hair wasn’t due to genetics, but rather to lye.

  “Dose two women out dere wit’ me before, dey famous?” I asked Maxi as she combed through my hair.

  “I wouldn’t say famous, but they are pretty well to do.”

  “What’s it dem do so well?”

  “Paulette’s the wife of David Benson, a Canadian businessman who’s lived on the island for about twenty years now. He’s involved in the mining of bauxite. Each week she has her bob conditioned and curled. Marilyn’s husband John is in the hotel business. She prefers a French roll.” That was all Maxi would allow.

  Fortunately, Marcia was not nearly as discreet as her mother. She was a pleasant sort who always seemed to have her mouth in motion. If she wasn’t talking, she was humming a little tune or making some funny noises or chewing gum.

  “Is good to have you here,” Marcia said as she smeared Vaseline along my hairline. “These stooche ones just get ’pon me nerves. They buddy-buddy with me when they need they hair done. But if they see me walking down the street, is like they don’t even know me.” Marcia was more than happy to fill in the gaps her mother had left concerning Mrs. Benson and Mrs. Walker.

  “Paulette Benson really shouldn’t be talking bad ’bout anybody. Ain’t like she come from money. Her grandmother was Pakistani, and only reason she come to the island was to work off some debt she get into back in her own country.”

  “She’s so pretty.”

  “Now don’t go telling that woman that, because she know it better than anybody else. What make it worse is, they voted her some ridiculous beauty title—Miss Jamaica Hibiscus or Miss Jamaica Poinsettia, some foolishness like that, ’bout ten years gone by now. Ain’t nobody ever hear of such a contest, but Paulette seem to think it’s even bigger and better than Miss Jamaica. Sad t’ing is, it’s about the only t’ing she got going for her ’cause she sure ain’t very nice. An’ you see this room we got you in, well, Paulette visits it quite often herself. She try and act like her daddy ain’t black, but that hair of hers got as much kink in it as yours an’ mine. Oh, an’ don’t let me get started on her husband. He rich and all, but she can keep him. Man look like he ’bout two steps away from the grave and got one foot on a mango peel. He must be at least seventy-five. He’s a white man and he old and cruddy. Speaking of old and cruddy, how old you think Marilyn is?”

  “Me nuh know.”

  “Take a guess.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe t’irty-five or so.”

  “Oh, now don’t you go telling her that. She damn near pushing fifty. Say she look that way ’cause she blend up mayonnaise an’ aloe. Please. You ever try doing that? All you come out wit’ is a string of pimples. According to Paulette, of course when Marilyn’s not around, is cause of her close friends in the medical establishment. Watch out when she say she going off the island for a little vacation and a little shopping. Only t’ing she ever seem to buy is a new face. An’ the only reason she get her husband is because back in her day, she wasn’t too bad looking. He’s one of them really smart men who like his women good-looking and dumb. If you ever see them together, is the funniest t’ing. She don’t talk much ’round him, and whenever she try to, he just cut her off anyway. But, Marilyn’s not too bad. It’s Paulette you got to watch out for. They come here once a week, and spend the whole day.”

  “Why? T’ings dat busy ’round here?”

  “Girl, they stay all day ’cause they ain’t got a damn t’ing to do. Their husbands never home. And even if they was, half of them stop talking to their wives years ago. Ain’t nobody here in a happy marriage.”

  “What ’bout you?”

  “Me? Please. I got a little somebody, but he about as trifling as the rest. He need to come on and get himself together. It’s been seven years an’ you see my fingers?” Marcia stuck her hands in my face.

  “What’s wrong wit’ dem?”

  “What’s wrong with them? Ain’t none of them got a ring. I tell you, Souci, these men just on a different page—my Orville included. An’ I’m ’bout tired of reading the book.” She sighed deeply, then her eyes lit up. “So, you got somebody?”

  “Is just me. Me new to Kingston, but Mrs. Eldermeyer been helping me out a bit.” That’s when I first became aware of the pain. It seemed to start from the back of
my head and shoot to the very front. I really thought fire was about to shoot from my scalp. I sank my fingernails deep into the arm of the beautician’s chair.

  “Marcia, please. What is dat you put in me head? You have fe tek it out.” But Marcia seemed to be no hurry to do any such thing.

  “Just another second, Souci. You want to get it real straight.”

  “In one more second, me dead.”

  “You’ll be just fine.” She massaged more of the straightening solution in. “Is just you first perm. Just think how good it will look afterwards.”

  I did everything not to yell out in agony. My head began to spin. I was pretty sure I was going to die. By the time Marcia began to run water through my hair, I could hardly feel my scalp.

  “You scratch you head before?”

  “Only a likkle.

  “Well, I’m sure you won’t do that again,” she warned as she popped a piece of gum. “Yep, yep, yep. That lye will kill you.”

  I was given a haircut, put in some curlers, and stuck under a dryer for close to an hour. Marcia combed and fussed over my hair for another half-hour, then stuck a mirror in front of my face. She looked at my hair lovingly, as if she was admiring a newborn baby. Mrs. Eldermeyer’s eyes softened.

  “There it is,” Marcia said proudly.

  It took half the day to get my hair done, not to mention the discomfort and pain, but I could not ignore the fact that it was the first time I had ever been able to pass my fingers through the huge tangle without them getting stuck. And when I walked outside and the wind blew, my hair actually moved. I, Souci Alexander, country girl, had one of those ritzy, uptown hairstyles that I thought only glamorous white fashion models and people like Paulette Benson and Marilyn Walker could get. I couldn’t wait to see what more Kingston had in store.

  -10-

  Calderwood P.O.

  Stepney District, St. Ann

  October 3, 1974

  Dear Michele,

  I wish you were here with me so we could run about and talk and laugh at everything. It’s something else here in Kingston. Remember how all the old timers used to say it was Babylon and to watch out. Remember how they used to say that if you come here you don’t come back. Well is true and I know why. Is because it’s so nice here. People everywhere and so much rich people. It makes Brown’s Town look like Stepney.

  I have only seen Lewis once so far cause I don’t live at his house. Oh God you should see his house. Is bigger than that house we always look at in Brown’s Town and prettier. Everything all shiny there. The floor and the furniture. Even the staircase. It have two floors and a thousand rooms. And the husband and wife who take care of it don’t even go home at night. They have an apartment right off the kitchen where they live. A whole apartment with a bedroom a bath and sitting area. The lady seem nice enough, but her husband old and grouchy. He don’t talk much. Lewis say is because he never really go to school. His wife didn’t either, but she teach herself by reading all the books in Lewis library. And is a lot of books. Lewis said in the beginning Mr. Moore was embarrass about not talking as good as everybody else and as time pass he just get used to not talking.

  I stay with this woman name Mrs. Eldermeyer, and she teach me to talk good and to walk good. And good manners. Is all called etiquette, and I guess is something you have to know if you is an uptown society kind of gal. I didn’t like her at first. I think she was stooche and all stuck up. But she’s not so bad. She’s just trying to help me out. And I been around some of these stooche uptown women, so I will take all the help I can get. Do you know there are certain people you have to bow to when you meet them? Anyway, this Mrs. Eldermeyer teach me all that. And I find out that way long ago, Mrs. Eldermeyer teach Lewis sister this same etiquette, and then Mrs. Eldermeyer end up marrying Lewis Uncle Charles and becoming part of the family. How some people lucky. But enough about her. Girl child, if you see my hair, you wouldn’t know it was me. Tomorrow we go get me some new clothes and things. You should see how these society women dress. I don’t even know if Greenie could make these fashions.

  I haven’t even said a thing about Greenie till now. I wonder how he’s doing. I feel so bad about what I do to him. I hope he don’t hate me. I hope he find someone else and get married soon. How’s everybody? Kiss Winston and Paul and Mary and your father and mother for me. How’s Mavis Parker and her sow? How Joan getting on at the clinic? Anyway I should probably try to get some sleep now. Is getting late and we have an early day tomorrow. Tell everybody I say hello and that Kingston is all right. They don’t need to know anything else. I love you and write soon. A day don’t go by that I don’t think of you.

  Your friend for always.

  Souci

  * * *

  Two weeks after that letter was posted, I was standing in the living room at Reach trying to compose myself. Lewis was having a get together of business associates and friends in order to announce his bid to run for office. When Mrs. Eldermeyer informed me that he wanted me there, I almost passed out.

  Reach was as serene and peaceful as a church during my first visit. This afternoon, however, it was full of music and laughter and voices. There were so many cars parked on the small lane leading to the house, it took Mrs. Eldermeyer five minutes to find a space.

  Mrs. Eldermeyer showed me into the living room, then wandered off. I moved over to the center of the room, tugging at the sleeveless yellow linen dress I was wearing and playing with hair that still felt too light and free to be my own. I had no idea what awaited me and was having the most difficult time trying to stave off nervousness.

  I turned toward the door when I heard footsteps, but they suddenly stopped. I made my way over to one of the room’s two large sofas and sat on its edge, careful not to get my dress wrinkled. I looked around the room, then walked over to the windows and pulled gently on the thick chords hanging from the curtains. The material opened part way, and I turned to face the room, eager to get a good look at it while it was bathed in sunlight. On one of the walls, I noticed the painting Mr. Moore had picked up from the framer’s shop. It featured a family standing beneath the branches of a large breadfruit tree. As I studied the painting, I caught my reflection in the glass encasement. My face was covered with lip-gloss and eye shadow. My now straightened hair hung free. I couldn’t help smiling. For the first time in my life, I actually felt pretty.

  The classical music that played during my first visit to Reach drifted in. It became louder, and I turned toward the door to find Lewis standing just inside the room, wearing a light suit and a great big smile. But as his eyes met mine, his smile faded.

  “What happened to your hair?”

  “It was relaxed …you don’t think it looks good?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just …” He stopped speaking and looked at my hair a while longer before excusing himself and leaving the room. Moments later, I picked up on the low murmur of his voice coming from the hallway. As I walked toward the door, I also became aware of Mrs. Eldermeyer’s voice.

  “I want it to look more like it looked before,” Lewis said.

  “She had big plaits before. She’s not sixteen. She needed a more mature hairstyle. Besides, it’s a permanent, Lewis, not a press. It has to grow out first. That might be a few months.”

  “She looked fine before.”

  “But she doesn’t have good hair. It will take a job to handle it without a perm of some sort. It needs to be manageable.”

  “I don’t mind manageable. I just don’t want what it is now.”

  “None of the women in the circles she will be rotating in, who have hair like hers, wear it natural.”

  “That’s precisely why she will, Mrs. Eldermeyer. Look, if I wanted one of those women with their nice, straight hair, she would have been standing in this house right now instead of Souci. Now, as I said, I don’t mind manageable, but I don’t want her hair bone straight. You’re pretty resourceful, so please find a happy medium.”

  “Do you want me to have i
t changed now?”

  “No, no. She’s already here. Let’s just do something about it as soon as possible.”

  “Very well,” Mrs. Eldermeyer said softly. Soon afterwards, the door opened and Lewis walked back into the living room.

  “So, you think it looks fool-fool, huh?” I asked.

  “Not at all. It’s just that I have very definite thoughts about things. The picture I had in my head of how you would look after your visit to the salon and how you actually look are quite different. That’s all. It’s just not the right look for what we’re trying to accomplish.” He smiled warmly. “But you do look wonderful.”

  I tried desperately not to blush, but I don’t think I succeeded. I turned my attention to Lewis’ somewhat formal attire; to the tie that hung loosely from his neck.

  “I never see you in a tie before.”

  “I found it in the back of a closet somewhere.” He looked toward the door. “There are a lot of people out there, a great many influential people.”

  “You trying to make me nervous?” I asked slowly.

  “Why do you sound like that?” Lewis asked.

  “Well, Mrs. Eldermeyer says I need to think before each word, each syllable. So I think about what I’m going to say, then I say it.”

  “Souci, you’re enunciation will get better in time. Don’t worry about it. But what you don’t need to be sounding like is Janet from another planet.”

  “Janet?”

  “Just be yourself. Sound like yourself. Anyway, as I was saying, this is just a party for me to inform my friends of my political plans.”

  “So, am I … your girlfriend?”

  He laughed. “No, not yet. You’re a friend. A friend from St. Ann’s who has relocated to Kingston. I met you on one of my pre-campaign stops.”