Crickets' Serenade

by Blythe, Carolita

  “You don’t know how long I been hoping you would say that,” I admitted. “But what about the time until then? You ’bout to disappear again?”

  “I never thought of myself as disappearing. But your days will eventually be filled with things other than English lessons. Enjoy the free time you have now; enjoy the calm. In time, your life will be turned upside down.”

  -12-

  6 Somerton Avenue

  Kingston

  10January 5, 1975

  Dear Souci,

  Sorry it take me so long to write this time girl. Whole lots been going on lately. Paul come down with a bad case of the measles and end up in the hospital in Runaway Bay for three weeks. At first we think he was just playing in back of the house and rub up in some prickly bush or something. Dr. Bennedict was sick himself. He twist his knee playing golf in Ochi. I can’t figure out how you can twist you knee playing golf but what do I know. Anyway he didn’t visit the clinic for a couple of weeks and poor Joan wouldn’t know measles from a broken leg. But Paul get worse and so we get tired of waiting for the doctor to come back so we had to go to the bay. Anyway he’s just fine now. His face still a little marked up from all those bumps but he’ll be as good as new pretty soon.

  I get you Christmas card. And I get the picture you send me of you and your Mr. Montrose going to your nice fancy Kingston show. I couldn’t believe it. Your face in the newspaper. When Jimmy Mason finally get the paper everybody nearly pass out. They still talking about you and your Mr. Montrose stepping out on the town. Girl I wish you could hear all what they saying. And Mavis Parker as jealous as can be. She happy for you but she just wish it was her. Like Mr. Montrose would ever get with her. I got the picture and the newspaper write up hanging in the living room. I didn’t get the letter you say you send before that. You know how the post is here in Stepney. I ask Post Master Williams to look behind the post boxes since he’s always losing something back there but he get mad and cuss me out. He tell me he been doing his job since before I was born and what right I have to question him. I swear Souci. I’m not too sure that man didn’t throw your letter out just to spite me.

  Enough about me. Write back and tell me how you and your sexy man doing. I want to know everything. What you do when you wake up in the morning. What you eat. Where you go. Until I hear from you again.

  Your very best friend in the whole world.

  * * *

  I was so excited to receive Michele’s letter, I almost overlooked the other piece of mail Mrs. Eldermeyer had handed me. The name listed above the return address was “Mrs. D. Benson.” It took a few moments for me to realize that the “D” stood for David, and that Mrs. D. Benson was none other than the former Ms. Jamaica Hibiscus or Poinsettia herself, Paulette Benson. I couldn’t think of any reason Paulette would have for corresponding to me.

  The envelope was delicate and cream-colored. There was a blue seal with the initials “PB” on the back, and it opened to reveal an invitation to a garden party. “Hope you can make it. Marilyn and I would love to have you” was handwritten in blue ink. I had to look at the front of the envelope again to make sure it was really addressed to me.

  In the space of one month and with the publication of one photograph, I had gone from being a relative nobody to a player in Kingston’s uptown social ranks. I was even mentioned in The Star’s gossip column—twice. Now I was being invited to some big Kingston shindig. It was all a bit overwhelming, but I loved it. And everything seemed to start, not with a campaign stop, but with a simple outing to the Ward Theatre.

  Rex Gordon was probably the biggest stage actor to ever come out of Jamaica. He had left for England years before and had found fame there. This was his first time back to Jamaica since his departure, and he had agreed to a one night only performance at the Ward. People had been lined up for days for tickets, but Lewis had no problems gaining two passes to the performance, and invited me to go along with him.

  It was the Christmas season, and the city was alive with celebrations. There were poinsettias everywhere. John Canoe dancers in feathered headdresses and colorful smocks danced through the streets to the beat of kumina drums. There were so many theatrics going on outside the Ward, I didn’t know how the performance inside could top it. It was in this atmosphere, on Boxing Day evening of 1974, at the biggest entertainment event since Joe Frazier and George Forman met in the ring at the National Stadium a couple of years before, that I experienced my official coming out. Lewis showing up at the Ward with me on his arm caused as much of a stir as Rex Gordon’s performance. So many flashbulbs went off as we made our way back to the car after the show, I couldn’t see clearly for at least an hour. I felt like the queen of the world. I had been Lewis’ date on such an important evening. Still, I never expected to find my grinning face in the next day’s paper.

  Despite Michele’s letter and Paulette and Marilyn’s invitation, I don’t think I really understood the far-reaching effects of that photograph until a couple of weeks later. Mrs. Eldermeyer and I were returning home after a morning at the national art gallery when I caught sight of a strange car parked in front of her house. As Mrs. Eldermeyer turned into the carport, I could see an older woman sitting very still on the verandah. Her eyes were shut and her hands rested limply in her lap. For a quick moment, I thought maybe she had passed over to the other side.

  “Who is that?” I asked.

  “If my eyesight’s not playing tricks on me, it’s someone I didn’t think you would have to face for a long time—if ever.”

  Mrs. Eldermeyer got out of the car and walked quickly up the stairs to the verandah. Her guest shifted a little. I was relieved to see that she wasn’t dead, but only asleep. The older woman rose slowly, accepted Mrs. Eldermeyer’s hand and said a few words, but never once took her eyes off my face. I was sure I had never met her, but there was something so familiar about her.

  “Souci, come here please,” Mrs. Eldermeyer called out. “I would like for you to meet someone.”

  Mrs. Eldermeyer began speaking even before I reached the top step. “Souci Alexander, this is Mrs. Margarette Montrose.”

  I held my hand out toward the older woman. As she latched onto my hand, I could feel every bone and vein in her grip.

  “Please, sit down,” Mrs. Montrose instructed as she moved her long, loose fitting gown out of the way. Mrs. Eldermeyer also began to sit.

  “Perhaps I could have a little something cool to drink, Eugenia. It’s rather warm today. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  Mrs. Eldermeyer lingered a bit, then excused herself. At that moment, a cold, uneasy feeling came over me. I felt as if I was the last person left on earth, and I was standing in the face of judgment. The birds stopped chirping and the frogs stopped croaking. The Murphy children across the street were silent. Everything seemed to have stopped moving altogether—everything that is, with the exception of my heartbeat, which came like a roll of thunder against my chest.

  Mrs. Montrose had a smile on her face, but her still, gray eyes bore through my skin. She clasped her hands together, rested them in her lap and spoke.

  “I’ve come because I’ve learned my son has gotten very close to you. I first learned of this from a source as impersonal as the newspaper. Then I made a few phone calls and discovered that marriage might be an eventual possibility. Pamela, who comes by to sell me mangoes on Tuesdays and Fridays says to me, ‘Mrs., you must be so happy with your son settling down …’ ”

  I started to say something, but Mrs. Montrose lifted her right hand dramatically, so I stopped.

  “It’s not your fault. You’ve never even met me. I wouldn’t be surprised if my son led you to believe I was not even alive. Now, I didn’t expect to see you here, but I did want to talk to Eugenia, to find out about my perspective daughter-in-law. I guess I have done one better. I’ve gotten to meet her, so I will be able to judge for myself. And don’t feel any undue pressure. I did not make the trip for you alone. I had some business here that I had
to take care of for my husband.” She sucked her cheeks in, and the bones in her small face stretched through the skin, making her look like a skeleton.

  “I guess good luck is in order,” she said blandly.

  My body tightened. Mrs. Montrose’s face seemed hardened from the long years of a life that had probably not gone as she had wished. It reminded me a little of Lucille Mason’s face, back in the country.

  “Ma’am, sorry, but I think you might be a little early with things. This was just my first time out in public with Lewis. I don’t even know him really, so for people to be saying we’re engaged, what says married? No one would even be saying anything if that picture didn’t end up in the paper.”

  “I might be old, Ms. Alexander, but I’m no less astute. You’ve been here with Eugenia how long? Four, five months? Something is going on here. I know my son well enough to know how carefully he guards his privacy. Nothing gets out unless he wants it to. So you two spending an evening together … well, for some reason, he wanted the world to know. And if he wants the world to know, then he’s serious.” Mrs. Montrose just looked at me.

  I had been so excited about going on a date with Lewis, I never thought about how well timed it all was. Only a week before, Douglas Carlysle had appeared on JBC radio to discuss why Lewis’ background put him so out of touch with the average Jamaican. The photograph that appeared in The Daily Gleaner did what no amount of words might have been able to. It communicated that Lewis Montrose was indeed Jamaican, and that class was not a factor in his world. I know I shouldn’t have, but I felt a little disappointed that my evening out with Lewis wasn’t so much a date as it was a carefully conceived publicity stunt.

  “I learned years ago that second guessing your children doesn’t endear you to them,” Mrs. Montrose finally said. “Still, I must fulfill my curiosity, especially where it affects the family tree.”

  Mrs. Eldermeyer returned with a pitcher of lemonade and a plate filled with sugar buns—usually my favorites. But at that moment, they were as appealing to me as raw mackerel.

  “Thank you, Eugenia.” Before Mrs. Eldermeyer could sit, Mrs. Montrose added, “I’ll have a few more words alone with the young woman.”

  “Very well then,” Mrs. Eldermeyer whispered. She turned uncertainly and walked into the house. Mrs. Montrose waited a few moments before continuing.

  “I won’t ask you about any of the circumstances surrounding this relationship, but one. Does my son love you?”

  My throat was dry, but I just couldn’t seem to reach for the lemonade.

  “Don’t know what your son is feeling,” I managed to stammer out. “Like I said before, I hardly even know him.”

  “Well, perhaps this one will be easier for you. Do you love my son?”

  “Love, ma’am?”

  “It’s as simple as a yes or a no,” she said.

  My eyes fell to the sparkling blue tiles. I could make out my hazy reflection, as well as Mrs. Montrose’s. I couldn’t figure out what to say to her, and I could feel the weight of her stare against my face.

  “I was married in nineteen hundred and twenty-six, an entire lifetime ago. I did not love my husband at the time of our wedding, but it didn’t matter much then. That’s just the way things happened. But I knew what was expected of me as a wife, a mother and a friend, and I did it. You learned to love your mate. These days, things are so different. There are so many other things going on. If you don’t have love in the first place, I can’t see things getting better from there. I have my own ideas about what’s going on here, but it’s best I try to keep myself out of my children’s affairs.” She stood slowly.

  “You’re from a different time than my son, a different class, almost a different world. I have to be honest and say I don’t foresee this working out. Still, Lewis has had so much suffering. He deserves to be at peace, and if you are what it takes to achieve that, despite my innate beliefs, so be it.” She smiled sadly. “If you are married, I would like to come to the wedding … if you could see to it that I get an invitation. Better yet, if you could call me, let me know when. Eugenia knows how to get in touch with me.”

  “If something was to happen, a wedding, or whatever, with whoever, I’m sure Lewis would invite you. I mean, no matter how you two get on, you’re his mother.”

  For the first time, Margarette Montrose’s eyes softened, and she truly looked like an old woman. There was suddenly so much sadness on her face.

  “Yes, I am his mother,” she said softly before making her way down the stairs. After she had opened the gate, she turned to face me.

  “Please give Eugenia my regards, and do as you see fit, but it might be best for all involved if Lewis doesn’t know we’ve had this conversation.”

  As I watched her get into her car, I recalled the anger that came out whenever Lewis spoke of his mother. I could only imagine how her visit would cause him to react, so I laid the memory of my meeting with Margarette Montrose to rest.

  Part II

  - 13 -

  6 Somerton Avenue

  Kingston 10

  September 12, 1975.

  Dear Souci

  I still wonder sometimes how you find that Lewis Montrose or how him find you. My mother say some people just bless by God. Is just the luck of the draw. She say the soul of all the dead that become good angels just watch over them. They could stand before a racing car and not get hit. They could get bite by the biggest snake and not get poison. Is you that I think. You have to let me know if is anymore Lewis Montrose in this world. I want one. Winston and the kids fine. Sometimes though I feel bad. I can’t love him as much as the way he love me. Sometimes I wish you and me was together in Kingston just running around and romping together like when we was little.

  Still can’t believe you marrying that man. All everybody around here talking about is the big day. They always asking me how I feel about going to your wedding. Even though Lucille Mason never say two words to you when you live here she all upset you didn’t invite her. She’ll probably drop dead when she see the car you all sending to pick me up. Anyway you better watch out. She been messing with those roots she carry around her neck. About the only one who ain’t really said a thing about your big day is Greenie. I guess you really can’t blame him. He don’t read the paper anymore. He can’t. Every time you pick it up there’s a story about you or a picture of your soon-to-be husband. I know how we use to joke about Greenie being a wet rag, but truth is Souci I really think he got lots of feelings for you.

  Anyway, my mother and father won’t be coming along. Daddy claim he don’t trust nobody else to mind the bar. He would have to leave it up to Farmer Bygrave and you know the good farmer always drink more than he sell. But that ain’t the true reason why. The true reason is that he never been to Kingston and he afraid to ever go. And you know mama feel the same way. There been lots of things in the news about people getting shot at. About how if you belong to one party but your mother live in an area where the other party rule you can’t even go visit her. Is that true? Have you seen somebody get shot? That must be awful. They all nervous about me going but they know that not even war could keep me away.

  Girl I’m just counting down till the day. And all them rich people who will be at your wedding. I hear they wear silk all the time. Silk to bed silk to walk their dog silk to work. I hear they even dress they dogs in silk. I get the picture of my bridesmaid dress you send. Is it silk? I been on a diet you know. Since you gone I just been eating like a piggy. Anyway I want to make sure I fit in my dress and look as good as all them skinny rich women you hang around with now. I don’t know what else to say really. You know you could be in a coma for fifty years wake up and things still the same here.

  Let me see. Mavis Parker pig dead. They was digging for bauxite near this one road so lots of traffic had to run through Stepney for about five months. Anyway one night big accident. Truck coming down road lick the pig. And Lucille Mason leave her old crusty husband twice on account of him fooling
around with Charlene Simms. At first Lucille try to put a spell on Charlene, but Charlene mother box Lucille in the face and tell her that if she ever cock her fingers to her daughter again she will put her own hex on Lucille. And you know most people think Mrs. Simms worship the man downstairs anyway. I will bring you up to date when I see you.

  Your very best friend in the whole world.

  * * *

  My thoughts traveled back a year in time, and I thought about how I had felt after Greenie proposed to me. I thought about how I had felt as that wedding day neared. There had been no excitement, just a feeling of relief in knowing I wasn’t about to grow old and die alone. But on this, the day I was to be married to Lewis Montrose, I couldn’t figure out what I should have been feeling. There was a little nervousness, but only because I was about to become Mrs. someone very important. I suppose I felt some sort of closure—closure at knowing that this was all coming to an end. Above and beyond all that, I just felt regular, which was strange, considering Lewis was like no one else I had ever met. He was as majestic as the Blue Mountains. He was perfect, almost. He was the smartest person I had ever been around. Sometimes, I’d overhear him talking about something or the other. I wouldn’t really understand what he was saying, but I would be impressed by just how smart and important his words sounded. But truth is, despite being in Kingston for a year, I could probably count the number of instances in which I actually got to spend time with him.

  The excitement I felt following the events at the Ward Theatre had ample time to fizzle away. I would not see Lewis again until mid-February, when I was invited out to dinner at a fancy New Kingston restaurant. Once again, the following day our photograph ended up in the newspaper. My encounters with him never became any more frequent. I could only hope that a wedding—no matter how contrived—would change this. Still, I understood my place in his life, and I realized that despite marriage vows, he would continue to live his life as a single man. And if I had any notions against this, they were quickly dispelled on the occasions in which I noticed Agnes Gooding’s car pulling up to Reach as Mrs. Eldermeyer and I were pulling away. This wedding was a necessary means to a desired end, and this lent a somewhat workmanlike tone to the proceedings. I could see in Lewis’ eyes that his mind was far away from the goings on at Reach—far away from me. Maybe his mind was on the upcoming elections. Maybe it was on Douglas Carlysle hinting that Lewis might have been in some way involved in the ambush of three Labor Party supporters at a Windward Road stop light two nights before.