Crickets' Serenade

by Blythe, Carolita

  Initially, I thought the wedding would take place in a revered, historic setting such as Kingston Parish Church—with every man, woman and child in Kingston in attendance. I imagined myself making my way down the never-ending aisle, a twenty-foot train snaking its way behind me, and a dozen flower girls leading the way, sprinkling white orchids at my feet. What actually came to pass was quite a bit different. There were no flower girls or white orchids, and there was definitely no Kingston Parish Church. Instead, a few of Lewis’ close friends, business acquaintances and a small group of press were invited to Reach for the ceremony.

  Just because the event was smaller than I had expected didn’t mean that it was any less grand. So much effort was put into everything from the food to the flowers to the silverware. When I arrived at Reach that morning, I landed in the midst of commotion. It had rained the entire week before, which meant that preparations for the outdoor wedding had been completely thrown off. I walked into the backyard in time to see flowers being rushed over to the left side of the makeshift altar. Someone yelled something, and the flowers were moved to the right. A white carpet formed an aisle between two sections of white, fold-out chairs. Cooks ran into cooks and the clatter of silver serving trays could be heard coming from inside the house. The front yard was in an equal amount of disarray as the staff quickly tried to set up and dress tables for the reception.

  Mrs. Eldermeyer rushed me away from the proceedings and upstairs into the master bedroom where Maxi and Marcia promptly went to work. Minutes later, Michele burst into the room.

  “Sorry, mon. I suppose de maid of honor not supposed to leave de bride side on her wedding day, but me had to go check out de ballroom. Mon, is somet’ing else. Dem was setting up all dese flowers an’ fancy glasses an’ silver trays. An’ everyt’ing just shiny. Old man Rivers’ heart would surely give out if you put him in de middle a all dis.” She threw her arms around my neck, pressed her lips against my cheek, then flopped onto the bed.

  “So, what you got in you belly? Butterflies or bats?” she asked.

  “To tell you de trut’, none a dem, mon.”

  Mrs. Eldermeyer raised an eyebrow. I’m sure the sound of my voice slipping back into the patois she had worked so diligently to erase didn’t sit well with her, but she allowed me my freedom.

  “Really? Anyway, is not dat big a deal being married an’ all.”

  Michele was only thinking of her own wedding four years before. She had invited that red hued boy from Nine Mile, the father of her two children. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she believed he was going to show up on his sputtering motorbike and whisk her away from her tiny church and from her uninspiring husband-to-be. She believed he was going to take her to a place far away, where all her wishes would come true and the smile would never leave her face.

  Michele’s fellow was always wearing a blood red tracksuit. As she stood side by side with Winston at the altar, their hands joined, she kept turning toward the church and staring into the congregation, looking for a blur of red. When preacher man asked if there were any objections to the marriage, Michele turned one last time toward the church. There were only shades of browns and blues filling out the pews. The church doors had remained opened in order to combat the heat, but beyond them, there was only the rich green of the ferns blowing in the breeze. Great, big tears welled up in Michele’s eyes. She turned back toward Preacherman, swallowed hard, and forced a half-smile. Her husband to be looked at her with love in his eyes. Michele looked off into the air with resignation.

  * * *

  After my make-up and hair were done, Michele and I locked ourselves in the upper vestibule. We opened the wooden jalousies and positioned two rocking chairs in front of the windows. As the mountain breezes floated in, it brought with it the strong, roasted scent of Blue Mountain coffee.

  “I was t’inking,” Michele said. “Wit’ all dem rich, society people who a go be here, maybe I cyan find meself a nice husband, just like you.”

  “You already have a husband.”

  Michele waved her hand dismissively. “No mattah … when you a go put you dress on?”

  “Right before. No sense getting it wrinkled or dirty.”

  The fancy wedding dress with the twenty-foot train I had hoped for was in actuality a sleeveless satin dress with a sheer shawl to be draped across my shoulders. I had asked Mrs. Eldermeyer to intervene on my behalf and request something a little fancier, a little more fairy-tale like, but my tutor was unable to sway Lewis any. He had his mind set on the simpler pattern.

  “If it wasn’t fe you, Michele, me wouldn’t be here now. Lewis might get elected. You know what dat mean?”

  “It mean you will always look dis good, chile. Look at you hair sitting all on top you head wit’ likkle flowers in it. An’ you face all painted. Cyan hardly believe is you. An’ every time I see a paper an’ you in dere, God, I just t’ink, dat’s me friend. Everybody get togeddah an’ trade stories ’bout you. Dem talk ’bout you like you dead or somet’ing. An’ I cyan’t even begin to tell you what de gossiping goats been saying.”

  “What about Greenie? How’s he doing, Michele? I mean, knowing ’bout me getting married … an’ to Lewis. Him must t’ink me lie to him.”

  “You did. But him is all right, mon. Me mean, at first it was weird. Me get you invitation, but me nevah say a t’ing. Kind a hard fe tell somebody dem fiancée marrying somebody else. But you was always in de paper wit’ Lewis, so I guess him figure somet’ing was about fe happen. Him is fine, mon. Him meet dis girl from Alexandria. Him nuh like her much as you, but poor Greenie lonely. Him nuh really talk ’bout you marriage an’ all dat. Anyway, enough ’bout Greenie. He will be all right. Is your day today. Your day fe shine, girl chile.”

  * * *

  The best man and the maid of honor were the first to walk down the aisle. As James Alvarez and Michele took their places next to Lewis at the altar, I began my walk. Near them, a woman who looked like an older version of Agnes stood singing “Ave Maria.” I had never seen the woman before, and the only reason I knew the song was “Ave Maria,” was because Mrs. Eldermeyer had mentioned it to me while going over the details of the wedding. The woman sounded like a sparrow, and the song was sad and triumphant and beautiful at the same time.

  I had never imagined my wedding taking place anywere other than Stepney Baptist Church. Aunt Mattie and Mavis Parker and Farmer Bygrave and the rest of the villagers would be in their best patched up special occasion suits and dresses, grinning from ear to ear, hardly believing I was finally doing the deed. Michele’s father would escort me down that aisle, and he would be as proud of me as if I were his own daughter.

  Walking by myself down that aisle at Reach, with the sky bluer than I had ever remembered, with people I didn’t recognize in their fancy dresses, with the beautiful groom waiting for me, it hardly seemed real. It was as if I was outside of my own body, watching another person take that walk. Like I was sitting in the audience watching a picture show.

  I had to remind myself that it wasn’t a movie, that it was all too real. I had to remind myself to breathe and to put one foot in front of the other. I told myself to keep focused, to look straight ahead. Once or twice, I found myself peeking to the left and to the right to see if Agnes Gooding was in attendance. My eyes traveled across the seated guests, but it wasn’t Agnes who caught my attention. It was an old man seated in a wheelchair. There had been a great deal of ceremony surrounding his arrival earlier in the afternoon. I had never met the man, but I had seen so many pictures of him over the years. Margarette Montrose sat beside him. Our eyes met, and she just looked at me calmly.

  Lewis stood near the altar smiling like a good friend at the end of a long journey. As the minister’s words trickled out, I watched Lewis. His eyes were focused on the ground in front of the minister. He was caught up in his own private world. I thought I would savor the kiss when it came, but I was so dazed, I didn’t even realize I was being kissed until it was all over and I heard
Lewis whisper, “thank you,” to me.

  As I accepted the many congratulations, my jaw hurt from smiling. I had never been hugged, kissed or fussed over as much in my life. I tried to assign names to all the faces, but it was overwhelming. I looked around for Michele, who had disappeared into some recess of the house or yard. My eyes finally rested on Mr. Harris, the gardener, and on Henry, the young man who had delivered Lewis’ dinner invitation to me at Mrs. Eldermeyer’s. Standing apart from everyone else in their starched suits, they looked like the piece of the jigsaw puzzle that didn’t quite fit. I waved. Henry smiled broadly and raised his eyebrows. Mr. Harris nodded and scratched at his neckline.

  Lewis stood nearby with Margarette and Edward Montrose as photographers snapped pictures.

  “I wouldn’t say my son was following in my footsteps,” I heard Mr. Montrose say to a newspaperman. “I know it’s been a few years, gentlemen, but if you recall, I was a member of the Labor Party, not the party to which he belongs. What I would like to say is, I hope that those at the forefront of their parties will worry less about impressing the voters and worry more about quelling the violence that is on the rise in Jamaica today.”

  Lewis said nothing, but his eyes narrowed into slits. After the reporters moved away, I caught sight of Lewis standing with his father on the other side of the yard. Although I couldn’t hear what was being said, from the expression on Lewis’ face, I could tell that it wasn’t particularly pleasant.

  -14-

  “Dis I don’t understand,” Michele said as she leaned onto the wooden railing of the verandah. She cocked her head to the side and looked out into the yard at the people sipping their drinks, trying to talk above the music. “You got a nice band playing ovah dere undah dat flamboyant tree. You got guests who been sucking down enough liquor to mek Farmer Bygrave proud, an’ yet and still, nobody dancing.”

  “Society people like to talk more dan dem like fe dance,” I said.

  “Well, maybe if somebody would play a likkle reggae an’ not dead people music, people would shake what dem have.”

  I started laughing as I looked off into the subdued crowd and imagined them all shaking what they had—or didn’t have.

  “Michele, you have fe go back so soon? Can’t you just stay anoddah day even.”

  “Wish me nevah have fe go back at all. But me moddah cyan’t even keep up wit’ dem bad ass pickney when me is dere. Cyan you just imagine what de poor woman going t’rough wit’out me around. Probably cussing me name right now. Anyway, you de one tell me you got to help out wit’ de campaigning come Monday. Not even time fe honeymoon. An’ everybody want talk to you an’ touch you. I cyan only imagine how dat will be aftah Lewis get elected.”

  “You mean if …”

  Michele turned to face me and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  “No, mon. Me mean when. Ole Mavis Parker, who claim to be de biggest Christian around, well she pay a trip to de bush mon. She ask him bout you, an’ him mash up some grass an’ leaves an’ mix it wit’ some goat milk an’ peppermint, an’ him tell her dat you will be in Kingston fe a long time. Him tell her you a go have a family, an’ be somebody real important. You don’t have fe worry, Souci. You husband a go win, an everyt’ing will be just perfect. An’ don’t worry ’bout dat Agnes woman you was telling me about. You de one who will be in de same house wit’ Lewis Montrose every night.”

  “But Michele, me will be …” I looked around to make sure no one could possibly hear us. “Me will be sleeping across de hall from him, in de bedroom we in today,” I whispered.

  “You a go sleep in dat big room all by you’self all de time, an’ him out in anoddah room?” If Michele was trying to whisper, she wasn’t doing a good job of it.

  “Me tell you dis is only a business arrangement. Reason Lewis pick me is because me is not’ing like de oomen people expect him wit’. Me is not de type a person anybody like Lewis Montrose would evah go for. If dere wasn’t dis election, me would still be spending me nights outside you faddah bar, an’ Lewis Montrose would be spending his right next to Agnes Gooding.”

  “If, if, if.” Michele let out a big sigh and sucked her teeth. “Fe such a small word, it sure tek up a big space. Listen, you is a ooman, right? An’ Lewis is definitely a mon. Forget ’bout all de oddah t’ings. You is a ooman, him is a mon. Dat’s all you need.”

  “Need fe what?”

  Michele moved her hips slowly from front to back. “Fe love. You two a go be inna dis big house togeddah. Oh, mon. You don’t t’ink you could evah fall in love wit’ Lewis Montrose? An’ besides, if you don’t do any a dat, a wha you a go do all de time? Dat mon too good looking to just be looking at.”

  “Oh, Michele. Dere’s so much fe me fe help wit’ still. Election’s only few weeks away. Dis week, me will be back in de shopping malls an’ de banks an’ places like dat, giving out leaflets an’ telling people fe vote fe Lewis. We still got an election to win.”

  “My goodness,” she said as she tugged at my dress and patted my hair down. “You got new clothes, new hair, you learn fe talk dat fancy talk. You already sounding like a politician’s wife.”

  “Well, I am in training, me dear,”

  “Umm hmm. You know, dat kiss today was mighty short. Mr. Montrose slip you a likkle tongue?”

  I pinched Michele on the shoulder.

  “Did you slip him a likkle?”

  “I tell you already, Michele, is not like so.”

  Michele shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Okay. Tell me dis. Aside from today, him evah kiss you?”

  “Yeah, one time on the cheek.”

  “De cheek? Me nuh like dis arrangement, you know. Maybe you cyan renegotiate. My dear Souci, you are going to have fe get a likkle on de side.”

  “Is dat what you do with Winston, get a likkle on de side?”

  Michele covered her mouth, but she couldn’t hide the large grin spreading across her face. “Me nevah did a go tell you dis, but me cyan’t hold it in no more. I see Zevroliah last week.”

  “Who?”

  “Zevroliah. You know, Red.”

  If past history was any indication, Michele couldn’t look at that boy without getting pregnant. Winston might not have been the prince Michele had wanted, but she was his princess. He married her despite the two children she came with, and her love for another man.

  “Him stop up in de bar on him way to Nine Mile. I just couldn’t help it,” she pleaded. She let out a great sigh.

  “Winston get on top a me an’ wiggle an’ jiggle about a bit. I feel bad ’cause him try, but is like him not even dere. He might as well be baking a cake. Is not fe him fault, really. Him just nuh have a passion fe dat sort a t’ing. I just don’t t’ink some people meant fe have …” Her eyes lit up. “But when me an’ Red togeddah, is like we in anoddah world. Is like fire an’ oil. I love him, mon. No matter what, I always will.” She turned away from me and squinted out into the yard. I followed her gaze in time to notice Margarette Montrose bending down nearby to pick up a poinciana petal. I tried to turn away from her, but it was too late. She looked toward the house, waved and started toward me.

  “Well, I’m not about to get in between you an’ you new moddah-in-law bonding,” Michele said as she walked into the house.

  “Michele, you don’t have fe leave,” I pleaded. But Michele was gone. And before I could say another word, Mrs. Montrose was climbing the stairs to the verandah and positioning herself next to me. She was holding onto the stem of a nearly empty wineglass. She turned to face the yard, rested her weight against the railing, and ran her thumb along the mouth of the glass.

  “You need not worry about me making your life with my son complicated,” she said. “I’m much too old and much too remorseful to accomplish much of anything these days.… You know, it’s lonely where I am sometimes. Often, Edward is so consumed with the sickness wearing him down. I remember a time when I had my two boys, my little girl, my husband and servants around at all hours of the day. How
long ago that all seems now. Then I lost William.” She paused and looked off toward one of the poinciana trees.

  “What was I saying? Oh, William. He’s never married. And the amount of women he’s gone through. For the life of me, I can’t figure out where he gets that from. If it’s not the women, it’s his art. It’s like he’s consumed with composing, with molding clay and chipping away at stone. I truly believe that’s how he exorcises his demons. I blame Edward for William, but Lewis, I can only blame myself for.” Her eyes followed a couple strolling across the lawn.

  “Seeing how Edward favored William, I just wanted to even things out a bit. The attention I gave Lewis, I never thought of as too much, but what I did was unforgivable. I can only hope that one day before I die, Lewis will come to regard me as his mother again.”

  My eyes drifted down to Mrs. Montrose’s hands, which were covered with brown age spots.

  “I’m happy to see Lewis married again. I never thought he’d do it, the way his first marriage ended. That was tough for him, though I know he only did it to spite me in the first place.”