Crickets' Serenade

by Blythe, Carolita

  “Why wouldn’t they let you by?” I asked.

  “You need to ask you husband ’bout that.”

  “He left not even twenty-five minutes ago. Maybe he just forgot you were coming.”

  “Don’t t’ink he was really expecting me. I pay him visits every now and then. Not too often though.”

  “For business?”

  “You could say.” Bumper Smalls was being as enigmatic as Lewis. He had a strange, almost sad smile. I thought back to the night I first met Mr. Smalls and to the haunting look he brought to Lewis’ face.

  “Can’t you all just do your business by phone?”

  “I don’t much like telephones, missus. Besides, doing things in person gives me a chance to breathe in this air I love so much.”

  “You don’t seem to do business very often,” I said. That strange smile formed on Bumper Smalls’ lips again.

  “You two have known each other for a long time, haven’t you?”

  “A lifetime, missus.”

  “But you’re not friends?”

  “He and me baby sister was friends once. Many, many years ago. But, as seeing how Mr. Montrose is not here …”

  “Your baby sister,” I said. I thought back to Lewis’ apologetic letter to one Elsie Smalls of Guava Ridge.

  “Is her name Elsie?”

  Bumper Smalls stared at me wide-eyed. I tried asking him a few more questions about Elsie, but nothing. Not another word. His eyes just kept darting from side to side.

  “Well, we could call Jamaica House,” I said. I just wanted him to start talking again. “I could give him a message for you.”

  “Only message he need to know is that Bumper Smalls is looking to see him. He knows what that means.”

  “What?”

  “Is for your husband to tell you, if he so wish, but he won’t.”

  The whites of his eyes were yellow, and he smelled like burnt tobacco. Occasionally, the fingers on his bowed right hand twitched, and I had to force myself not to stare.

  “I was hoping to catch him before he leave for work, but those buses run so bad, even in the morning.”

  “Why don’t you just go and see him at Jamaica House?” I asked. He let out a short, dry laugh.

  “Once again, t’ank you for coming to my aid, missus.” He turned and started to walk away.

  “Can I tell him where you’re staying?”

  “He knows. I’m always in the same place.”

  “He’s been so busy lately. Sometimes I don’t even think he remembers the phone number here.”

  “I don’t t’ink he’d forget anyt’ing that had to do with me.”

  “You just never really know.”

  Mr. Smalls looked at me for some time. “You see, this is how it goes. I come here whenever we have business to take care of. I stay at the same little hotel. I eat all my meals at Rodney’s Jerk Fish and Chicken. I finish with the business. I go back home. It’s hard to mix up any part of that. Well, I suppose I should go on now.” He lifted his felt hat slightly off his head, turned away, and began walking down the lane.

  “Mr. Smalls,” I called out. He turned around.

  “Is there something I should know about Lewis?”

  “I suppose there’s always lots you could or should know ’bout people.” He tipped his hat again and walked off.

  I kept looking after him until he just seemed to blend in with all the green. Soon, he was gone. When I got back to the house, I tried to read, then to go for a walk, but I couldn’t get Bumper Smalls out of my mind. Why did he react the way he did when I mentioned Elsie’s name? Why did Lewis react the way he did whenever he was around Bumper Smalls?

  I found a map of the city and a telephone book. There was a listing for Rodney’s Jerk Fish and Chicken on Oxford near Half Way Tree Road. The Pegasus Hotel was only about a block away, but it was a place that saw the likes of princesses and company heads. It just didn’t seem to be a place where Bumper Smalls would be found. Still, I took down the address and phone number. When I called, I was told that there were no guests there with the last name of Smalls. There were three other smaller inns located in the immediate area. I also called them, but none had a listing of Bumper Smalls. I telephoned a few more hotels until I reached an inn named the Doctor Bird. The clerk spoke with a watered down British accent, and informed me that there had been a guest with the last name of Smalls. His first name, however, had been George. I described Bumper Smalls: tall, brown-skinned, maybe fifty. The clerk agreed with the description, but said he had checked out perhaps half-hour before. She added that she could not give out any information regarding a possible forwarding address.

  I had seen Mr. Smalls less than three hours before. Now he was gone. I figured he must have contacted Lewis somehow and taken care of whatever business needed to be taken care of. He was now probably on his way to the airport, if he wasn’t off the island already. Bumper Smalls was the greatest link I had to Lewis’ past, and I realized it was entirely possible I would never get the chance to speak to him again. But I wasn’t ready to give up. Maybe the clerk would be more accommodating if I could talk to her in person. I needed to figure out a way to go after Bumper Smalls without all of Jamaica House knowing?

  * * *

  At the junction where Gordon Town Road meets Old Hope Road and the rivers and mountains give way to the city, I thanked Henry for helping me out.

  “Mon, you squared t’ings away wit’ Mrs. Moore an’ ’Enry still get paid him regular fee, so ain’t much to be t’anking me about. ’Enry should be t’anking you.”

  “Well, she thinks I have a headache and that your great aunt who raised you is very sick and needs you to go to her.”

  “Me great auntie never raise me. It was me granny.”

  “Well then, if Mrs. Moore ever ask you how your great aunt is doing, you will know how to answer.”

  Henry laughed. Some schoolgirls wearing pleated green uniforms ran along the sidewalk screaming and laughing. I slid so far down into the seat, my knees almost scraped against the floor. This trip had been carried out like one of our nighttime getaways. Henry had pulled his car off the grounds and circled around to the back lane. The transistor radio played on, and the exposed spring in the passenger seat poked out against my thigh. We had taken the same route along the Hope River Valley, but instead of singing crickets, croaking frogs and the sounds of darkness the night gave way to, we were greeted by chirping birds, screaming children and a sky as clear and as blue as the Caribbean sea.

  I had finally gotten comfortable with those nighttime excursions. The darkness made me feel safe. But in the broad daylight with the sun shining on my every move, with market people transporting baskets of fruit and schoolboys running almost alongside the car, I didn’t feel so untouchable. When we arrived in New Kingston, I felt even less so.

  There were a few medical and dental offices along Chelsea Street. Most of them were in tiny white houses that looked like they should have housed families and not businesses. Small signs hung from the front verandahs with the doctor’s name and particular area of expertise. The Doctor Bird was a small, two-story white building located between two of these offices. Henry remained in the car as I went into the hotel. The clerk I had spoken to, Miss Kendall, was an older English woman. Her eyes were squinty and gray.

  “You’re in need of a room?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am. I spoke to you earlier about a Mr. Smalls. I thought maybe if I came in person, I might be able to get a forwarding address on him.”

  “I think I misled you. I should have probably told you over the phone that I had no forwarding address at all on him.”

  “Don’t the guests have to give you that type of information when they check in?”

  “Not if they pay cash up front. No questions asked then.”

  “So there’s no way you know of that I might reach him?”

  “I didn’t say that. Try room two-oh-five.”

  I shook my head questioningly.

 
; “He returned no more than five minutes ago. I believe he left something behind. Take the stairs to the left.”

  Ms. Kendall had hardly finished speaking when I was on the first step. I took them three at a time, and soon found myself standing in front of room 205. I took a few deep breaths before knocking. As I waited for Bumper Smalls to answer, I looked around the hallway at the big, purple flowers all over the wallpaper. The place felt too warm and was a bit musty. It was so quiet, I wondered if there were any other guests on the floor.

  There was no answer, so I knocked a little louder. When there was still no answer, I put my mouth right up against the door and whispered Bumper Smalls’ name. The door smelled like bug spray.

  “It’s Souci Montrose, Lewis Montrose’s wife.” Nothing. “Mr. Smalls, I’m not about to leave until I talk to you, and I know you’re probably in a big hurry to get somewhere else.”

  After a few seconds, there were footsteps. The door opened a crack.

  “Please, can I just come in?” I pleaded. Bumper Smalls opened the door wider, and I walked into the room.

  “I guess you husband don’t know you here,” he said as he closed the door.

  “What makes you say that?”

  He only shook his head. “I don’t have much time. The noon hour should never have catch me in Kingston.”

  He walked over to the queen-sized bed, which was covered with a fussy, lilac colored spread with braided tassels along the edges. The side tables and dresser were big and chunky and looked as if they weighed about a ton each.

  “Mr. Smalls, I just wanted to know how it is that you know Lewis.”

  “You husband know lots a people. You ask them all how it is they know him?”

  “No, sir. But they don’t have the kind of relationship that you have with him.”

  “And what kind of relationship is that?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. I think you wanted to tell me something when you came to the house.”

  “No, ma’am. Not me.”

  “Please, Mr. Smalls.”

  “Honestly, some t’ings are better off left alone. I’m sorry, but I really have to go.” He reached for a small, leather bag that had been resting on the bed, then moved toward the door. I stepped in front of him.

  “Lewis doesn’t know I’m here. And I don’t want him to know. I think you can help me, and maybe I can help you in return.”

  Bumper Smalls’ eyes were focused on the bedspread, but I knew he was listening.

  “Look, I think I know what you and Lewis have between you. I think it deals with your sister. If you can’t talk about it, maybe she can. Is she still on the island?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “She lives with you, sir?”

  His eyes glistened.

  “We were just a simple family from Guava Ridge. Up near where they grow the coffee. Up near where the mountains touch the sky. But my mother always have dreams of us walking hand in hand wit’ the rich folk. The influential folk. She never understand. Ain’t not’ing so wrong with just being simple. Your husband has never said a word to you about her, has he, about my sister. That’s not how you found out her name. He never once mentioned her?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “That’s the shame of it all.”

  “Please, tell me what happened.”

  Mr. Smalls picked up his bag, walked over to the door and stood behind it.

  “It’s all in the past, ma’am. Elsie’s in your husband’s past. And you are in the present. Sometimes it’s best to not look too far behind you.”

  “Mr. Smalls, you’re probably the only person who has known Lewis for a long time that I can talk to without it getting back to him. I just feel that if I knew what happened in his past, I could understand him a little better. I could understand why his eyes are so dead sometimes. I suppose what I’m saying is, I need somebody who can help me figure out who the person I’m married to is.”

  Mr. Smalls shook his head slowly and mumbled something to himself that I couldn’t understand. He made his left hand into a fist and knocked it against the side of his head several times.

  “Mrs. Montrose …” he began, only to stop just as suddenly. I knew he was about to let something out, but he seemed to change his mind. “If you’re head is telling you something,” he said softly, “you should listen to it.”

  “Mr. Smalls, whenever you say Lewis’ name, there’s all this pain in your eyes. I don’t believe you do business with him. I think maybe he gives you money. I saw him give you an envelope one night. And I think that if I could open that bag you hold onto so tightly, I would maybe see another envelope. And I believe maybe what’s in that envelope is to pay off something that happened. Maybe this is something that happened with your sister. Maybe with you and him.”

  Bumper Smalls’ eyes closed and he pressed the lids together. He shook his head slowly.

  “My sister was so very beautiful and so very sweet. Wanted to be a nurse, until she met him. All of a sudden, only t’ing she think about was working in the Montrose kitchen, so she could be near him. Mama figure Elsie would get it out of her system. But it wasn’t some likkle light crush. Elsie fall in love hard and heavy. Mama was worried, but he pay so much attention to her, and he even talk of marrying her, so that make her feel better about t’ings. Mama even start to believe maybe Elsie would marry into that rich, powerful family. But then he announce he was going to the America to go to school and Mama get worried ’cause she know how young love is. All that time away—she know he would probably find some other young girl to spend his time with, somebody in the same social class, an’ poor Elsie would be stuck down here working in his mother an’ father house.” He drifted toward the window, but didn’t open the floral curtains. He just stared ahead, as if he could see through the cloth.

  “Besides that, the lady of the house found out ’bout t’ings and she wasn’t too happy. Everybody seem to know t’ings had was to end except those two. And he did go away, and after Mama get sick, Elsie stop going to Reach. He write her all these pretty letters, make her think he would be back for her. He did come back one day, but he was married to somebody else. He never even tell poor Elsie a t’ing. Anyway, that’s the way rich people always treat people like us. They even take big wedding advertisement out in the paper.” He swatted at something I couldn’t see with those bowed fingers on his right hand.

  “That’s how me sister find out, always looking into those high society marriages. And when she go to see him, his mother stop her. Lady of the house say he didn’t even want to see her. Elsie never believe that, but then she see him up in the window looking down on her. He never even come down to talk to her himself. He just turn ’round. Just turn him back on her an’ act like he never even know her.” He paused for some time. “It was a terrible day. Just terrible.”

  I could tell from Bumper Smalls’ face that there was more to the story. But whatever else went on, he decided to keep to his self. He just turned toward me and fumbled with that leather bag of his.

  “I’ve had to leave my home, the only place I know. I do what it takes to stay alive. And I do it with a clear conscience.” Bumper Smalls walked over to the door, tipped his hat to me and left. I was afraid that maybe Elsie Smalls had slipped away from me for good.

  -29-

  Guava Ridge was only about eight miles north of Reach—maybe a long walk for some people—but not for someone from a place like Stepney where our feet were often our only means of transportation. Henry had passed through Guava Ridge two Christmases before when Mrs. Moore sent him to get fresh coffee from the Mavis Bank Coffee Factory. According to him, it was like any other mountain community.

  I guess I could have figured out a way for Henry to take me there, but I really wanted to have the time to myself. I wanted to discover Elsie Smalls for myself and to talk to her by myself.

  It was mid-morning in the middle of the week when I found myself walking along the back mountain roads of upper St. Andrew’s.
There were no security guards around, no body guards, no Mrs. Eldermeyer, no one from Lewis’ world. For all they knew, I was up in my room trying to sleep off a headache. I felt so free. I felt as if I had outwitted them all. Just me and the trees and the sun and the breeze. It was so peaceful. The sun wasn’t yet very high in the sky, so the air was still a little cool. The lane looked much different in daylight. I thought back to the night Lewis and I made the same walk. But this time when I reached the incline, I didn’t climb the familiar hill. I turned right and continued on.

  I felt the pull of Skyward, but I was on a mission. I was a little nervous. After all, I really had no idea where I was going or what I would find once I got there. I figured the Smalls’ were at Reach during the fifties. That was almost another lifetime before. I had no idea how long it had been since Elsie had moved on. What if no one remembered the Smalls? I could only hope that Guava Ridge was like Stepney and its people tended to stay put. If that was the case, there would probably still be some relatives there or some old timer who remembered the family.

  Just as Henry had told me, the lane circled back around and connected up with a small road. This road connected with the highway, which went up through the mountains. I could feel the strain on my calf muscles as the road angled further and further upwards. A couple of cars drove by, honking their horns. One fellow stopped to ask if I needed a ride, but despite my tired legs, I waved him off.

  The road wasn’t very wide, and there really wasn’t a sidewalk or walkway for people. I had to walk on the tall grass at the very edge of the mountain, and still the cars came frightfully close. I looked off into all that sunshine and green below. God’s country, I thought. That’s what Aunt Mattie used to call Stepney on mornings when I walked with her up to the fields and we could see the village all sleepy and quiet in the distance behind us. The mist would be so thick, it always seemed as if God had stretched a veil of cotton across the land.

  I passed small houses that straddled the edges of the mountains. The houses didn’t appear so much as if they had been built, but rather as if they had been planted in the dry season, and sprang up onto the hillsides when the rains came. Some were as bright and blue as the sea. Others were a startling pink, like bougainvillea, and some were as mellow and green as the grass. I couldn’t believe that all this was so close to all the noise and music and concrete of Kingston.