Katani's Jamaican Holiday

by Annie Bryant

  Olivia goes next. She grins like a madwoman as she goes flying through the water. Then it’s my turn. “Don’t be afraid. Put your feet behind you. Lift your hands in the air,” the trainer tells me, and whoosh! Two snouts have connected with the bottom of my feet (it tickles!), and the dolphins are pushing me through the water, my body and hands in the air. So this is what it feels like to be Superwoman and fly! “Cut and print”—this scene is in my memory forever.

  So what do you think, BSG? Ready for a trip to Jamaica? Oops, I gotta go now—Selvin and Olivia are waiting. But have I got pictures!

  Just as I was finishing up my e-mail, Olivia came into the office with Selvin’s friend and handed me a cold pineapple punch, which I slurped down quickly. “I have to get Selvin to bring me back here again!” she exclaimed. I hadn’t seen her get so excited about anything since I’d been here.

  “You’ve never done this?” I asked with surprise.

  “No. I always thought this was just tourist stuff. It’s a good thing you came.”

  I thanked Selvin’s friend for allowing me to use her computer, and Olivia and I went outside for the golf cart to take us back to the kitchen, where Selvin was waiting.

  When we got back to the front of the hotel, Selvin was waiting in the parking lot for us. I couldn’t help it. I rushed over and gave him a thank-you hug. This had been one of the best days of my life. The sun was out, the water was blue, and I had gone dancing with dolphins.

  CHAPTER 8

  A Daring Idea

  Cousin Cecil informed us that church started at nine o’clock sharp on Sunday morning, but we all had to be there very early because Olivia’s youth group would be leading the service.

  Back in Brookline, we don’t dress fancy for church, so I figured my miniskirt with the little black and green circles on it and the matching top with spaghetti straps would be hot but cool, if you know what I mean. At home I get a lot of compliments when I wear that outfit. Even my dad likes it, and Isabel recently pronounced it “very groovy.” I was twirling around, examining the swirling circles in the mirror, when Olivia came from the bathroom and saw me.

  “Er, Katani…,” she began. From the expression on her face I knew something was up. “Do you have anything a little longer?” she asked.

  “Huh?” What was she talking about?

  “The church sisters…they don’t approve of too-short dresses in church. If you were a tourist, it might be okay, but since you are family…”

  “Church sisters? What?!” I exclaimed.

  “Sister Lyn…she’ll be giving you the scrutiny eye, and then everybody turns to look at you—it can be quite embarrassing, Katani.” Olivia sounded very apologetic, but I could feel my temper rising. “Sister Lyn is kinda old; some of the sisters say she may be even ninety-five. She’s been in the church forever, so they just let her do what she wants,” Olivia explained with a shrug of her shoulders.

  I stared at my cousin with my hands on my hips and set her straight. “Olivia, I know this is your church and everything, but I have to wear what I think is best. I’m all about my style groove and I can’t go by what other people think. You know what I mean?” I wanted Olivia to understand that I didn’t mean to be disrespectful or anything. It’s just that a girl has to have her standards.

  But Olivia wasn’t listening to me. She was looking behind me at the door. I stared back at Olivia, but I just knew Grandma Ruby was standing right behind me.

  “Olivia, honey,” Grandma said in a very polite voice, “can you please give Katani and me a few minutes alone?” Olivia gave me one of those sympathy looks—the kind that says, Sorry, can’t help you out.

  Okay. So, after a lengthy discussion with Grandma Ruby about respecting the customs of Jamaica, I had to rethink my whole outfit. Lucky for me I had also brought my blue dress with cap sleeves and a flared skirt that ended just a bit below my knees. Of course, I then had to change my shoes—it was all so totally annoying. I really wanted to wear the miniskirt, but that was that.

  Olivia came back in wearing a pretty plaid skirt with pleats starting below her hips. I had the perfect top for her, in the exact coral shade of one of the colors in the plaid. When I showed her, she happily switched the shirts. I love it when I can help someone make a snazzy outfit.

  Olivia was so excited about her new outfit that she hugged me. “Oh!” she shouted suddenly, pulling back from me and looking like a lightbulb had just gone on over her head. “There is a necklace in my mom’s jewelry box that would be just right to go with this.”

  She left the room for a bit and came back looking flushed. “Good thing my dad wasn’t in his room so I could sneak it out.”

  “Should you?” I asked. Now I was the one who was nervous. What if her dad found out? I didn’t think Cousin Cecil would be real chill about something like that.

  “He won’t allow me to wear Mom’s jewelry. He says I am too young, but I think it’s that he doesn’t want to see anyone wearing her things. My mom would want me to look pretty. I mean, look, Katani, see how beautiful it looks with this shirt.”

  She was right about it being the perfect accessory. The necklace was handmade from small, flat, very smooth multi-colored stones intermixed with delicate seashells. Olivia said that her grandfather had made it especially for her mom. He had spent a lot of time looking for the perfect stones and shells. Her mother had cherished it. “Really, Katani, I’m sure that my mother would want me to wear it,” Olivia reassured me. I could see that although it couldn’t be considered super expensive—I mean, it wasn’t made of diamonds or anything—the necklace was a treasure. And I guessed that it had a lot of sentimental value, like it was priceless to the family.

  “But, won’t your dad see it?” I asked.

  “I’ll just hide it inside the blouse until afterward, and when we are with the other girls I’ll show it off. Fasten it, please,” she directed, turning her back to me. “No problem, I’ve done it before.” I wasn’t sure I believed her.

  As I fastened the clasp, I totally had a bad feeling about her wearing the necklace. “Olivia, I don’t…,” I started, but Olivia just turned around, admiring herself in the mirror. Then she tucked the necklace inside the collar of the blouse.

  “My mom was a teacher,” she said, her face growing sad. “She was quite a bit younger than Dad and very pretty…tall like you and me. He was so sad when she died. Really hasn’t been himself since. That’s why he gets kind of grumpy sometimes.” She paused for a second. “He’s getting better, though. He took me shopping last week, and we had ice cream. It was lovely,” she added with a smile.

  With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I followed Olivia out of the room and went looking for Grandma Ruby. “Whoa, Grandma, you rock!” I whistled. “You look absolutely fab!” She was wearing a light brown crocheted vest over a cream cotton shirt with matching crocheted sleeves, a striped skirt in different complementing shades of brown, and brown pumps. I had never seen that outfit. Tall is good for showing off clothes.

  “Really,” I added, “you are positively RADIANT.” Now that was all Kelley, exactly as she would have said it. I suddenly felt homesick for my sister Kelley. She’s mildly autistic, and she’s always completely honest. It seems like she knows just what to say to make you feel really happy or sad. Kelley definitely took some getting used to, but she was priceless!

  Grandma Ruby gave me one of her You can’t trick me looks, but I could see that she was pleased. She reached up to fix the dark brown hat that was perched on her head, tilting it a little to the side so it looked super fashionable. “Do you like my hat?” she asked with a teasing look on her face.

  I was tempted to reply, “No, I do not like your hat. Goodbye!” It was an old joke between us from the P. D. Eastman book Go, Dog. Go! But I couldn’t. That hat was perfect on her silver hair drawn back into a sleek bun.

  When we came out onto the veranda, Cousin Cecil was there waiting. He looked at us and nodded. I could tell he was pleased with the way
we all looked, even if he didn’t say so. I grabbed Olivia’s hand and give it a squeeze as Selvin drove up.

  “Mama!” he cried, when he saw all of us. We three smiled. It’s nice to know that you’re looking good.

  The road to town seemed deserted except for those going to church. There were three churches in the area, Olivia explained, but she thought hers was the best. As we passed the churchgoers I realized that they really were all dressed up, and their skirts fell below the knee. I had to admit my blue dress was much more appropriate than a miniskirt. It seemed like church was a place to show off your best clothes. Some of the women wore hats in styles I had never seen. I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing. Those hats were so baaad! One even looked like it had purple batwings coming out from the side.

  Like Cousin Cecil, most of the men wore full suits, even though the sun already felt as hot as one of those big ovens in the Bliss Bakery. Selvin wasn’t wearing a jacket, though. I figured that he, like Olivia and me, liked to do his own thing.

  We parked the truck at the bakery, and Selvin left us briefly to go into his house for something. Then we started walking up the narrow lane to the church. “It’s not too far,” Selvin promised.

  Olivia whispered in my ear, “When a Jamaican tells you somewhere is ‘not too far’ or ‘just around the corner’—watch out!” Sure enough, the lane was about a mile long, I hoped Grandma’s shoes wouldn’t hurt. She had “very delicate feet,” which she was fond of telling us—a lot. I was glad I had put on comfortable sandals when I’d had to change my outfit.

  We passed two small, rundown-looking houses before Olivia told me gleefully that the next house was Ol’ Madda Bird’s home. “Um, who?” I asked, completely bewildered.

  Olivia slowed down, grabbed my hand and, lapsing into patois, whispered, “Ole Madda Bird, she blind. She come here long time ago. No one know where she came from, or anything about her.” I felt a chill go up my back.

  “Every day, all she does is sit on her veranda carving birds out of wood. She lives alone except for a little mangy dog that barks every time anybody passes her house.”

  “But how does she live?” I asked. “I mean, how does she get money and food and stuff?”

  “Somebody comes and takes the birds to sell and brings her supplies and stuff. But nobody in the village really knows much about her,” Olivia continued. “She has some of the birds hanging on the veranda. Wait till you see them. We think she is a witch.”

  “Olivia,” I hooted. “There are no such thing as witches, girl.”

  Olivia giggled. “I know it, but you know, it’s fun to be afraid sometimes.”

  We walked slowly, to let the adults get farther ahead. When we reached the house, which was set back a little way behind a ragged wire fence, Olivia bent down as if she were fixing her shoe, so that I could get a good look at Ol’ Madda Bird. The shabby little wooden house was surrounded by bushes and seemed a little sad. The morning sun had not yet reached it, so it was in shadow. On the veranda were several wooden birds of different sizes, hanging from the ceiling, like an advertisement: “We like birds at this house.”

  Even from this distance I could see that they were very beautiful. Fortunately I had managed to squeeze my camera and my notebook into the fancy purse I was carrying, so I could snap a pic and scribble a quick note.

  The birds swayed and spun gently in a little breeze and seemed to be looking around as if they were watching all that went on. I guessed that’s one of the reasons why the children thought Ol’ Madda Bird was a witch and were afraid of her. Me, I could hardly believe that a blind woman could carve so well. I wished that Isabel were here with me now so she could see the beautiful art this old blind woman was creating. Of all the BSG, Isabel would appreciate what it took to make these birds.

  Ol’ Madda Bird sat in an old wicker chair on the veranda. Her head was wrapped in a turban, and she wore a shawl around her shoulders even thought it was already about ninety degrees. She was carving on a piece of wood in her hand. She must have sensed that we had stopped and were staring at her, because she raised her head and seemed to look straight at us through her very dark shades and called out, “Who is it? That you, Olivia?”

  My mouth dropped open. How did a blind lady know it was my cousin? Immediately we heard barking, and coming around the house was a small, black and white, scruffy-looking dog.

  “Run!” Olivia said, and for the second time in two days I found myself running away from an animal. This vacation was turning out to be way different from what I’d expected—first a banana war, and now an old witch.

  We slowed to a walk before we caught up with the adults, who had already entered the churchyard. Cousin Cecil looked at us suspiciously, but Olivia murmured, “I have to go,” and quickly left us to join her group. “Thanks!” I yelled after her. Both Cousin Cecil and Grandma Ruby stared at me like they knew something was up. I just put up my hands and said, “What?” like nothing was wrong.

  Alleluia!

  In Brookline, we attend the Episcopal church, which they call “Anglican” in Jamaica. Our service is very formal, with everybody sitting and listening politely. Olivia’s church was like a different planet! Everybody stood and swayed while the choir sang a bunch of lively gospel songs. And there was no passion organ here—the music was played on a keyboard, with two guitars and a drum set. This way it seemed more like a concert than a church service! I loved the way the music got everybody moving and singing. The youth choir led some of the singing, and they were really good. You go, girl! I thought with pride, watching Olivia do her thing at the center of the group.

  I didn’t know any of the songs, so I mostly kept quiet, but they repeated them several times and since the words were projected on a screen we could all see, Grandma Ruby soon joined in, just like on the veranda at Cousin Cecil’s house. It seemed she was determined to participate in every little bit of this experience of being in Jamaica. I was content with just clapping. I didn’t want to subject anyone to the horribleness of my singing voice. Once, when I was singing at a sleepover back in Boston, my friend Avery grabbed two pillows and clapped them to the sides of her head. It was that bad.

  When the pastor welcomed new faces, Selvin nudged me. Grandma was on her feet almost instantaneously, and I slowly rose up next to her, feeling embarrassed. Everybody in the church was staring at us as the pastor introduced us as relatives of the Palmer family. The crowd clapped and murmured about us, and Grandma looked around and smiled graciously. No doubt about it, she was enjoying herself. I could see Olivia grinning at me from the choir, and I tried to stand up straight to make a good impression on everybody. Good thing I was wearing that blue dress.

  Then, a big surprise came for everyone. “We have another very important visitor,” the pastor announced, “who has made a generous contribution to our expansion fund. Will you stand up, Mr. Biggs?” The Mr. Biggs?! I heard Grandma’s sharp intake of breath. The church clapped loudly as he stood up with his back to us, and I angled my head to try to get a better look at him. He was a thin, tall man and looked very imposing in a light brown suit.

  When he finally turned around to face us, it was my turn to gasp. It was the same tall man in the cowboy hat I had seen in the airport! Had he been spying on us? What a nerve that man had, trying to get the secret of Banana Bliss. I saw Grandma Ruby had on her Queen of England look, which made me put my head up as well.

  The choir began singing again, and I tried to forget about Mr. Biggs and Banana Bliss and the cowboy hat, instead, focusing on the music. Olivia had some solo parts. I was so proud. That girl had a voice as big as Texas! When the choir did a number that was accompanied by congo drums, they sang the chorus in the patois to a reggae beat:

  “Ah fi mi pickney dese

  Ah fi mi pickney dem

  Mi mek dem in mi image

  Mi love dem and look out fi dem

  Ah fi mi pickney dese.”

  I had no idea what they were singing, but the choir
had the whole church rocking and singing together. There was a standing ovation and loud applause at the end. Afterward, we had to greet a lot of family friends and church folk. When I met Sister Lyn, I understood what Olivia meant. She was very old, bent over, even, but that woman could talk. She asked how long we were staying, then told Grandma everything she needed to see and do while she was in Jamaica. I could barely conceal my smile at hearing someone else ordering my grandma around.

  I thought I was going to have to pick my jaw up off the floor when suddenly Mr. Biggs marched over to us. Did he really think we’d talk to him after everything he’d been trying to pull? But then, even more surprising, Grandma acknowledged his greeting in the most polite manner.

  “How do you like Jamaica?” he asked in a hearty voice.

  “It’s beautiful,” Grandma replied coolly. “Everything is perfectly lovely.”

  I covered my mouth and suppressed a giggle. Grandma Ruby sounded like some fancy Englishwoman.

  He bent toward her and lowered his voice, but I could still hear what he said.

  “If you really come to help Faith, your only choice is to advise her to sell the bakery to me. She is getting too old and shaky. She knows she can’t keep it open much longer, so she may as well sell it now. You know, I’m offering her a very fair price…a very nice price. I am a fair businessman, after all.”

  For once, Grandma was speechless. Before she could recover, he bowed to her, put on his cowboy hat, and walked away. Because of his height and size he was already conspicuous. The cowboy hat was a bit much. If I were his fashion adviser I’d say, Mr. Biggs, lose the hat.

  “Did you hear that?” Grandma asked me. Her eyes narrowed, and I knew that her fighting spirit was up. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Big Man,” she said softly.