A few days before Christmas, Mama picked up a big brown parcel from the post office. It was from my mother, and packed with shoes and dresses and dolls, games and books full of fairy tales. Uncle Freddie sent nothing. My grandmother gave Monica money for little Freddie Jr. She took it from the money orders that Uncle Peppie and my mother sent. Each time she gave Monica money she cursed Freddie again.
Uncle Mikey had new dresses made for me, Mama, Grand-aunt Ruth and Cousin Icie, and he gave Aunt Joyce a lovely hand-embroidered linen dress as a going-away gift. Christmas left us fat with cake and pudding, turkey and ham—more food than we could finish. I danced and ate until my eyes couldn’t stay open. Mama gave the leftovers to people in our neighbourhood who were less fortunate.
We didn’t see Myers over the Christmas holidays, and not even Mama knew where he had disappeared to. I came home one evening after school and found him in the garden working.
“Myers, Myers,” I greeted him, “where yuh is all holiday? You miss pudding and cake and everything.”
“Ah went to de country, mi had some family business to tek care of,” he muttered over his shoulder.
“Ah didn’t know yuh had family. Who is dem, yuh mother?” He didn’t answer, and a long silence hung about the vegetable garden.
Petal called me from next door, so I crawled under the fence and up into the treehouse. I felt uneasy about Myers’s response and was glad to get away. Petal had two matchboxes with two grasshoppers in each waiting. We chewed on them, savouring the juices. “Don’t swallow,” she said to me, “ah want to taste yours.” She squeezed my lips open and we exchanged grasshopper juices. She held on to my tongue and I did the same with hers. Then she pressed her body against mine and lay on top of me. She pressed me hard and let out a sigh. We stayed close together and I played with her dundus face for a long time. It made me feel better, especially after Myers acting strange. When I heard my grandmother calling, I hurried down the ladder and back under the fence. Monica had come to visit with Freddie Jr., who was almost three and a half now. He was going to be tall like Uncle Freddie. “Him is de dead stamp of him father,” Mama said, smiling. “Come here, little man.”
“So yuh don’t hear from him at all, Miss Maria, yuh don’t have a address for him?” Monica was almost pleading.
“Girl, tek mi advice and forget him. Him nuh good, him is a wutliss son of a bitch. Count yuh blessings, yuh have a nice little boy, look after him and try to better yuhself.” I could see by the look on her face that Monica was disappointed with my grandmother’s advice. Mama didn’t tell her that he had fathered another child in Canada.
Myers appeared at the back door after he had finished gardening and asked if I wanted to go for a ride on his motorbike. I quickly forgot I was vexed with him and ran to put on my shoes.
“Bring back some grape-nut ice cream!” Mama shouted.
We rode up to the Hope Gardens where he worked, and he named the plants that were new to me. Before we left, he took me through the maze. I got lost a few times, taking wrong turns, but Myers was right behind me. I forgave him all at once for that afternoon. On our way back home, we stopped not just at the ice cream parlour but at Shady’s, where he bought a flask of rum. He and my grandmother sat on the verandah and shared it. I sat with them, eating ice cream, counting fireflies and listening to the croaking frogs and Punsie’s mother shouting for her to get off the street.
“Ah hear yuh have a nice Christmas,” Myers said to Mama.
“Yes, whole heap of food and drinks. Ah did tell yuh dat Molly mother was getting married?” She smiled, happy at the thought.
“Yes, yuh did tell me.”
“Well, when ah get de photographs, ah will show yuh.”
He sipped his drink slowly, looking as though he had something on his mind, but he said nothing.
“So how your Christmas?” Mama asked. “How everything in de country?” He fingered his drink, looked at the glass, then in a quiet, boyish voice said, “Ah getting married, going back to de country.” Mama didn’t look surprised, but I saw her shoulders sag just a bit. She didn’t congratulate him.
“Myers, yuh never tell me!” I shouted, feeling cheated.
“Molly, it not nuh big thing. It don’t need nuh whole heap of talking.” He sounded almost apologetic. “And anyway, we have enough flowers fi talk ’bout,” he said, his voice lighter.
“So when is de big day?” Mama asked.
“Not right now, ah have to save some more money, so ah can tek care of mi family.” He paused, poured himself another drink as if for the courage to speak. “It not nuh big wedding, is just to give de children a name.”
I didn’t know what that meant. I filed it away as something that I had to ask Punsie, and if she didn’t know, then Monica would. After all, I had a name, and my mother wasn’t married to my father; in fact, I didn’t even know who he was. That night the air was light and cool. I felt drowsy and wanted to curl up in my blanket.
“Molly, tidy up and go to bed,” Mama said. “Yuh look tired, an’ is a school night.”
It was late when Mama came in. I had been thinking about Petal and how good I felt when she rubbed against me. I was sure that night that Myers came to my grandmother’s bed. I felt the bed moving, heard it creaking. I moved myself to the edge of the bed full with sleep and pulled my blanket tighter over my face.
On my walk home from school the next day, I stopped by Punsie’s yard.
“Ah have something to tell yuh,” I whispered.
She grabbed my hands and we ran toward her mother’s fowl coop. Close by was a dwarf mango tree, crowned in leaves, which we often climbed for privacy.
“Yuh know seh Myers and mi granny doing things?” I said, almost out of breath.
Punsie laughed and laughed, as she often did. Then in an equally excited tone she exclaimed, “How yuh find out? Raatid!”
“Ah was on de bed, ah hear it creaking.”
“Yuh keeping things from mi?” she joked. “Look how much time mi tell yuh ’bout mi mother.” She laughed again, throwing back her head. “So yuh feel de bed a jerk up and down?”
I nodded my head.
“What else?”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Well, dem talk? Dem say anything, like ‘go faster’ or ‘harder’?”
“No,” I said, embarrassed now that I had said anything.
“What yuh going on like dat for, yuh don’t know is a natural thing for a man and woman? Everybody do it,” she boasted. “What you think Freddie and Monica do?”
“Yuh think mi stupid? Of course mi know,” I protested.
“Girl, now yuh know ’bout de birds and de bees,” she said. “Hey, Molly, yuh know Troy like yuh.”
I sucked my teeth but felt nice inside. He was a nice-looking boy who lived on the other side of our street. “Mi not interested,” I lied. “And ah have to go home now.”
We climbed down the tree and I ran home.
When I turned twelve, Uncle Mikey and two of his friends, Helen and Paul, took me to see a performance by the Jamaican National Dance Theatre. After that, we went to see the pantomime at the Ward Theatre. I had never seen live actors on stage before, and I was awestruck. Mama didn’t come with us. She much preferred films. “If mi want to see live people act, mi only have to sit down on Ruth piazza,” she said.
My mother sent me a beautiful watch for my birthday, with Cinderella inside the glass and a pretty red band. Uncle Peppie sent a card with money. Uncle Freddie sent another postcard, this time of Yonge Street in Toronto. Grand-aunt Ruth gave me a Bible, Cousin Icie and Ivan a piece of coral from Port Maria, and Aunt Joyce gave me a lovely pair of gold sleeper earrings that were the envy of all my friends, but I didn’t get a chance to flaunt them. Mama said that I could wear them only on special occasions: Sunday school and Uncle Mikey’s parties. Myers gave me the best gift of all, two perfect and beautiful orchid plants.
“Dem might not tek to dis dirt, for dem is specialized plants, but we wi
ll see,” he explained. “In de library dem have books dat explain dat dem have over fifteen thousand species—is a fascinating flower, but delicate.” I gently touched them and promised myself I would look them up.
After my birthday Petal and I celebrated in the treehouse, rubbing on top of each other and eating grasshoppers. I didn’t know it would be our last time together, or I might have stayed longer, but Punsie was yelling for me at my front gate. I had promised to play ball with her.
Uncle Mikey celebrated his birthday a week after we returned from our annual visit to Mammy’s. His was a more elaborate event that took place in the Red Hills, at Paul and Helen’s house, which was absolutely stunning—I had never seen anything like it. It was lit up like a Christmas tree and had a breathtaking view of the sea and downtown Kingston. There were so many rooms it was like a maze.
Mama wore a dress that Paul and Uncle Mikey had designed and sewn for her. It was made of white satin, with strips of gold thread through the fabric. She wore a pair of looped gold earrings from my mother, and her long black hair framed her face in curls. Her dress was the talk of the party, and she looked every inch like a black Sophia Loren. All of Uncle Mikey’s friends who came to his Sunday parties were there, as well as others I didn’t recognize. Everybody was beautifully dressed. There were more men than women, but that seemed only natural, given that it was Uncle Mikey’s party.
Mama was very happy. I saw a rare softness in her face, and her lips rested in a smile. She and Helen chatted, generously helping themselves to the rum punch.
A man named Frank sat behind a grand piano in the centre of the room. He looked to be over thirty, was tall like Uncle Mikey, but had receding hair and a stylishly trimmed beard. He wore a red, open-necked shirt and black velvet pants. We all fanned around the piano and sang “Happy Birthday to You” till I was sure our voices reached past the Red Hills and down to the sea. When the singing stopped, Mama kissed Uncle Mikey on the lips. Then she made her speech.
“Son,” she said, “Happy birthday, and ah hope all yuh dreams come true.” Her voice broke, then she caught herself and went on. “Ah love yuh more dan words can ever say, so ah will just stop dere.” I caught a tenderness in her eyes that she hadn’t offered Uncle Freddie when he left the island. The crowd clapped long and heartily, as though at a political rally.
Uncle Mikey’s friends also made speeches, then we ate cake, and I had my first taste of champagne. I stuffed myself with more cake and then explored the maze of rooms. Later the lights were dimmed and the stereo played Johnny Mathis, then Otis Redding, Toots and the Maytals. When Millie Small’s “My Boy Lollipop” played, the party went wild. She was the first Jamaican to have an international hit song; it reached the top five in both the United Kingdom and North America. The sweating bodies gave off a wonderful heady smell. I danced with my grandmother, showing her how to do the ska and the rocksteady. Helen was next to us dancing with June and then Angela, Frank’s sister.
The DJ played a Sam Cooke song, “Cupid,” and again the crowd cheered. Frank went over to Uncle Mikey, took his hand and pulled him into a slow dance. I felt Mama close beside me, watching. I had never seen two men dancing so close. At our Sunday parties nobody ever touched like that, except when they held hands for a wide spin.
“Can I see yuh again?” Frank asked Uncle Mikey.
“It all depends,” my uncle said in a flirtatious voice. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smiling. Frank squeezed him tighter and stole a kiss.
“Naughty, naughty,” Uncle Mikey chided, and settled more snugly into Frank’s arms. At the end of the song they left the room. I didn’t follow. I was watching Helen and Angela dance. They danced slowly, their bodies pressed against each other in the heat, the hems of their dresses above their knees. Beads of sweat had formed on Helen’s upper lip. I stood nearby, their bodies brushed mine, and I trembled.
Frank came to visit often, and Uncle Mikey blossomed. He became more talkative, seemed more comfortable with his small, thin frame. Frank was a real charmer. He’d bring fresh-cut flowers for my grandmother, even though we had a gardenful. I especially loved that he brought me bars of chocolate, which I handed out to my friends on the street. He was a sharp dresser and his shoes gleamed with polish. He bought a brand-new black BMW, the first ever parked on our street. We didn’t know much about him except that he was the son of a successful hotelier. He told my grandmother that he worked with his father, a man she seemed to know by name and reputation. She didn’t say much, just “Oh, dats yuh father?”
Frank and Mama chatted a lot on the verandah. She was, I learned, knowledgeable about the North Coast hotel business, where she had worked many years as a cook. “Is a growing and profitable industry,” she often said.
Looking back, I can’t say that my grandmother was unfriendly toward him, but during the Sunday parties she began to dance less and watch more. As time went by, Uncle Mikey began to spend part of every Sunday afternoon in his room with Frank. Once, on my way to the bathroom, I noticed Uncle Mikey’s door was slightly ajar. I peeked in and saw them kissing each other’s mouths. Frank’s shirt hung neatly on a rack above the closed window. When I walked back from the bathroom, the bedroom door was shut. I pressed my ear against it and heard the slight creaking of the bed and my uncle’s voice sounding like a sparrow’s cry.
Hours later, Uncle Mikey’s friends were still dancing and eating and talking in the living room, oblivious to his absence. Mama sat crumpled like cardboard.
Myers left for the country that September to get married and be a father to his three children. I cried for a long time, and even after I stopped crying, my throat ached each time I looked at the garden and my small bed of flowers. He promised to come back and see me, to bring his daughter who was the same age as me, but he never did.
Uncle Mikey began to spend more time away from home, and Mama took it badly.
“Is Barbican yuh live now?” she asked him one night when he came home late. She had waited up for him and I was in bed.
“No, Mama,” he said in a light and happy voice. “Ah just working out some plans with Frank. Ah going to try mi hands at designing a signature set of towels, bedsheets and napkins for the hotels, so dat’s why ah not around as much.”
“So what ’bout yuh present job?”
“Dat going well, but ah just feel dat ah need to branch out, try different things. Frank thinks it would be a good idea, him say de hotel business profitable.”
“Yuh just be careful,” Mama warned. With that she left him in the living room and came to bed.
Uncle Mikey didn’t heed her warning, and Mama began to drink more heavily. It was no longer an afternoon at Olive’s, or a drink or two on the verandah, or a nightcap at Shady’s after our movie. She’d drink for a week straight, beginning at dawn. Some mornings she left when I left for school, stopping at Olive’s, Shady’s or her new place, Johnny One Stop. In the evening she’d stagger down the street. Sometimes she’d be sitting on the verandah, nodding off when I came home from school. Sometimes she wasn’t there when I got home. I’d fix myself something to eat, then play on the street with Punsie and the others. When she didn’t come home by dark, I’d search the different rum shops till I found her.
One evening when I was almost thirteen, I came home from school and saw Mama nodding off on the bed. I changed my clothes and was about to go over to Punsie’s, when she suddenly asked, “Where yuh going?” Her voice was slurred.
“Over to Punsie, Mama, ah going to look for little Freddie.”
“No, tek off yuh clothes. Come lie down wid mi.”
My anger stewed as I lay there beside her, smelling her rum breath, seeing her mouth drooling saliva onto the pillow. When she began to snore, I tried quietly to get up, but she grabbed hold of my hands.
“Stay, don’t go out dere. Mi nuh want nutten happen to yuh. Mi have to deliver yuh to yuh mother in good condition.” I could hear my friends playing hide-and-seek, throwing balls, could hear their light-
hearted laughter.
“She have yuh when she just turn fifteen, and yuh not far from dat. Yuh soon turn thirteen, mi want hand yuh over to her widout any damage. Mi was fifteen when mi had Peppie, spoil mi years. Mi was a good girl, obedient, mi never bad, or run up and down, mi just fall in love too quick. But him mother had big plans fi him, and mi never in de picture, mi family too poor, and mi mother couldn’t read or write. Quick-quick she send him go England, and mi never hear from de bwoy again, not one letter, not even a postcard. When Peppie born, de woman say a not her son pickney even though him was dead stamp of him. Mi had it rough, life never easy fi mi, even now.…” My grandmother’s voice had a regretful edge to it. She held on tightly to my skinny arms and dozed for a minute, then went on.
“A nuh likkle try mi try wid all mi pickney dem. Mi really try. An’ de second man mi fall for was Oliver, and him worse. De only thing him ever give mi was a wedding ring, which mi had to sell, fi feed de pickney dem. Man nuh good, yuh can’t depend on dem. Dem is just a necessary evil. Ah glad Freddie left de island. Peppie will tek care of him. Teach him responsibility. Thank God Glory gaan. It would a pain mi fi see her go through pickney after pickney wid dem wutliss man, wid not a penny in a dem pocket. All dem have is promises.…” She drifted back to sleep.
The binge lasted five days. Each night I had to go to bed early. I was glad when the drinking ended and I could be back outside with my friends. Punsie had come by every night, but after getting no answer at the locked door, she gave up. It was the same with Petal, who’d called over the fence. It didn’t take long for them to know why I couldn’t come out to play. Sometimes when Mama lost herself to the rum, her feet would become unsteady and I’d have to hold her arms and support her as we walked down the dead-end street.
After the binge had ended, I was playing marbles with Punsie when she asked me if my grandmother was okay again. Even though she was one of my best friends, her question embarrassed me.
The Heart Does Not Bend Page 5