The Heart Does Not Bend

by Makeda Silvera

  “What yuh mean?”

  “Ah mean if she stop drink now.”

  I knelt in the dirt and looked steadily at the marble in my hand, unable to answer.

  “Is nutten to feel any way ’bout, everybody pon de street know dat yuh granny drink and drunk and stagger up an’ down de street,” she laughed. “Look pon fi mi father—him do de same, except him a man.”

  She hadn’t said it in a mean way, but I didn’t care. She had no business. I got up from the ground, seized her and punched her in the mouth.

  “Shut up,” I said.

  She punched me in the stomach and I fell down. Punsie came at me again, but I was quick and grabbed her plaits. We rolled around in the dirt until her brother Dennis pulled us apart.

  “What unnu fighting ’bout? Unnu a gal pickney yuh know, it nuh look good.”

  Punsie flashed her hands and cut her eyes at him.

  “So what de fight about?” he insisted.

  “Nutten,” Punsie said. She brushed herself off and strolled up the street toward her yard. I went home feeling mixed-up but justified in hitting Punsie.

  After the fight, I spent less time outside. Instead, I sat watching Mama prepare pastries for Grand-aunt Ruth’s and the Chinese shops. She looked so different then, no hint of the other woman who had kept me hostage, no sign of the woman who had cried and railed about life.

  “How come yuh not outside playing wid yuh friends?” she asked one evening.

  “Nutten, ah just have lots of homework, and ah borrow gardening books from the library to read.”

  “Dat good, girl, maybe yuh can tek over Myers’ job,” she teased.

  Dennis came sometimes to help with the weeding, and I kept up with the watering, but the magic was gone and even the flowers looked faded.

  Punsie and I resumed our friendship. It was hard to stay angry for long on our street. Everything took place outdoors and you had to pass people’s houses to get to the main street. It wasn’t the first time Punsie and I had fought; it was just the first time we’d hit each other.

  One day I came home from school to hear shouting coming through the windows of our house. I lingered outside in the front yard and listened.

  “Ah telling yuh fi yuh own good, it nuh right to be so brawling. If yuh a go do it, do it under cover. A danger yuh putting yuhself in.”

  “But Mama, what mi doing? Him ask mi to come to de country wid him for de weekend, what wrong wid dat?”

  “Yuh nuh see nutten wrong wid dat? Suppose man come in wid gun and machete fi kill unnu ass?”

  “Mama, it safe. Frank go dere all de time,” Uncle Mikey pleaded.

  “All de time? Ah sure yuh just another in a long line a man. Yuh be careful, dats all I haffi seh, because dem money man will run lef yuh at the smell of trouble. Remember yuh is a poor uneducated bwoy.”

  I made a lot of noise slamming the gate and went inside. Mikey had a small suitcase beside him and he was sitting, looking up at Mama like a little boy as she stood by the stove cooking.

  “Hi, Molly,” he greeted me, “how was school?”

  “Fine, Uncle,” I said, and went straight to my room.

  A car horn blew shortly after, and through the window I could see Uncle Mikey climbing into Frank’s car. When we sat down to have dinner, Mama’s face was a dark cloud. “A trouble him a head for, yuh know. Mi see it, as sure as God mek apple.” She spoke with finality.

  I didn’t respond. Nobody had explained anything to me.

  That evening Petal came to the fence. “What going on wid yuh granny and uncle?”

  “Nutten,” I said. “Nutten, yuh too fast.”

  “Mi know is what. Mi mother and father say him like man. Dem say Mrs. Galloway son is a battyman.”

  “Yuh lie!” I shouted at her.

  “Yuh uncle is a battyman, yuh uncle is a battyman,” she sang.

  I started yelling names back at her: “Dundus gal! Dundus gal! Yuh ugly like mi don’t know what. Yuh face favour when bammy eclipse. No wonder yuh nuh have no friends. Yuh would frighten God himself.” I went up on the balcony shivering with anger. That was the last day I ever talked to Petal. She’d come to the fence and call out to me, and she even slipped a note through the fence saying she was sorry, but I never forgave her.

  Before I turned fourteen my periods started. Mama lectured me about not getting close to any boy, not a touch, not a kiss. By then, I was spending more time with Punsie, and I was interested in a boy who lived down the street. Punsie was the first one I told. Although we were just a year apart, she had all the answers, and she enjoyed teaching me.

  “Punsie, mi granny say if a boy kiss mi or touch mi, ah can get pregnant. Is true?”

  She laughed loudly, then said, “Yuh too fool. Come mek mi talk to yuh some more ’bout de birds and de bees.”

  We hurried around to the fowl coop where we would have privacy and sat on an old bench.

  “First of all,” she whispered, “a boy have to put him thing inside of yuh fi get yuh pregnant. But yuh can’t get pregnant wid a kiss, or even if de boy feel yuh up.”

  “How you know that?” I asked.

  “Mi know, mi try it already, and remember, mi have a big sister and brother. Anyway, Junior like yuh. Him say mi must tell yuh.”

  “Don’t fool wid mi!” I exclaimed proudly. “Yuh sure?”

  He was one of the most handsome boys around, and I hadn’t expected him to take a second look at me. I wasn’t a pretty girl. I was skinny and tall, taller than Punsie. My only redeeming features were my eyes, bright and shiny like ackee seeds, and my large breasts.

  Punsie nodded. “What mi must tell him?”

  “Tell him mi like him too. But him can’t come to mi yard. Ah will meet him over at yours.”

  The more my grandmother drank the more Uncle Mikey stayed away. One day while we were eating dinner, he announced that he was moving the first-Sunday-of-the-month parties over to Angela and Frank’s house. Mama’s face showed no emotion. I could not tell whether she had known that it was just a matter of time before this happened, or whether it was a big surprise. Her voice betrayed her. It had all the heat of hot oil in a frying pan.

  “So dis area nuh good enough fi yuh anymore? A rich-people neighbourhood yuh want now? Remember where yuh come from. I tell yuh dat all de time, so nuh fool yuhself. Remember seh de higher monkey climb, de more him ass expose.”

  “Is nutten to do with that, Mama, is just dat ah can see dat yuh don’t tek much to Frank. And ah trying mi best not to upset yuh. Ah don’t want nutten to come between mi and yuh,” he muttered.

  “But look how long yuh having dese party, and nutten don’t come between us. Yuh don’t see fi yuhself how me and de others get on good? Yuh ever see mi show dem bad face? Look pon yuh birthday party—or yuh feget?”

  “Well, is just you ah thinking ’bout,” he tried again.

  “But me and Frank nuh have any problems with each other. Him can come here anytime, for dis is where yuh live.”

  “Okay, Mama,” he gave in.

  “Eat up yuh food before it get cold,” she said, satisfied. Then she added, “Me and Molly going up to Ruth restaurant. Yuh want to come for de walk?”

  My uncle said he wasn’t up to it, he was tired and needed an early night.

  A month later, my grandfather arrived at our house unexpectedly. It was an unusually cool February night, and my grandmother and I were in bed talking about Port Maria and her childhood when we heard a faint tap at the front door.

  “Somebody must be out dere. Who could be out dere at dis hour?” Mama grumbled, getting out of bed and turning on the light. I followed close behind. “Who out dere?” she called boldly.

  A man’s voice I didn’t recognize came through the closed door. “Maria, is me. Open de door.”

  “Me who?”

  “Is me, yuh husband, Oliver.”

  “Oliver?” she echoed in disbelief.

  “Yes, yuh husband,” he said again. “Ah sick, ah need help. Open de
door.”

  “What happen to hospital, dem nuh open all night?” she asked through the closed door.

  “Maria, please, please have a heart, open de door,” he pleaded.

  She was silent for a moment while he kept tapping, kept pleading with her. I stood behind the curtains dividing the living room from the bedrooms, feeling half-afraid. I’d never met him, but I had heard enough over the years to be frightened of him. He used to beat my grandmother.

  She opened the door. I heard him come in and slump onto the couch. Then my grandmother’s voice: “Lawd God Almighty, a who do dis to yuh?”

  She shouted at me to get a sheet and a blanket, a wet rag, Dettol, bandages. I couldn’t make out anything of his features, even though the lights in the living room were on. His face was caked with blood and his elbows bruised and bleeding. His pants were torn at the knees.

  “Boil a pan of hot water and bring another towel, dis need more dan a wet rag,” Mama ordered.

  Soon after she sent me to bed. I kept my ears open. “Yuh can stay here for a night or two, then yuh have to leave.”

  Uncle Mikey found him lying on the couch that night when he came home. He rapped at our bedroom door, and my grandmother got up and went into his. I heard them whispering. “Mama, him can’t stay here. Nuh room is here, not for him.”

  “Is only till him head feel better, after mi nuh fool fi go tek up crosses.”

  Uncle Mikey sighed. They kissed good night and Mama came back to bed.

  The next morning I awoke almost as early as Mama so that I could get a good look at my grandfather. I still couldn’t see much of him though, because Mama had bandaged most of his face. As I was leaving for school, she covered him with a light cotton blanket.

  That night we didn’t go to the movies as we usually did on Fridays. Instead, I watched Mama feed my grandfather chicken broth and wash and change his bandages.

  Miss Gatty was as surprised as Uncle Mikey when she came on Saturday and found my grandfather lying on the couch. Still, she greeted him like a long-lost friend, before she went out to do our washing. Mama sat with her outside, smoking. I was, as usual, dusting the furniture in the bedroom, with the window open, the curtains flying in the breeze.

  “Him come back?” Miss Gatty asked, distrust in her voice.

  “Come back?” My grandmother sucked her teeth. “Him come here, sick, sick, couple nights ago. Mi had no choice.”

  “Well, maybe him change, yuh can only wait and see, Miss Maria.”

  “Change? Change to what, Gatty? Dem only change pon de outside. You know as much as me, dat man is like croaking lizard. So how Randolph?” Mama asked, changing the topic.

  “Him all right, still running wid de woman and de rum …it could be worse, so mi thank God, ’cause at least him bring home a little money fi help wid de house, and him nuh beat mi.”

  “Sometimes, dats all yuh can ask for, mi dear,” my grandmother answered. “Anyway, Gatty, mek mi go bake dem pastries, for dis is what bring in mi little money.”

  “See yuh next Saturday.”

  “Yes, if life spare,” Mama said

  On Sunday morning, my grandfather moved from the couch into our bedroom to make way for Uncle Mikey’s friends. He didn’t look as bad as he had a few days back, though he still had on bandages, and he was strong enough to eat rice and meat, and to talk.

  “So yuh is mi little granddaughter,” he said, stretching his hand toward mine. “Pleased to meet yuh, granddaughter. Come here, come sit on de bed, mek mi have a good look at yuh.”

  I wanted a good look at him, too, so I sat on the edge of the bed. He was a big man, tall and muscular, like Uncle Freddie, with the same big hands and wide smile. And he was charming.

  “Give yuh grandfather a hug,” he said cheerfully. I did and it felt good.

  “Ah can see dat yuh is definitely a Galloway.” He laughed, showing straight, yellowing teeth. Then he asked the usual questions: “How school? Yuh studying yuh lesson? What yuh want to be when yuh grow up?”

  I wanted to be a gardener. Now he broke into a big wide laugh that reminded me of Uncle Freddie.

  “Be careful wasp don’t sting yuh and snake don’t bite yuh and ground lizard nuh run yuh down. Dem is some of de professional hazards.” He laughed again, and I began to laugh, too. Since Uncle Freddie and then Myers had left, I hadn’t really laughed much with adults.

  “Tek me now,” he continued. “Mi have professional hazard in mi job as a car dealer. It can be dangerous sometime, for dis Kingston have some crazy people. Dem want brand-new car and dem don’t want to pay brand-new prices. So dem come to buy a second-hand car and believe dem driving out a brand-new car.

  “Imagine, car bruk down and man come back fi mash up yuh face. Dat is what ah mean by professional hazard.” He touched his chin, which was still bandaged, smiled and kept talking. “In my job yuh have to be salesman, boxer, head doctor, everything roll up in one. If ah never have boxing potential, ah wouldn’t be here to tell de story.”

  That evening during the party, I never left the bedroom, except to get two plates of food. Mama had made steamed snapper, cooked down in onions and thyme and a touch of pepper sauce, along with roasted yams, and rice and gungo peas. I heard Uncle Mikey and Frank talking in his room next door and worried that they might spoil my evening with my grandfather. The bed creaked and my uncle called out Frank’s name. My grandfather was so busy telling his own stories that he didn’t hear. But I did, and for the first time, I was vexed with Uncle Mikey.

  Monday, when I came home from school, a cot and the small dresser that held my clothes had been moved into a corner of the living room for me. A lovely floral screen made a partition. My grandfather started sleeping in Mama’s bed. His bandages came off and he returned to work. Each evening he came home carrying a paper bag holding another piece of his clothing. Mama spent a lot of time at the stove, cooking like she did for Uncle Mikey’s parties, and we ate together as a family most evenings. Even though I had stopped talking to Petal, I still cared about what she thought. I made a point of watering the garden when she was out in her yard. I looked haughtily over the fence at her, for the whole street knew my grandmother’s husband had come back.

  The odd night, he missed supper and came home smelling like the bottom of a rum barrel. He’d bang at the door, because Mama hadn’t given him a key.

  One Saturday evening he came home from work earlier than usual and handed Mama a small bottle of perfume. In no time supper was simmering on the stove. Mama washed and combed her hair and slipped into her best jersey dress, showing off every inch of her curves.

  “Maria, yuh still one well-built woman. Nuh young gal can put a candle to yuh.”

  She smiled, pleased. But she still sucked her teeth. “Yuh gwaan wid yuh sweet mouth, yuh cyaan fool mi.” A peal of laughter followed.

  We sat down to eat and Grandfather Oliver amused and flattered her some more. She fell right into his rhythm, bold as the overgrown bougainvillea hanging over our barbed-wire fence. Maybe she was thinking of the girl from the seaside town who fell in love with a handsome boy named Oliver. Later we settled in the living room, and Grandfather Oliver searched through our record collection.

  “Maria, remember dis?”

  It was a song I’d heard at Uncle Mikey’s parties, “Man in the Streets,” by Don Drummond. Then he played one by Duke Ellington, who was one of her favourites. He pulled her to her feet and I sat on the couch and watched them dance a waltz and then the cha-cha, her skirt swirling above her knees.

  A soft breeze drifted through the windows, and the scent of bougainvillea swept into the room. I wished that all my friends on the street could see my grandmother.

  For a time we stopped going to Grand-aunt Ruth’s restaurant on Saturdays. Instead, we stayed home and waited for my grandfather to come home to supper. Mama always dressed up, and I was the bartender, serving rum and coconut water, or just plain water with ice. We still went to the movies every Friday night, since that was al
so my grandfather’s night to stay out late with his friends.

  Mama looked more rested in her face. I looked forward to evenings with my grandfather, just as she did, though I couldn’t help but compare him to Myers. Myers knew the difference between the little tomfool lemon-yellow wing, he knew the patoo by its call, he knew lizards by their croaks and which ones changed colour. Grandfather Oliver didn’t much care about flowers or their names, and he didn’t know the difference between crabgrass and carpet grass, a hummingbird and a doctor bird. Still, I welcomed the change in Mama.

  With Grandfather Oliver around, Uncle Mikey spent less and less time at home. Mama must have noticed, too, but she said nothing about it. Then one day Uncle Mikey told her that he was definitely moving the Sunday parties to Frank’s place.

  “Mama, ah mek up mi mind, ah think it best. Ah feel uncomfortable with Oliver around, is not de same. Him don’t like mi friends and ah don’t want no embarrassment.”

  “But Oliver have no say in anything. Him nuh own de place.”

  “Mama, ah don’t want to argue or cause nuh strife, but him is here over six weeks, him move in him clothes. Him live here.”

  Mama knew Mikey was right. She knew she had fallen back on a promise, but she didn’t let up.

  “Him nuh own de house, so him can’t come and gwaan wid nutten.”

  “Mama, ah just think moving de party is de best thing right now.”

  Her last words were biting. “Well, what is to be must be, then.”

  She got up, went into the bedroom, changed into a street dress and left the house. Uncle Mikey went into his room and closed the door. I was sure I heard him crying. I sat on the couch and felt weighed down and helpless. I had nothing to offer.

  Punsie’s loud banging at the gate was a welcome distraction. “Ah have things to tell yuh!” she said.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Ah cyaan tell yuh here, come let we go round de fowl coop.”

  She handed me a folded-up piece of paper. “Here, is from Junior.”