The Heart Does Not Bend

by Makeda Silvera

  By the third day, Mama had worked her way through two bottles of rum and was on to the gin. Sid wisely stayed away as much as he could, and Glory closeted herself in their room. Once or twice she tried to talk to my grandmother, but was met with something caustic.

  One afternoon Glory came back from the laundromat to find me watching television. My grandmother was dozing on and off in the bedroom.

  “Mama drinking?” she asked me.

  “Ah don’t know,” I replied.

  She gave me a disgusted look. I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to tell on my grandmother and I felt I owed Glory nothing. She hadn’t been much of a mother or a friend to me since I’d come to Canada. And why was she asking me anyway, when it was her mother and it was obvious that she was drinking? Mama stopped cooking and took to her bed. Several times I heard Glory on the phone with Uncle Freddie, then with Uncle Peppie, discussing their mother’s condition.

  “Yuh don’t have homework?” she shouted at me as I was watching television one night.

  “Is Friday, ah will do it tomorrow or Sunday.”

  “Turn off de blasted television, pick up a book and go read.”

  I turned it off and went to my room. I had a book in my hand, but I didn’t read. I just lay on the bed, listening to Mama snore and plotting for the day when I would leave my mother’s apartment.

  Sid came home soon after with his friend Justin and another man I didn’t know. Justin was a small-boned, handsome man with chocolate-coloured skin. At the base of his neck was a coin-shaped patch of skin of a lighter shade of brown. Glory greeted them and exchanged a few pleasantries, but her voice didn’t sound welcoming. I knew she was worried that Mama might come out of the bedroom. Mama was unpredictable when she was drinking.

  “What yuh having?” I heard Sid ask.

  “Give mi a shot of de Martinique rum nuh,” his new friend answered.

  “And gin fi me,” Justin said.

  The cabinet door opened. I heard Sid suck his teeth long and hard, but he didn’t say much.

  “It look like mi out of rum, yuh know. How ’bout some Scotch?”

  The men teased Sid. “Man, how yuh can run outa rum? Nuh we mother milk we wean off on to rum,” Justin joked. Glory apologized for not having any food to offer—usually Mama had food on the stove just waiting to be warmed up. Justin asked after my grandmother, and Glory mumbled that she wasn’t feeling well and was resting.

  Despite the Scotch and the music on the stereo, the men didn’t stay for long. Sid left with them.

  I heard the telephone ring and then Glory saying, “No, him not home. Who is it? Who is it?” She slammed the receiver down.

  “Molly? Molly?” she shouted angrily. I didn’t answer. Dishes and pots banged in the sink. I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for her.

  Mama’s binge lasted a full two weeks. When it ended, she tried to go on as though nothing had happened, but this wasn’t her dead-end street, this wasn’t her house. Glory made up excuses and began to cook the evening meals.

  “Mama, yuh need a rest, from yuh come, yuh just a cook, cook so.”

  My grandmother looked taken aback. “Okay,” was all she said.

  They didn’t talk much to each other, just about the weather, a bit about work, talk that went nowhere. Sid had changed, too. He wasn’t rude, he was too polite. He’d eat his evening meal and go to his bedroom. The liquor cabinet was locked with a key. Glory kept in daily contact with Uncle Peppie and Uncle Freddie about their mother’s behaviour.

  Winter dragged on, especially for Mama, who was often stuck in the house, afraid to venture out in the snow and ice, where she could slip and fall. In early spring she visited her first Canadian liquor store and went on another drinking binge, which again lasted about two weeks. Soon after, on a bright April morning, the family met at Uncle Peppie’s house without Mama.

  On her way out Glory whispered to me that they were meeting to talk about Mama’s birthday. I didn’t believe that was the real reason, and I disliked her even more for treating me like a child. When she and Sid had left, I told Mama about the meeting. She sucked her teeth.

  “Dem think me is a fool? Yuh know how much mi sacrifice fi dem pickney? Yuh think a little floor mi clean fi put food in a dem mouth? And look now, dem all conspire against mi. Sometime ah wonder why ah left and come here.” She dragged on her cigarette, hawked up some phlegm and swallowed it. “But as sure as God mek apple, mi must find a way out, mi not going to allow dem fi tek any liberty wid mi.”

  I wondered then whether I’d made a mistake in writing to Uncle Peppie, for I, too, felt I’d lost more than I’d gained by coming here.

  “If mi did deh back home, ah would be making mi pastries and have mi little money. Now mi haffi wait fi handout. Glory don’t even give mi anything. And yet she can demand dat mi nuh work.” Her anger grew. I didn’t know what to say. I opened the kitchen curtains and cracked the windows a bit to let in some air. A bird flew by and sat for a while on the fence.

  “Mama, why yuh don’t mek we go back?” I asked naively.

  “We cyaan go back, girl, yuh can think ’bout de past, but yuh cyaan go back fi live in it. Too much water gone a river.”

  “Mama, maybe we could find a place and move. Summer coming, ah can get a job and save some money,” I said.

  “Gal, stop talk like idiot. When yuh mekking any move, yuh haffi plan it. Never you just get up one morning and decide yuh nuh like something and want it fi change instantly. Nothing nuh go so, and it never turn out right. Look pon we now. We never plan dis trip good. You have yuh life ahead, and thank God mi deliver yuh safe to yuh mother, so she cyaan call mi wutliss—a drunk maybe, ’cause is so dem love judge. But despite mi drinking nutten never happen to yuh. From when yuh is a baby mi have yuh. If it wasn’t for mi, yuh would never see life. She have yuh when she turn fifteen. One year after mi tek her from Mammy, gal come to town and breed, an’ never even know who de father was. And mi never cuss her. Mi did hurt, yes, for is mi one daughter and mi wanted de best fi her. Dat’s why mi tek yuh, and save and scrape fi send her abroad.

  “De only thing mi never do is give birth to yuh. Glory come outa hospital two days after yuh born, and day four dem had to admit her back wid complications. Is a little soft drinks bottle mi put nipple pon and feed yuh. Every night yuh sleep right under mi breast, and when she come out of hospital yuh still sleep wid mi, for as she come out and feel better, she start go de party dem again. Dat is why mi had to get her off de island—mi was afraid she would mash up herself wid baby after baby.

  “Peppie was a good son …and Mikey, too, even though Satan turn him. But back den, de two of dem work and bring home dem money fi help feed yuh and Glory and Freddie. Ah use to bake more dem days, order come in from all over, every restaurant wid any name, mi bake for, sometimes mi couldn’t fill de order fast enough, an’ Peppie an’ Mikey use to help out. Dem days we all use to knot up we money together, mi and mi sons.”

  Despite her anger, her face grew soft for a moment. She lit another cigarette and blew the softness away.

  One damp May evening, a Friday to be exact, Uncle Peppie came to visit his mother. She still faithfully cooked his stewed red peas. Glory and Sid weren’t home. Peppie ate and was more talkative than usual. Finally he said, “Mama, from yuh come to Canada yuh don’t spend any time up at mi house. Why yuh don’t come stay wid me and Val for a few months? We would love to have yuh.”

  She considered it and then asked suspiciously, “Who suggestion dis was?”

  “Nobody. Ah just thought it would be nice fi yuh stay wid we, we have a house and is just Val and me alone.”

  There were no further questions and to my surprise, Mama agreed.

  For the first time I was away from my grandmother—we had never spent a night apart. Though we talked on the phone every day, I still felt empty. At first I had secretly hoped that Mama’s move would allow my relationship with my mother to change for the better, since there would be just the two of us, but it
didn’t. When I sometimes tried to hug her, she would pull away. We didn’t do anything together. She was too busy to see a movie with me, too busy to sit in the park and admire the flowers, too busy even to watch a television program, yet she found time to go dancing with Sid and to visit her friends at their houses. I must have reminded my mother of the father I never knew. Perhaps I reminded her of the shame she felt when she discovered she was pregnant. She found fault at my every twist and turn. My English was bad. If I expected to reach anywhere, I better learn to talk good, she said. My breasts were too big, my eyes too knowing.

  I took over the cooking, a job I detested. Glory had started night school twice a week and naturally I inherited the chore. Though I loved to see my grandmother at the stove, her body moving to the clatter of pots and pans, it wasn’t the job for me. I much preferred to look after the plants scattered around the apartment. I spent more and more time in my room, writing letters and leafing through gardening books, dreaming of someday having a backyard where I could dig and plant.

  Mama wasn’t happy at Uncle Peppie’s. “De woman bossy, she bossy, she cyaan done bossy,” she complained to my mother on one of our visits. “Is like she know everything ’bout dis boy dat mi give birth to. One evening mi cook some escoveitch fish wid scotch bonnet pepper and de woman nearly go mad. ‘Peppie don’t like too much pepper.’ Ah never even look pon her. What she know ’bout him? And de woman cyaan even give mi a little time wid mi son. Every conversation she have to be a part of, and always haffi show dat she have more knowledge than anybody else. But mi nuh fool, and she know it, for mi use to read mi newspaper every day in Jamaica. Sometime mi have to wonder if she lay out him underpants fi him a morning time.”

  “Lawd, Mama.” Glory sounded embarrassed.

  Aunt Val’s version was not unlike Mama’s. One Sunday evening when we were there for supper, I heard Aunt Val and Glory talking in the bedroom. Aunt Val confided, “I really don’t like to complain, because she’s your mother and my mother-in-law but, Glory, she is a handful. There is nothing I can do right. I don’t even recognize my own kitchen. She has to cook every meal, changed up my kitchen completely. It’s not that I don’t appreciate her help, but I love to cook. Then she told Peppie that I resent any time she spends with him. That’s so untrue, Glory. Of course there are times I wish to spend alone with Peppie. Even watching television is a chore, because your mother talks incessantly. She is the authority on everything.” She paused. “I hope you won’t say anything to Peppie, because he does love having his mother around.”

  “Val, yuh don’t have to apologize. Is mi mother and in the short time we live together, ah realize is not de mother mi think mi did know. In fact, sometimes she is like a stranger. Is Mammy, mi grandmother, mi and Freddie, we all grow up wid. Peppie and Mikey leave Mammy house and join her in Kingston sooner than us. Ah can count de amount of years on mi finger that mi actually spend wid her. Nuh worry yuhself, Val,” Glory offered.

  I hated to hear them criticize my grandmother. Ungrateful bitches. I waited for them to leave the bedroom before I flushed the toilet.

  I was in my room writing Punsie a letter when I heard Glory screaming. I vaguely remembered the phone ringing, but hadn’t bothered to get up because the phone rarely rang for me.

  “Lord mi God, Lord mi God.” Her voice broke. “Jesus.” Then the phone hit the floor with a loud bang. I ran out to find Glory on the floor wailing like a spirit had taken hold of her.

  “What wrong, Glory?” I asked. She was in no condition to answer.

  I picked up the phone, but heard only the dial tone.

  “Glory,” I tried again, shaking her shoulders. I ran to the kitchen, got some water and made her drink it. I knelt on the floor by her, but still couldn’t get anything out of her. All I could think to do was hold her. I curled up against her on the floor and hugged her.

  I offered the hem of my skirt for her to wipe her tears and she took it. We rocked back and forth on the floor. My hand stroked the length of her hair, and her thin body pressed against mine.

  “Call Freddie,” she said at last. “Tell him he must come over now.”

  While we waited for Uncle Freddie, she told me that Grand-aunt Ruth had called with the news that Mammy was dead. I was shocked. I had always thought that Mama and I would go back to Jamaica with gifts of clothes and canned goods for Mammy. I felt heavy with grief. Freddie came quickly and drove us to Uncle Peppie’s house to see Mama. Everyone huddled together on the living-room couch. Even Aunt Val, who had never met Mammy, was crying.

  “Open de door, Molly. Ah feel faint,” Mama said.

  “Ah going to call Mikey,” Glory said.

  “Yes, poor bwoy, him must be feeling alone,” Peppie added.

  “Call him,” Mama agreed in a trembling voice.

  I didn’t go to Mammy’s funeral, nor did Aunt Val or Sid, but the rest of the family went. I had wanted to go, too, but no amount of begging would change my mother’s mind. She said I shouldn’t miss the last weeks of school and that there wasn’t enough money for an extra fare.

  The family stayed on the island for a few weeks, and when they returned, Mama moved back to Glory and Sid’s apartment. I don’t know why she came back, but I was happy to have her there. I’d missed her company and our talks.

  “Molly, de funeral was lovely. Yuh see people like rice. She was truly loved, twelve busload of people gather round fi bid her goodbye. Dem come from all over de island. Mi never know mi mother know so much people,” she said proudly. “Ah wish yuh was dere, gal. Everybody ask fi yuh: Ruth, Icie, Ivan, Gatty, Baboo, Punsie, Monica, Little Freddie. Him was so glad fi see him father, but Freddie never mek much of him.” She paused, shook her head and cleared her throat in disgust. “Is a shame. Imagine him never even give de bwoy pickney a little sweetie, or money fi jingle in him pocket. Nutten! Is a shame, and Monica wasn’t nuh better. After di man nuh fart pon her since him left, she up and down wid him like a blasted kite. I don’t even know if she get any money from him.”

  “So what de street look like, Mama? It change?”

  “De same, few people move and new people move in. Petal and her family move. Ah hear dem gwan to America. And Punsie just have a baby, but mi sure yuh know dat, for yuh correspond wid her.”

  “What about Uncle Mikey?” I asked. She had made no mention of him.

  “Ah, girl, dat is another chapter and mi too tired fi get into dat right now.” She got up and walked to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

  The summer holidays came and somehow, with the help of Uncle Freddie, I managed to persuade my mother to let me work. The local supermarket was hiring part-time help and I got a job as a packer to replace items on the shelves. I’d have loved to have been working outdoors, especially in a park or nursery, but I wasn’t that lucky. Still, with this job I had money to spend however I wanted, and most important, I was out of the house.

  Things weren’t going so well for Mama. The problem began with one of those thick white envelopes marked “To the Household.” I was getting ready for work when the mailman delivered it.

  “Mek we open it, Mama, because Glory will just dump it,” I urged. “She don’t read dese things. She say is a waste of time.”

  We tore it open and out fell several colourful coupons for magazines: Homemaker’s, Chatelaine, Canadian Home and Garden, Maclean’s. A few of the magazines offered free sample issues; if you were satisfied you could continue to receive the magazines.

  “Ah going to send fi dem. Dem will give Glory some decorating ideas when she and Sid buy dem house, and in de days when mi home alone, mi can catch up on more Canadian news.”

  She filled out the forms and I mailed them for her on my way to work.

  The first set of magazines arrived and we spent an afternoon leafing through them, admiring the lovely towels and sheets, the bathroom fixtures, the renovated kitchens and luxurious bedrooms. Mama cut out a few recipes.

  “Mek mi try a few of dem dishes. We can’t just eat island
food—sometime mi get tired of cooking de same thing.” I especially liked Home and Garden and began to plan the flower beds for the yard. Even Glory was excited about the magazines, and we discussed what flowers I’d plant in the garden once she and Sid bought a house.

  “Whatever yuh do, mek sure we have place to walk, so we not tiptoeing through nuh tulips,” she joked. Since the funeral she seemed more relaxed with me, but we still didn’t have the warmth and closeness I’d hoped for.

  Four months later the bill came. Glory was home that day with the flu and she opened it. It said nothing about a trial period. Clearly irritated, she said, “Mama, Molly, is what dis? Is what unnu do? Dese people demanding money from mi, and mi never send away fi magazine. How unnu can do dis without consulting mi?”

  “But, Glory, you know about de magazine trial period,” I said.

  “Don’t bother, ah don’t want to hear nutten. Ah will just tek care of de blasted mess misself before Sid find out,” she said, sounding weary and angry. She went to her room and shut the door.

  In defiance Mama began to sing:

  By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down,

  Yea, we wept, when we remembered Zjon.

  For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song

  How shall we sing the LORD’s song in a strange land?