Mama was jovial for the rest of the holidays. Melbourne, Gwendolyn and Washington entertained her throughout the season. Each time I called she was out. Even after the holidays were over, she entertained her new friends at Uncle Peppie’s, often inviting them for Sunday dinner. Melbourne had a car, so some evenings he and Washington took Mama driving and to meet friends. They took turns inviting her home. Washington lived close to Glory, off St. Clair Avenue near Dufferin Street, and Melbourne lived in Parkdale.
Mama started to stay over at Melbourne’s some weekends, returning to Uncle Peppie’s on Sunday night. This wasn’t to everybody’s liking. Glory was the first to voice her disapproval.
“Peppie, it nuh look right,” she said on the phone. “Mama should know better—him is a married man. It nuh right,” she repeated. I thought that was ridiculous; Melbourne had been divorced some time back and didn’t even have children.
When Mama’s visits to Melbourne’s became more frequent and lasted longer, Glory called a family conference at our house—without Mama. Uncle Freddie didn’t care much one way or the other. “If Mama happy wid dat situation, dat fine wid me. Is less time in my business.”
Glory looked at him, cut her eyes and sighed in frustration. She turned to Uncle Peppie for support. He agreed with her and the relief showed on her face. “It a little embarrassing, him being Val uncle and all …but you know how Mama is when she set on things. She won’t listen …”
“So what if he is Val’s uncle? Unnu too uptight,” Freddie accused them. “Leave de woman alone—she lonely, she need some man company.”
“You just hush,” Glory said. “She is our mother and it just look careless. It’s not so simple, you know. Melbourne is a drinker. Yuh never see him de night of de party? Dat is a bad influence on Mama. Look pon de little drinks Sid had in de cabinet—she nuh drink it out?”
“Glory, don’t worry so much, yuh cyaan live Mama life.”
“It going to come to a bad end,” Glory grumbled. “She should act her age.”
“What age have to do wid a little loving? Leave de woman alone,” Freddie said again, looking at his watch. Glory sighed, looking at Uncle Peppie, but this time she got no support.
Since the Christmas party, I had been preoccupied with Justin. He called now and then to ask me out. Because I couldn’t let Glory know about our relationship, I’d meet him at the strip mall, and he’d take me to a burger joint or a movie, telling me how pretty I was, then kissing me in the car before dropping me off at the mall. One afternoon he brought me to a friend’s house in the east end. No one was home, and Justin led me to the bedroom. I wrote and told Punsie, swore her to secrecy even though she was so many miles away.
In June, Bella gave birth to a lovely, olive-skinned baby boy. They named him Vittorio Oliver Galloway. Freddie wanted his son to have his father’s name. Mama didn’t like it, but there was nothing she could do about it. She comforted herself by saying, “Ah thank de Lord dat is only de middle name, for ah don’t know how ah could bear calling de pickney Oliver every day.” By the time Vittorio was six months old, Mama had knitted him enough outfits to supply a set of quints.
Bella spent a lot of time on the phone with Mama, exchanging recipes. Mama was teaching her how to cook Jamaican food, how to shop for a good piece of yellow yam and a hand of green bananas; in turn, Bella showed Mama how to make pasta from scratch and what to do with each kind. Apart from Monica, I had never seen Mama so taken with one of her children’s partners. It didn’t go unnoticed by Glory and Aunt Val, whose relationship with her was strained and tense.
Mama proudly sent photographs of Bella and the baby to our old neighbours on the island and to Aunt Joyce in America. Grand-aunt Ruth got a thick package with photos, letters, aprons and pot holders. She even sent photos to Uncle Mikey, but without a letter. To Monica she sent pictures and a postcard saying this relationship would teach Freddie responsibility, and then he would start supporting Freddie Jr. She continued to send Monica a little money for him whenever she could, to help with school and books.
The day Mama received a letter from Grand-aunt Ruth, she called her first family meeting. The following Sunday evening we all gathered at Uncle Peppie and Aunt Val’s, and waited for Mama to tell us what the meeting was about.
“Mi get a letter from Ruth, and de contents is of grave concern to mi. Ah want unnu to listen carefully, for mi need all de help and support on dis one.” Everyone nodded.
“‘My dear sister,’” Mama began reading. “‘I hope this letter find you in peace. Freddie wife sound like a nice girl and the baby pretty like money. With God’s blessing and guidance I hope they have a long and successful life together. Little Freddie is growing into a fine young man, I only sorry that Freddie couldn’t see it in him to send for the boy and take him off this island.’”
Mama paused and Freddie shifted uneasily in his chair. She took no notice, her eyes glued to the papers in her hand. Bella held baby Vittorio close.
“‘Joyce moving back home next month, say she have enough of foreign. When you coming back, you give any thoughts to it? Icie and Ivan are doing fine and a real blessing to me, for I am now finding the restaurant business a little tiring.
“‘Maria what I have to say to you is not easy, but it have to be said. I waited this long because I truly believed that things would change with Mikey. Your house is the shabbiest on the street. The flower beds almost don’t exist. The trees need shaping. People from all about come and jump the fence, trample on the grass that taller than me to get at the fruits on the trees. Mikey has not been spending much time there, it seem him taste in friends much higher than him can see. I try talking to him but you know how him can talk big sometimes. He let me know that everybody gone foreign and forget him, except for a letter every now and then from Glory. He say you forget you have a son out here.’”
Mama paused again, then went on. “‘He come and give me the bank book for the house. Say him moving out. Praise the Lord that at least him collect the rent dutifully from the tenants. I am doing what I can with the help of Ivan, but talk to the children and see what can be done. Maria, the place really need care. I cry when I remember how the yard use to be a thing of beauty when you was here.
“‘Give Molly a hug for me and tell her that her dear grand-aunt is still alive, so she can send me a little postcard from time to time. Kiss Glory and Freddie and Peppie for me. Greetings for Val and Sid. God Bless. Your sister Ruth.’”
Mama put the letter on the table beside her and waited. Nobody said anything, so she asked, “What yuh think we should do?”
Glory was the first to respond. “Sell de place, Mama. It don’t mek sense to have it going to nothing when you can get good money for it.”
“Is what yuh talking ’bout, gal? Sell? Yuh know how much sweat and tears go in dat house? What yuh think mi was doing when you and Freddie in de country wid Mammy and Pappy?” Her voice grew louder and more impatient with each question. She waited again. She stared at Peppie. Peppie looked at his wife. Then Val spoke. Big mistake.
“Mama, I think Glory is right. Peppie and I will have to support her suggestion.”
Mama gave her a killer look. “How yuh reach in dis conversation?” she demanded. “Yuh only sit in ’cause yuh married to mi son, but yuh have no voting privilege here. Yuh know de house? Yuh know Jamaica? Yuh know anything about our struggles?” Her words slapped Aunt Val hard. I felt sorry for Val, but I wasn’t about to come to her defence, not when I knew my grandmother’s pain better than anyone else in that room.
“So who going to go down?” Mama asked, this time looking at each of her children. “Somebody need to go down, and preferably is one a you bwoys.”
Freddie spoke. “Mama I would love to go and help out, but ah can’t leave Bella and de baby, and frankly I don’t hold dat much attachment for de house. It would only be for you.”
“Fi me? Yuh don’t think Canadian government could run all of you out at any time? An weh di backside unnu going
to run to if unnu don’t even have a house? And what ’bout fi yuh poor bwoy chile down dere. You don’t think that maybe one day it would pass down to him?”
“Mama, I done. Yuh live in de past too much,” he said.
“Well, I’m sure we can work out something,” Bella put in. “Mama is right, home is very important. My mother would feel the same way. I remember—”
Freddie cut her off. “Don’t come in dis, Bell. Italy different and yuh family different.” He didn’t explain how or why, and nobody asked him to.
“Mama, me out of de picture,” Glory said. “I don’t hold no great attachment to de place, and is Canada we is now and we have to look to de future, not wallow in de past.”
Mama glanced away and made to spit into her handkerchief, but thought better of it. Instead she said, “Then is forget, unnu forget so quick? Is amnesia unnu come down wid? Freddie, yuh don’t remember de dead-end street? De parties, yuh kite-flying days, crab season? Peppie, yuh don’t remember dat is de very yard you learn to fix yuh first car? Yuh forget dat when we get de house, it was just land, nothing never built on it? Yuh forget de buckets of water you and Mikey use to carry on unnu head? Glory, yuh forget de baking in dat house? De pastries and catering that pay yuh passage to come Canada? De Singer sewing machine in de front room dat sew yuh frock dem?”
My grandmother laughed bitterly, and now she did spit in her handkerchief. “Nobody want to remember where dem come from. Well, is one thing I know for sure and dat is ah will never sell dat place, not over mi dead body.” Her voice boomed through the living room. “Ah won’t sell it. I would rather mek de house dem rotten down. Mek people capture it, put up tent and live. Mek de house rotten,” she repeated. “Ah know land can’t rotten. One day when de house rotten down, ah will donate de land to charity, mek dem build a orphanage for all de pickney dem dat don’t have fish nor fowl to mind dem.”
Mama continued to visit Melbourne, and as Glory had forewarned, they drank heavily every weekend. The family never visited Melbourne’s house. Glory said, “Ah can just see de place, big and run-down, stink of liquor and in need of work.”
Mama began to take a nip or two of drink at Uncle Peppie’s, and soon she was drinking heavily there, too. Aunt Val was the first to complain to Glory about the burnt meat and the half-cooked rice. Glory sympathized with her, but that was all she could do. Val complained to Uncle Peppie, who did nothing, then she spoke directly to Mama, who responded by sucking her teeth and spending more time at Melbourne’s. She cursed Aunt Val for interfering and cursed Uncle Peppie for being weak. One day, a Wednesday, I phoned her, and she answered with a heavy cough.
“Mama, what happen?” I asked.
“Nutten. What yuh mean?” she bellowed loudly into the phone.
“Nutten.” I had never confronted her about her drinking. “Ah will talk to yuh later, Mama.”
Later that evening when I called, Uncle Peppie answered the phone, his voice tired and disappointed-sounding.
“She in bed, Molly. She not feeling well.”
The lies, I thought after I got off the phone, secrets that are not secret, those unspeakable truths.
It was inevitable, yet when it happened we were shocked. Uncle Peppie and Aunt Val got the call. Mama had been admitted to the emergency ward at a nearby hospital. She’d had a stroke at Melbourne’s place. Fortunately it was minor, but she had kidney and liver complications. She spent seven days in hospital before the doctors decided they had to take out one of her kidneys. The family kept a vigil by her bed. Glory only left the room to talk to the doctors.
When Mama was discharged, we brought her to our apartment, where Glory, Bella, Uncle Peppie and I fed her soup and tended to her around the clock.
On her follow-up visit to the doctor, he told her she had to make some fast and hard decisions about cigarettes and alcohol. They put a strain on her heart, and her lungs would give out if she did not quit smoking. Glory had gone to the doctor with her, so I heard the entire report while Glory was on the phone with Uncle Peppie.
One night soon after, Uncle Peppie and Freddie came to visit. They sat down with Glory to have a talk with my grandmother.
“Mama,” Glory started, “we worried ’bout yuh, and yuh have to change yuh lifestyle if yuh want to live. Yuh hear what de doctor say, dat if yuh continue to drink and smoke, yuh taking yuh life in yuh hands. De best thing to do under de circumstances is to stay here wid mi, where mi can take care of yuh.”
My grandmother’s eyes were as cold and hard as the marbles Punsie and I used to play with on Wigton Street. Uncle Peppie took her hand and squeezed it awkwardly.
“So what yuh have to say?” She swung her gaze toward him.
“Mama, we all want yuh to live for a long time. Glory have a point—why yuh don’t come back and live with her, and yuh know yuh always welcome at my house.”
My grandmother coughed heavily, spitting the mucus into her handkerchief. She fixed Freddie with the same cold gaze. He spoke before she could.
“Mama, everything up to you. Ah love you, but what else can I say except we all responsible for weself?” Glory gave him a cut eye, but he took no notice. Silence weighed the room again, then Mama turned to me.
“What you have to say, Molly?”
I was taken completely off guard, so rarely was I asked to give an opinion. I looked at my mother, then down at my hands.
“Talk, gal, mi grow yuh wid intelligence and sense,” Mama said roughly.
“Mama, yuh should do what you think is best,” I said.
Glory interrupted. “Mama, stop de games please. This is serious business. As a matter of fact, yuh should join Alcoholics Anonymous because yuh need help. Serious help. Yuh drinking is a major problem an’ it go kill yuh if yuh don’t stop.”
A strained smile pulled at the corners of Mama’s mouth. “But you have mi life all planned out, eh?”
“Mama, I am only thinking of you and you need help, you’re sick,” Glory pushed on.
“Go weh, gal,” Mama replied, her voice razor sharp. “Who yuh think bring yuh on dis earth? Yuh think if mi couldn’t tek care of miself, you would be here?”
Glory looked at each of her brothers for help, but none was forthcoming. Uncle Peppie looked off into a far corner of the room and Freddie at his watch.
“Let mi say dis one time. Ah not going to no Alcoholics Anonymous, dat is fi white people and weak-minded people, and mi nuh fit into any of dose category. Unnu mussi tek me for a damn fool.” She paused, her breathing heavy. “And furthermore, mi ah go live wid Melbourne. Him is a good man and him need a woman to tek care of him.”
“And who going to tek care of you?” Glory demanded.
“Yuh don’t worry ’bout dat,” Mama said.
“Then mi wash mi hands, Mama, do as yuh please,” Glory said angrily.
“Ah have to leave soon—ah have to pick up Bella,” Uncle Freddie said.
Glory’s voice was resigned. “Well, go.”
He kissed Mama on the cheek and turned to give Glory a kiss, too, but she turned away. “Sis,” he said, “don’t worry so much. Things will take care of themselves. ’Bye Peppie, Molly.” And he was out the door.
Near tears, Glory escaped to her room. Uncle Peppie squeezed Mama’s hand again and she held on to his. It was a tender and sad gesture. He loved his mother dearly, yet he couldn’t speak up even for her own good.
Mama left our apartment a few days later and moved in with Melbourne.
Part Three
A ROUND A FLOWERING TREE ONE FINDS MANY INSECTS
FROM THE DAY MAMA LEFT US she never took another drink or lit another cigarette. She never joined AA either. She slipped into the disorder of Melbourne’s home and in time created a steady comfort. He was a man with a big heart. He had a genuine affection for people, and he liked nothing better than an audience. When Mama went to live with him, he was spending most of his time at the local community centre, where he relived his past as a boxer. An audience of young and old was a
lways on hand to listen and to help him remember the story he had told many times. In the evenings he watched television with Mama, and their weekends were filled with friends and drinks and plenty of food. Visiting them, I felt like I was back on our dead-end street.
I’m still awed by Mama’s strength. She continued to serve rum and other potent beverages to Melbourne’s guests, and I never saw her begrudge them a drink or deliver an envious look. Even years later, when Melbourne’s hands trembled from too much drink and his cough had turned to emphysema, she patiently rationed his drinks and cigarettes. By then it was too late for him to quit.
Glory never did come to terms with Mama living with Melbourne, but that didn’t matter to Mama. What mattered was that she was once again mistress of her own house. Again she provided daycare for children to earn her own money. She did this for years, despite Melbourne’s protests that they had enough to live on without her working. Over the years she stashed her earnings in several bank accounts.
One day Bella left. She left to save her life, and in so doing she gave up Vittorio. He was an absolute darling, a two-year-old with grey-green eyes, a butter complexion and sandy-brown hair. His lips were wide and thick like hard-dough bread under a spread of butter. He was not blessed with Freddie’s strong jaw, but he had inherited his father’s prominent nose and his mother’s delicate, oval face.
We all knew from way back that Uncle Freddie was a woman-beater. We had crossed our fingers and hoped that with Bella, the wedding and the baby, things would be different. But twice I remembered hearing Glory on the phone, telling him he could be charged with assault if Bella ever pressed charges. He didn’t listen, he never had. Even Uncle Peppie and Sid tried talking to him about it, but Uncle Freddie ignored their soft manner and brotherly pleas. Mama was his harshest critic, but because he had become so accustomed to her disapproval, she had no impact.
The Heart Does Not Bend Page 12