The Heart Does Not Bend

by Makeda Silvera

  “Molly, read Jude 7. Read Genesis 19. Tek heed before disaster reach yuh. Come home.” She coughed into the phone and her breathing was audible. “Rose, lef mi granddaughter alone. Fi yuh own good read Romans 1, verse 26 and 27. Hell wait fi yuh.”

  “I can’t take this any longer, Molly!” Rose shouted. “Something have to change. What give this woman de right to call my house and leave such a message, eh? Who she think she is, God?”

  “Yuh don’t understand,” I shouted back. “Yuh just don’t understand.” I was groping for words.

  “I understand all right. Molly, you just have to let go.”

  I was shaking. “Rose, it’s not that easy. Ah can’t turn mi back on her and ah can’t cuss her. She been through too much. She going soon, remember?” I said, hoping to pacify her.

  “And you just going to take the coward’s way out. Wait until she leaves, and in the meantime I must put up with her abuse and insult.” She looked straight into my eyes, as if she wanted to put a spell on me.

  “You don’t have to,” I said. I got up from the bed, put my clothes on and began to pack my things.

  “Where you going?” she asked.

  “I’m going home,” I said evenly.

  “So this is how it is? Every time she say jump, you ask how high?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Talk to me, Molly, ah can’t stand dis shit. This is how yuh communicate all de time—silence. Am I suppose to read dat?” she challenged.

  I still didn’t answer. I zipped up my bags and searched for my shoes.

  “Molly, please stay,” she said, her voice softer.

  I didn’t look at her. I didn’t want to leave, but the simple truth is that I was afraid. Mama was upset and her breathing was laboured; I didn’t want to be responsible for her having a stroke or worse.

  “Please,” Rose whispered. She was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her wild and curly hair had escaped the elastic band. She forced a smile and her dimples pierced deep into her cheeks. Her nut-brown skin glowed in the candlelight, and at that moment she was the most beautiful woman I had ever known. I quickly turned on the ceiling light to erase the image.

  “Ah can’t stay. We’ll talk later, okay?” I promised.

  “To hell with you. If yuh walk out de door, this is it.”

  I turned to go and a half-empty wineglass sailed over my head. I quickly closed the door behind me.

  Rose got an unlisted phone number, refused to answer my knock at the door and sent back my letters unopened. For a while I told myself she wasn’t right for me and tried to bury myself in Mama’s affairs. Soon I was remembering her lovely skin, her stumpy toes, her large ears, her dimples and carefree laughter, her touch on me.

  I agreed to accompany Mama back home and stay with her for a few weeks to get her settled. I took a leave of absence from work, booked the flight, made arrangements for a wheelchair and seats near the bathroom, and ordered her special meals. Church members were in and out of the house, singing and praying for her safe journey. She was pleased with the attention, and they promised to come visit her.

  She awoke very early the morning of the flight and was dressed three hours before the limo came to take us to the airport.

  “Well, kitchen, is goodbye. Yuh serve mi well over de years and yuh bring mi joy when mi could cook and move round.” Her voice was light and clear. Her eyes lingered on the oven where she had baked so many cakes.

  “Molly, ah leaving de cake tins and dem bottle of fruits fi yuh. Yuh can bake yuh first set of cakes out of it,” she said, her voice gentle.

  Vittorio and Ciboney awoke and got dressed minutes before the limo drove up to the house. Vittorio put our luggage in the car trunk, then helped Mama into the car. There was pride in her eyes at that moment, and I wished I had been born a boy.

  We were all quiet as the car drove through the streets of Parkdale and onto the Gardiner Expressway. Mama peered through the window at the shops and streets that she would never see again. At the airport she asked us to join her in prayer. We found a quiet waiting area, locked hands and closed our eyes.

  “De Lord comfort and shelter in Him flock even de greatest sinner. I thank mi God always on unnu behalf. Never lose sight of Jesus. Believe in Him, for Jesus will lead each of you by unnu hand.”

  Our flight was called. She kissed Ciboney and baby Maud and held them tight. “Come visit, yuh hear? Send Maud down fi spend some time wid her old granny. Ah want to spend little time wid mi great-great-granddaughter,” she said.

  Vittorio knelt by her wheelchair and she held on to him for a long time. “Son, don’t forget fi pray even if yuh nuh believe. Just pray, in time de spirit of Massa God will guide yuh.” Her throat went dry, she coughed and cleared it with discomfort. “Tek care of Ciboney and help Molly round de place. Nuh leave everything up to her, and remember fi tek out de garbage, for yuh is de man of de house now.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Yes Mama, I’ll read my Bible,” he said, giving Ciboney a playful wink. Then he pushed Mama’s wheelchair through to the customs lineup.

  As we waited to board the plane, Mama sat calmly, but there was a twitch of nervousness at the corner of her mouth. To steady herself, she smoothed her blue silk head scarf several times. Her black handbag—crammed with pills, religious cassettes, a washrag and a small Bible—was clutched tightly between her legs. She didn’t eat much on the flight, but she hardly stopped talking.

  “Mi stomach feel like mi have a baseball inside,” she said nervously. “It too cold in yah. Mi feel like mi into a icebox.” I asked the flight attendant for a blanket, and in no time Mama had thrown it off, saying it made her too hot. She kept looking at her watch and mumbling about the long flight ahead. I asked her if she wanted to listen to the radio or watch the movie. She only sucked her teeth and said, “Ask de stewardess for some tea wid a little biscuit—it might tek de gas off mi stomach.” She eyed the bathroom a short distance away and sucked her teeth again. “A lucky thing mi wear mi Depends. How much longer we have up in de air?” she asked, staring at her watch again. She kept opening and closing her old lady’s purse. Finally she took out her pills and removed four from their containers.

  “Ask de stewardess for some water, mek mi tek dem pills.”

  The flight attendant brought the water. Mama drank it and pulled the blanket close about her. “Ask fi another blanket. Dis too small, and ask her fi some more tea. Mi feel cold.”

  The flight attendant couldn’t move fast enough. I was glad that despite Mama’s protest, I’d booked first-class tickets.

  “What time now?” she asked again. “Get some juice fi mi.” I got up and went to find the flight attendant. I tried to stay calm, but I was feeling irritated and tired, wishing that it was Vittorio here with her, or Glory, or even Ciboney.

  Mama dozed off, and I leafed through a magazine to pass the time. Then she was awake again. “What time it is? Ah can’t see a thing on dis watch, de numbering too small,” she protested.

  “Mama, yuh ask mi dat just twenty minutes ago,” I said, my irritation unmistakable.

  “Dis seat can’t go back further?” she asked, ignoring me. I adjusted her seat and covered her with the two blankets. She closed her eyes and a soft snore followed.

  I continued to flip through the magazine and then closed my eyes, too. Memories crowded my head, mostly of Rose and our failed relationship. Though I knew she already had another woman, like a fool I comforted myself with the thought that with Mama out of the way, we could try again when I came back.

  “What time now?” Mama asked.

  “We have another hour.”

  She looked at her watch again, then opened her purse and reviewed the contents. “Ah glad ah carry all dese tapes. Dem will be comfort to mi at nights, and Ruth will enjoy dem too.” Then she turned and looked at me.

  “Yuh hair look nice. Ah glad yuh mek it grow back. Woman fi look like woman, and when it too short it mek yuh look too mannish.” Then she frowned. “A Rose did te
ll yuh fi cut it off, nuh?”

  “No, Mama, she didn’t tell mi to cut it off. She only suggested that cutting it would show off my eyes more,” I said with measured patience.

  She sucked her teeth. “Yuh is a real fool. Unnu mek people tell unnu all kind a foolishness fi control unnu.”

  “Yuh think ah don’t have a mind of mi own?” I asked, meeting her eyes. She looked away. We lapsed into another bout of silence until she spoke.

  “Ah hope Vittorio eat proper. Ah glad Ciboney leave behind, for she will mek sure Vittorio eat proper, between him and his new girl.”

  I swallowed hard. No point in responding.

  I wanted to ask her why it was always Vittorio, Vittorio. What about me? Where did I fit in? Why was I taken for granted? Didn’t I do good by going to school, learning a profession?

  In truth, I knew she was proud of me, but I needed to hear it from her. I looked at her worn and tired face, the extra flesh at her neck, her old lady’s scarf so tight against her skin, her wrinkled hands with the veins sticking out like snakes, and I couldn’t ask.

  The pilot announced that we’d be landing shortly, and excitement grew feverish like the heat outside. As the plane touched down, there was a round of applause from the passengers, Mama included. “Praise de Lord,” she said.

  I told her that we’d have to wait until the plane was empty and then they’d send two or three men to lift her. There were no wheelchair ramps on the island. She was so relieved to be back on the ground that it didn’t seem to matter. We waited patiently. I removed her thick sweater, fixed her shoes on her feet, smoothed her blue print dress and loosened her scarf.

  “Stop de fussing up wid mi,” she said when I added a touch of perfume around her ears and dabbed my lipstick on her lips. “Mi is a old woman,” she said jokingly, then asked seriously, “Molly, yuh sure dem out dere to meet we? Ah wonder if dem remember?”

  “Of course, Mama. Dem wouldn’t forget dat.”

  She nodded and fumbled nervously with the gold ring on her right hand. “Ah wish it was Wigton Street mi going back to,” she said.

  I had forgotten this vulnerable side of Mama, for I didn’t see it often. “Mama, don’t think ’bout dat. Grand-aunt Ruth and Aunt Joyce and everybody else looking forward to seeing you. In a few months when yuh get adjusted, yuh can move back there,” I said, even though I knew it would take more than a few months.

  We moved swiftly through immigration. I signed the necessary papers, answered questions and with some help collected our luggage. Soon we were outside in the heat. Grand-aunt Ruth, Aunt Joyce, Uncle Mikey, Cousin Icie and Cousin Ivan were there to meet us. We hugged and kissed and turned each other around, looking at what the years had left us.

  “Ah glad fi see yuh, gal, yuh don’t look a day older,” Aunt Joyce joked.

  “Welcome, mi sister, we glad fi have yuh back. Praise de Lord.” This from Grand-aunt Ruth.

  “Mama,” Uncle Mikey said, and burst into tears as they held each other for a long time.

  A street vendor went by yelling, “Coconut water, coconut water.” Cousin Ivan called out to him and bought us each coconuts. Mama drank hers quickly and asked for another. “Lawd, a long time mi nuh taste coconut water sweet like dis.”

  The last of the evening sun touched her face, and the hard lines at the edge of her mouth softened. We piled into Cousin Ivan’s van for the ride home. We drove along the Palisadoes Road, the sharp smell of the sea, like raw fish, overpowering our noses and bringing back memories. The sun was setting on the Blue Mountains in the distance.

  The ride to Grand-aunt Ruth’s was full of talk, Mama wanting to know about everything. “What about Port Royal? Dem to do anything new wid it?”

  “Dem talking ’bout new developments. More hotels, shops, beach area. It coming along. Is over dere ah work in de hotel as a waitress,” Cousin Icie said proudly.

  “Dat nice, Icie, ah glad to hear dat,” Mama told her. “How ’bout Paul and Helen?” she said, turning to Uncle Mikey.

  “Mama, dem leave de island long time ago an’ dem settle in Chicago. Open de same business dere. Dem doing well.”

  “Yuh never think of going dere?” she asked.

  “No, Mama. My visit to Miami every couple of months is good enough. Times change, yuh know. Anything in foreign you can get here for de right price.”

  Aunt Joyce cut in. “Enid come home, yuh know. She lef England about four years now. Looking real good. She bring home some fabulous clothes. She live up on de hills. When yuh settle, we can go visit her.”

  “Ah would love to see her. Ah always did like her, for she was a woman wid sense,” Mama replied. “What about Connie Brown?” she asked.

  “She also do well. She come home from America and build a fabulous house in Orocabessa. Yuh want to see it! It gorgeous, and it overlook de sea.”

  “Maria, yuh remember Inez Clarke?” Grand-aunt Ruth asked.

  “Yes, nuh di gal we grow up wid in Port Maria?”

  “She did leave Port Maria, yuh know. Her man send fi her. She go to America but she never mek it. She mash up bad. She a walk street and pick up cigarette butt.” My grand-aunt sighed and shook her head.

  “She nuh mash up, she mad,” Aunt Joyce said. “Dem need fi scoop her up off de street and tek her to Bellevue. If it was America she would be in a institution.”

  Mama sucked her teeth and said, “Joyce, nuh talk foolishness, for America full up a mad people a walk up and down.”

  “Joyce, yuh think enough room deh Bellevue fi house all de mad people who a walk round?” Grand-aunt Ruth challenged. “Inez harmless, and she nah trouble anybody. When mi use to have de restaurant she use to come by dere, but since mi sell it mi lose touch.”

  Aunt Joyce shook her head. “She could a do better. She go foreign and mek white man tun her fool. Is a real shame when we set we sights high an’ den we drop.”

  Mama asked Uncle Mikey about his other friends who used to come to the Sunday parties. He filled her in, but there was no mention of Frank.

  “Myers come back to town, yuh know,” Aunt Joyce said. “Him buy a house on Wigton Street.”

  “Ah so,” Mama said without warmth or curiosity.

  “How his children?” I asked.

  “Dem abroad someplace in America wid dem mother. Dat relationship mash up long time, yuh know.”

  “It will be nice to see him again, after all these years,” I said, remembering.

  Once we got off the Palisadoes Road, the traffic slowed to a halt. Cousin Ivan cursed the roads, the traffic, the government, then the other drivers. We passed through neighbourhoods that looked like footage from a war zone, with one-room squatter’s shacks that seemed too frail to hold back a high wind. Some didn’t have enough zinc for the roof and were covered with heavy brown cardboard boxes.

  “A Allman Town dis?” Mama asked.

  “No, Auntie, dis is off Warika Hills,” Cousin Ivan said.

  “Oh,” she said, as if remembering.

  “It use to be nice place, yuh know, back when we was young, but de gunman dem move in and tek it over …but good people still live here,” Grand-aunt Ruth said.

  There were broken bottles, garbage, stray dogs in the road. The smell of stale urine seeped in through the open window. Men stood idly on the street corners. Children ran around shoeless, expertly dodging broken glass and dog shit. It was a free-for-all, with car horns sounding like an out-of-tune band. Everyone was in a hurry and Cousin Ivan was no exception, shouting and cursing through the window.

  “Dem blasted deportees, dem come from foreign and bring back too much cars. Is dem cause de traffic jams,” he complained angrily. Someone tried to overtake our van and came much too close. Cousin Ivan pushed his foot hard on the gas. The van let out a merciless screech and we were almost thrown out the window. Cousin Ivan yelled at the other driver, “Yuh buy yuh licence?” He criticized the man’s beat-up car and raced ahead.

  We drove a while longer, and as the car headed toward the Blue M
ountains, the air got cooler. Trees and bushes and manicured gardens appeared in the distance. Cousin Ivan turned into Grand-aunt Ruth’s driveway, and the dogs ran to the gate to greet us.

  “Move out of de way, Brownie!” Cousin Ivan shouted. When we got out of the car, he said, “Hold on, mek mi tie dem up, dem sneaky, yuh know.”

  “Yes, dear, for mi never get a dawg bite in all mi life, an’ mi too old fi get one now,” Mama laughed.

  We were up late that night, catching up on events and people before we finally surrendered to sleep. Uncle Mikey left, promising to call soon.

  Next morning the crowing of the rooster in the backyard, the smell of roasted salt fish and breadfruit, fried plantains, ackee, fried dumplings and Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee welcomed us home. A rare smile flashed across Mama’s face. She ate a portion of everything, though she kept saying that it was too much food. “Ah couldn’t tell when last ah eat like dis. Mi have to go back on mi low-fat diet, but dis morning ah cyaan pass up dis food,” she said.

  Right after breakfast, I got ready to go and collect the barrels, bed, television and other goods from the wharf. Aunt Joyce insisted I go with Cousin Ivan.

  “No, nuh bodder wid no cab. Yuh is a foreigner. And dem wretches out here know de foreigners and dem will tief yuh. Better yuh give Ivan de money fi de gas.”

  As Ivan drove, I had to hold on to the car door so as not to be thrown around. Now that the grand-aunts and my grandmother were not in the car, he was eager to show off his driving prowess.

  We didn’t return home with the barrels and the other items. The officials at the wharf told me corruption was rampant and they’d had problems with people pretending to be returning residents, coming in with valuable goods without paying sufficient taxes; then they would sell them and go abroad again and repeat the same process. They needed more proof that Mama was indeed returning, and they wanted to see her in person. Cousin Ivan spoke up before I even had a chance. “De woman cyaan come. De woman is a cripple.”