Uncle Mikey’s smile faded. Grand-aunt Ruth cleared her throat uneasily. I looked down at my lap and didn’t say a word.
It was Mama who came to the rescue. “If de government corrupt, it have nutten to do wid dat. From we a pickney we use to hear Mammy and Pappy talk ’bout de government, for when we revolt and de British back off, a fi we own people, de one dem train in a fi dem England school who tek over and dem continue to give job to friend and company, nutten fi do wid what you talking about.”
“Well, if yuh want to believe dat, go ahead. Mi sure Mikey can tell yuh dat times change,” Aunt Joyce said.
“How him fi know, him in a government?” Mama asked, talking over Mikey’s head.
“Den him must know, him in business wid one of de biggest hotel owners who reputed to be one a dem kinda man?” Aunt Joyce pressed on.
“Dat’s why mi nuh talk politics, yuh know, for is not God’s way and Him tell yuh so in de scriptures.” Grand-aunt Ruth tried to smooth things over.
Mama said, “Whether dem in bed wid de politicians or not, yuh can’t judge dem. De Bible tell yuh dat as plain as day. For dem nuh worse dan de robbers and murderers. And even dem God forgive, dat’s why Him put Him son pon de cross fi all a we sins and Him tell we, ‘He dat is widout sin among you, let him cast de first stone.’”
My face grew hot with anger. Still I offered nothing. Uncle Mikey looked at me, his eyes pleading. I looked away. I’d never told him about myself.
“Ah think it’s time to leave,” he said.
“Hold on, Mikey, mi want to talk to yuh,” Mama said.
“Come help me wid something inside,” Grand-aunt Ruth said to me and Aunt Joyce.
We went inside the house, leaving her and Mikey on the verandah. It wasn’t hard to hear their conversation.
“Sit down,” Mama said. “So who de bwoy yuh live wid and in a business wid?”
“Mama, dat is not any news to you. an’ mi cyaan tek de throw mud an’ all de susu.”
Mama’s voice grew louder. “Den yuh nuh ’fraid a de talk, unnu nuh ’fraid people shoot unnu? Or a unnu so powerful? A so unnu bold-face?”
“Mama, don’t shout at mi! I am not a likkle bwoy, an’ mi nah beg unnu anything.”
She sighed. “Yuh have to start read yuh Bible, it nuh too late.” She lowered her voice, but it was still audible. “A sin, yuh know. A sin. De world nuh love mampala man, an’ God nuh have no room fi unnu in a fi Him kingdom. A only fire waiting fi yuh.”
“Mama, let mi tell yuh something, ah never come here fi dis. Mi come fi see yuh, spend likkle time. Not—”
“Mi nuh care what yuh come for, me is yuh mother, a mi mek yuh, and yuh fi listen, for mi nah tell yuh no lie. And if yuh nuh stop dem kind a life, it will destroy yuh.” We heard her pause and cough.
“Mama, ah love yuh, but a lot happen over de years since yuh left mi, and mi survive without any help from de family.” His words carried a bitter edge. “Mi not walking and begging on de streets. Me nuh wear tear-up clothes and mi nuh walk and holler and mi nuh tief.”
Mama said nothing. Grand-aunt Ruth started to sing.
He pardoned my transgressions,
He sanctified my soul,
He honors my confessions,
Since by His blood I’m whole.
It is truly wonderful…
“Ah leaving Mama,” Uncle Mikey said. “Mi nuh have time fi dis.”
We heard footsteps, followed by the loud screech of car wheels.
“De blasted bwoy feisty, eh?” Aunt Joyce said when Mama entered the house, leaning heavily on her walker.
“Ah tell yuh,” was all she said on her way to her bedroom. She shut the door behind her.
One night shortly before I was to leave, I said, “Mama you should have come back long ago.” We were sitting on the verandah, watching the people passing by on the street, listening to the laughter of the children playing next door. It seemed like a different world from the one we left behind.
“Ah mi dear,” she sighed, “everything have its course. It wasn’t time yet.” She coughed and her chest rattled. “Bring mi some tea and some water,” she said.
I brought the glass and cup and set them down on a small table. She fumbled in her purse for her pills and swallowed two. Then she drew out a sealed envelope and handed it to me.
“Give dis to yuh mother when yuh see her.”
“But …” I started to protest, knowing that Glory wasn’t likely to be visiting me.
“Nuh argue, Molly. Tek it and give it to her whenever dat might be. Is mi will. It nuh urgent, for with God’s blessing mi will live a few years longer. Go put it in de bottom of yuh suitcase.”
At the end of the rainy season, when the dogs were in heat, Mama began to have trouble sleeping. She tossed and turned and talked in her sleep.
“Man, let mi alone, mi nah talk. Release mi. Jesus, help me,” she would cry out, often till dawn. Sometimes her lights went on and off all night. Then the dogs would start up. Her feet were swollen by then, and she was tired in the mornings. We blamed it on the dogs.
“Ah tired, ah cyaan fall asleep,” she finally admitted one morning at breakfast.
“Maria, relax. Yuh nuh need fi sit up wid we and talk or even watch television. We will tell yuh what happen wid the soaps, and furthermore yuh have a television in yuh room, yuh can lie in bed and watch it,” Grand-aunt Ruth suggested.
“A nuh nutten, yuh know, a de blasted dawgs race up and down a nighttime,” Mama said, trying to find some explanation for her tiredness. There were six dogs in the yard, one female among them. She was in heat, and every night brought vicious fights in the yard, with all five males trying to mount her. We heard her yowling. Some nights were worse than others. Other dogs in the neighbourhood would jump the fence to have their way with her, setting the ones who lived in the yard fighting for their territory. Poor Brownie had already had five litters.
“Is when de season done?” Mama asked. “A mi window dem come all de time wid dem noise. Mi really born unlucky.”
“Mating time soon done, Maria, and everything will settle down,” Grand-aunt Ruth assured her. “Yuh soon see. But in de meantime try fi sleep in de day, for no one demanding anything of yuh. We glad yuh return and we want to look after yuh and mek yuh feel at home.”
“Dem blasted dogs need neutering, dat is what dem do in America,” Aunt Joyce said.
“Neuter, Aunt Joyce, how dem fi neuter?” Cousin Ivan asked. “What dem doing is natural, yuh know, and dat bitch Brownie lucky, after so much litter, de neighbourhood dawgs still vote her number one.” That got him a severe cut eye from Grand-aunt Ruth.
“Aunt Maria, ah think is jet lag. Ah hear people at de hotel ah work seh it tek time to wear off,” Cousin Icie offered, looking pleased with herself.
“Maria, is probably de heavy food dat yuh body not accustomed to. Joyce, from tomorrow mek we start Maria pon some pumpkin soup and callaloo and mix-vegetable soup. Tek her off de heavy food,” Grand-aunt Ruth said.
Uncle Mikey came to visit again. He brought a beautiful white orchid plant for Mama. There was no unpleasant talk and I prayed that this day would be a new beginning.
“Mama, when yuh feel a little better, we’ll tek a ride to Wigton Street. De two house in need of repair, but now dat you here, we can work on dat,” he said.
“Dat would be nice, son. Yuh don’t know how I miss dat little dead-end street.” She gave a smile.
“Mama, it not like how it used to be,” he warned. “But we can fix it up. Is not a place to consider living, though. Too much gunman and dutty nega—”
“Time will tell,” she said, as if she were a seer.
That night I heard Mama call out, “Molly, come. Molly!”
I hurried into the room and sat by her bed.
“Molly, bring mi some tea, de gas a tek mi over.”
I brought her the tea, and she took one sip. Her face exploded with pain.
“Molly, tek mi to de doctor, de hospital, anything, b
ut mi cyaan tek dis pain,” she pleaded.
“Mama, is after two in the morning, mek we wait till de sun come up. Mi want yuh to get a good doctor and mi nuh understand de hospital system here.” I was also afraid that the city streets were not safe then.
“Molly, mi cyaan wait. Oh Lawd, de pain. Call de cab, mi will go miself,” she said defiantly.
“Aunt Joyce, Icie, Grand-aunt Ruth!” I called, but they were dead asleep.
I opened Ivan’s bedroom door and shouted, “Wake up, wake up!”
I put a housecoat over Mama’s nightgown and a pair of socks over her swollen feet. Ivan and I lifted her into the van. By then, the others were awake.
Icie said we should take her to the Seventh Day Adventist Hospital on Hope Road. Ivan sped to the emergency entrance. We ran inside and found the one attendant fast asleep on a bench.
“Wake up man, emergency, what yuh getting paid for?” Ivan demanded roughly.
A young nurse approached. “Medical cards?” she asked. “It will cost some money to admit her, and additional for de doctor to look at her.”
“Yes, yes, how much, money is no problem,” I said impatiently.
She led me to an office while Mama lay there, struggling to breathe.
“Name? Address? Kind of payment? Cash? Good.”
A doctor was examining her by the time I was through with the paperwork.
“It’s heart failure, m’am,” the doctor said. “We have to do more tests, which will cost money, and de bed will cost, and other things.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said to him. “I just want her to get better.”
I paid for three days in a private room, with private-duty nurses.
“Okay, everything taken care of, we’ll get her to her room, get her comfortable. Come see her tomorrow, everything will be fine,” a nurse reassured us with a smile.
We left, exhausted and relieved.
Aunt Joyce and I arrived early the next morning. Joyce launched right in.
“Nurse, nurse, come in here, is what dis—mi sister stink a piss. Look how de bed soak and unnu seh unnu a private hospital and mi niece pay big money last night. Fi what? Dis?”
A young nurse ran into the room. “We just changed her not too long ago,” she said, caught off guard.
“Change just a while ago? Is who unnu a try fool? Unnu think we a blasted idiot? She nuh change since last night, and mi demand good treatment for mi sister. Give mi de rass diaper, mi will change it.”
“It’s okay, m’am, I will do it. I’m sorry, I just came on duty and was just getting de medical records. Her doctor will be in soon. We’ll call you when he comes in.”
Aunt Joyce stood firm. “Ah not leaving until mi see mi sister clean and de bedsheet change.”
“Okay, m’am.” I was worried about Mama, but I felt sorry for the nurse.
When Aunt Joyce was satisfied that her sister was in good hands, we went home and waited for the doctor’s call.
“Relax, Molly,” Grand-aunt Ruth said. “She at de hospital, everything okay or dem would call.”
We waited. No one called, so I called.
“Come immediately. Your mother must be transferred to the University of the West Indies hospital. We don’t have the facilities to deal with her needs,” an officious-sounding woman informed me.
I saw the doctor at the Adventist hospital when I arrived.
“Tek this letter to U.W.I. Hospital at Mona,” he said. “It is the best hospital on the Island. Dr. Nadash will meet you there.”
I sat next to Mama in the ambulance, and a male nurse sat opposite us, keeping watch. It was rush hour, and the traffic was at a standstill. The road was too narrow to allow for passing, but the ambulance driver put on the siren. Mama was fighting hard to breathe and she held my hands tightly.
“Is de ambulance equipped with an oxygen mask?” I asked.
“Yes, mi have one here, but it will cost yuh extra. Dat is in addition to de ambulance fee.”
“Dat’s okay, ah don’t care. I just don’t want her dead in dis ambulance.”
“Nuh worry, sis, everything under control. Yuh a foreigner, right? Mi like how yuh mix de Jamaican.”
I refrained from sucking my teeth and glaring at him. Fine time for him to be telling me about my accent.
The nurse fit the oxygen mask over Mama’s face and her breathing came more steadily. The traffic eased a bit and the ambulance slowly moved forward.
Mama tossed and turned, clutching at the mask. I grabbed her hands, and fighting back the tears and the tremble in my voice, I whispered to her:
The Lord is my light and my salvation
Whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the strength of my life;
Of whom shall I be afraid?
Though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident—
The driver cut into my prayer. “Listen, sis, hold tight, ah going to cut thru one of dese side streets, or we won’t mek it wid dis traffic.”
He turned down a side street and drove on the sidewalk, almost hitting two pedestrians. He stopped abruptly and shouted, “Unnu nuh hear ambulance wid siren? Unnu nuh know fi move outa de way? Mi will ride right over unnu, yuh know!”
He slammed on the gas. The group scattered, some climbing over people’s fences. They knew he meant business. The ambulance picked up speed, bumped over potholes, dodged cars and bicycles, its siren blaring all the way to the hospital.
When we finally came to a stop at the private wing of the University of the West Indies Hospital, the attendants were waiting for us. But there was no doctor. He hadn’t arrived. The receptionist said she’d page him. Aunt Joyce and Grand-aunt Ruth arrived with Cousin Ivan and Cousin Icie. We waited and waited.
Aunt Joyce cussed. “Dese blasted people in dis country, dem don’t know a blasted thing. Dis is de worst country to get sick in. Where dis doctor deh?”
The receptionist played deaf. My grand-aunt kept cussing. When it got too loud for her to ignore, the receptionist mouthed, “Mi nuh responsible.”
“Mi nuh care if yuh nuh responsible. But weh de doctor, how come yuh nuh know where him is?” Aunt Joyce demanded. “Yuh nuh work here? You people never responsible for anything yet.”
Grand-aunt Ruth said quietly, “Lady, please admit her, she is mi dear older sister and we want de best care for her.”
“Ah can’t do anything, m’am. Dis is a private hospital and nobody can be admitted without a doctor’s signature.”
“Den unnu going to mek mi sister dead in de hospital hallway? Ah so unnu wicked?” Aunt Joyce was shouting now. Visitors coming in and out of the hospital paused and watched. Grand-aunt Ruth tried to quiet her.
“Quiet? Quiet? Mek dem finish kill mi sister? Not a rass. Ruth, if mi ever sick, yuh just put mi on de next plane to America. Mi nuh waan fi sick out here. Dem know nutten ’bout medical care. Look pon mi poor sister. She a go dead in a hospital hallway because of dem blasted idiot who claim dem is medicine people.”
“Aunt Joyce, come mek we tek a little breeze outside,” Icie offered.
“No, Icie, yuh gwaan. Mi sister a dead and mi can’t keep quiet and see it.” Then she yelled, “Murderers, murderers, unnu is murderers.”
Two security guards approached to ask her to keep her voice down, but she turned her wrath on them. The nurse who’d come with us in the ambulance asked the receptionist for a quiet waiting room off the hallway. We wheeled Mama in and closed the door.
“It not good for de patient to hear all of dat. Even though she confused, that kind of talk won’t help wid her recovery. She might look like she nuh conscious, but she hearing everything,” the nurse said to me.
I went outside and asked Aunt Joyce to cuss more softly. The receptionist kept paging the doctor.
“Is what kind of doctor dat? Dis is sheer irresponsibility. Him probably in some woman’s bed right now and turn off him beeper.”
The receptionist took offence. “M’am, Dr. Ford is a very respectable and resp
onsible man. Ah beg yuh not to say things like dat.”
“Beg mi? Yuh can say anything yuh want about yuh Dr. Ford, and I will say what comes to my mind. All I know is dat mi sister a dead. De other hospital say come here, dat dem arrange wid Dr. Ford to admit her and now we cyaan find him. A better wi did tek her down to Kingston Public Hospital ’mongst de gunman and tief. She woulda get treatment long time.”
The phone rang. “Dat was de doctor,” the receptionist informed us when she hung up. “He didn’t know that dere was a patient waiting and he cyaan take on the old lady. Him have too many other cases.”
Aunt Joyce started in again and now I was thankful that she was there. “Imagine in dis posh hospital nuh doctor not around fi look pon mi sister. What is dis, a hospital or a rass claat morgue?”
“M’am, yuh upsetting de patient. Please quiet yuh voice,” the nurse said. “Dis won’t do her any good. I have to ask you to be considerate of her.”
Helplessly I looked at Grand-aunt Ruth and the others. Cousin Ivan was pacing the hallway. I went back to Mama. Her frightened eyes were searching the room.
“Molly, mek mi dead. Mi life done,” she said in a bird’s whisper. “Come closer.”
Her eyes had no focus. She was dying. “Mi only have one wish and dat is fi you and Vittorio and Ciboney fi live good.”
“Mama,” I said, “yuh not ready fi dead. Peppie and Glory and everybody else soon come.”
I leaned down and held her. My tears fell on her eyes.
“Mi only have one regret, mi sorry mi never get de chance fi tek Maud and tell her about de glory of de Lord,” she whispered. I stroked her hair and another tear fell. Her grip on me loosened. She was struggling to breathe. I looked over at the nurse, my eyes begging for a miracle.
“She not in grave danger,” the nurse said. “She’ll pull through.”
I went out to join the others. Aunt Joyce’s shouting had become even louder and had attracted the attention of several people passing by, including a young doctor.
“Doctor, mi poor sister almost dead. She in a little room off to de side and we cyaan get nobody to look at her. Ah tell yuh, doctor, something radically wrong wid dis country. De government is piss—”
The Heart Does Not Bend Page 19