Coffee, Cream and Curry

by Judy Powell

  “Missah Gordon, I would never steal from you, sah. This work is what is keeping

  me mother alive! She in a bad way, sah. This the only way I can get her medicine.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” The man’s voice was quiet but his look was kind.

  “I been trying for months now to get work so I could help her, and this is the first

  place that offer me a job. I know this place was right for me, sah, because is me mother tell me about it. She say that things would be better if me come to this same plantation where she born.”

  “Your mother was born here?”

  “Yes, Massa Gordon, sah. She come from right here, but she say when she was a

  young girl here a white man make her lay down with him. An’ then them sell her to another plantation when them find out that she pregnant. Then she have me.”

  The white man seemed taken aback by this bluntness but, seeing that he had

  caught the man’s interest, Ezekiel pressed on.

  “So you see, Massa Gordon, this is like me coming back to me roots. Is here me mother come from and that’s why she give me the name Ezekiel Gordon, after this plantation. Me would never rob from the place where me mother born, and me would never rob the place that allow me to get money for her medicine. Me is not a thief, sah.”

  “You know,” the tall white man looked Ezekiel straight in the eyes, “when I first

  saw you I felt I recognized you from somewhere. You say your mother was from here? What is her name?”

  “She name Binta, sah,” Ezekiel answered, then frowned at the tears that suddenly

  appeared in the Busha’s eyes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  1934

  Beth looked up at the light-skinned woman who stared coldly at her as she lay down the rules of the house. She was tired. She had awoken at sunrise to catch the country bus to Kingston. She had only had a chance to drink a cup of chocolate tea and grab a piece of bread before she’d had to run down the hill to the dirt road on which the bus passed.

  At that hour of the morning the narrow road was almost hidden in thick fog but the driver seemed unperturbed as he revved the engines and drove the rickety bus as fast as it would go. It was Thursday and the vehicle was packed with country people heading for the Coronation Market, their loads of produce piled high on top of the bus. Market women were engaged in animated conversation and, depressed though Beth was, she could not help being entertained by their stories and jokes. For the while their lively chatter took her mind off her own situation but, more importantly, it distracted her enough so that she forgot to stare fearfully out of the window at the steep precipice along which the road ran.

  It took three hours around the winding Junction Road to Kingston. When she arrived at Half Way Tree Square she had to walk for twenty minutes before she got to the house. She was hot and thirsty. As she stood before the lady of the house she wondered if the woman would think her forward if she asked for a drink of water. She peered up at the rigid face and decided against it.

  “You are to listen to the cook and make sure you do everything she says.” The woman spoke sharply. “You are responsible for the children’s clothes and you must get them ready for school every morning.” The woman pointed to a corner of the living room. “Put your bag down over there and follow me.” Without looking back she walked into the kitchen and called, “Mildred!”

  Beth dropped her bag in the corner and followed the woman in a daze. She had not yet fully recovered from the shock. It had been three weeks since her mother had called her into the bedroom, sat her down, and told her that she would have to leave. She was third in a family of five children and, at fourteen years old, was already a responsible member of the family. She had been taking care of younger siblings since she was nine. Their father struggled to eke out a living for them from the little field which he cultivated, but it was hard. It was depression time and families all over Jamaica were having a rough time.

  A hundred years had passed since the emancipation of Jamaica’s slaves and although the current generation knew nothing of slavery, they were all too familiar with the hardships of survival as small farmers in a country faced with economic depression, conflicts over land, and a huge working class struggling for political recognition. Beth had heard her parents talking about Jamaica’s problems. Once, when she had been in the field helping them gather the corn, she had heard her father talking about leaving home to join the dock workers. At least there, he had said, with Manley and Bustamante working to form labour unions things would be better. But although he spoke about it often he never left home, and Beth was glad.

  Just before Christmas her mother began hinting that there would have to be some changes around the house if they were to survive. She had mentioned sending one of them to live with distant relatives, but even though Beth had heard her talking about it she had never believed that it would really happen. And to be sent to a total stranger! She was being given away. She could never understand that and she would never forgive her mother. She knew this was not her father’s doing. He loved her too much. He said she was his princess. But no matter how hard she cried, when the day came Beth was put on the bus to Kingston. Her mother had cried, too. She had pleaded with Beth to understand, and had told her that she was doing what she thought was best for her, but all Beth could feel was anger and hurt.

  In the kitchen a stout black woman was standing with her back to the door, stirring a heavy cast iron pot on the stove.

  “Mildred, did you hear me?” The woman’s sharp voice made the stout woman turn quickly.

  “Yes, Mam?”

  “Mildred, this is Beth. She is here from the country. Remember I told you about her?”

  “Yes, Mam. The young lady who goin’ help me in the kitchen and with the children.”

  “Same one. Now she’s all yours. Make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.” With

  that she turned and headed back to the living room.

  Wiping her hands in her apron, Mildred said, “Come, child, let me show you where you goin’ to sleep.”

  This was the extent of Beth’s welcome to her new home. She ran back to the living room and grabbed her bag. As she trudged behind Mildred towards the helpers’ quarters, tears filled her eyes.

  On hearing her sniff Mildred stopped and, with a look of pity, said to her, “You alright, child?”

  Fighting hard to hold back the tears, Beth answered stonily, “Yes, Mam. I am jus’ fine.”

  ******

  Although it was just after seven o’clock in the morning, Coronation Market was bustling with people. Beth loved to listen to the shouts and laughter of the market people as they tried to sell their foodstuff. They were quick to make conversation with her, and their laughter was free and easy. The country-folk had none of the formality and coolness which Beth found in the people of Kingston. On the contrary, with her newly acquired sense of propriety she realized that their openly interested stares and quickness to ask personal questions bordered on rudeness. She loved it. These were her people.

  This morning Beth lingered by the pineapple stall, enjoying the fruity fragrance that filled the air and watching the merchant whittling away at a small piece of wood. When he was done he gave her a toothless grin and handed her a tiny wooden bird on a stick. She grinned back at the old man and stuck the bird into a thick plait of her hair. She waved goodbye to the deaf mute, then wandered on through the crowd of shoppers. She stepped gingerly around piles of potatoes and oranges as she went on her search for a pumpkin for the Saturday soup. This was one of her few pleasures since she had moved to Kingston - her weekly trips to the market.

  “Hi, young lady! Come try these nice juicy mangoes, nuh?” A tall, lanky black woman stopped in front of her with a pan piled high with mangoes.

  “No, thanks. I have special things I come for today.”

  Before she had even finished the sentence the woman had already turned to solicit purchase from another potential custom
er. “Hi, lady…”

  Beth took no offence, but simply turned and pushed though the crowd until she reached the place where Mama Jean sat. The petite old woman was from her very own district of Bonny Gate. It was Mama Jean who had recognized her on her first visit to the market and had called out, “Wait! Is little Beth Gordon, this?”

  Beth had smiled broadly in recognition and had reached over to grab the old woman’s hands. “Yes, Mama Jean! I livin’ in Kingston now!”

  “What you saying, girl! You run ‘way from country and moving up in life now.”

  “Well…I not really moving up but I trying to help myself.”

  “I know how it is, me child. You have to try, you know.”

  “So how Marse George doing?”

  “Him not too bad, but him still have the pain a back. Is so it go when you moving up in age.”

  “Tell him I say I hope him feel better soon.

  Now, Beth greeted her and asked, “Mama Jean, can I get three pounds of the pumpkin today?”

  “Anything for you, me baby.”

  As Mama Jean cut the pumpkin Beth shifted the heavy bag on her shoulder. Just talking to the old woman took her back to the country, to the smell of the freshly cut grass she would feed the cows, the sound of the birds in the early morning, the taste of ripe June plums that were so sour they made her suck in her cheeks. She missed her older sister’s nagging, her older brother’s taunts, and the little ones who were such a handful.

  Beth blinked suddenly and stared at the piece of pumpkin in Mama Jean’s outstretched hand. She took the food with a quick smile of thanks, handed the money to the woman and hurried on her way.

  ******

  When Beth turned into the walkway leading up to the house Mrs. Henley was waiting at the front door. “What do you mean by strolling in here so late?”

  The woman’s voice was even colder than usual. Her dark eyes flashed and Beth felt a chill run through her body. She knew that the woman had no love for her but she could not understand why she sometimes seemed to hate her. She had taken her into her home, hadn’t she? Beth had not asked to come here.

  “It’s almost ten o’clock. You could not have been at the market all this time. Make sure I don’t hear about you hanging around with any boys. Do you think I don’t know you young girls these days? As soon as I turn my back you take up with some man.” She put her hands on her hips. “Next thing I know, you will be coming in here with a big belly. Don’t even think about it! It won’t do in this house. Understand?

  “Cynthia, why don’t you leave the girl alone?”

  Mr. Henley sauntered into the kitchen, his paunch preceding him. He was a short, plump white man with a balding head. He was always smiling. He was fat and round and reminded Beth of a rooster, with his big upper body and tiny legs. Although his wife was light-skinned her hair was black and curly, and it could be seen from her skin tone that she was of mixed blood. He, on the other hand, was milk-white with light brown hair. Both of them were born Jamaicans, and it was obvious that they had benefited from the legacy of some old money.

  “The girl probably just stopped to greet her friends or something,” the man continued. “Isn’t that right, aah, what’s your name again, honey? Beth?”

  She nodded nervously, and he smiled at her.

  “Nice name.”

  “Phillip,” Mrs. Henley frowned as she turned to her husband, “you know I don’t like

  it when you interfere with my supervision of the workers.”

  “Alright, sweetie. You know you’re the boss.” With a smile he slid his arm around her waist and gave her a loud kiss on the cheek.

  Cynthia Henley struggled weakly to get free but a slight smile had already begun to soften her cold lips and it was obvious that her husband had a strong effect on her. He nuzzled her neck with his lips and her body relaxed against him. She gave a soft sigh.

  Suddenly, her body went taut again, and she whipped her head around to glare at the Beth. “Well, don’t just stand there. Go find Mildred and help her with dinner.”

  Beth needed no further instruction. Without a word she grabbed the bags full of produce and hurried out the door. She found Mildred in the backyard on a stool, humming while she vigorously scrubbed the parrot fish to get the scales off.

  They exchanged greetings then Beth took some of the food from the bag and sat on a log beside the cook. She began to peel the green bananas and yams for the evening meal. They worked in silence for a while then Beth dropped her knife into the big pan at her feet and looked at the cook.

  “Miss Mildred?”

  “Yes child?”

  “You wanted to be a cook all your life?”

  Mildred frowned slightly as she looked at Beth. “What you talking ‘bout, child?”

  “When you was my age, you wanted to be a cook?”

  Dropping her own knife into the pan of water and fish Mildred rested her elbows on her knees and said, “Well…by the time I was your age I already know that I couldn’t be what I wanted to be.”

  “What was that?”

  Mildred laughed. “I did want to be a secretary.”

  “A secretary?”

  “Yes. I always see them nice looking ladies in them pretty suit and I think secretary job must be a great job. You get to buy a lot of clothes.”

  “Then why you never become a secretary then?”

  “Heh, that is the question. When I get older I get to understand that is only the high-color people alone can be secretary. Look how me black. Them wouldn’t want me in them big fancy office.”

  “And then you decide to be a cook?”

  “No, me have other fancy dream to be a nurse or even a singer. I love singing, you know.”

  Smiling, Beth said, “I know, Miss Mildred. You have a pretty, pretty voice. Is you bring off the choir.”

  “Thanks, me child.”

  “But you still don’t tell me why you become a cook.”

  “Is not by choice, me dear, but by the will of God. We was having it rough, so

  me mother get me a position with a white lady in Port Antonio. She was the mayor wife and I was with her eighteen years until she pass away. But before she die she tell her daughter-in-law about me and so that is how I end up at this house. Is about thirteen years I am here now.”

  “Wow. That is a long time with the mistress.”

  Both of them burst out laughing. When the laughter died down Beth looked at

  Mildred and said, “You know what I want to be? A teacher.”

  “A teacher? That would be a nice job for you. You are a bright girl.”

  “From I was eight years old I knew I wanted to be a teacher.”

  “That’s nice, child. So you did get plenty schooling when you was in the

  country?”

  “My mother used to pull me from school sometimes to help her in the field

  but I still study my book. An’ Miss Finley, my teacher, used to still send the homework for me to do, even when I didn’t make it to class. She nice, you see. Is she why I want to be a teacher.”

  “Yes, me child,” Mildred said proudly. “Teacher Beth…it sound good.”

  Suddenly, Beth took up the knife and started to peel bananas again. She did so with such vigor that Mildred said, “Wait! Is fight you fighting the banana them?”

  Without looking up at her, Beth said, “Miss Mildred, from I come here over a month now Miss Henley don’t send me to no school, so how me going to become a teacher?”

  “You know, is true. The time fly so fast since you come I didn’t even realize that is so long.”

  “What I goin’ to do?” Beth looked at Mildred, distressed.

  “The only thing I see you can do is to have a serious talk with Miss Cynthia. You are a hard-working little girl and I don’t see why she wouldn’t allow you a little time every day to go do your lessons.”

  “You really think I can talk to her?”

  “I know Miss Cynthia is a tough lady, but one thing she love is p
eople with ambition. Jus’ make up your mind and talk to her. Nothing try, nothing done, right?”

  “Alright, Miss Mildred. I goin’ do that.” Feeling more cheerful, Beth continued at her task. She stopped when Mildred spoke again.

  “Beth, you know you almost look like Miss Cynthia?”

  “Me, Miss Mildred? You don’t see that Miss Cynthia look like a white lady?”

  “Yes, but she not white, although she really high-color for true. But your skin not dark either, and you have pretty hair. You have Indian in your family?”

  “No, but my grandpa was part white. Him grandmother was a black slave woman but him grandfather was a white man.”

  Mildred looked thoughtful. “Hmm…no, that dere white blood would haffi real strong fi travel so far. You definitely have Indian in you family.” Then she said with interest, “Tell me some more ‘bout dis fancy white man in you family.”

  “Grampy tell me that him grandfather was a big man who did own some plantation or something like that.”

  “Is plenty a we Jamaicans have we roots on the plantation them, you know,” Miss Mildred commented.

  “I know, but when Grampy used to tell me ‘bout when him father was living on the plantation and working for the white people, Grammy Iris would tell him not to fill up my head with all them stories because I must move on to bigger and better things.”

  “Your grandma right. What you say she name?”

  “Iris. I get my middle name from her and my first name from Grampy’s mother. He tell them to call me Elizabeth, just like him mother.”

  “Then you have a special name so you mus’ hear what you grandmother say. You cut out for bigger and better things. So you know what that mean…jus’ make up your mind and talk to Miss Cynthia about your schooling. I will back you up if you need me. But just do it. Alright?”

  Beth nodded and smiled broadly.

  Two weeks later Beth was a newly enrolled student in Mrs. James’ private school for young ladies. To her surprise and joy Mrs. Henley had agreed to allow her two evenings off per week to attend classes. Mrs. James, too, had been very accommodating, accepting Beth’s proposal to wash clothes in exchange for tutelage. Beth liked Mrs. James. She was an Englishwoman who had come to Jamaica over thirty years ago to teach. She had decided to settle down on the island even after retirement. Now she had her own school, and was known for allowing even the penniless to attend classes.