Coffee, Cream and Curry

by Judy Powell

  Beth was trying to hurry as she got dressed but at her age dressing was a slow process. The arthritis made her clumsy. Her fingers fumbled on buttons and hooks that used to be so easy to latch.

  She already had on her full slip and had stepped into her dress but the zipper was giving her a beast of a hard time.

  “Princess. Princess!”

  “Granny? You need something?” Princess called from the other room.

  “Come here, me dear. Come help me with this zipper.”

  “Be there in a sec.”

  Beth flopped down in a chair by the window. She grabbed a magazine from a nearby table and began to fan her hot face. She hated to wear black so she had chosen this purple velvet dress but it made her so hot that she wondered if she could last through the whole funeral service with it on. She would definitely have to walk with her little battery-powered fan.

  Princess entered the room, comb and brush in hand.

  “What’s up, Granny?”

  Beth stood and turned her back to the younger woman. “See if you can pull up this zipper for me, nuh?” She shrugged her shoulders and tried to make herself smaller. “Look like I put on a little weight since the last time I wore it.”

  Princess smiled. “Granny, you’ve put on a lot of weight since the last time.

  Beth nodded and smiled ruefully. “Is so it go when you get old. All manner of things happen to you. Now I goin’ have to go on one of those crash diet that they promote on TV.”

  As Princess pulled hard on the zipper she pulled her stomach in and tried to stand straighter. Gradually the zipper went up her back and Princess was able to close the hook at the top.

  “Thank you, me chile,” she sighed. She grabbed the magazine and began to fan again. “Whew, what a heat!”

  “But it’s not that hot, Granny. There isn’t even any sun outside.”

  “Old people problem, me dear. The good Lord better hurry up and take me before anything else pile on top of my troubles.”

  “Will you stop saying that? You’re going to be around for many more years to come. Trust me.” Princess grinned at her.

  “The old man ready yet?”

  When Princess looked at her quizzically Beth said, “Your granduncle.”

  “He’s just putting on his tie right now. Everybody is just about ready so we can head out in another ten minutes.”

  She paused then, looking her grandmother in the eyes she asked, “Granny, why don’t you ever call Uncle Fred by his name? You hardly even speak to him. It’s as if you aren’t related.”

  Beth was a little surprised by the question. “That’s not true, dear. I talk to him. And I’m sure I call him by his name.”

  “No, you don’t. And you get short-tempered with him, too.”

  “Where you get that from?”

  “I see it every time you talk to him.”

  Beth thought for a moment then said, “Well, if you see me doing that it’s not intentional. I didn’t even realize it.”

  “Granny, just try to be nice today. Remember, both of you are saying goodbye to your older sister. Don’t make it any harder than it has to be.”

  Beth stared hard at Princess then nodded. She turned to get her handbag.

  ******

  The church was filled to capacity. Family alone filled the first eight rows. Beth sat in the front row sandwiched between Princess on the left and Fred on the right. She held the battery-powered fan right in front of her face. The heat was overwhelming.

  Beth sat so close to the open casket that she could see the body of her dead sister lying there. The sickly sweet smell of embalming fluid assailed her nostrils and she covered her mouth and nose with a handkerchief as she fought a wave of nausea. She dug into her purse, fished out a mint and began to chew. The crowded church, the heat, and the smell of death were all too much for her. She was dying for the service to be over.

  She sneaked a glance at Fred who sat beside her, crumpling a piece of tissue in his large hands. He looked uncomfortable. She did not know if he just did not like funerals or if it was because it was his sister’s funeral, but it was obvious to her that he did not want to be there. Well, neither did she. The choir began to sing and Beth tried to take her mind off her discomfort by humming along to their song.

  “What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear, what a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer.” As the last strains of the song and the notes from the organ died away Beth took out her handkerchief and dabbed at the beads of sweat settling on her upper lip.

  Suddenly, the organist struck a chord and the entire congregation stood. Surprised, Beth was slow in getting to her feet. Her arthritic knees were giving her trouble again. As the organ music died away the minister and his party entered and climbed the platform. Beth groaned. It was Pastor Philmore, one of the most longwinded preachers she knew. She was sure not that there was no hope of being released from this oven any time soon.

  The congregation sat and Beth settled back down in the seat. If they got up again for a song or a prayer she was going to keep on sitting. Her knees could not take anymore. Pastor Philmore rose from his seat and went forward to the podium.

  “My brethren,” he said, “we are here to celebrate the life of a wonderful sister. She was the epitome of kindness, caring, sharing. We have lost a true sister with the death of this woman and she will be sorely missed.”

  As Beth listened she wondered how he knew all that. Gloria had lived in England for years. He did not know what she had been like. She was sure he was just saying all of that because it sounded good. Then, feeling a bit ashamed at her wandering thoughts, he gave herself a mental shake and tried to concentrate on the sermon.

  “Brothers and sisters, we have before us an angel of the Lord, a righteous and upright woman, worthy of praise.”

  The amens rang out in the church.

  “Now, brethren, it is for us to look into ourselves and determine whether we will be found worthy when the Lord calls us home.” The minister moved from behind the podium and began to pace the platform.

  “Brethren, will we be found amongst the chosen? Will we walk the streets of gold? Will we have milk and honey and sit on the right hand of our Lord. Or…,” he swung around and pointed to the congregation, “will we be roasted in the fires of hell?”

  The hallelujahs were loud and someone at the back jumped up and screamed, “Jesus!”

  “Are you worthy, brethren?” Pastor Philmore shouted as he pranced from one end of the platform to the other. “Have we been faithful with our tithes and offerings, brethren? Have we been giving back to the Lord his fair share of the fruits of our labor?”

  Beth watched as the pastor bobbed and weaved, caught up in the emotion of his own sermon. She raised the fan close to her face again. With Pastor Philmore’s every hop she grew warmer. The more animated he became the more uncomfortable she got.

  “Brothers and sisters, can we say at this moment, ‘it is well, it is well with my soul’? Can we say, brethren, that if we are called home right now that we will walk hand in hand with our Lord and Saviour?”

  With each question the organist struck a chord and the congregation shouted amens and hallelujahs. One woman on the choir waved her hands in the air with her head bowed, crooning “Jesus, Jesus”. Another sprang to her feet with tears rolling down her cheeks and cried, “Preach it, brother.”

  The pastor got louder and louder and the congregation became more excited. There was a shriek from the back of the church and Sister Wilson dashed forward. She threw herself down at the altar.

  “Yes, sister,” the preacher cried, “throw your sins at the altar. Lay your burdens down before Jesus. If you are suffering, if you are worried, if the burden of sin is on your shoulders, lay them at the feet of the cross now. Come and wash in the blood of Christ and you will be whiter than snow.”

  Beth’s head throbbed. The noise of the organ, the people screaming, the minister

  shouting – it was all too
much. She dabbed feverishly at her brow then glanced at her brother. His forehead, too, was wet with perspiration. As she looked at him he returned the glance and gave her a weak smile.

  She turned away quickly, annoyed. Why did he smile at her as if they had anything in common? There was nothing between them. They had only shared the same mother and father some long, long time ago. With a grunt she settled herself back into her seat and turned her eyes to the platform, determined never to look his way again.

  It was almost seven o’clock before the family made it back to the house. The service had lasted almost two hours then they had spent another hour and a half at the family plot where the body was interred. By the time Beth was able to sit and put her feet up she was exhausted. She was too tired to even eat. The house was crowded with friends, family, church members, and children who were relieved to be free from the confines of the church. They were now running all around the house, screaming and getting on top of her nerves.

  Beth escaped to her bedroom. She sat for a while in her favourite chair, just staring out the window and feeling the now cool breeze pass over her face. The fresh air soothed her. She leaned back and closed her eyes. For a long while she just sat there, listening to the soft sound of her own breathing, listening to the rustle of the wind in the trees. She was totally relaxed, drifting into sweet sleep, when there was a knock at the door.

  “Who is it?” Beth’s voice was soft and husky. She was still only half awake.

  “Beth? It’s Fred.”

  Beth blinked then stared at the closed door. For a while she did not answer. Then, in a stronger, sterner voice she said, “Yes? What is it?”

  “May I come in?”

  “I’m trying to get some rest,” she replied curtly. “Is it something that can wait?”

  “Beth.” There was a pause then the voice came again. “Beth, you know I leave in the morning. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  Beth knitted her brow and grumbled softly to herself. She heaved a wearisome sigh. “Alright. The door is open. You can come in.”

  The door opened slowly. Fred pushed his white-haired head around it and peered in at her. He pushed the door open wider and entered then closed it behind him.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yes. I jus’ have a headache,” Beth answered as she stared out the window, deliberately avoiding her brother’s eyes. “I been trying to get away from the crowd and the noise but, as you can see, I was not too successful.”

  “I won’t stay long,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “It’s just that, since I got here three days ago, I’ve been trying to get the chance to talk with you. But…you’ve always been so busy. Tonight is the last chance I will have to talk to you, Beth. I really don’t want to go back home without us spending even a little while together.”

  Beth turned to stare at him but said nothing. Fred fiddled with his tie then looked away. He sidled over to a small bench by the bedside and perched on the edge. He looked like a little boy who had done something wrong and was asking his mother for forgiveness. It was obvious that he was not comfortable with her silence. Beth did nothing to make it easier for him. She just sat there looking at him.

  “Beth, I know we are not very close because you grew up for most of your teenage years in Kingston and I was in the country. Then I was sent off to England. We are old people now in our eighties and I know it is late for us to even want to be close, but I just want to try.” He pulled on the tie again. “The two of us are the only ones left and for whatever little time we have here on earth I would really like us to keep in touch.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Beth looked at him, frowning. “From the time I was fourteen I was forced out of the family. And you want me to be a part of it now? Now, when everybody dead and it’s just the two of us left?”

  “Beth, you were always a part of the family. You know that. And that is why we always kept trying to make contact with you. I wrote you many times from England but you never replied. And even Gloria tried to contact you once she started working. But it’s as if you always tried to push us away. You were the one rejecting us.”

  “Me? That’s a laugh. I wanted to be part of the family but yet I was the one who was sent away to Kingston. Given away! I was the one who had to suffer at the hands of men trying to maul me. I was the one who had to survive on my own without the help of mother or father while the four of you lived happily with them.” Beth glared at him. “You and Gloria had the privilege of going to England. Simon went to the States and Albert did very well for himself before he died. But me, I had to struggle through everything. Alone. Where were you all when I needed my family?”

  Fred looked shocked at the vehemence with which she spoke. “Beth, you know that the only reason Mother sent you away was because we were so poor. She knew she could not manage and she thought there was more opportunity for you in Kingston. She never wanted to lose contact with you once you were there.”

  He came a little closer to her, speaking earnestly. “She loved you and she tried her best to get you back but every time she tried to get in touch with you, you refused to reply to her letters. You made it seem as if you were managing great all on your own. It was not until you were a big woman with a child that you even started speaking to Mama again.”

  “And what you expect? I know she didn’t like me. She found it so easy to get rid of me. Why did she have to give me away?” Beth shook her head angrily, feeling the tears well up inside her. With all her might she fought the rush of emotions, fought to hold on to the shell that protected her heart.

  But it was no use. She had hid behind her tough façade for years but now the tears were coming, washing away the hardness that covered her soft core. She buried her face in her hands. She sat there for a long time, her body shaking, her breath catching on heaving sobs she was struggling to control.

  When she looked up again her face was wet with the tears of her childhood pain. “I was always the outsider, never a part of the Gordon family. Sometimes I didn’t know who I really was. I even wondered if they had adopted me and then got fed up and wanted to get rid of me. I know people who were poor, just as poor as we were, and they held on to their children. They tried their best and they never let go. So why did Mama have to let me go?”

  Fred got up from the stool and walked over to Beth. He reached out a trembling hand and touched her arm. “I know you’re hurt. I know the family hurt you more than we ever realized. We tried to be in touch with you, to bring you back into the family and you refused our efforts. But we should never have stopped trying.”

  He stepped back and turned his face away from her. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his left eye and then the right. “We just thought…we just thought everything was fine with you because that is what you kept saying. You never let on that you were suffering, that you were in pain, that you even wanted us as your family. You were always so independent…probably too independent for your own good.”

  He shook his head as if to get rid of the bad memories. Then he looked at her. “Beth, please know that we all loved you. And I...I’m still here and I still love you.”

  Beth looked up at him and her old heart ached. She ached for this brother she had once loved, she yearned for the family she had once had. Still, she remained silent. There was nothing she could say. It was all too late.

  Fred watched his sister’s face. He, too, remained silent. Then slowly, hesitantly, he took her hand. He sat on the edge of the bed, still holding on to her. “Sis, I have something to tell you.” There was a look of sorrow on his face. “Something that might make you understand.”

  Beth looked back at him and felt her heart pound in her chest. “What is it?” she whispered.

  “This is something I promised I would never tell. But in all fairness to you, I think I must.”

  “What are you talking about?” She squeezed his hand, wishing he would just speak up. Her poor heart could not take much more this day.

&n
bsp; “I promised Gloria that I would take this to my grave but there is something I have to tell you…about our parents.”

  The distress was evident on his face. Beth held her breath and waited, all the while thinking, my heart, my poor heart can’t take any more pain.

  Fred freed his hand from her grip and got up. He began to pace the room. “Sister Gloria told me that, as the oldest girl, she used to get all the attention of our father. He called her…his ‘princess’.

  Beth exhaled slowly and looked away. She looked out the window at the green hills and the banana tree swaying in the evening breeze. She felt the hurt seeping into her bones. “His princess? But…I used to be Papa’s princess.”

  “Yes, but Gloria was his princess first. He told her that she was his special girl and she used to do special things for him.”

  “Just like I used to do?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Now Fred sounded wary, confused.

  “He used to let me be responsible for shining his shoes and putting out his clothes for church.” Beth smiled sadly. She felt a warm rush of love as she remembered her beloved Papa.

  “Gloria used to do that, too.” Fred nodded. “But…there’s more.”

  “Yes?” Tears were beginning to fill her eyes again.

  “Our father…,” Fred screwed up his eyes and put a shaking hand to his head. “Our father used to molest Gloria.”

  “M…molest? You mad?” The pounding in her chest was back, louder, frightening her. “How could you say these things about Papa?”

  “Beth, I’m sorry. It’s all true.” The crumpled white handkerchief appeared again and Fred dabbed at his eyes. He blew his nose and drew in a shaky breath. Then he continued. “He used to do things with her that were not right, Beth. He called her his special princess and he would make her do things…you know what I mean.”

  “Oh, my God,” Beth whispered. She clutched the front of her blouse, pressing her fist hard against her chest, against her heart. Of all the people in her family her father was the only one she had kept on loving, kept on hoping would come for her. She had never stopped loving him. And now this! My heart, she thought, my poor heart is too old for this. Too old.