by Alex Wheatle
Cilbert was buried in a corner of Streatham cemetery on the 11th May, 1963. Spring had finally arrived and the clouds were parting, but the snow had left puddles in its wake all over the cemetery, causing the gravediggers problems with mudslides. Grieving family and friends, including Cilbert’s workmate Delgado, Lester and his brother, the Skidmore family and members of Jacob’s church, had their arms stretched out to the heavens. They sang hymns and spirituals by the graveside, not caring about their muddied footwear. Jenny sprinkled rum onto the lowered coffin as Hortense looked on, her expression blank. Hortense never sang a word.
Earlier in the day, speaking to the mourners in his small church hall, Jacob spoke of a ‘determined, honest mon who loved his family more than anything’. The congregation clapped as Jacob, glancing at Hortense, felt her loss and anger.
Following the service, Jacob assured Hortense, “we will keep praying for Cilbert’s soul to be delivered up in heaven. Cilbert an’ myself never agree ’pon everyt’ing, but I owe him ah lot. Me never forget de way him ah help me wid me studies.”
No emotion showing itself upon her face, Hortense answered, “me t’ank yuh fe ya kind words. An’ yuh give ah nice sweet service. But, preacher mon. Don’t tell me dat heaven is under de earth. Our heaven was ’pon earth. Being togeder! Living we life. Dat was our heaven. Yuh cyan pray if yuh waan to, but ya prayers an’ Miss Mary’s prayers never save me husband. Massa God never lissen to yuh or meself so me don’t see why me shoulda talk to Him! Nuh, sa! Praise de Lord, everyone ah say. Read de Bible preacher mon ah teach, sing ya hymn out loud so Massa God cyan hear, dey insist. But when we call ’pon Him. Him ignore we. All dese so-called religious people don’t really know wha’ life is wort’. Me don’t mean to offend yuh, Jacob, but me affe speak how me feel. An’ me feel dat ya God has forsaken me.”
Shocked by Hortense’s tone, Jacob attempted to smile away his embarrassment and went to receive other mourners.
Spotting a weeping woman standing on her own away from the congregation who had encircled Cilbert’s grave, Hortense, recognising her, walked slowly up to her as compassion rose in her heart. The woman was wearing a fine cut black suit and an expensive black hat. Her black shoes were now mud-brown. The tissue she was holding in her left hand was soiled with tears and mascara.
“Almyna,” Hortense called. “Why yuh standing der ’pon ya own?”
Stepping back a pace, Almyna scanned the mourners through damp eyes. She spotted Jenny who was glaring at her and she decided to turn around and walk away, feeling her presence would not be tolerated.
“Almyna!” Hortense called again.
Stopping in her tracks, Almyna waited for Hortense to come to her. The two women communicated something with their eyes. There they stood for a full minute before warmly hugging each other. They remained in their embrace for the next five minutes, no words of comfort or sorrow necessary. Jenny and Jacob looked on in disbelief as the rest of the mourners wondered who this woman was. Hortense invited Almyna back to her home for the wake and Almyna reminisced about Cilbert’s childhood days – memories that Hortense was eager to hear. Watching Jacob and the members of his church, Hortense whispered to Almyna, “dey t’ink dat great Massa God will come down from de sky an’ mek everyt’ing alright. Well, dem foolish to believe dat.” Almyna nodded but was unsure what Hortense was talking about.
“Why did yuh ask me to come here?” asked Almyna.
“Becah me don’t know how me coulda be vex wid someone who truly loved Cilbert,” answered Hortense. “Remember when we reached port at Sout’ampton? Almyna, me see de way yuh look ’pon Cilbert when we go our separate ways. It was de first time me really feel sorry fe yuh. Me don’t know how much yuh love ya husband, Hubert, but me know how much Cilbert meant to yuh. Yuh had ah right to attend his funeral as much as everybody else.”
Slightly nodding, Almyna replied, “yes. Me cyan’t deny dat. Even though me spread cruel words about him. So wha’ yuh gwarn do now, Hortense?”
“Carry on,” Hortense replied, determination in her eyes. “Raise me son de bes’ way me know how. Inna Englan’. Everybody t’inking dat me should go home, but before me do dat me affe fulfil Cilby’s ambition.”
Jenny let it be known in quiet conversations that Almyna had tried to prise Cilbert and Hortense apart so she could win him herself. “She ’ave ah mighty nerve coming here so!” Jenny remarked. “An’ nuh shame!”
On her way out of Hortense’s apartment, Almyna noticed the sideway glances aimed at her. Jacob was standing by the door and Almyna said to him, “if me was ah stranger, me would nah know who is de widow – Hortense or Jenny. Me admit dat me nuh perfect. But before yuh judge me yuh should judge ya wife.”
About to reply, Jacob bit his tongue for he didn’t want to provoke a scene. For the remainder of the wake, Jacob studied the body language of Jenny and found a loss within her eyes that was profound and deep. A realisation came to him that perhaps Almyna’s accusations were correct.
Suffering a churning sensation in the pit of his stomach, Jacob waited to confront Jenny when all the guests had departed and Hortense was asleep.
Sitting on her bed in her dressing gown, Jenny was braiding her hair, humming a hymn that was sang beside Cilbert’s grave. The sound she emitted was like a lament. Jacob was parked on a chair beside the dressing table, still wearing his suit. Working things over in his mind, he glanced at the alarm clock upon his bedside cabinet. The time was 12.45 a.m.
“Yuh loved him, didn’t yuh,” Jacob said quietly.
“Loved who?” replied Jenny. “Wha’ yuh talking about, Jacob.”
“Cilbert.”
Jenny laughed but then she saw the seriousness of Jacob’s expression. “Of course me loved him – as ah friend an’ ah brudder-in-law.”
“NUH,” Jacob raised his voice. “Yuh loved him in de Biblical sense.”
“Jacob, ya being silly. Mebbe yuh drink too much rum tonight. Yuh know it don’t agree wid yuh.”
“DON’T PATRONISE ME!” yelled Jacob, rising to his feet and walking over to his wife.
Dropping her comb on the bed and sensing Jacob’s fury, for the first time since she knew him, Jenny was scared of her husband. She backed away to the bed headrest, bringing her knees against her chest. Jacob then chuckled – a self-mocking sound. He then got up again, unscrewed a rum bottle that was resting on the dressing table, poured himself half a glass and downed it in one gulp.
“Jacob, wha’ is troubling yuh?” asked Jenny, struggling to hold onto her composure.
Pulling open a drawer beneath the dressing table, Jacob took out a Bible – it had belonged to his father.
“Swear ’pon dis dat yuh never loved Cilbert!” he ordered.
Jenny flinched and struggled for words. Her lips began to tremble.
“Dey say love is blind but me de blindest of all of dem,” Jacob laughed, throwing the Bible to the floor. “Me papa did ah warn me about getting involve wid ya family. An’ his words were true. True like ya ridiculous love fe Cilbert – God rest him soul. Me wonder if him ever knew?”
Realising that it would be pointless to deny Jacob’s allegations, Jenny kept quiet. Never seeing him like this before, she feared for her life.
“It all mek sense now,” Jacob resumed. “It’s why yuh did waan me to go to Kingston an’ to Englan’ too. Me was so blind. Ya even cook Cilbert him birt’day dinner one time inna Kingston an’ me did ponder fe ah moment if yuh an’ Cilbert had somet’ing going on. But me put it outta me mind, telling meself dat would be ridiculous.”
Covering her face with her pillow, Jenny could do nothing but cry.
“Me should be de one bawling!” Jacob ranted. “Wha’ was ya plan? To tek ya sister husband away? Wha’ kinda madness is dat? Mebbe me should tell her. Hortense should not be blinded to ya wickedness!”
“NUH, JACOB,” Jenny suddenly pleaded, throwing her pillow upon the bed, her tears smudged upon her face. “Nuh, Jacob. If yuh do dat me don’t know wha’ me shou
ld do wid meself. Me will tek me own life!”
“An’ yuh would, too,” Jacob laughed. “Ya love fe ya sister me don’t doubt an’ me know dat if Hortense look ’pon yuh wid scorn it will destroy yuh. An’ dat is why dis palava is so hard to understan’. Knowing dat if Hortense ever found out about ya mad lust, she woulda curse yuh ’til ya grave. An’ yuh woulda be an outcast. But ya still follow Hortense an’ Cilbert wherever dem go.”
Jacob poured himself another drink. He was now walking on unsteady legs. His lips were smirking but his eyes betrayed devastation. “Jus’ de one question me waan to ask yuh, me sweetheart. Why did yuh marry me?”
Jenny couldn’t answer.
“An’ yuh cyan’t even come up wid an excuse fe dat! Lord me God! Wha’ kinda Jezebel me get meself involved wid? Almyna might be many t’ings, but at least she honest. Her love fe Cilbert was plain an’ clear. But yuh! Deceitful, manipulative, plotting! Yuh really are like Anancy. Me shoulda pay more attention to ya Gran’mama Melody when she tell me ya like Anancy.”
Burying her head into the mattress, Jenny sobbed, “yuh right. But me beg yuh not to tell Hortense. Cilbert dead now.”
“Yuh t’ink me bad-minded like yuh?” Jacob replied. “Hortense has lost David already an’ now Cilbert. Yuh t’ink me waan to add to her grief?”
“T’ank yuh fe dat, Jacob,” Jenny managed.
“Me not doing dis fe yuh! Fe Hortense’s sake. De crazy t’ing is all she ’ave left in dis world to love is Lincoln an’ yuh! Fate’s cruelty mocks we sometimes.”
“Me tried to fight dis t’ing me had fe Cilbert. Jacob, yuh mus’ believe dat.”
“Yuh asking me to believe anyt’ing yuh say? Me really don’t know where we go from here. If we divorce den as ah so called preacher mon, me would lose ah certain respect even though me have plenty reason to do jus’ dat. An’ my papa would tell me ‘I told yuh so’. But how cyan I live wid ah woman who nuh love me?”
Jacob glared at Jenny, expecting some kind of reply, his heart wanting to hear that at least she had some feelings for him. Jenny couldn’t meet her husband’s eyes, afraid of his expression. An expression that bore the mark of the unloved.
Filling his glass again, Jacob tottered to his side of the bed and sat down, peering out the window. Tears were falling down his cheeks. Jenny closed her eyes and imagined she was in her father’s embrace.
Seven days following the funeral, Jenny found Hortense in Mary’s back garden trying to get Lincoln to sleep. She was humming a spiritual that she had learned from her grandfather, enjoying the warm touch of the spring sun that shone upon her face.
“Hortense,” Jenny called softly. “Ya sure yuh don’t waan to come to Jamaica wid me? Papa would love to see yuh. Mama too. Me could still get yuh ah ticket ’pon de same flight. Mebbe if yuh tek Lincoln yuh cyan introduce him to Cilbert family?”
“Cilbert family?” Hortense mocked, hardening her eyebrows. “Dey never did waan me to marry him so why should me mek dem see Lincoln? An’ der is not’ing inna Jamaica fe me. Cilbert is buried here, an’ me don’t waan to leave him jus’ yet. Him soul might t’ink me abandon him. Nuh, sa! Jenny, yuh gwarn to Jamaica an’ stop worry about me. Lincoln an’ meself will be alright. Say hello to Levi an’ Carmesha fe me when yuh reach.”
Hortense returned to her humming as Jenny placed a comforting hand upon Hortense’s left shoulder. “Me will, Hortense. But it grieves me to leave yuh like dis. Yuh ah big woman now Hortense an’ yuh don’t need ya big sister so much.”
“Wha’ do yuh mean by dat,” queried Hortense.
“When me reach Jamaica me ’ave some t’inking to do of me own but don’t worry about dat,” answered Jenny. “Fate might lead we to different paths but me will always love yuh dearly. Me swear to dat.”
Clutching Jenny’s hand, Hortense managed a smile. “Jenny,” she called.
“Wha’ is it, Hortense.”
“Do yuh t’ink dat we are cursed?”
“Wha’ do yuh mean?”
“Yuh remember Papa’s story about Kofi an’ everybody.”
“Yes.”
“Well, Papa went back to him hometown an’ affe bury him mama. David gone America an’ when him come back deat’ claim him. Now Cilby dead.”
Jenny thought about it. “Nuh, Hortense. It’s jus’ coincidence an’ bad fortune. Don’t worry yaself about it.”
Hortense’s grip on Jenny’s hand tightened. “Be careful, Jenny. Me don’t waan to lose yuh. Me don’t t’ink me could tek dat.”
“Me will be alright. Mebbe nex’ time yuh cyan come wid me an’ bring Lincoln?”
“Nuh, Jenny. Me cyan’t do dat! Me don’t waan nuh curse inna Jamaica to trouble him. Yuh keep yaself safe.”
Smiling and masking her own fears, Jenny kissed Hortense upon the forehead and released her grip. Hortense resumed her humming.
“Wha’ song is dat, Hortense?”
“Yuh don’t remember, Jenny? It’s somet’ing Gran’papa Neville teach me to sing whenever me sad. Me used to sing it under our tree after David dead.”
Jenny tried to recall the words but Hortense had already closed her eyes, concentrated her brow and began singing.
“Coromanty an’ Ashanti
An dose who fished inna de sacred Oti
Crawled wid iron rattle ’pon de Atlantic
Remembering der mudders while feeling sea-sick
But der spirits never grow weary.
Fallen kins never bruk der souls
Eating chicken claw soup from dutty bowls
But der spirits never grow weary
Forced to chop down de giant silk cotton tree
Praying to Anancy to set dem free
An’ der spirits never grow weary
Captained by Cudjoe an’ Queen Nanny
Putting up resistance, stomping ’pon slavery
We spirits never grow weary
Dem kill Sam Sharp an’ udders too
Our hand was made strong an’ our resistance grew
We spirits never grow weary
De fallen will be remembered in Island Songs
Der souls above will right our wrongs
An’ we spirits will never grow weary
We kidren will march into de future
Armed with Island Songs, remembering our ancestor
Nuh, sa, oh nuh
We spirits will never grow weary
So walk wid talawa, lift up ya head high
For we have survived, nuh mon cyan deny
Treasure de dead an’ look to de future
For now is de time dat Massa God will deliver
Oh nuh, sa! How could we spirits ever get weary.”
Tears were streaming down Jenny’s face as she hugged her sister again, kissing her upon the cheek. There they remained for the next hour, immersed in their shared history while listening to the infant sounds of Lincoln who fought to claim sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Claremont, Jamaica
July 1963
Jenny had been received warmly by her extended family and old friends. The natural mystic of rural Jamaica added to the calming North Coast breezes, soothed away her melancholy and refreshed her dormant spirit. Sights and sounds that she had taken for granted in her childhood were now a pleasure to be experienced. Upon arrival at her childhood home she ran to the Blue Mahoe tree where she and Hortense shared untold sweet and unpleasant memories. She would hike up to her father’s plot and spend lazy afternoons listening to his childhood recollections beneath the palm groves. Joseph was now fit and well after receiving treatment at a Kingston hospital for his prostrate problem. Jenny found that her father was now at ease with himself, greeting everyone he met with a welcoming smile and once he began reciting old Maroon tales and legends, it was a mighty task to stop him.
The proud parents of three boys and living at Isaac’s house, Carmesha and Levi wanted to know everything about London. No vivid description would satisfy their hunger. Isaac himself suffered a pride overload as Jenn
y informed him of Jacob’s establishment of a church in Brixton. Jenny found that her father-in-law had allowed humour to enter his life and he enjoyed the company of his three grandsons. Grandpapa Neville, bedridden and bent with age, feasted his eyes upon photographs of Lincoln and couldn’t thank Jenny enough for bringing the images to him. “Me ’ave made me sacrifices fe de bwai an’ me curse is finally over,” assured Neville. “He is de first of we family to be born inna foreign land an’ his seed will grow mighty becah him ’ave t’ree winds flowing t’rough him. De winds of Africa, Jamaica an’ now Englan’. Yes, sa! Tribulation might buil’ many stumbling blocks fe de bwai but Lincoln will conquer dem all. Me jus’ know dat.”
Riding into Claremont market square upon a donkey, Jenny laughed at the wolf whistles and admiring glances aimed at her. She bantered with the men who frequented the bars and was not shy to shout her appreciation to the bare-backed men who toiled in the fields. Forgetting Jacob in London and her guilt evaporating, Jenny felt as free as a doctor bird, her heart no longer chained to one man, the spell of her obsession finally over. One night, Joseph remarked to Amy, “it’s like she come back wid ah new character? So good to see her smiling an’ flinging away dat mighty intensity.”
But Jenny was secretly observed from a distance by her concerned mother, Amy, who refused to believe that her daughter could be so blissful with Cilbert having passed away only nine weeks ago and Hortense still grief-stricken. Amy bided her time until one afternoon, when Jenny was idling under her favourite tree enjoying the taste of a mango and blessing her eyes upon the green, southern ranges that kissed the wispy clouds.
“Are yuh going back to ya husband?” Amy asked, her tone confrontational.
“Wha’ kind of question is dat, Mama?” Jenny replied.
“Well, me real question is, why yuh look so damn pleased wid yaself when de mon of ya dreams is dead inna Englan’ soil?”