Tell No-One About This

by Jacob Ross

  An yunno, someting happen when he say dat; I look round me an was like it was de first time I see de place; dat de only ting dat grow was mint grass dat was brown an parch like asham, and a whole heap o cochineel dat nobody could use for nothing except to wash dey hair. I see dat de hill we livin on was dry an white like flour. We was plant between de big wide sea in front and de Chichiree swamp behind, an de only ting dat conneck we with de outside world was one little dust road dat go right down to de pretty pink beach below.

  ‘Is de will o de Lord,’ Granny answer. Dat fret me, but I didn say nutting.

  Missa Coleridge didn smile dis time. He jus walk back to he car.

  Next time he come he look a lot more serious. By dat time everybody know dat he want to buy up de place, an everybody was preparing to sell real quick, cos was a lot o money he payin.

  But Granny tell im no, De Lord was takin care of her well enough, thank yuh. Missa Coleridge look at she as if she mad. Dem turkey wrinkle dat hang down below he neck get kind o purple and even more wrinkle-up, an he hand agitate. He look at she an den he look at me, cos I was in de yard pretendin dat I was sweepin. Den he look at she again an say, ‘D’you expect me to accept that? Everybody’s sold up. They were glad to have the money. Your government even undertook to move your houses for free! What reason have you got for not moving with your people?’

  Granny didn answer. I look at de man under me eye and it occur to me he had a point. Since he change de way dat place look for me, I didn like it no more. All my friends done move. Dem mother and fadder had money dat Missa Coleridge give dem. Some o dem was even buildin concrete house. So how come Granny gettin on so foolish?

  ‘Maybe the child has something to say about this?’

  Now, ever since dat man start comin, he never once see me. Now he want me to say someting an make contrary with my Granny.

  I look up quick. De man smile at me. I look at Granny. She didn look as if she was payin me no mind. In fact, I feel as if she was encouragin me. So I put down de broom an I wipe mih mouth an say: ‘Granny doesn got de dispositioning to concur wid nobody proposition.’ De man look at me as if I hit im. Wuds, I tell you! Dem is wunderful! I thought de man was goin to fall, but he push up he chest an say, ‘My Gawd!’

  Well dat make im leave de yard very quick, and I thought dat dem wuds o mine goin make us see de last of im. But a coupla weeks after, he come back and call my granny stupid. Like I say arready, something tell me dat it wasn goin to end up easy. I could see dat Granny know dat too becos dat same night, after she put back de serious paper, she didn sleep at all. Or if she sleep it was like dem boat I use to watch fightin to cross de bad water near Goat Point. In all my time wid she, my granny never toss and groan so.

  Dat night I wonder bout everyting. What my mother was doin in Trinidad? Mebbe she had a husban now and I had brothers an sisters I didn know. Mebbe she did never like me and did decide from de start dat she wasn goin send for me.

  Granny get quiet close to mornin. I suppose she must ha fall asleep. But not me. All dat thinkin wouldn leave me alone. An when I get tired thinkin, I find meself lissenin to, well, de worl. De night was like a pusson out dere rubbin ‘imself against de house. I could hear de sea, too, like a million ole people quarrellin mongst demself. An de wind dat pass across de galvanise was a gadderin of ghosts dat makin church above we head. But it didn’ frighten me, cos I had Granny close, and nothing never frighten me when me an Granny lay down close.

  Before I fall asleep, I member de las ting dat she say to me. ‘Feather,’ she say. ‘Is tired dese ole bones tired. Dem see too much in dis life arready. All dem wan to do is rest. Feather,’ she say. I didn answer but I lissen. ‘You tink dis lan useless for true?’

  She always tell me dat I mus never lie for she, an if I have to lie it must be only to protect meself. So I didn lie. ‘Yes, Granny,’ I say.

  ‘Why?’ she say.

  ‘Cos everybody sell dem own an gone to live cross by de swamp, an Paula fadder goin to buy a Lan Rover, an Grace say she mother goin sen she to Englan to study history when she get big; an Teereez say she gettin a big big dolly for Chrismas and she goin travel round de islan an write everyting down dat people say, an Jacob say is only we dat stupid an’…’

  ‘Ku-Kus?’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘You say teacher say you bright?’

  ‘Yes, Granny, cos I know big wuds.’

  ‘Well answer dis: if dis property so wutless, how come de Mister want it so bad, an nobody didn know it wutless till he start to tell dem so?’

  Yunno, I never thought o dat! Dat never cross mih mind.

  ‘Ku-Kus?’

  ‘Gran?’

  ‘S’pose I say dat it have a whole heap o tings big wuds can’t teach you.’

  ‘What about dat paper? Is dat paper dat make Missa Coleridge can’t touch we; an is dem big wuds self dat make it so.’

  ‘Is not de big wuds, is what de big wuds mean. All it mean is dat dis piece o land belong to me fair an proper. An look how easy dat is to say. De people who write dat paper jus too damn show off an pretenshus.’ An she laugh kinda dry an funny. I didn like dat laugh at all, specially becos she was lookin at me as she was talkin. Den she face get serious. ‘I hardly got de time to see de endin o dis fight. Is ole yuh Granny gettin ole.’

  I tell she dat I know how to fight, and if was stone she want me to stone dat man, next time he come is stone I glad to stone im.

  ‘Nuh,’ she say. ‘If yuh stone im, den we lose. With people like dat is a different kind o fight yuh have to fight. Not like we does fight, an not like how dem does fight.’

  ‘How den?’

  ‘You mix dem, Feather. You mix dem an make a different way.’

  ‘I don unnerstan.’

  ‘Patience, chile.’

  An yunno, is a long, long time after dat I realise dat she did give me de answer right deh.

  Is when Missa Coleridge come back and she ask me to show im de paper, but don let im touch it, dat tings really turn sour. Granny tell me afterwards dat nutting in Missa Coleridge worl make him prepare for people like we to refuse him anyting. It have people who tink dem own everyting, like if dey entitle to it long before dem even born. Dem teach deir chilren to believe someting is deirs even before dem know what ownin mean. Dat for people like we to tell dem no is worse dan steppin on dem big toe, o spittin in dem eye. Is a belief dat dem born inside of – same way dat a fish o tadpole does born surround by water.

  Mebbe dat was why Missa Coleridge get on like dat when I point de paper in he face an show im de stamp an de candleblood.

  De man blow like a lambi shell, tellin we how we silly, how we is ignoramus (I write dat down); how Granny cantankerous (I write dat down too); how we obstructin progress; how de govment give im rights an we humbuggin dem rights; how he wish we little chicken coop of a house fall down an kill we (yes he say dat!); an how it ain got nobody who goin help we when we dead, jus wait an see. An if we tink dat we goin spoil he plans, we go soanso see!

  I get so vex I nearly put some wuds on he, but I member what Granny tell me, an it sort o throw cold water on mih tongue, so I constraint mihself.

  Nex day Granny send me to call Missa Jojo.

  ‘Joseph,’ she say, ‘I want you to get me a laughin tree.’

  Missa Jojo laugh. But me, I wasn laughin, becos I hear bout all kinda tings dat trees does do, but I never hear bout no tree dat does laugh. Missa Jojo laugh again an tell she, yes.

  When he leave, Granny rub she chin an say to me dat she sorry she insult de man who try to sell she de little donkey, dat she shoulda buy de creature, cos she goin be needin a lotta manure.

  I didn know what I did expect Missa Jojo to bring for Granny, but it definitely wasn what he pull out from he jola bag an pass over to she so secret secret. A stick. A little piece o nothing. I was well disappointed and I make sure I show it. To mek tings worse, Granny walk round de house and den de boundary o de land for a whole day before she jook it in de ground an leave
it dere. Den she have de boldface to call me an tell me dat is my responsibility to water it an manure it, an whatever happen to she afterwards, I mus never root it up, an never let nobody touch it. An even if she dead an gone, she goin be watchin me to make sure I care dat stick. I don tink I ever see my Granny look so serious before.

  A lotta tings begin to happen straight afterwards. Dat question dat Granny ask me bout why Coleridge want de lan so bad sort o answer itself for me. First ting, a whole heap o truck arrive with sand an gravel an drums o tar. An den a bulldozer wit caterpillar wheel come. After dat a stone leveller arrive to keep it company an mek a whole heap of noise in people head.

  An yunno! De same people who uses to be we friends, who Coleridge send off to live in de swamp, dem same people come out with shovel an tray an start widenin de dust road an pouring tar an gravel, an cookin, an eatin lunch by de road. An soon de road wasn a dust road no more.

  Missa Coleridge used to stan up in de selfsame road mongst all dem people an point he quail-up red finger at my granmother an say tings, an dem people who used to be we friend, who used to borrow a pinch o we salt, an a cup o we sugar, dem selfsame people used to laugh with im.

  Mornins after waterin de tree, I goin to school wit me little hanbag an mih lunch in me Dano pan and dem lookin at me an shooshooin mongst demself an laughin. Grace fadder always askin me how is de ole lady, but I never answer he cos he have a kinda grin in he eye, which I didn like at all. But I have to say de road was easier to walk on, pretty an shiny like a ribbon you buy in de shop an iron till it smooth.

  I feel foolish wit me Dano pan o lunch, cos everybody mother buy dem three an four-storey foodcarrier to bring deir lunch to school in. An it wasn no steam fig an breadfruit without no meat eider, cos dem mother an fadder wuckin for Missa Coleridge and dem have payday every week. So imagine de vex I vex when I reach home an Granny still say she not sellin no land to nobody.

  After de road, more truck come with cement an lumber an all sort o ting. For a whole year de worl start changin before me eye.

  Dat hotel tek five years to build. I count dem. Granny count dem too. A lotta pretty concrete house, brown an white with a swimmin pool, dat was bright in de sun like a white man eye, shoot up over de sea.

  ‘Cottages,’ Jacob fadder say. ‘Cottages wit lectric light an runnin water, an bath an everyting. Is progress. Yuh can’t beat white man for brains.’

  I couldn find no wuds for dat. But Granny had a few.

  ‘Ask im if he allow to go an bathe dere, or get a bucket o water in Coleridge pipe to drink. Ask im if all de work he work for Coleridge, iffen dat mek him have electric too.’

  So I ask im. An he get vex an call me a rude mout’ soanso who didn have no mother, with one ole shegoat for a granmother, so who de hell I tink I is?

  I cry.

  I didn tell Granny, cos it hit me dat it didn have nothing dat she could do, an even if it hurt me, was true what Jacob fadder say.

  But Missa Jojo must ha tell she, becos dat night she was extra nice to me. She fry plantain and give me, seein as I like fry plantain so much. An she call me, ‘Darlin’. Now, when Granny call me darlin is like she givin me someting nicer dan a sweetie. Is a wud dat don come from she mouth too easy.

  ‘Darlin,’ she say, ‘don let none o dem upset you. How much chilren it had in class today?’ Was a question she always ask, ever since de trouble start an I could never figure out why. Sometimes she even ask de name o dem who didn come to school. Is how I come to tell she eggzackly who an who stay home an what dem sick with – cold o fever.

  ‘Half-class,’ I mumble. She didn ask me no more question. She was lookin at me kinda sorry.

  ‘Ku-Kus,’ she say, ‘You notice how dem chilren sickin all de time?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘You notice how you never sick?’

  I coulda tell she dat it have sick an sick, but she would say I rude.

  ‘You not sickin cos you not livin by de swamp. Is all dat bad water an mosquito cross dere.’

  I still didn say nothin.

  ‘Feather, I wan to show you someting.’ She was speakin in dat ole lady voice o hers dat frighten me, cos was like a ole mango dat dry up in de sun. She didn use to have dat voice befo Missa Coleridge start on we.

  Dese days de only time I see she happy was when she waterin dat tree. First coupla months dat piece o stick didn shift. I tell she dat it dead an she tell me no, it was jus gatherin strength. But I could see it worry she, cos in de middle o de night she uses to get up an tek de lamp to go an look at it. Mornin time she water it an feed it wit a little manure dat Missa Jojo bring for she. She even used to talk to it. Den one mornin I hear she crow – was de way she use to laugh – and when I run out I see she tremblin with excitableness.

  ‘Look,’ she say. ‘It takin off. It takin off!’

  I watch dat stick, I watch Granny, an I ask mihself, ‘Ku-Kus wha you goin do? Who goin tek care o you till you get big an get a work, cos yuh mother ain goin send for you, an now yuh granny jus gone dotish.’

  But she was right, cos sudden so, dat piece o stick was full o leaf an in a coupla months you’d ha tink it been growin dere all de time.

  So, a week later, when she tell me she wan to show me someting, I think mebbe was another coupla leaf dat tree sprout. But no, she didn take me outside. She take me to de window. Now, all de botheration mek me ferget to tell y’all dat Missa Coleridge was buildin a highrise someting right in front o we. It didn finish yet, but it had four concrete pillar an a whole heap o iron dat push up to de sky. Jacob fadder say was a skyscraper an Joan fadder say he lie, is a big-time water tank for dem tourist when we have Dry Season, cos even if dem touris not too fussy about bathin, dem does really suffer when dem thirsty.

  In truth, nobody never get to know what that tank was for, cos Granny see to dat for good.

  Was evenin and I was fed-up an fuss-up bout everyting, so I didn wan to watch no laughin tree dat didn laugh or count how much new leaf it have.

  ‘Yes Gran,’ I say, ‘it growin.’

  ‘Ferget de tree, chile. Jus watch cross dere by de side o where de sun is.’

  So I lif up mih head a little bit. An yunno, I custom to seein de sun an de sea an de sky mosly from de corner o me eye. I custom to seein all o dat when I doin someting else. De sea was de sea an de sun was de sun, an dat was dat. Is so I always tink till Granny make me stop an watch what happen to de world come evenin time.

  Now I tell y’all dis: it ain got no wuds in no book dat could tell you what happen cross dat sea water when de sun goin down. It ain got no dream in de world dat could dream dem light an colour.

  You watch dat sea turn wine, turn blood, turn fire an smoke an you feel little an big, an sure ‘bout everyting – same time as you thinkin dat you dunno where you goin, o who you is, o why you is what you is in de first case.

  Like it had a voice inside o me dat was sleepin, an is only dat sight dat wake it up. It tell me dat nutting can’t belong to nobody. Dat dem fish down dere an Granny laughin tree got de same rights as you an me an Missa Coleridge. It make you don’t want to dead, but same time you don feel fraid to dead no more. An yunno, on top of everyting, it mek me glad dat I have Granny for mih granmother, an jus sorry for mih mother.

  ‘Praise de Lord,’ Granny say, really soft so I nearly didn hear she. But I hear, an it make a lot o sense cos dis sky was bigger, prettier, brighter dan de nicest church window in de world. I was sure o dat, even if de onliest church window I ever see was de big Catlic one in St. George’s.

  Dat was when Granny look me straight in mih eye. ‘Dat, Ku-Kus is what Missa Coleridge wan to take from we. Is what he want for hisself an hi friends alone. Not even to let we have a little piece.’

  We stay deh till night come up like smoke from down behin de sea an wipe out everyting. Dat mek me sad an want to cry. But Granny rub mih head an tell me to don’t ferget dat de same sun was comin back tomorrow. Dat’s life, she say. Missa Coleridge was chupid, she tell me, cos he was too
blind to see dat. He behave as if de sky belong to im and he friends alone.

  I think bout it a lot. We didn have no road no more to go down to de beach cos Coleridge block it off an make a pretty little set o steps dat go only from he swimmin pool straight down to de sand. And it had a big wall round everyting with a gate. He pay Jacob fadder forty dollars every month to wear a blue shirt an khaki pants to prevent all o we from usin it. An he pay Grace fadder fifty dollars every month to wear a khaki shirt an khaki pants to prevent we from bathin on de part o de beach dat had nice pink sand, cos dem touris complainin all de time dat we, de natives, comin too close to dem an dey don want us to tief deir tings. Even Jacob fadder an Grace fadder didn like dat name. Dat was why dey was strict with trespassers only when Missa Coleridge was around. Still, nobody complain, cos dey fraid dat Missa Coleridge goin stop dem sellin straw basket, an little steel pan, an coconut hat, an seashell, an all dem tings dat nobody didn have no use for – except touris.

  ‘Is why you mus promise me, Ku-Kus, dat when I gone you never goin get rid o de property. An dat tree, treat it like you chile, treat it like I try my best to treat you, like you mother never treat you. Be good to de property an de tree.’

  Now I tired ask she what so special bout dat tree, an all she say is dat I askin too much question. De property. Dat was how she start to call it now. Before Missa Coleridge come it was jus ‘de little piece o lan’ or ‘de groun behin de house’, but now it get promote to property.

  Dese days, too, she keep talkin bout when she gone, as if she was goin somewhere. But I never see she so content, specially when she watch dat laughin tree dat didn laugh at all.

  But truth was, Granny didn have to tell me to tek care o she property, becos dat voice dat wake up in me when I watch de sun go down, tell me dat it ain got no way I goin pass Granny property to nobody, long as I live, even if I have to make meself a legalisin lawyer o someting like dat to fight dem back.

  Time pass an I get kind o proliferate wit wuds, which was just as well cos dat fight between she an Missa Coleridge never stop. Was like de whole govment come to we little yard to force we to move out. A man from de Ministry of Touris come an tell we how we mus give up de land, cos we standin in de way of evolution.