And so say—so done. Gwennie lift her hands and take two steps towards Peppy, eyes big and wide, nose flaring around the edges, mouth corner dry as chip. And she let it go so hard on Peppy’s face, her big and heavy hand, that Peppy’s face swell up same time, turning into different-different colours, sometimes blue, sometimes black, sometimes purple. Back on the couch with the polka-dot cover over her, Gwennie stir. She open her mouth yawn, stretch, and then she go back to sleep until cock crow the following morning.
Rudi was standing over her with a big mug of steaming hot Milo tea when Gwennie blink open her eyes.
‘Where you father?’ she ask Rudi first thing.
‘I don’t know.’
‘How you mean. Him not here?’
Rudi shake his head. ‘When me open-up the windows this morning, his car already gone. Only the little girl alone sleeping in his room.’
‘Where Jeff and Dave?’
‘Sleeping.’
‘Alright.’ Gwennie take the mug of Milo from him and sip it down little-little. She try remember her dream last night so she could write it down. Percy been telling her how nighttime dreams suppose to reflect what you think about in the daytime. But she couldn’t remember. Gwennie kiss her teeth. She was doing so well all week. But maybe it will come to her later.
Peppy was still sleeping when Gwennie step inside the room and inside the closet in search of a dress to wear that morning to market. As she stand-up by the closet door trying to decide which of the two dresses she have hold-up in her hand she must wear, she feel a pair of eyes on her. Absently, Gwennie lift up her head and her eyes connect with Peppy’s two full black ones. A sort of gentle feeling crawl down into her belly causing her to sit down at the edge of the bed next to Peppy. But when Peppy only grunt and roll over, her gaze intense on her mother’s face, Gwennie couldn’t tell if the little girl just didn’t want her near or was just making more room on the bed.
But nothing a tall mattered to Gwennie that morning. All she wanted was to hold the little girl to her bosom and squeeze her tight; run her fingers through the thick head of hair that Miss Irene corn-row so nicely; caress her back and stroke her neck. And as Gwennie reach over to pull Peppy next to her, she see the dolly and then she see the break-off hand, where somebody, must be Rudi, use band-aid and bandage it back into the socket and then she see the eye water gather-up in Peppy’s eyes and Gwennie wasn’t sure if she to try and press Peppy to her bosom or just let her rest. A firm determination set itself on the little girl’s face just like Luther’s face used to look—thick eyebrows that furrow together when him thinking hard or vex, lips quivering thin.
Gwennie wipe her forehead with the blue frock in her hand. Sweat was forming over her brows. The memory of Luther flood her mind and cold sweat wash over her. She couldn’t believe that after so long, after almost seven years, the thought of Luther could bring back such a feeling. These days she don’t even feel much for Walter. Sometimes him come to her at night, but not often, and these days him wear protection. She tell him it’s not necessary, she tie her tubes, but him say him not taking any chances for him can’t afford anymore children. But even then, she just kind of wish him would hurry-up and finish.
Percy say her feelings natural. Same thing used to happen between him and the wife. After three years or so, the feelings just dissipate and you can’t really force them back. But Gwennie wasn’t sure how to quite grasp hold of what Percy saying for somewhere deep inside, she know him gone the other way. It wasn’t judgement she passing, but she can’t just close her eyes to the way him always dress neat, or how his hair and face always tidy, how shirts always match pants, ties always large and flamboyant. Not that Walter slacky-tidy or anything, for Walter have the army training behind him, but there was a marked difference between the two. She can’t quite put her fingers on it, but she can tell, even by the way him walk, sorta dainty-like, like him stepping on hot bricks.
Him don’t talk much about man-friends, and she don’t often see him with any, except for the way him and another fellow from the meeting did just kind of take to one another from the very first. Again, she not passing judgement. For the Bible always say, whoever don’t have sin can cast the first stone. And you can’t exactly say she clean and pure. But it’s different. The Bible say the entire city of Sodom was destroyed with fire and brimstone sake of all that funny-funny business going on. All that unnaturalness.
But then again, him was married. Him and the wife not together anymore, but them tie the knot. Them have two lovely children to show for it, two girls, one two-and-a-half, the other one year. Him show her pictures and talk about them all the time. So maybe . . . Further more, him more than kind to her. Did even want to marry her. Maybe her only true friend.
A little whimpering from behind cut into Gwennie’s thinking. She refocus her attention on Peppy. The dream last night flash into her head, but it move out just as quick. Gwennie still couldn’t recall.
‘What’s the matter?’ Gwennie ask gentle-like. ‘Hungry? Want a little tea?’ She reach out again towards the little girl, and as fast as lightning, Peppy pull away.
‘But look at me dying trial! You don’t want me to touch you?’
Peppy turn her back.
Gwennie take a deep breath. She could feel the pulsing coming on again from somewhere behind her eye lids. ‘Tell me what you want to eat? You want porridge? I know Aunty Cora must give you nice corn-meal porridge. Look at how stout you are.’
Still Peppy wouldn’t budge.
‘How about porridge with plenty milk and sugar?’ Gwennie ask in her baby-voice, licking her lips. ‘That sounds delicious?’
Still not a sound out of Peppy’s mouth. Gwennie couldn’t help but wonder to herself why Aunty Cora send her? What it mean. Which letter Rudi talking about? Where was Walter. She get up off the bed and step inside the kitchen. She ask Rudi if him could please prepare some porridge for Peppy and to put in plenty milk. Make sure she eat it up, Gwennie tell him, for the last thing she want is for Aunty Cora to complain how Peppy look drawn, the one time she visit her mother.
Gwennie walk back inside the room and open up the windows. She lean her elbows on the ledge and sigh deep to herself. She wonder what Walter think about all this. What Aunty Cora going to say. It wasn’t out of hate and hard-heartedness why she send away Peppy to Aunty Cora. It wasn’t out of spite and cruelty. She did only what she thought was good at the time. But it seems as if God don’t see it that way, for her punishment seem almost ten fold. The pickney turn complete stranger to her. Won’t talk. Gwennie can’t touch her. Almost like it wasn’t she Gwennie who give birth to her. Wasn’t she Gwennie who first suckle and care for her.
Gwennie raise up herself and look at the clock on the dresser. It was twenty minutes to nine. Her chest was feeling tight, her heart heavy. But the last bus to market leaves in twenty minutes. Gwennie haul on the blue frock and tie her head with matching scarf. She tell Peppy she going to market and plan to bring back the prettiest dolly them have. ‘It mightn’t replace Rose,’ Gwennie say out loud to the rigid little back, ‘but I trying me best.’ On her way out the front door, she beg Rudi, in a tone most pleading: ‘Don’t forget to look after her, please.’
The letter Aunty Cora send was still fluttering under the big brown Bible when Gwennie board the nine o’clock Grahamm’s bus to Porous Market that Saturday morning.
X
Aunty Cora is the kind of woman who don’t like anybody to outdo her in any way, shape or form. For from the time she did go down to visit Clara, over ten years ago, and see the luscious green garden Clara have out front, Cora decide she must have a big garden too, just as luscious, if not more. So she hire workmen to come and clear out a spot of plenty rock stone right in front the verandah, and build it up into garden.
Then she would go to town, and anywhere she see a petal she don’t own, especially one she imagine Clara don’t have either, it come back home with her. No matter if is even in other people’s gardens she fin
d it. And she keep up the garden well, but never quite as good as Clara’s. For whenever Clara come to visit, she always telling Cora about the different-different things she have to do with her azaleas to make them look as lovely as hers. That fertilizer have to go, she tell Cora one time. Look at what it doing to the marigold’s leaves, and my goodness, look at the stems on your petulia. Try and get the fowl manure, medear, for it much better and not as strong. My crotons just sprout up on it . . .
Nowadays with the arthritis in her legs, Aunty Cora can’t go out into the garden quite as often. Sometimes it take a whole heap of effort to just pick out the weeds growing up around her plants, ready to choke them. Every three weeks, she pay Babbo to weed out the garden, but him just as useless as she when him drink a little rum. And she afraid to put young people in her garden, for them don’t know much about flowers.
The Sunday evening Peppy was to return catch Aunty Cora pouring water at the root of her croton and white witch. No rainfall now going two weeks. She was grumbling to herself about the five pounds she pay Babbo, and that worthless wretch still don’t transpose the flowers properly. Aunty Cora kiss her teeth long and hard. She know if she bend over in the garden for any length of time, by the time she ready to straighten up herself, it won’t be easy for her muscles not as flexible anymore. And before Miss Gertie come and help, she sit down-up in the kitchen with Miss Irene puffing on that blasted tobacco pipe. She wonder if Miss Gertie ever stop to think that if she fling away that blasted pipe, the cough she always complaining about would stop.
Aunty Cora feel the bad feelings coming on that burn her chest, cause her head to spin and fog up her eyes. She wonder if any more rum in the house, if she did finish off the last flask. Doctor Lord say she must ease up off the white rum for it will cut her off earlier than she think, but sometimes the little white rum is all that give her relief, not the several bottles of tablets and jars of medicine him give her.
So engrossed was she into her gardening that Aunty Cora never even hear when Miss Gertie set down herself on the verandah steps close to her.
‘But look at me dying trial! Cousin Cora, what you doing in the garden this hot-hot Sunday evening? Reverend Longmore must did give a good sermon this morning, fill you up with plenty strength and energy.’
Aunty Cora neither answer nor look at Miss Gertie. She continue scrape up fresh dirt with her fingers, then scoop up the dirt, one handful at a time, and put it into the little pot she have with the ganja plant.
‘Near every night you complain about arthritis, and how your legs haul up after plenty movement. Now look at you bending down over flowers.’
‘Can’t do any better, Miss Gertie,’ Aunty Cora say to her, trying not to inhale the tobacco smell Miss Gertie carry on her breath. ‘Can’t do better.’
‘But Cousin Cora,’ Miss Gertie bawl out, plenty dismay in her voice, ‘what happen to the little tree?’ She point to the ganja plant Aunty Cora have in her hand. ‘You mean to tell me that Mass Babbo picking the leaves?’
Aunty Cora grunt. ‘I don’t know whether is Babbo or is somebody else. But I just was thinking to meself that I might have to obeah it. For it is the one thing I have to boil and drink every morning to ease the bad feelings. Especially since Doctor Lord caution me gainst drinking the rum.’
‘Jesus look down,’ Miss Gertie continue, her voice just as loud, and her forehead knit up. ‘Is a damn shame when you can’t even grow something in your own garden because of damn robbers and thieves.’
Aunty Cora didn’t say anything.
Miss Gertie step way oneside to take a drag off the dried tobacco leaves. ‘Cousin Cora,’ she call out, after finishing, ‘I don’t mean to be interfering. But I was just wondering since the place so quiet without Peppy running up and down and making noise, when Miss Gwennie coming to take her back or if she going . . .’
Aunty Cora sigh long and hard, walking towards the verandah steps and as far from Miss Gertie and her tobacco smell as possible. ‘I don’t know what to tell you, Miss Gertie.’ She use the tail of her sleeveless floral dress to wipe her forehead.
‘Well the reason I asking,’ Miss Gertie continue, ‘is because yesterday when I was coming back from market, I run into Cousin Doris. She was carrying Vin to dentist. Abscess in her gum, it seems. Puff out her jaws plenty . . .’
Aunty Cora shut up her eyes tight and slowly grind her teeth. She would do anything to make Miss Gertie get to the blasted point of any story she telling. For Miss Gertie is a woman who love to chat long and plenty.
‘. . . Well anyway, Cousin Doris tell me that she hear that Miss Gwennie get invite letter from Foreign, and that she leaving soon. Yes, Cousin Cora. Same way she tell me.’
Aunty Cora could feel the bad feelings coming on again. Sweat pucker up on her top lip. She couldn’t remember where she hide the little flask for emergency purposes.
‘So that’s why I ask, Cousin Cora, for I don’t know if Miss Gwennie plan to bring the children with her. Or if Mass Walter going with her. Or if is she alone.’
Aunty Cora didn’t know if she to bother answer Miss Gertie or if she must believe her any a tall. For Miss Gertie is a woman love add her own thinkings to things. Often times only Jesus alone know the truth. But nevertheless, it bother Aunty Cora. She couldn’t understand why no one bother to write and tell her anything. Not a letter from Clara. Not a letter from Gwennie. Not that she don’t have the money to look after Peppy, but it would make her feel good sometimes if Clara or Gwennie would show a little interest in her schooling. There it is now, the bad feelings coming up just about everyday, the eyes getting dimmer and she don’t know when the good Lord going to call her home. She don’t know what going to become of Peppy.
Miss Gertie did want to talk more about Miss Gwennie and her plans for Foreign, but Aunty Cora wasn’t in the mood. She cry excuse to Miss Gertie and tell her the bad feelings coming on. She have to go and lay down little.
Up in her room in her four-poster-bed, the sweat was pouring off Aunty Cora’s face. She couldn’t find the flask, and she wonder if she should send Leslie down the shop for a little rum. The news Miss Gertie tell her upsetting. All the children in her house, from Miss Irene down to George, she raise from them little-bit. About ten children in all pass through her hands. For when people don’t have food, or when family life mash up, instead of letting the children suffer, parents send them to Aunty Cora to hold until better days.
Sometimes better days don’t come. But she take them in nevertheless. For she can’t bear to see children batter-bruised and hungry. If she only have one hand of green banana, she rather share it up for ten children than she alone sit down eat it. And if Gwennie did only know how plenty New Green mothers would gladly give up them children to Aunty Cora for adoption, she wouldn’t be forming the damn fool. Better caring and loving can’t be found. But Gwennie don’t know. She don’t know a damn tall.
And so when Walter bring home Peppy the Sunday evening, Aunty Cora couldn’t wait until Walter bring up the news about Gwennie. But the entire time, not a word about Foreign mention. Right when Walter was to leave, Aunty Cora couldn’t take it anymore, she pull him one side. And for one quick second, it flash across her mind that probably Walter don’t mention it for him don’t know. And the reason him don’t know is because Gwennie don’t want him to know. But she push it to the back of her head, for she couldn’t understand that kind of family life. Such a big change about to take place, yet the husband don’t even know about it.
‘Then, Walter, how come you don’t mention the little trip to me, man? I hear you going to Foreign.’
‘Go where, Miss Cora?’
Aunty Cora could feel the bad feelings coming on again. Lord, she should’ve gone ahead and send Leslie for that blasted rum.
‘Well, is not anything really.’ She hold on to his hand. His face was changing into all sorts of different-different expressions. ‘Just news I hear. But you know how it is with gossip. Impossible to tell what’s true.’ It was lame.
She know it.
Walter kiss his teeth and shake his head. ‘So that’s what all the secret-secret about. I see the letters inside the bottom drawer inside a brown paper bag underneath plenty clothes, but I don’t touch them, Miss Cora, I don’t touch them. She say she want privacy, I give it to her. I try my best to make things easy between me and her, I try.’ Walter pause as if thinking, then him start again.
‘I should’ve burned them, Miss Cora, for I know she going Foreign with the man. Miss Cora, Gwennie is not a good person. From she go up to the school and meet the man, most every night them go out together. I send him a letter asking him not to come back to the house. Now she meet him every Friday.
‘Gwennie not interested in her family life. I watch where the two of them go. I see them. Sometimes when she come out of his car at night, a shinier and happier face than that you can’t find nowhere. But the minute she step inside the house, her face always long-down and frighten-looking. And I just get mad. I want to knock her down. But I control meself. I leave the house.
‘I’m tired of trying, Miss Cora. If she want to go, she can go. But I going to tear up the blasted papers first. Now she probably want to take the children too. But if she touch one, Miss Cora, I kill her first. Trust me.’
During this time, Aunty Cora did have her two hands wrap around Walter’s back trying to calm him. But nothing doing. Seem as if things been bottled up for too long, now them oozing out. If she did know the one little question was going to create so much botheration, she would’ve shut her blasted mouth.
Walter never stay much longer. After composing himself, him call Peppy over, whisper in her ears, tell Aunty Cora goodbye, and step down the hill, shoulders droopy, head bow down low.
Aunty Cora shake her head. She couldn’t understand modern day family life a tall. For the thirteen years she and Anderson married and live together, them never have arguments so complicated. Thank God, Anderson wasn’t a drinker. Not much of a talker, either, steer clear of any contention. And even the first husband, Mass Selvin, who pass on in them third year together, she got along well with. Him used to fuss-fuss more though. Fussy about how food must prepare, how his trousers must iron, even how his side of the bed must spread-up. But nothing a tall compared to what Gwennie and Walter have. Family life like that not suppose to exist. Children suffer too much.
Me Dying Trial Page 9