Lu was leaning up against the counter, inhaling deep and exhaling slowly one cigarette after another, grey-green eyes glaring at the curling smoke. ‘Listen to that asshole up there breaking up all that shit,’ she grind out through her teeth between pulls on her cigarette.
Gwennie never say anything, for it wasn’t her business. Not that she don’t expect them to quarrel, for them young and married only five years. But Lu is a woman who love to complain at length to Gwennie about Bill. And it wasn’t that she didn’t want Lu to confide in her, for in a way Lu remind her of an older version of Delores, but she don’t want to get mix-up mix-up in them affairs. She’s only a worker; them relationship different. She don’t want to make recommendations one way or the other, causing bad feelings to develop, giving them reason to fire her. For them pay well and better to get on with than Professor Stevens and his wife, Mary-Jane, her during-the-week employers.
‘All because I don’t want to go to his mother’s house for Thanksgiving. I hate that woman,’ Lu drag hard on the cigarette. ‘She hates me, too. And he knows it. So I don’t know what the hell he’s trying to prove. I told him I was never going back there again, and I’m dead serious.’
Still Gwennie never say anything. Standing cross way from Lucille, her back leaning against the sink, all she could think about was what a damn shame it was, for things so expensive. Her own house was there big and empty, yet this big man upstairs was mashing up the furniture like a blasted child. Furthermore, if the blasted woman didn’t want to see his mother, then so let it be. Married don’t mean Bill say, Lu do. Gwennie wanted to kiss her teeth the morning, but she try and control herself.
‘Gwennie,’ Bill break into her thinking. ‘You’re going to have to cook some of that wonderful food for me and Lu sometime. You could cook it here, or invite us to your home or something.’
‘That’s not a bad idea a tall. I’ll think about it though.’ Gwennie get up from around the table. She finish her mug of coffee and pour more into Bill’s big mug. ‘Right now I have to start the little cleaning.’
‘Goody.’ Bill return to the Hartford Courant, and Gwennie pick up her duffle bag, making her way briskly upstairs, for the coffee rejuvenate her.
She didn’t mind cooking for them a tall, but she don’t want them at her house. Maybe when she buy more furniture and a decent set of pots, them can come. But she don’t even have nice plates to serve things on, either. Gwennie kiss her teeth. Maybe when the children arrive, and the house look more like somebody living in there, she can invite them. She would have to buy wine, make a cake for dessert, but then she don’t even have any dessert forks and spoons, she don’t have wine glasses either, and she can’t jolly-well give them wine inside the same glass she drink water out of. Gwennie wonder when she will finally feel settled, and America feel like home to her.
Percy write and tell her she won’t find happiness and feelings of settlement in housekeeping and child care. It won’t happen till she comfortable with her life, till she start taking classes again, start teaching, all her children living comfortable with her and maybe a new love in her life. She know him was correct, for in truth she don’t right like housework. She spend too many years in school for this, and especially for the children, it wasn’t good example. But them soon come, and housework don’t require much skills, and she want them to be comfortable. After that she can think about herself.
Inside the bathroom, Gwennie shove her feet inside the mash-down-back shoes, and put on her old frock. Then she hang up her good dress in the closet, sitting down her pair of shoes, side-by-side on the floor of the closet. Next she take out the vacuum cleaner, and the pail with Windex, Fantastik, Ajax, sponge, brush and mop pile-up inside. And after she have everything ready, Gwennie make her way into the private bathroom, for she was going to start cleaning in there first.
PART SEVEN
I
The evening Gwennie’s first batch of children was to come, catch her at her house on Evelyn Street pacing through the rooms. She quit the live-in work with the Professor, since Dorothy fix her up with something temporary at the hospital, and Lu and Tom allow her the weekend off. So, all in all, she did have a whole week to herself and her children. She wish all of them could come at once, but according to how she and Samuel figure, it was best that the older ones come first so they can help her work and get a bigger place, and of course the baby as well, then later on Peppy and Jeff, since them would still need to finish up school. It was about five o’ clock the Friday evening and the plane wasn’t due in till around eight. Clive was planning to come by around seven to pick her up and then drive her to Bradley International over in Windsor Locks.
Gwennie step inside the room that was going to be Rudi’s and Dave’s. She know Rudi probably want his own room, but everybody will just have to make do for now. Painted white with a yellowish-brownish rug covering the floor, she hung peach curtains to add a little brightness. Other than that, the room was just big and square and empty. But it couldn’t go any better than that, for after buying a similar set of twin beds for Delores’ room, she’d only have money left over to take care of the children should any emergencies arise. She couldn’t buy the lovely oak and dark mahogany bureau and chest of drawers and nice standing lamps she saw, as nice as them look and as badly as she wanted them.
Gwennie get up off the bed and open up the closet. It was empty except for the few pairs of trousers Samuel figure Dave might be able to fit into, if not Rudi, and some shirts. She run her fingers longside the top shelf checking for dust, and with one last sigh, she shut Rudi’s room door behind her, fingers lingering on the shiny door knob. She make her way down the passage into Delores’ room, but she didn’t stay long, just long enough to straighten out the wine-red comforter and shut up the wine red curtains. Then she shut the door behind her and step inside the kitchen. It was only ten past five.
Gwennie serve out a small saucer of food from the pots of rice and Escovitch fish with baby red tomatoes and Spanish onion and steam spinach she had on the stove, and fill up her glass with juice from the white jug in the refrigerator. She make her way into the living room with the plate of food and switch on the colour TV Clive gave her last Christmas. But by the time she settle down into the light brown all-around settee, and the face on the screen start to come into focus, she wasn’t in the mood to either eat or watch the five o’ clock Headline News.
After about two spoonfuls of rice, she reach over and turn off the television. Everyday the same thing, President Nixon sending more troops to kill off the people down in Vietnam, riots and civil rights activities going on about the place especially in New York and over in Boston, where her friend Daphne’s daughter live. Gwennie walk back inside the kitchen and pick up the wall phone. She dial the number on the pad, her fingers folding and unfolding the telephone cord.
‘Hi,’ she say into the receiver after the operator pick up. ‘Please if you could tell me whether or not airplane number 32785 leaving Kennedy International at seven-nineteen and arriving in Hartford at two minutes past eight going to be on time?’
‘Thank you,’ Gwennie mutter into the phone after the operator tell her yes. Then she hang it up and sigh. It was only five-twenty.
She wonder if the children catch the plane on time, if them tell Walter goodbye, and if him hug them and cry a little. But she should know better, Walter not going to cry, him probably find something to curse about instead. She wonder if him give them any message to give her.
She wonder how him look now after five years. Maybe little bit more meagre, eyes sink in more. Rudi say him don’t eat much, drunk mostly. Gwennie shake her head. No, she wasn’t sorry she left him. For when a man who used to be so religious turn his back on God, only retribution can follow. For how can he live with himself after turning so many people to Christ. She can’t remember whether or not it was the drinking that started first or the back-sliding. But after the problems at the church with the missing collection money and the hiring of the new deacon
, him wasn’t the same anymore.
She wasn’t a regular member of his congregation, for like Grandpa she was Baptist. Walter was Pentecostal, and that jump up-jump up, clapping, singing and loud preaching she wasn’t into, but she used to hear about all that go on nevertheless. And although Walter couldn’t understand why them needed to hire a new deacon when the congregation was showing him so much love and affection, she’d already suspect them out to frame him.
But even then the drinking wasn’t so bad. It escalate around the time when Peppy was on the way. But then him did stop. For when she move back in, after leaving school, him never even used to keep liquor inside the house, but according to Rudi’s letters, it seems as if him worse now.
She wonder if Walter wear any of the trousers and the shirts she send down in the last barrel. She made sure to send the colour shirts him like: baby blue, bright yellow, puke green, tan. She send matching man’s socks too, and handkerchiefs, spotless white ones, for she know him like to have clean handkerchief each morning, iron neat and fold up into small squares so them can fit neatly in his back pocket with just the tip showing. Him used to look so smart in his khaki pants that she’d starch and iron out stiff the way him like it, shoes shiny as usual.
Him used to conk Dave and Jeff with his knuckles fold up when them wouldn’t clean them shoes properly. Not so much Rudi, for Rudi was always neat and tidy. ‘You can tell a decent man by the spotlessness of his shoes,’ him would say to Dave and Jeff, as them try to dodge the shoe-brush sailing towards them. ‘By the looks of the two of you, anyone can tell you won’t amount to any damn good.’
She know that all the clean shoes business and conking of head come from the soldier training. That was before them start to courten, before she’d meet him again at Open Bible’s church harvest, April 1958. Him was just returning from four years of training at Maybe Soldiers’ Camp. She never spot him herself, it was her friend, Lucille Powell, who point him out.
‘Gwennie, look. Mass Lindon Glaspole’s son! The one who turn soldier.’
Gwennie take her eyes off the minister delivering the harvest service and turn towards Lucille’s finger. ‘Who?’ Gwennie scan the group of young fellows leaning against the wall outside, waiting for the service to end, so them can buy up the harvest food. Walter was standing up out there, with about four other fellows his age, his face turn to hers.
‘Mass Lindon’s son, Walter. See him in the uniform.’
‘Him change in truth,’ Gwennie say more to herself than to Lucille, for him was staring at her bold and outright, the fellows behind him grinning, fingers deep inside trousers pocket, hugging crotchs. Him was wearing the gray uniform then, with red stripes spotting the sides of the trousers and shirts, the beret tossed rakish over his eyes.
And Gwennie remember the Tuesday night when him was walking her back from Bible study, for ever since the harvest them been going steady. They were walking slow and holding hands. The night was dark, the air still, everyone else walking up ahead. Now and then one or two cars drive pass or a motorbike roar out loud in the distance. Up ahead girls shriek as boys pinch bottoms and touch bosom on purpose then cry excuse, face cover over in wide grins. Then all of a sudden, she and Walter start to walk more slow. His hands move from her side to settle somewhere near her shoulders, so fingers can easily reach down inside her sleeveless blouse. And him was smelling of Jergens skin lotion, Lux beauty soap, Palmolive hair oil, Mum scentless underarm deodorant and sweat mix up together.
Him ease her onto the trunk of the green skin mango tree without much propelling, lips spread out wide over hers; breath short and hot; hands, hard and sweaty fondling her face, neck, down her bosom, up her skirt. And she wanted to tell him no; she was still a virgin; them should probably wait till marriage; but not a sound would utter out. She wanted to tell him that her mother, not so much her father, would kill the two of them stone-dead if she ever find out, that him was much too big and might hurt her bad, that him was going too fast, too hard, and must slow down, for it was hurting and tearing and feeling like hell but feeling good at the same time. Maybe she could actually grow to like it, for she like him a whole heap, but right now him was going to have to hurry up and stop before the others find out and . . . Something wet and warm and silky was crawling down her leg. Him was breathing even again. His hands relax from around her neck. Him roll off.
Gwennie wasn’t sure whether or not it was the phone she hear ringing first or the singing of the kettle she’d put on for tea. She pick up the phone.
‘Hello? Oh, is you, Clive. No, I was just sitting here. No. Right out here in the kitchen. I just have plenty things on me mind. No, sir, I not nervous. What to be nervous about?’ Gwennie kiss her teeth. ‘Yes, them say it on time, eight. Yes, them change over in New York. Alright, I will call again. About seven-thirty. Alright. No, man, I’m alright. Yes, sure. Alright. Ba-bye.’
Gwennie hang up the phone and stare off into a far corner of the room, arms akimbo, face furrow-up, her eyes distant. She know Walter must have women friends. Rudi don’t mention any, so maybe him don’t bring them to the house, but now that the children gone, or at least the older ones, him will bring them. Him don’t know shame. She used to find French letters in his pockets Saturday mornings as she sort through laundry. At the school, people who know them both would tell her about the girls sitting-up on his lap inside bar rooms, sipping beers and blowing him kisses. The funny thing about it all was she never use to feel one iota of jealousy. She would leave the French letters right on top of the bureau so him could see that she know.
For to tell the God truth, half the time she was so tired between school and the plenty children that she never have time to put Walter and his women friends on her syllabus. To tell the truth, she didn’t really mind the distraction, for at least if him already satisfied from out the street, him wouldn’t have to come to her at nights. Just as long as him don’t bring any sickness home.
Gwennie walk over to the settee and sit down. She could feel the emptiness moving around in her stomach. She couldn’t figure out any a tall why she have this man on her syllabus, when she must just forget him, take him out of her mind. But it wasn’t so easy. She think about him plenty. Especially while at her living-in work, when her bed empty, when she don’t have anybody to turn over and talk to. Not that she and Walter talked much. Sometimes weeks going on months before them exchange a word.
The last month before she left, though, was his strangest. And when she mentioned it to Percy, him never seemed a tall perplexed, just that him think maybe Walter suspect that she was leaving.
‘But him don’t know anything,’ Gwennie tell him. ‘I warn the children not to say a word whenever him around. Everything I plan to carry abroad with me, I bring to Grandma’s and pack my suitcase down there.’
‘Yes, Gwennie. But is the sixth sense,’ Percy say to her, fingers twining around one another as them sit down in his car waiting for a red light to turn green. ‘Sometimes you don’t even realize you have it. When I was in boarding school over in England, one morning I woke up and I just knew something was wrong. First of all, I couldn’t shut me eyes the whole night. And I didn’t want to go classes the morning, I just wanted to stay in bed.
‘And even when I was in class or on recess, I was just distracted, couldn’t concentrate long on anything. And me is a man love to play cricket and when I wasn’t even interested in that, you must know something was really wrong. And right after supper the evening, I got a message in me box saying I must report to the house matron. When I went, she had a telegram from me father saying Grandma Deedy was dead.’ Him turn around and look at Gwennie, eyebrows raise. ‘Things like that I call sixth sense. And I believe you have to trust and rely on it.’
Well, Gwennie figure that that was probably the case with Walter that last month. More and more evenings, him would come home in the most cheeriest of moods. Sometimes him bring home sugar buns, sometimes greta cakes, board games for the children. Sometimes him play cricket
with Dave and Jeff, and with she, although him wouldn’t say much, night time when she out in the living room correcting papers him would come and sit down with her. Sometimes him listen to Eric Lisson’s talk show on the radio, other times him just read, Westerns his favourite.
And then two weeks before she leave, him ask her out to the movies. She and the children had just finished dinner, and she was sprawled off on the bed in her room. Walter did just come in from work and was taking off his tie. And after him tell her good evening, she know him say something about movies, but she wasn’t sure, so she just tell him evening in return and leave it at that.
‘Don’t bother to tell me you tired,’ him say after a while, ‘you must want to go and watch a picture?’
Gwennie raise up and rub her eyes. ‘Picture show? Who want to go?’ She couldn’t believe Walter was inviting her out. Since Jeff’s birth, them barely go out as a family. Going seven years now. And she wanted to tell him no, she was feeling too tired, she would rather just lie down and rest before she start to make up a quiz for her class tomorrow, but then again, if him want to go to picture show maybe him wanted to talk, maybe him have something to tell her, and if that’s the case, she might as well go, for she leaving soon and it could be important. She won’t see him again for a long time.
‘Well, you want to come or not?’ Him was looking at her through the mirror, his eye corners creased up into a grin, half of his gold tooth showing.
And she look back at his reflection through the mirror, then at his back, smooth and broad without the shirt, his voice silky, gentle, almost playful.
‘Alright,’ she say to him, ‘I will go.’
‘Sure?’ Him turn to look at her, nostrils spread out wide in a grin. ‘Don’t let me wring your hands, now.’
‘No, I’m sure.’ She turn away from his gaze, for all of a sudden she never like the sadness in his eyes. She wanted to tell him she was leaving in two weeks.
Me Dying Trial Page 17