Me Dying Trial

by Patricia Powell

  Gwennie tell him no, she was comfortable right there in this high-back chair, in a tone chillier than early morning breeze.

  Clive never say another word.

  Then them doze off, Clive’s head rolling from side to side on the settee, mouth slightly ajar, while Gwennie dreamt about fire and brimstone and eternal furnaces. And so when the phone ring, the first thing Gwennie said was, ‘Clive, open the door, so that whomever will, can come in.’

  But Clive say to her, ‘Gwennie, don’t chat nonsense, is the telephone, go and answer it.’

  Gwennie jump up same time, nearly tripping over herself in her haste to pick up the phone all the way out in the kitchen.

  First it was the operator wanting to know if Gwennie will accept the charges, and then it was Rudi, his voice clear like fresh water, and sweet like church hymn when Miss Morgan play it on the pipe organ. And her heart stop same time and start again. Her eyes roll over and brighten, and she shudder, same way she shudder when she turn the shower on her nakedness each morning.

  ‘Rudi, is you this? Look down, dear Father! You mean is you, in truth. Lord, look at me dying trial! You talking to me from Bradley. You come, all four of you. And Walter didn’t even prevent you? Thank you, Jesus. I coming right away.’ She hang up the phone.

  And she didn’t need to hear any of Clive’s Calypso tunes on the Eight Track cassette in the car. No, her head was playing its own steel band and her heart had its own tune and her fingers and toes found them own rhythm.

  When she and Clive push against the revolving door and it let them into the airport, it was the material she recognize first thing. It was a floral print she’d buy in the market that was made in Japan. She remember having to bargain long and plenty with the higgler in order to lower the price. Finally after much going and coming, the higgler suck in her teeth, pull down her mouth corners and give Gwennie the six yards of cloth for twenty-five dollars. Gwennie did make a skirt for herself, one full-length dress for Del and the remainder she send down to Grandma.

  And as Gwennie walk over to Del, the steel band moving down into her belly, she notice how Del fill out the dress now. She was no more than stick own self then, her collar bone used to jut out in the wide V-neck and Gwennie had to take in wide darts at the chest, for Del wasn’t even busting yet. Now the darts let out, and her curves and weightiness fill out the frock like any big woman. And it was like a dream, everything moving slow, she just a few feet from Del, Clive behind her, and Del just seeing her for the first time. Del’s eyes darken then brighten and her mouth round up to form the word Mom, and her hands that were on her lap fold up, reach over to Dave on her left and Rudi over to her right with Rosa on his lap curl up asleep. And then Rudi and Dave’s eyes darken and brighten. Then them get up, all of them, and move towards her, Rosa still asleep on Rudi’s shoulder.

  And Gwennie hug them, Del first. And the smell of Grandma’s wood fire smoke in Del’s hair cause the eye water to slap Gwennie’s two cheeks, but then the Craven A cigarette smoke on Dave’s breath as his cheeks rub against hers—Dave who look just the same, same colouring as she Gwennie, but who walk and sound and look just like Walter—slow down the steel band and dry up the eye water for one whole second. But then them start come down again, full force now, like rain in July and August months, as she hug Rudi and Rosa all in one. And in all her bliss, she never even notice the emptiness that cover over her children’s face as them eyes brush Clive up and down. But Clive noticed.

  And Gwennie’s questions couldn’t wait till the next day, no, she wanted to hear about the flight, them health, Peppy and Jeff, schooling, Grandma and Grandpa, the people who used to live behind Grandpa’s cane field, and little Everton, if him grow into big man now—for when she left, him was not more than a little baby—and if the lady that used to play the pump organ, Miss Imo, still at church or if she dead by now, and the teachers back at Cobbler Primary, if Miss Hatfield marry yet, or Miss Martha have any more children. Gwennie was careful not to ask about Walter and all her furniture that was still in his house; the book case with the set of encyclopedia she save and buy, the set of twin beds in the children’s room that she’d borrow money to buy. Them things she just wanted to cover up for the time being.

  And Del was quiet from where she sit down in the back seat of Clive’s Buick, sandwich between Rudi and Dave. She never have much to say as usual. Yes, she’d fill out her frock with curves and weightiness, but she was quiet same way, not quiet-silent, but according to Grandma, ‘a quietness so loud, it could deafen you’. Yes, Gwennie was going have to work on Delores. In truth, Delores was never her right hand, it was more Rudi. Him alone would do everything.

  And Grandma used to warn her, ‘Gwennie, make them equally your right hand for them close in age, and jealousy’s not a good thing. It can breed contempt so sour, it sit down and fester like sore and when it burst open, not even the fact that blood thicker than water going to save you or them.’ But Gwennie wasn’t thinking about those things back then.

  From the back where him sit down, knee caps straining through his trousers and his feet hook up crooked against one another, for there wasn’t enough room in the back to allow him to stretch out, Dave did have plenty to say about America with all the observations him make so far tonight since his feet touch New York. Yes, him got a chance to peek inside the New York Times, and was quite glad to see that Mr Nixon was trying his best to restore democracy to the war-ridden people of Vietnam.

  And yes, he got a chance to walk about a bit in New York, and it seems as if Connecticut is not as busy and of course as important as New York and if Gwennie think she would move to New York anytime soon, for him understand that the West Indian population in New York is quite large, even though the better schools, according to what him understand, are in Boston. And yes, him been hearing lots and lots about the racial climate in America, and was wondering if Gwennie experience any of it yet, for even though his arrival is quite brief, him already observe that only dark people seem to be doing janitorial services at the airport.

  But regardless of all that, him is quite pleased to acknowledge that him won’t be tying out Grandpa’s cows anymore and as a result become infected with ticks, and yes, it will be the end to that going-under-house business to pick up eggs and to be chased by those damn peely chickens and yes, that church-going business day in and day out that him had to put up with so much down at Grandma’s will finally come to a full stop once and for all.

  And Rudi, well, him never seem to know quite what to say. Between his mother’s plenty questions, and Dave observations and speculations that him hope would hurry up and come to an end, him just relax with Rosa in his lap wide awake now, eye water stains on her face. For from the minute her eyes open and them behold Del and Dave, Rosa start to stiffen up. Yes, them travelled on the plane together, and yes, she recognize them from her frequent trips down to Grandma with Rudi, but that didn’t mean she like them, really. But when she see Gwennie and Clive, faces she didn’t recognize a tall, for Gwennie left when she was only two, she start to hold on even tighter to Rudi.

  And no, Gwennie shouldn’t have allowed her feelings to show on her face when she reach out to Rosa and the little girl pull in and cling on to Rudi, whimpering dad-dy, eye water running down her face. Maybe Gwennie should’ve just shrugged it off and try again with Rosa tomorrow after she get a little rest and was feeling more relaxed. But not so with Gwennie. It was like a splinter to her finger-quick.

  And Clive, his back stiff and straight, just silently transport Gwennie and her children through traffic and across town. On the way to Evelyn Street, no one directed neither question nor comment to him. One or two times Gwennie try to include him in the conversation, but him never have much to contribute. When them reach, him take out the baggages and drop them off in the respective rooms. Him didn’t tell Gwennie him was leaving, but him never drive off right away. And Gwennie was so busy with her children, trying to make friends with them all over again, trying to make them
comfortable, trying to welcome them, she didn’t get a chance to tell him thanks or even to listen to whether or not Clive drive off.

  III

  Stirring didn’t start-up in Gwennie’s house till early afternoon the following day. After everybody settle in and eat and chat the Friday night and she finally turn off lights, fasten the night latch on the front door and bolt the back one, she never shut her eyes till about five the morning.

  It pleased her heart in truth to see the children sitting around together, eating and laughing. No, it wasn’t all of them, but that was soon to come. And no, it wasn’t around the long, oval, mahogany dining table with the six matching straight-back chairs with candles lit-up all around, but that too was soon to come. They sat down around the small enamel table with barely enough chairs. She’d have to borrow a few stools from Clive. Rosa was asleep on her bed in Delores’ room, and Gwennie was using for the first time, the brand new china Samuel and Dorothy gave to her. And even when Delores spill gravy on the new white tablecloth and Dave carelessly drop one of the plates and break it, as him reach across the table for his fifth helping of food, Gwennie was just too content to make things bother her.

  Delores remain quiet throughout the entire meal, but Gwennie didn’t care, it was enough to just look in Delores’ face and brighten with pride to see how she ripen into womanhood. And Dave, Gwennie had to shake her head, for every time him open his mouth to speak, she hear Walter’s voice. But not even that was going to interfere with her happiness. When dinner was over and Dave push back his chair and light up a cigarette, with the argument that him understand that children in America can do anything them please, them not as backward and country-like as those back home, Gwennie didn’t even quarrel with him and ask him to please put it out.

  But after him take the last several puffs, she let him know that as long as him living under her roof, him will please not smoke in her house, for him couldn’t damn well smoke inside Grandma’s kitchen, so she can’t understand why so soon him ready to come and take advantage of her. But even them things didn’t bother her, for life was too just too sweet for clouds to come and cover it over.

  But after Gwennie lay down in her bed the Saturday, her mind rerunning all that happen the day before, she couldn’t help but feel an aching somewhere deep inside. And she know the feeling in her belly didn’t have anything to do with Rosa for she’d already patch up things with her. For after she hear Rosa hollering out in her sleep in the early morning hours, she dragged herself out of bed and brought Rosa back with her.

  And when Gwennie’s hazel eyes meet with Rosa’s light brown ones, the hollering ceased. But then it start up again and Gwennie had to pull out the bag of clothes she picked up at J. J. Newbury’s and show Rosa the skirts, full-length ones for church and shorter ones for school, short sleeves summer blouses and boxes and boxes of toys. But nothing a tall could pacify Rosa. It wasn’t until Gwennie pull out the bag with the shoes, that Rosa’s eyes start to pick up interest. In no time she was fast asleep again, but not before she find out from Gwennie if all the frocks and games belong to her in truth.

  But the person that cause Gwennie the most grief was Rudi. No, him wasn’t the full-face little boy with knock-knees she’d left back home, he’d lengthen out into a big man now. For when she saw him at the airport: face cool and smooth, eyebrows fluff-up and neat, hair cut close to his head with not a strand out of place, and the moustache just like a line on the top of his lip, she just wanted to shield him from Clive. From out the corner of her eyes, she could see the look that shadow Clive’s face then pass, but not without little of the hardness still remaining in his eyes.

  And it wasn’t anything that Rudi said or did, it was just the way him carry himself: clothes neat and close-fitting, colours blending in so well causing both she and Delores to look like butu compared to him. Not to mention Dave, who look just like an old cruff. But she could see the word imprint on Clive’s brain as the little knob in his throat bob up and down: batty-man.

  ‘Them is an abomination before God and man,’ Clive used to say to her, face cover over with scorn as him point out the young fellows in the mall down town. ‘Look, look at that one, Gwennie!’ And her eyes would follow his fingers to see a nice looking chap, in tight faded jeans walking briskly towards them, earring in one ear, hips swaying delicately; other times towards a group of them sitting down on the bench in the mall that surround the fountain, legs fold up as them chat and laugh, voices high-pitched, hands laden with jewellery of all sorts as them pose and posture to one another. Sometimes a pair of them walk past, fingers almost touching.

  And as Gwennie is a woman who don’t love jump to conclusion and pass judgement, for who she to judge, to cast the first stone, she who sin herself, she used to say to Clive, ‘But I don’t see anything wrong with them? Granted them loud and raucous with faces as pretty as money, but . . .’ For in truth, them was regular-looking, even though something about them would always bring to mind visions of Percy, but she couldn’t quite put her fingers on it. ‘Some of them look a little effeminate,’ she would tell Clive, ‘but that don’t mean anything for I know a few ministers at church back home who used to look and even go on like these fellows. Some even married . . .’

  As she continue on telling Clive, her mind run on the men she knew back home who people called batty-men, but she didn’t pay much attention to the name calling, for usually they were big and respectable people in the community. She’d even hear that her very own Teacher Brown was that way, that him live in the big white house on the hill with a fellow from Vere. The older gentleman that run the festival each year, Robeson, she hear was that way too, and the young man at the post office . . .

  ‘Them not always effeminate,’ Clive break into her thinking, trying to explain, distaste written all over his face, ‘sometimes them manly like me, big shoulders and everything, but if you look in them face you can tell . . . it’s just soft and tender like a woman’s . . .’

  So when her eyes bless Rudi for the first time at the airport, and after him put down Rosa and started coming towards her, she wished she’d ask Samuel and Dorothy to accompany her instead, for them more tolerant about these things. She remember the evening when she and Clive were over at Samuel’s house watching the documentary on homosexuals, and how Clive had to take it upon himself to let his feelings be known about the matter.

  And even when Samuel claimed that him live in America too long and life was way too short to allow anything to bother him except water pollution and nuclear war, Clive was still disgruntled. But Dorothy did shut him up good and proper when she tell him that she used to dabble-dabble in it before she got married and was even still on good terms with the woman.

  ‘But that’s different you see,’ Clive explain to her. ‘For you married now and was only going through phases then.’ But Dorothy let him know, after Samuel leave the room, that if she was ever to leave Samuel she would probably go back to Dawn for that was one of the most balanced relationships she’d ever have. Clive never have much else to say after, except that him can’t decipher what it is exactly that the women do. And as Gwennie know that Dorothy is a woman who wasn’t bashful to explain things in great detail, no matter who the company, she cry excuse from the conversation and left the room.

  She couldn’t understand why her feelings towards the subject was seeming to lean towards Dorothy and Samuel’s argument. But maybe it was because of the hatred and comtempt she hear so much in Clive’s voice that cause her to adopt another view of the matter altogether.

  Laying down in her bed the Saturday morning, Rosa fast asleep next to her, the remainder of household just beginning to stir, Gwennie decide she will just have to bring Rudi down to the church and make him meet some of the people down there. Them have young people’s groups and choir and prayer meetings, she would have to make sure him join them and keep himself busy, for it was too easy to fall into sin and bad ways and the devil always have work for idle hands. That one she would have to nip
in the bud right-a-way before it grow and fester. Not that she was any strong church-goer herself, but with all the violence she see and hear about, she realize only the Lord alone can be her protector, not husband, not friend, not gun, not dog.

  And as Gwennie prepare lunch the Saturday afternoon, it strike her again, as it strike her times and times again, the way life was funny. For maybe if she’d stay with Walter and look after her children, maybe Dave wouldn’t take up smoking and hatred of church, maybe Rosa and Delores wouldn’t be so distant, and maybe Rudi wouldn’t be so different. No, but she didn’t want to think about it, for it wasn’t fair. She didn’t leave them for selfish reasons. Everything she did was for them betterment, so seeds fall along the wayside, she guess, but she was going to fix that, she along with the covenant of God.

  Saturday evening Samuel cook as usual, for Dorothy don’t like the fireside much, and invite them over. Sunday morning bright and early, Gwennie parade them off to the little Baptist church not far from her house. After church, she introduce them to all and sundry. The Goodisons that live further down on Evelyn Street and who own the laundry mat chain, the Tomblins whose daughter teach in the same elementary school she plan to send Rosa, the Whiteheads whose son Gerald was in the choir.

  She was feeling a little let down when Rudi tell her him not in the choir anymore, but she was going to change that. She bring him up to the director of the church choir, Mr Cruise, to let him know that not only did her son have a lovely singing voice, but him couldn’t wait to audition.

  And as if Sunday morning wasn’t enough, after dinner and a fresh change of clothes, she bring them to Young People’s meeting Sunday evening after much grumbling and cursing from Dave, who claim him was almost certain this blasted church-going business was over with. But Gwennie was already determined that no one was going to remain in the house after she lock and bolt the door behind her. At Young People’s meeting, she have Rudi, Delores and Dave sign up for Bible Study, Tuesday and Thursday evenings, eight to nine-thirty, and Rudi for the choir and Rosa for Sunday school.