Land of Love and Drowning: A Novel (15 page)

History records that, despite everything, Jacob Esau McKenzie was the first one off the big boat. He was the first returning soldier to shake Governor de Castro’s hand. It was in the papers. There was proof. He was the hero at the Grand Hotel ball held in the men’s honor.

But there really wasn’t anything grand about being the first; if the newspapers really knew, they wouldn’t have said “hero.” His had been a
dishonorable discharge, after all. He was the first off only because he couldn’t wait to eat from his mother’s hand. He’d been in solitary and he’d been on Sand Island. He was most afraid that St. Thomas wouldn’t be real. The boat, which was also for luxurious island-hopping, now did its patriotic part. But it didn’t dock up fast enough. Its hulking body slid and bounced against the dock, kissing the island tentatively. Men who had saved each other’s lives, men who had cried into each other’s laps, now pushed and bit at each other before the door was opened and the plank was lowered. Jacob had pushed the hardest. He had broken through with all the people there watching. He had taken off his Army cap and kissed the ground as if it were a lover or maybe as if it were a thought-dead mother. And he had stayed there, his mouth to the ground as though to a woman, until the governor came up to him, bent down, and said, “Son, I admire your passion but this is indecent,” and Jacob had risen slowly and shaken the governor’s hand for the pictures.

Really, Jacob was a hero. Because he had been fearless when other men of his same country had treated them worse than any German. He had been the one to steal the guns and demand service in the New Orleans restaurant. He had been the only one put into solitary. The one shipped out to Sand Island to die in the war that was ending.

But there were times when he wasn’t so brave. When he was hauled off to solitary where he became a dreamer in order to not lose his mind. When he was sent to Sand Island where he hadn’t been killed by the Japs after all, but had weeks of wet and mud with his gun between him and the earth wondering what made a man a man.

And then the war was over. And he was alive. And his mother had written saying that the heroism was in that, his surviving. But Jacob wasn’t so sure.

On the day he arrived, he kissed the ground, he shook the governor’s hand, and he saw in the crowd a woman in a cherry-red dress looking at him as though he were something she had lost. At that moment he didn’t
think of the wife from Ronald Smalls’s picture. He only thought that he wanted to reach out and touch the woman’s coppery hair. Nothing strange in that; he hadn’t had a woman’s attention in so long. But that night as he lay on his back, his reddish tooth still pulsing dully as though it were flesh, all he could do was think of that woman in red and how she had looked at him as though he was truly heroic just for walking off the boat. Even his mother, who had three other sons after all, hadn’t looked at him that way when he walked in her door.

In his dreams that night he was following that woman and only then did she merge with the wife in Ronald Smalls’s picture, who, in fact, she was. Her red dress flickered around buildings and into doorways. Jacob followed her down the road to Coki beach, the one famous for its undercurrent and infamous for swallowing people whole. The woman appeared before him in a red dress, wet as though she had been swimming. Once again, he felt his teeth begin to crumble. He opened his mouth and the seashells fell at her feet.

I was glad to have Ronalda. Don’t mind I didn’t want her father. Is just that on the day I gone to see the boys return I see the tall lanky one walk off the ship and not Ronald at all. The mangrove man look like someone I done been loving. When he stoop down to kiss the ground, it like he own the land. And I want to be that land, you hear.

Eeona mouth gaping at me when I declare divorce. So I leave Ronalda and fly out to Gertie mother house, where Gertie still living. I knock on her door and tell Gertie right there in the threshold. “You won’t be the
last,” Gertie say. “At least your husband’s not dead. At least this is your choice. At least you been married at all.”

Gertie pour out two tiny glass of guavaberry from a crystal decanter—even though it wasn’t Christmastime. We drink until we couldn’t look at each other without laughing. My feet bicycling in the air as Gertie make imitations of Ronnie earnest character. Me choking on my own laughter and then suddenly collapsing into tears. “Oh, Gertie. Don’t make fun of the man,” I say, with my head in my own lap. “It ain he fault.”

That very day I leave Mrs. Smalls house and take myself back to Eeona, just like before. When I had start packing up, Mrs. Smalls had turn from me saying, “You always thought you were better than he was.” Which wasn’t true. Is really that Ronnie was too good, but how to explain that? Just so, that woman wash her hand of me.

The day after the ship arrive, the selfsame man I see stepping off the boat is there on the cover of the newspaper. Well, hello! It hit me that this is Saul’s younger brother. The piano-playing one. I buy the paper and cut out the clipping of the man shaking the governor hand. When I come home from taking Ronalda to visit her grandmother, Eeona there sitting at our little table with the clipping clench up between she fingers. She wave it in my face like a rag. “Why do you have this here?” She suck her teeth when I tell her is nothing. I ain never seen my sister suck her teeth. It was not a ladylike thing to do, and Eeona always a lady. I squinch my face at her. “Is just my classmate brother.”

“Let that be all you ever know,” she say. But I think she having she weirdness, what she call episodes, and I does find is best to ignore she then. Plus, what I know about the man? Not a thing. Instead, that very day I go to the library and rent the typewriter for a hour. I myself type the letter stating that is divorce I looking. One copy for Ronnie and the other for the court.

Must be two weeks again before Ronald arrive in St. Thomas. But he too late. He gone to his mother’s looking for me. She tell him that I leave
the house and that I leave he. Ronald arrive to our flat, hat in hand, as though he courting again. I kiss him on the cheek like a sister, passing him his daughter with one hand and the letter with the next.

He take baby and letter both like a punishment he deserve, which I glad for, ’cause it make the whole thing more easy. But when he leave, I find the letter outside in the street, neat, like he just lay it down on the ground for a second to tie he shoe. But I had give Ronnie that divorce letter, you hear. Don’t mind what bad behavior I get up to in the future. We is Americans and I don’t need my husband permission to leave he. I is an independent woman.

I was not against divorce so much as I was against Anette being unwed. I should have told her: “Do not trust your own emotions.” I should have told her: “Do not love yourself too much, otherwise you might fall in love with the wrong man.” I told her no such things.

After telling me of her intentions, Anette dived out of the room with the end of Mama’s gloves. I never saw that lace again. My simple magic was averted. Instead, across from me was Ronalda. The baby had just learned to hold herself sitting up. She was staring at me with huge hopeful eyes that reminded me of Anette’s the morning our mother died.

The next day I saw my father’s face looking up from the newspaper. The name was not a match, but still I suspected that this soldier was our brother. I believe I made my disdain clear to Anette, but I had never quite understood Mama’s warning to watch out. I knew, however, that our Bradshaw name had been lowered enough. How far would the name and reputation
sink if it was revealed that my father had been with a woman who worked obeah? A married woman, at that? I needed my name. I loved and respected the man who had given me that name.

Before leaving, I intended to do all I could to prevent Anette’s divorce. Still, you must understand the strain of this. Family can be like an anchor. An anchor may tether you. An anchor may also pull and sink your ship.

Gertie mother thinking I is still a well-married woman, and so she ain fuss that Gertie going with me to a dance down by the Catholic school. I leave Ronalda with Eeona, saying I just accompanying Gertie. It ain raining as yet. Just the smell of rain, crispness in the air that any fool would think is hope or a new beginning. You see, the war over. And even though is the church holding the dance, Jeppesson start up with that silly calypso just as soon as Gertie and me walk in.

The sandman wasn’t there in the dance hall. Is ain yet a month since his ship land, and so though it like I feeling him coming, I ain really believe is he coming. Not so soon. In fact, is Saul come in and dance and add rum to the Coca-Cola, like the calypso song say. Saul always mischievous like the McKenzie he is. They done saying that Saul does be building house only so he know how to sneak in and out with the man of the house in such a way that the wife don’t suspect. Yes, Saul always been a nancy man.

Let it be known that I was already settled on the divorce before I meet Jacob. Jacob wasn’t looking to be a home wrecker—not as yet. “Rumors fly,” as the love song goes. Jacob ain thief me away. Try and remember, I wasn’t wearing my wedding ring that night. I done pay for the divorce with
my own money that I get from my work at the apothecary. I telling everyone to call me Miss Bradshaw from here on. I wasn’t even at that party looking for a man. I was there with Gertie. I wasn’t trying to impress a soul. Is true. Yes. That I had want a man who going to grab me up and hold me tight, worship me like a fat golden calf. I had the man who come off the boat and kiss the ground in my head. But I have my sister’s warning to be a lady rinsing out my ears. Eeona think is shame enough that I divorcing, she ain want me to flaunt myself on top of it. So, I ain coif up my hair or anything at all. I wearing flat shoes. I wear only a little light lipstick.

Rum and Co-caaa-Co-la.
That was the song Jeppesson was singing and Saul McKenzie was there pouring the rum. I know this song from Lord Invader scratching it out over the radio. Is much later we hear ’bout the Yankee Andrews Sisters thiefing the song. But now nobody vex with the Americans because is America win the war. The Caribbean is the rum and America is the cola and we in the Virgin Islands is both, so everything sweet, sweet, sweet. Not like now with the Americans all bury up in their own school, living out East End like is Little USA, drinking at their fancy bars that only play their music. It wasn’t like that then. In my time, the Americans seem like they actually come to we island to be with we. Man, that night I feel something was special in the air, but I sure is only happiness at being on the winning side. Happiness at being an American.

See me. I moving through the party. I chatting with everyone. When they ask for Ronnie, I ready for them. I smile and flip my hand. “He’s well, he’s well. We’re divorcing, you know, but he’s well.” I ain want to announce it in hushed tones, like I shame. I don’t want people’s pitiful look. I know thoughts have power. I had want to declare the divorce and then dance. Not giving anybody a chance to even think sorrow for me. Some of them woman who there with their husbands even give me a look like they impress with me.

Now at the party, I feeling the man coming like I feeling the mist from the rain coming in from the balcony, but I ain know what I feeling. We win
the war! We is winners! The thing I feeling seem like patriotism, but now I know that loving a man and loving the country he fight for might be the same thing. In the rum and Coca-Cola song they singing ’bout the GI boys loving up the native peaches. And I know I is the peach and I waiting for my GI.

Listen close. Saul McKenzie and I had been classmates. I knew he have a heap a brothers, but I was never one of them girls who deading for a McKenzie man. Saul he self handsome and fun but he duncey. And besides, it turn out he only interested in getting romantic with other man. Me and Saul dance for a little bit, and I grabbing him every now and then to settle him back into the right beat because, like every McKenzie besides Jacob, Saul ain have no rhythm at all. “Rum and Co-caaaa-Co-la!” I sing the song in Saul ear to keep us from moving to the rhythm of the rain or whatever it is he listening to. Gertie with the first man that swing she to the dance floor.

That night the song say we supposed to swoon when we hear Bing Crosby croon and so we girls all put the backs of our hands to our foreheads and pretend to stumble a little. The song say tropic love, and we giggle, ’cause we know that mean the kind of love only we island girls can give. Even though we ain have sense enough to know that love is love is love. I finally sit down after roaming and dancing. I keeping a eye out for Gertie because I ain see where she gone, and her mother make me cross myself and swear to watch her. I ain no cross-myself Catholic, but I still looking out for Gertie.

The band taking a break but I hoping Jeppesson play the Coca-Cola song again, even though they done play it three times for the night and that’s unheard of. Lord Invader from Trinidad looking to take New York by storm with this calypso, but we ain know this on St. Thomas, because the radio pouring us American songs about the Caribbean and West Indian songs about America and to we it all seem like another way to be the same. And that night I loving the song because I loving being out of Ronnie mother house and I loving being a single island peach. But Jep ain play it
again. And the next time I hear this song is years later at that stinking Gull Reef Club. Is then they have these three white woman singing it on a record like is their song and we all realize Lord Invader is the one who get invade.

But now a man sit down on the bench beside me. And when he do that, the weight of the wood push up against me. Is the rain must be chase him in because as I feel the bench take he weight I hear the rain really pelt down on the roof. Since the school only go up to sixth grade, the benches them low, which perfect for me, but he too tall. He looking foolish there with his leg them bend up and rising into he chest. He ain in uniform, but he have that sand-colored skin. Is him.

What get into me to say something? I don’t know. Maybe is the song so sassy it make me bold. Jesus, I can’t lie. I know the power I had. I know I dangerous. So I say something, but in Spanish: “Anegando en mis llanto.” I am drowning in my tears. “Anegando.” I say again. Drowning.

Is just something from a Puerto Rican bolero that was ruling the radio year before last. I guessing this man ain know the song because he ain been around. Boleros ain in style no more; now we want only American tunes. But I remembering because this man have this yellow-brown color like sand, and plus it raining outside like rain could drown. I say it while staring down into the cleavage of my own dress. Is then I realize that I exposing myself. My brassiere all peek out from all that dancing I been doing, and my sleeve hanging to reveal the strap.

“Anegada?” the man ask, like he need help with the translation. And just as he asking this, the first thing the man ever say to me, he also reaching his hand over to adjust my blouse. Like he done already know me.

We hear the rain really start coming down and it steady-steady, like the sea coming to we. I ain answer the sandman question about Anegada or drowning in tears, but it like he still fully feeling what I say. I feeling his fingers on me even after he stop touching. Them is Army-boy hands. Hard and knowing. They is piano-playing hands. Long and able. The man look to Jeppesson like they know each other from dog days and Jeppesson catch
the cue and his band curl into a new song. One I ain hear before, but now every time I hear it, even in my old age, it causing me to lose my breath like I underwater. The Irving Berlin song “They Say It’s Wonderful.” And it was. I telling you. Maybe is magic or maybe is God or timing or fate—all of that is the same thing anyhow. The man stand up and I follow him onto the dance floor like I already his.

I would never have guess that he was a real McKenzie, because he know how to dance. He hold my hand and my waist with those hands of his, and he guide us to the music. He was decent, not like the young people nowadays with your grindup-grindup. We lean on our feet. “I know that falling in love is grand”—Jeppesson crooning nice and this man moving me with his hands. Gertie appear to whisper something in my ear about leaving with some boy and I just nod without turning my head to her.

The man ain ask my name at first. I remember. I remember, because it was so wonderful and strange. He ask first, “Are you real?” I like that he coming to me with questions, not no arrogance. But still his questions bold.

We dancing and he have my hand curl up in his, against his chest. I say, “Pinch me and see I real.” He squeeze a piece of my shoulder between his music fingers. I feel that what happening here is magical and dangerous and not just timing. Not just the music or the rain rushing down. Not just chance at all.

“Well, I’m Jacob McKenzie. I’ll be walking you home this evening.”

His voice don’t sound like war. It don’t sound defeated, which is how Ronnie always sound even before the war, even before I pass he the divorce declaration. Jacob sound like piano playing and white guayaberas and hibiscus in the hand.

I bend my neck back-back just to look this man in the face. “Call me Nettie.” I give him a nickname, one nobody ain never call me, but it come like it my true-true name. I stand flat again and stare into his chest. I just start talking to his heart with my mind:
You will be open. You will be full of
me forever.
And before my thoughts finish, Jacob McKenzie say these words to me out loud: “Isn’t the beginning of love wonderful?” And I nod yes, even though I ain never been in love before. Even though he just steal the words from Jeppesson singing mouth. But I nod yes, because I feeling it, too. The song now coming to an end, the piano notes dropping like drizzle. And I feel foolish. But I want to be foolish with this man.

Really, I ain known chick nor fowl ’bout Jacob McKenzie before. He was a full two years ahead of me at school even though we born the same year. He just one of Saul’s brothers that I see once in the yearbook playing piano. But then he went to war and he come back a man. And then he was the man of my life.

The rain ease and before Jeppesson could start in on a tune by the King Cole Trio, the janitor come sweeping through the dancers with his broom. Everybody skipping to avoid him, the boys calling out, “Come on, Stumpy, one more song!” But the janitor ain studying us, and when he reach to the other side of the room, he flick the light off and say into the darkness, “Dance done!” And then he flick the lights on and off like a storm until we all drain out.

In front of the school Jacob standing close to me while we wait out the rain. He brother Saul stroll up to us. He say to Jacob, “Treat Anette good, you hear. She is my classmate.” Jacob nod, as though this was a command. Then to me Saul say, “Anette, this young man is my baby brother. You best give him a damn hard time.” Then he turn and leave we. I remember, because is the approval we never get from Jacob’s mother or from my sister.

The song say the moon above supposed to be wonderful, but I ain know. Was there a bright star guiding us? I ain remember. It perfect but not a kind of perfection I can explain. I hear a merengue coming out an open door. We walk through the back streets and the step streets, so even though I only live just maybe five minutes from the Catholic school, our walk take a good half hour. It come like even time ain real.

We turn onto the hill in Savan where my and Eeona shack of an
apartment close to the bottom. The wind blowing the curtains open. There is my daughter sleeping in the bed. I ain realize before that if somebody just stand up on the hill street they could lean and glance in the bedroom window. Ronalda’s arms out straight in front she self like she reaching, her legs curl up tight to her belly because she already that kind of child.

I come accustomed to men commenting on Eeona’s beauty. But is my daughter there. In only a nappy. Her uneasy beauty circling round her like it about to land. I turn to Jacob because I ain sure if he know that this my daughter he watching. I desire to jump through the window and cover her, claim Ronalda hard. To say “mine.” I want to say that if he want me he going have to want her, too. But Jacob just turn to me and say yes. As if I had ask him a question. “Yes.”

I take his face in my hands, I telling you. Right there with my daughter inches away and me not quite divorced and Irving Berlin in my head. And I kiss him. And this kiss run through my whole body until I feel it punging like a heart in the arch of my foot.

Nobody used to lock doors back then, so I just open the apartment door. Before I walk in, I turn and see Jacob there, standing at the bottom of the hill. Watching me like he a guard or like he my father. Then he shout “Love is grand!” into the night, just like the song said he would. A rooster screech in response. And I know it. I know is over for me. I pitch myself into the flat and close the door. I lean against the door and believe I could feel it pulsing. Like the building have a ocean waving through it.

This too wild and fast to be love. But it is. Like in the movies, only for real. These things happen, I telling you. Not always with songs playing, except for the one singing in your own skin. People can need each other like water. It can be wonderful.

Waiting in the dark apartment, Eeona voice slice like a machete. “You are late, Mrs. Smalls.” But I ain Mrs. Smalls no more.