The Heart Does Not Bend (12 page)

“Glory, is what happen?” Mama asked, coming out from the kitchen. Sid was in the living room drinking a Guinness.

“Nuh dis gal, look pon what she have on fi sit down round de table,” she said, pointing at me.

Mama looked at me.

“What is de problem, Glory?” she asked again, this time looking at her daughter as if she had gone insane.

“Yuh don’t see de top dis girl have on, Mama?”

My grandmother focused on my halter top, but there was no alarm in her eyes.

“Glory, ah don’t see anything wrong wid de blouse,” she said.

“Mama, you call dis a blouse, dis little piece a cloth dat barely cover up her tittie dem?”

I stood there, half-frozen with embarrassment.

“Glory, what yuh getting so upset ’bout? Yuh expect de girl fi dress up like old woman? Yuh nuh know seh she is fourteen? De top look fine to me. Yuh acting like Molly is some gal dat run up and down and catch man. Nuh bother tek no liberty wid her for me raise her proper.”

Sid got up from the couch and looked in our direction. He shook his head in disgust. The look was not wasted on my mother; she ran into her bedroom and slammed the door on us. Sid sucked his teeth and went back to his Guinness and baseball game.

“Leave yuh blouse on, girl,” Mama said as she turned back into the kitchen.

I went to our room and sat on the bed. My mood had turned sour. Freddie and Joanne arrived, and Glory came out of her room to greet them as if nothing had happened. I hated that about her, the way she could so easily move from one mood to another.

“What happening, brother, how yuh doing? How yuh doing, Joanne?” she greeted them cheerfully.

I sat in the bedroom stewing. Another knock at the front door and I heard Justin’s voice, then Eileen’s.

“Molly!” Mama called out. “Come help mi.”

“A so we look nice. Yuh really growing into a looker,” Uncle Freddie greeted me. Everyone turned in my direction and smiled—Glory just barely—as I went to the kitchen to help Mama.

Uncle Peppie and Aunt Val were the last to arrive, and it was clear that they’d been quarrelling. Uncle Peppie was even more low-key than usual, and Aunt Val wore a guarded look all through dinner, but that didn’t take away from the food or the enjoyment for everyone else. Mama seemed oblivious and kept a running conversation going with her sons and the rest of the men, all the while encouraging them to eat more. Uncle Peppie and Aunt Val left a short while after dinner, she saying she had some work to finish.

Eileen was the next to leave.

The men were in the living room drinking rum and watching boxing. The women, me included, were in the kitchen washing and putting away the dishes. The weather was the topic of conversation. Mama kept saying that she could
not believe that a place with so much snow and cold and ice in winter could get so hot and humid come summer.

Joanne lowered her voice and said, “I have something to tell you and I need your advice.” Everyone looked in her direction. “I’m pregnant.”

“Congratulations, girl,” Glory cheered.

“Shh,” Joanne said with a finger over her mouth. “Freddie is not too happy.”

Glory looked at me with those eyes that said adult talk, so I busied myself and took the garbage to the side door where I could still hear but not be seen.

“What yuh mean?” Glory asked.

“Well, he wants me to have …to have …”

“Him want yuh throw it away?” Mama finished.

“Yes,” she whispered, “but I really want this baby.”

“Well, maybe yuh should wait a little,” Glory cautioned.

“So yuh suggest dat she dash it away too?” Mama sounded angry.

“No, Mama, but is two of them in it together …”

“Him will never be ready. Look pon little Freddie in Jamaica.”

“Shh …shh …” said Joanne. I felt sorry for her, because I knew there was no stopping my grandmother when she felt strongly about something.

“Girl, if yuh want to have yuh pickney, have it, but don’t look pon mi son fi any help, because it won’t be there. Yuh have to stand up on yuh own foot.”

“Mama, ah don’t think yuh have any right to—”

Mama cut her off. “Glory, yuh don’t own mi mouth and mi have a right to speak when mi want to.”

I went back into the kitchen, determined not to catch my mother’s eye.

“Please, don’t fight. I don’t want him to hear,” Joanne pleaded.

“Hear what?” Freddie asked matter-of-factly as he strolled into the kitchen to get another beer.

“Nothing, just woman talk,” Glory said.

Mama confronted him. “Why yuh want de girl dash away her pickney?” she demanded.

My uncle’s eyes looked mean. Joanne’s looked scared. Tears dripped onto her white cotton dress.

“Yuh talking behind mi back? Didn’t we agree dat dis was between us?” he shouted.

I clutched my hands and waited for the next move.

“How unnu like cow down woman so?” Mama asked. “Is a pity she tek up wid yuh and mi sorry mi never warn her, but mi think yuh change. Ah shoulda know better, for zebra cyaan change dem stripe. Look on de lovely pickney yuh have in Jamaica and not even a penny yuh would send fi buy food fi him.”

My uncle’s eyes flashed to Glory.

“Mama,” my mother warned. But my grandmother sucked her teeth. I went to the bathroom and came out with some tissues for Joanne. The poor girl had begun to tremble. I made myself small in a corner of the kitchen and prayed that Mama would quiet, for she was only making the situation worse.

“That’s enough, Mama, stop interfering in mi life,” Uncle Freddie said abruptly, his eyes fire hot.

“Yuh think yuh can shut mi up?”

“To hell wid you,” he blazed at her. And he pulled Joanne roughly from the chair, grabbed their things and
stormed out the door. Glory ran after him, mumbling, “Calm down, Freddie, calm down.”

Sid and Justin continued to watch the boxing match on television, cheering on their favourites as if nothing had happened. My grandmother sat down on a kitchen chair, a cigarette between her lips and a self-righteous look on her face. I kissed her on the side of her neck and went to our bedroom.

Uncle Freddie never came to Sunday dinner again. Uncle Peppie and Aunt Val came to a few more, then one Sunday Val called to tell us that her sister and her husband were in town and they were entertaining at home. Mama didn’t seem to care, but I had lived with her for so long that I knew better. She was at the stove turning the fried chicken, Glory was at the kitchen counter helping with the coleslaw salad, and I was grating the carrots for juice. Sid sat in front of the television watching sports.

“We have enough chicken here for tomorrow dinner, and enough to mek a sandwich for yuh and Sid to tek to work, so nothing won’t waste. It will save mi cooking tomorrow and ah can iron Sid shirts and a few of your things dat sitting dere in de wash basket.”

“Don’t worry yuhself, Mama, relax. I can do them one evening,” Glory said, totally out of character. Mama didn’t miss a beat.

“Since when yuh like fi iron?”

“Is not dat, Mama, ah just think yuh should be outside enjoying de summer weather. There is a nice park round de corner.”

“Okay, me and Molly will go,” Mama answered. She waited as if she knew the conversation wasn’t finished. Glory said nothing more.

At the dinner table that evening, Glory announced that we were invited to dinner at Aunt Val’s the first Sunday of the following month.

“To what do we owe dis honour?” Mama asked, her voice subdued.

“Nothing, Mama. Val just want to entertain at her place, and yuh cook for us so much Sundays dat she thought it would be a nice change.”

“I see.”

Sid and I exchanged quick glances.

“De rice and peas tasty, Mother Galloway,” he said.

“Thank yuh, mi son,” she said in a meek voice I didn’t recognize.

“Yes, Mama, and di chicken too,” Glory added hastily.

“Uh-huh.” Mama nodded.

We got through the dinner with a bit of small talk. Sid and Glory left shortly after to visit some friends. I washed the dishes and emptied the garbage, then settled with Mama in front of the television.

“Ah wonder what dat bitch have up her sleeve now?” Mama huffed. “When dem see yuh strong, dem try everything fi bring yuh down.”

“But, Mama, mi don’t think she mean anything bad,” I said.

“Yuh don’t know de likes of people, for life nuh half tek wid yuh yet. It long and yuh have ‘nuff fi learn. And mi know dis one is a bitch pon wheels, mark my word,” she countered.

I said nothing after that, and then Mama got up and switched the channel to a variety show. We sat and watched the program in silence.

Mama and I spent a lot of time together during the summer, and our talk almost always went back to our old street, the Ritz Theatre, Sophia Loren, our flower beds, Grand-aunt Ruth’s restaurant. We missed our home and our freedom. Perhaps I missed it even more than Mama because I longed for my crowd, for Punsie, Junior, the others on the street and even Petal.

On Sunday we went to Aunt Val and Uncle Peppie’s for supper. Our first surprise was seeing Uncle Freddie and Joanne there. Since the quarrel at our apartment, they hadn’t come around or even called, but neither Glory nor Sid seemed surprised to see them. Mama carried her anger well, at least in front of Aunt Val and the others. She greeted them politely. Freddie kissed her as if nothing had happened. Joanne couldn’t look Mama in the eye.

Aunt Val cooked much the same food as Mama: fried chicken, rice and peas, a green salad instead of coleslaw, plus a mixed-vegetable dish, potato salad and a macaroni-and-cheese dish. That was the first time I’d ever eaten macaroni and cheese, and it was delicious. Aunt Val had also made a pineapple upside-down cake for dessert, along with a fruit salad. The food was good and we enjoyed it. Glory praised the variety of dishes. Sid, like me, loved the macaroni and cheese, and under the circumstances Mama had to say something complimentary. But she didn’t fool me; I knew her words didn’t come from the heart. Even I could see that by preparing
so many different dishes, Aunt Val was trying to show what a good cook she was.

We stayed much longer than Mama cared to, but since everyone else was comfortable, it would have been rude for her to insist we leave. Uncle Freddie played the perfect son, encouraging her to touch Joanne’s belly. “Mama, come feel yuh next grandson, is like him can’t wait to come out and see life.” Mama didn’t; instead she lit a cigarette, pulled hard on it and said, “Ah hope de little one have a stable life and grow up to know him father,” she said. Then she turned her full attention to Joanne, asking, “When is due date?”

Aunt Val and my grandmother played a kind of tug-of-war. Mama was clearly satisfied with keeping a polite distance, but Aunt Val was pushing to be the perfect daughter-in-law.

“Mama, did you like the dinner? I hope you enjoyed the rice and peas and chicken, even though that is your specialty.” Mama nodded and a smile appeared on her face. It might have been genuine, but I remembered her calling Aunt Val a bitch.

“Did you enjoy the macaroni and cheese? That’s Peppie’s favourite,” Aunt Val pressed on.

“Mi never care too much for it, too dry. Dem things suppose to be moist wid ’nuff cheese and milk,” Mama said. My aunt’s smile dropped. Uncle Peppie got up from his seat in the living room and headed for the steps to the basement, and Sid and Freddie followed. There was a second-hand couch, stereo, a television and a bar my uncle had built down there.

Mama got up to use the bathroom, and I refilled juice glasses and asked the others if they wanted another slice of
cake. When I helped myself to a little more macaroni and cheese, Glory gave me a grateful look.

Of course it followed that there would be a quarrel in the car going home.

“Mama, dat comment to Val wasn’t nice, yuh know,” Glory said.

Mama laughed. “What yuh want mi fi do, lie? De something dry like cork; as fi de chicken wid all dis barbecue sauce fi gravy.” Mama laughed louder.

In the rearview mirror I caught the smile on Sid’s face.

“Mama,” Glory chided, “it not very funny. Val is yuh daughter-in-law, and when yuh say things like dat, it mek Peppie feel bad.”

My grandmother sucked her teeth. “Unnu always bet pon de wrong horse, so yuh want to come cuss wid mi now because of Val?”

“Mama, it just not right. Yuh can’t go to people house and insult dem food.”

“So yuh a come teach mi etiquette now?” Mama asked, scorn plain on her face.

Somewhat wearily Glory said, “Yuh know what, Mama, mek we done dis talk.” Sid turned up the radio.

Mama and I didn’t go back to Aunt Val’s for quite a while, for even though we were invited, Mama had no desire to go. Our Sunday meals balanced themselves on one foot. Sometimes Sid and Glory ate with us and other times they went to Aunt Val’s, where they were joined by Uncle Freddie and Joanne.

Uncle Peppie still visited every Friday evening, and he remained the prize of Mama’s eye. Still, the summer
dragged; only so much time could be spent writing letters back home. Eventually we took Glory’s advice and started going to the local park. That’s where Mama met her first friend in Canada.

His name was Paolo. He was short, stout and in his late fifties. We had been in the park several times, often sitting on the same bench watching the people around us: children on the swings, young people kissing under trees, others just sitting and looking about like we were. Mama often brought along a cloth bag with her crocheting or knitting and her pack of cigarettes. At first we didn’t pay any attention to this man who kept passing by us in the park. Every time he passed our bench, he slowed his pace and smiled at my grandmother. One day Mama, never one to be shy, said, “Howdy do, sir?” An uncertain smile spread across his face, but he kept on walking. Then one day he brought a bunch of daisies and offered them to her. I still remember the look of surprise and pleasure on her face as he handed her the flowers. “For you,” he said, smiling.