The Heart Does Not Bend (17 page)

Dinner was a boisterous affair. Washington turned out to be quite a comedian, and Melbourne was a man full of stories about his years as a lightweight boxer.

Freddie announced his wedding plans and Bella’s pregnancy, to which we drank a toast. Mama surprised us all by not making a scene. Perhaps it was because she liked Bella, or because of the attention she was getting from the two uncles. Whatever it was, I was grateful.

After dinner the music started. Washington and Melbourne kept Mama on her feet dancing all night long. She wore one of the beautiful Sophia Loren dresses Uncle Mikey had made, and her gold earrings shone against her lovely dark face. She looked like the Queen of Carnival; her body rivalled that of any thirty-five-year-old woman. As the night wore on, I watched, fascinated, as the two men competed for her attention. Washington drew her out, made her laugh, flirted outrageously with her, but in the end Melbourne won. Years later she confided to me, “Is Washington me like first, him so funny and mek light of everything and him have looks, but Melbourne a di one mi set mi eye pon. Looks not everything. Pretty man a trouble. Look how yuh grandfather did handsome and …A ’oman fi tek man uglier dan her, and blacker too.”

That night I wore a red turtleneck pantsuit, compliments of my mother’s closet. In trying to hide my large breasts, she had forgotten that I wore two sweater sizes larger than she did. By the time she saw me that evening, it was too late for me to change. I spent the evening watching the adults, helping serve the cake and drinks. I also helped myself to a glass or two of rum punch. Bella caught me at it once. “I
won’t tell,” she laughed. “My sisters and I used to do that all the time, only it was wine—my father made it by the barrel.”

Jeffrey asked me to dance a few times, but he was a clumsy dancer. Then Justin asked me to dance to a slow song and he pulled me close. I felt his chest snug against my breasts. Mama was dancing with Washington, oblivious to everyone else in the room. Glory and Aunt Val were cleaning up in the kitchen, and the rest of the men were in the basement. Bella sat on the couch, a permanent smile on her face, watching. Justin pressed his mouth against mine and slipped his tongue between my teeth. When the song finished, he squeezed my hand and went downstairs to join the others. I sat next to Bella on the couch, savouring a delicious feeling of love. She hugged me and whispered, “Be careful, dearie.”

Mama was jovial for the rest of the holidays. Melbourne, Gwendolyn and Washington entertained her throughout the season. Each time I called she was out. Even after the holidays were over, she entertained her new friends at Uncle Peppie’s, often inviting them for Sunday dinner. Melbourne had a car, so some evenings he and Washington took Mama driving and to meet friends. They took turns inviting her home. Washington lived close to Glory, off St. Clair Avenue near Dufferin Street, and Melbourne lived in Parkdale.

Mama started to stay over at Melbourne’s some weekends, returning to Uncle Peppie’s on Sunday night. This wasn’t to everybody’s liking. Glory was the first to voice her disapproval.

“Peppie, it nuh look right,” she said on the phone. “Mama should know better—him is a married man. It nuh right,” she
repeated. I thought that was ridiculous; Melbourne had been divorced some time back and didn’t even have children.

When Mama’s visits to Melbourne’s became more frequent and lasted longer, Glory called a family conference at our house—without Mama. Uncle Freddie didn’t care much one way or the other. “If Mama happy wid dat situation, dat fine wid me. Is less time in my business.”

Glory looked at him, cut her eyes and sighed in frustration. She turned to Uncle Peppie for support. He agreed with her and the relief showed on her face. “It a little embarrassing, him being Val uncle and all …but you know how Mama is when she set on things. She won’t listen …”

“So what if he is Val’s uncle? Unnu too uptight,” Freddie accused them. “Leave de woman alone—she lonely, she need some man company.”

“You just hush,” Glory said. “She is our mother and it just look careless. It’s not so simple, you know. Melbourne is a drinker. Yuh never see him de night of de party? Dat is a bad influence on Mama. Look pon de little drinks Sid had in de cabinet—she nuh drink it out?”

“Glory, don’t worry so much, yuh cyaan live Mama life.”

“It going to come to a bad end,” Glory grumbled. “She should act her age.”

“What age have to do wid a little loving? Leave de woman alone,” Freddie said again, looking at his watch. Glory sighed, looking at Uncle Peppie, but this time she got no support.

Since the Christmas party, I had been preoccupied with Justin. He called now and then to ask me out. Because I couldn’t let Glory know about our relationship, I’d meet him
at the strip mall, and he’d take me to a burger joint or a movie, telling me how pretty I was, then kissing me in the car before dropping me off at the mall. One afternoon he brought me to a friend’s house in the east end. No one was home, and Justin led me to the bedroom. I wrote and told Punsie, swore her to secrecy even though she was so many miles away.

In June, Bella gave birth to a lovely, olive-skinned baby boy. They named him Vittorio Oliver Galloway. Freddie wanted his son to have his father’s name. Mama didn’t like it, but there was nothing she could do about it. She comforted herself by saying, “Ah thank de Lord dat is only de middle name, for ah don’t know how ah could bear calling de pickney Oliver every day.” By the time Vittorio was six months old, Mama had knitted him enough outfits to supply a set of quints.

Bella spent a lot of time on the phone with Mama, exchanging recipes. Mama was teaching her how to cook Jamaican food, how to shop for a good piece of yellow yam and a hand of green bananas; in turn, Bella showed Mama how to make pasta from scratch and what to do with each kind. Apart from Monica, I had never seen Mama so taken with one of her children’s partners. It didn’t go unnoticed by Glory and Aunt Val, whose relationship with her was strained and tense.

Mama proudly sent photographs of Bella and the baby to our old neighbours on the island and to Aunt Joyce in America. Grand-aunt Ruth got a thick package with photos, letters, aprons and pot holders. She even sent photos to
Uncle Mikey, but without a letter. To Monica she sent pictures and a postcard saying this relationship would teach Freddie responsibility, and then he would start supporting Freddie Jr. She continued to send Monica a little money for him whenever she could, to help with school and books.

The day Mama received a letter from Grand-aunt Ruth, she called her first family meeting. The following Sunday evening we all gathered at Uncle Peppie and Aunt Val’s, and waited for Mama to tell us what the meeting was about.

“Mi get a letter from Ruth, and de contents is of grave concern to mi. Ah want unnu to listen carefully, for mi need all de help and support on dis one.” Everyone nodded.

“‘My dear sister,’” Mama began reading. “‘I hope this letter find you in peace. Freddie wife sound like a nice girl and the baby pretty like money. With God’s blessing and guidance I hope they have a long and successful life together. Little Freddie is growing into a fine young man, I only sorry that Freddie couldn’t see it in him to send for the boy and take him off this island.’”

Mama paused and Freddie shifted uneasily in his chair. She took no notice, her eyes glued to the papers in her hand. Bella held baby Vittorio close.

“‘Joyce moving back home next month, say she have enough of foreign. When you coming back, you give any thoughts to it? Icie and Ivan are doing fine and a real blessing to me, for I am now finding the restaurant business a little tiring.

“‘Maria what I have to say to you is not easy, but it have to be said. I waited this long because I truly believed that things would change with Mikey. Your house is the shabbiest on the street. The flower beds almost don’t exist. The trees need shaping. People from all about come and jump the fence, trample on the grass that taller than me to get at the fruits on the trees. Mikey has not been spending much time there, it seem him taste in friends much higher than him can see. I try talking to him but you know how him can talk big sometimes. He let me know that everybody gone foreign and forget him, except for a letter every now and then from Glory. He say you forget you have a son out here.’”

Mama paused again, then went on. “‘He come and give me the bank book for the house. Say him moving out. Praise the Lord that at least him collect the rent dutifully from the tenants. I am doing what I can with the help of Ivan, but talk to the children and see what can be done. Maria, the place really need care. I cry when I remember how the yard use to be a thing of beauty when you was here.

“‘Give Molly a hug for me and tell her that her dear grand-aunt is still alive, so she can send me a little postcard from time to time. Kiss Glory and Freddie and Peppie for me. Greetings for Val and Sid. God Bless. Your sister Ruth.’”

Mama put the letter on the table beside her and waited. Nobody said anything, so she asked, “What yuh think we should do?”

Glory was the first to respond. “Sell de place, Mama. It don’t mek sense to have it going to nothing when you can get good money for it.”

“Is what yuh talking ’bout, gal? Sell? Yuh know how
much sweat and tears go in dat house? What yuh think mi was doing when you and Freddie in de country wid Mammy and Pappy?” Her voice grew louder and more impatient with each question. She waited again. She stared at Peppie. Peppie looked at his wife. Then Val spoke. Big mistake.

“Mama, I think Glory is right. Peppie and I will have to support her suggestion.”

Mama gave her a killer look. “How yuh reach in dis conversation?” she demanded. “Yuh only sit in ’cause yuh married to mi son, but yuh have no voting privilege here. Yuh know de house? Yuh know Jamaica? Yuh know anything about our struggles?” Her words slapped Aunt Val hard. I felt sorry for Val, but I wasn’t about to come to her defence, not when I knew my grandmother’s pain better than anyone else in that room.

“So who going to go down?” Mama asked, this time looking at each of her children. “Somebody need to go down, and preferably is one a you bwoys.”

Freddie spoke. “Mama I would love to go and help out, but ah can’t leave Bella and de baby, and frankly I don’t hold dat much attachment for de house. It would only be for you.”

“Fi me? Yuh don’t think Canadian government could run all of you out at any time? An weh di backside unnu going to run to if unnu don’t even have a house? And what ’bout fi yuh poor bwoy chile down dere. You don’t think that maybe one day it would pass down to him?”

“Mama, I done. Yuh live in de past too much,” he said.

“Well, I’m sure we can work out something,” Bella put in. “Mama is right, home is very important. My mother would feel the same way. I remember—”

Freddie cut her off. “Don’t come in dis, Bell. Italy different and yuh family different.” He didn’t explain how or why, and nobody asked him to.

“Mama, me out of de picture,” Glory said. “I don’t hold no great attachment to de place, and is Canada we is now and we have to look to de future, not wallow in de past.”

Mama glanced away and made to spit into her handkerchief, but thought better of it. Instead she said, “Then is forget, unnu forget so quick? Is amnesia unnu come down wid? Freddie, yuh don’t remember de dead-end street? De parties, yuh kite-flying days, crab season? Peppie, yuh don’t remember dat is de very yard you learn to fix yuh first car? Yuh forget dat when we get de house, it was just land, nothing never built on it? Yuh forget de buckets of water you and Mikey use to carry on unnu head? Glory, yuh forget de baking in dat house? De pastries and catering that pay yuh passage to come Canada? De Singer sewing machine in de front room dat sew yuh frock dem?”

My grandmother laughed bitterly, and now she did spit in her handkerchief. “Nobody want to remember where dem come from. Well, is one thing I know for sure and dat is ah will never sell dat place, not over mi dead body.” Her voice boomed through the living room. “Ah won’t sell it. I would rather mek de house dem rotten down. Mek people capture it, put up tent and live. Mek de house rotten,” she repeated. “Ah know land can’t rotten. One day when de house rotten down, ah will donate de land to charity, mek dem build a orphanage for all de pickney dem dat don’t have fish nor fowl to mind dem.”