The Heart Does Not Bend (7 page)

“But why yuh gone talk ’bout union? Mi nuh tell yuh from long time, fi lef dem injustice up to God,” Grand-aunt Ruth said.

“Listen, Ruth, when mi haffi work dem long hours mi nuh see no God.”

“Yuh must have faith,” Grand-aunt said, ignoring Aunt Joyce’s irritation.

Aunt Joyce sucked her teeth, and then she surprised us all.

“Remember Ken? De mechanic who use to eat dinner here every evening? Well him in America, in Brooklyn, New York, and him sending mi a ticket.”

“Dem say ‘nuff opportunity in America,” Mama encouraged, “and yuh nuh have no pickney to hold yuh back. Gwaan, gal, go see life, an’ nuh think ’bout dem dutty fart you deh work wid. Nuh future nuh deh deh.”

“Ah going, but ah worried to death ’bout Mammy. What if anything happen and ah can’t find de passage back?”

“Lawd, Joyce,” Mama said, “Grab de opportunity, don’t let it fly in yuh face. Mi and Ruth will look after Mammy. For yuh branded as a tief now anyway.”

Joyce cut her eyes but said nothing. Mama always spoke her mind, even if what she had to say hurt the other person. To ease the wound, Grand-aunt Ruth added, “Joyce, everything will work out. Go, nutten nuh deh here, and sooner or later dem would find something to fire yuh for.”

“Joyce, is de best thing to do,” Mama agreed. “Yuh and Ken can mek life together, have a family and who knows, maybe in time, come back and buy a big house in Red Hills!”

My aunt Joyce smiled for the first time. “Yes, Maria, yuh right. So mek we have de best Christmas ever.”

The talk that evening was celebratory. All about my mother’s wedding, Aunt Joyce’s departure and Mammy coming down to Kingston for the holidays.

I helped Mama a bit with her baking, mixing the sugar and butter, but I got bored. I much preferred my hands in dirt and water, sticking seeds into the earth. So mostly I sat and watched her. She never used a recipe book to bake from; every detail was kept in her head.

A few days before Christmas, Mama picked up a big brown parcel from the post office. It was from my mother, and packed with shoes and dresses and dolls, games and books full of fairy tales. Uncle Freddie sent nothing. My grandmother gave Monica money for little Freddie Jr. She took it from the money orders that Uncle Peppie and my mother sent. Each time she gave Monica money she cursed Freddie again.

Uncle Mikey had new dresses made for me, Mama, Grand-aunt Ruth and Cousin Icie, and he gave Aunt Joyce a lovely hand-embroidered linen dress as a going-away gift. Christmas left us fat with cake and pudding, turkey and ham—more food than we could finish. I danced and ate until my eyes couldn’t stay open. Mama gave the leftovers to people in our neighbourhood who were less fortunate.

We didn’t see Myers over the Christmas holidays, and not even Mama knew where he had disappeared to. I came home one evening after school and found him in the garden working.

“Myers, Myers,” I greeted him, “where yuh is all holiday? You miss pudding and cake and everything.”

“Ah went to de country, mi had some family business to tek care of,” he muttered over his shoulder.

“Ah didn’t know yuh had family. Who is dem, yuh mother?” He didn’t answer, and a long silence hung about the vegetable garden.

Petal called me from next door, so I crawled under the fence and up into the treehouse. I felt uneasy about Myers’s response and was glad to get away. Petal had two matchboxes with two grasshoppers in each waiting. We chewed on them, savouring the juices. “Don’t swallow,” she said to me, “ah want to taste yours.” She squeezed my lips open and we exchanged grasshopper juices. She held on to my tongue and I did the same with hers. Then she pressed her body against mine and lay on top of me. She pressed me hard and let out a sigh. We stayed close together and I played with her dundus face for a long time. It made me feel better, especially after Myers acting strange. When I heard my grandmother calling, I hurried down the ladder and back under the fence. Monica had come to visit with Freddie Jr., who was almost three and a half now. He was going to be tall like Uncle Freddie. “Him is de dead stamp of him father,” Mama said, smiling. “Come here, little man.”

“So yuh don’t hear from him at all, Miss Maria, yuh don’t have a address for him?” Monica was almost pleading.

“Girl, tek mi advice and forget him. Him nuh good, him is a wutliss son of a bitch. Count yuh blessings, yuh have a nice little boy, look after him and try to better yuhself.” I could see by the look on her face that Monica was disappointed with my grandmother’s advice. Mama didn’t tell her that he had fathered another child in Canada.

Myers appeared at the back door after he had finished
gardening and asked if I wanted to go for a ride on his motorbike. I quickly forgot I was vexed with him and ran to put on my shoes.

“Bring back some grape-nut ice cream!” Mama shouted.

We rode up to the Hope Gardens where he worked, and he named the plants that were new to me. Before we left, he took me through the maze. I got lost a few times, taking wrong turns, but Myers was right behind me. I forgave him all at once for that afternoon. On our way back home, we stopped not just at the ice cream parlour but at Shady’s, where he bought a flask of rum. He and my grandmother sat on the verandah and shared it. I sat with them, eating ice cream, counting fireflies and listening to the croaking frogs and Punsie’s mother shouting for her to get off the street.

“Ah hear yuh have a nice Christmas,” Myers said to Mama.

“Yes, whole heap of food and drinks. Ah did tell yuh dat Molly mother was getting married?” She smiled, happy at the thought.

“Yes, yuh did tell me.”

“Well, when ah get de photographs, ah will show yuh.”

He sipped his drink slowly, looking as though he had something on his mind, but he said nothing.

“So how your Christmas?” Mama asked. “How everything in de country?” He fingered his drink, looked at the glass, then in a quiet, boyish voice said, “Ah getting married, going back to de country.” Mama didn’t look surprised, but I saw her shoulders sag just a bit. She didn’t congratulate him.

“Myers, yuh never tell me!” I shouted, feeling cheated.

“Molly, it not nuh big thing. It don’t need nuh whole
heap of talking.” He sounded almost apologetic. “And anyway, we have enough flowers fi talk ’bout,” he said, his voice lighter.

“So when is de big day?” Mama asked.

“Not right now, ah have to save some more money, so ah can tek care of mi family.” He paused, poured himself another drink as if for the courage to speak. “It not nuh big wedding, is just to give de children a name.”

I didn’t know what that meant. I filed it away as something that I had to ask Punsie, and if she didn’t know, then Monica would. After all, I had a name, and my mother wasn’t married to my father; in fact, I didn’t even know who he was. That night the air was light and cool. I felt drowsy and wanted to curl up in my blanket.

“Molly, tidy up and go to bed,” Mama said. “Yuh look tired, an’ is a school night.”

It was late when Mama came in. I had been thinking about Petal and how good I felt when she rubbed against me. I was sure that night that Myers came to my grandmother’s bed. I felt the bed moving, heard it creaking. I moved myself to the edge of the bed full with sleep and pulled my blanket tighter over my face.

On my walk home from school the next day, I stopped by Punsie’s yard.

“Ah have something to tell yuh,” I whispered.

She grabbed my hands and we ran toward her mother’s fowl coop. Close by was a dwarf mango tree, crowned in leaves, which we often climbed for privacy.

“Yuh know seh Myers and mi granny doing things?” I said, almost out of breath.

Punsie laughed and laughed, as she often did. Then in an equally excited tone she exclaimed, “How yuh find out? Raatid!”

“Ah was on de bed, ah hear it creaking.”

“Yuh keeping things from mi?” she joked. “Look how much time mi tell yuh ’bout mi mother.” She laughed again, throwing back her head. “So yuh feel de bed a jerk up and down?”

I nodded my head.

“What else?”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Well, dem talk? Dem say anything, like ‘go faster’ or ‘harder’?”

“No,” I said, embarrassed now that I had said anything.

“What yuh going on like dat for, yuh don’t know is a natural thing for a man and woman? Everybody do it,” she boasted. “What you think Freddie and Monica do?”

“Yuh think mi stupid? Of course mi know,” I protested.

“Girl, now yuh know ’bout de birds and de bees,” she said. “Hey, Molly, yuh know Troy like yuh.”

I sucked my teeth but felt nice inside. He was a nice-looking boy who lived on the other side of our street. “Mi not interested,” I lied. “And ah have to go home now.”

We climbed down the tree and I ran home.

When I turned twelve, Uncle Mikey and two of his friends, Helen and Paul, took me to see a performance by the Jamaican National Dance Theatre. After that, we went to see the pantomime at the Ward Theatre. I had never seen live
actors on stage before, and I was awestruck. Mama didn’t come with us. She much preferred films. “If mi want to see live people act, mi only have to sit down on Ruth piazza,” she said.

My mother sent me a beautiful watch for my birthday, with Cinderella inside the glass and a pretty red band. Uncle Peppie sent a card with money. Uncle Freddie sent another postcard, this time of Yonge Street in Toronto. Grand-aunt Ruth gave me a Bible, Cousin Icie and Ivan a piece of coral from Port Maria, and Aunt Joyce gave me a lovely pair of gold sleeper earrings that were the envy of all my friends, but I didn’t get a chance to flaunt them. Mama said that I could wear them only on special occasions: Sunday school and Uncle Mikey’s parties. Myers gave me the best gift of all, two perfect and beautiful orchid plants.

“Dem might not tek to dis dirt, for dem is specialized plants, but we will see,” he explained. “In de library dem have books dat explain dat dem have over fifteen thousand species—is a fascinating flower, but delicate.” I gently touched them and promised myself I would look them up.

After my birthday Petal and I celebrated in the treehouse, rubbing on top of each other and eating grasshoppers. I didn’t know it would be our last time together, or I might have stayed longer, but Punsie was yelling for me at my front gate. I had promised to play ball with her.

Uncle Mikey celebrated his birthday a week after we returned from our annual visit to Mammy’s. His was a more elaborate event that took place in the Red Hills, at Paul and Helen’s house, which was absolutely stunning—I had never seen
anything like it. It was lit up like a Christmas tree and had a breathtaking view of the sea and downtown Kingston. There were so many rooms it was like a maze.

Mama wore a dress that Paul and Uncle Mikey had designed and sewn for her. It was made of white satin, with strips of gold thread through the fabric. She wore a pair of looped gold earrings from my mother, and her long black hair framed her face in curls. Her dress was the talk of the party, and she looked every inch like a black Sophia Loren. All of Uncle Mikey’s friends who came to his Sunday parties were there, as well as others I didn’t recognize. Everybody was beautifully dressed. There were more men than women, but that seemed only natural, given that it was Uncle Mikey’s party.

Mama was very happy. I saw a rare softness in her face, and her lips rested in a smile. She and Helen chatted, generously helping themselves to the rum punch.

A man named Frank sat behind a grand piano in the centre of the room. He looked to be over thirty, was tall like Uncle Mikey, but had receding hair and a stylishly trimmed beard. He wore a red, open-necked shirt and black velvet pants. We all fanned around the piano and sang “Happy Birthday to You” till I was sure our voices reached past the Red Hills and down to the sea. When the singing stopped, Mama kissed Uncle Mikey on the lips. Then she made her speech.

“Son,” she said, “Happy birthday, and ah hope all yuh dreams come true.” Her voice broke, then she caught herself and went on. “Ah love yuh more dan words can ever say, so ah will just stop dere.” I caught a tenderness in her eyes that she hadn’t offered Uncle Freddie when he left the
island. The crowd clapped long and heartily, as though at a political rally.

Uncle Mikey’s friends also made speeches, then we ate cake, and I had my first taste of champagne. I stuffed myself with more cake and then explored the maze of rooms. Later the lights were dimmed and the stereo played Johnny Mathis, then Otis Redding, Toots and the Maytals. When Millie Small’s “My Boy Lollipop” played, the party went wild. She was the first Jamaican to have an international hit song; it reached the top five in both the United Kingdom and North America. The sweating bodies gave off a wonderful heady smell. I danced with my grandmother, showing her how to do the ska and the rocksteady. Helen was next to us dancing with June and then Angela, Frank’s sister.

The DJ played a Sam Cooke song, “Cupid,” and again the crowd cheered. Frank went over to Uncle Mikey, took his hand and pulled him into a slow dance. I felt Mama close beside me, watching. I had never seen two men dancing so close. At our Sunday parties nobody ever touched like that, except when they held hands for a wide spin.