The Last Warner Woman (15 page)

He let her go and reluctantly Adamine walked over to the basin.

She could have diagnosed her own condition in that moment. She had worked in the balmyard long enough, had become familiar with many ailments, and could recite a whole taxonomy of illnesses. She could even tell you a disease by its Revivalist name, as well as by the names the doctor in the hospital might use. There was, for instance, the condition she knew of as Deep-Sick, which in truth could be any number of things, but doctors called it “chronic illness”; there was False-Belly, when a woman would look pregnant when she was not, and this was known to doctors as fibroids; there was Big-Foot, known otherwise as elephantiasis. But what Adamine experienced as she looked into the water was a simple case of Never-Expect, a condition known more generally as shock. The symptoms were the usual. She gasped, she felt a softness in her knees and she began to tremble. A future she had never dreamt of was suddenly laid out before her. She could see the sign clearly, even in the moonlight. The egg had formed itself into a boat. There was a stern, and a mast rising from the middle, and sails flapping in the wind. She imagined she could even see sailors on the deck. The moon above shone bright and the egg boat floated in the water as if it were an old ship sailing in the middle of the Antilles.

Lucas came up behind her. He held her gently by the waist and rested his chin on top her head. He looked into the basin. “Well, well. What I tell you, Ada? A journey is in your future to be sure.”

an installment of a testimony spoken to the wind

Shhhhhhhhh

I want to tell you that is how it did go. I want to tell you I did leave Jamaica because I take the egg of a white fowl and break it into water and I see when it take the shape of a boat, just as how Father Noah did catch the vision of the ark. I want to say that is how the future did manifest itself unto me, and that it was bigger people than me who make the decision. I would love to say that in everything I was innocent as the lamb, that I was sold into England like how Joseph was sold into Egypt. But it never happen like that. I never break no egg. Nobody did make up my mind for me. The vision I catch wasn’t in no basin of water; it was in my own head all along, my own make-up fantasy. I leave Jamaica because my mind tell me to leave. Because everybody else was leaving and I decide to follow fashion. But God still could have did give me a warning. He could have did put a sign in my way. He could have did whisper in my ear,
stand firm, Ada, don’t go.
What a crosses. The Warner Woman give warning to everybody, but who is there to give warning to the Warner Woman? Now draw yourself a long bench and I will tell you how the whole thing did really go. Three friends I have had in my life, and to tell you why I leave Jamaica, I must tell you their stories.

Shhhhhhhhh

My first friend was a woman named Sharon. She join the band because she was tired of dancing for the sons of men, and she begin to wonder what it would be like to dance for God. And more than that, she wanted a place far away from the no-good dog she did shack up with. This man did see her dancing onstage one night and he know that he sight his ticket, for he was a lazy sort of man. Him put sweet talk to her like men will do, him appear unto her like an archangel, and like a fool she believe him. Hell start when they get together for true. The man force Sharon to dance go-go more nights than she did want to, and then he call her slut and whore for doing it. He beat her too. A horrible kind of beating, because he would beat her careful. He don’t want to mess up her skin. He need her skin to stay pure so she can earn more money for him dancing. He ongly beat her to make her cry. When she realize that was all he want, to see eye-water anointing her face, she begin to cry fast-fast so he don’t end up throwing him fist into her belly, or worse. Every night she pretend to cry, but after a time she realize she not pretending no more, like the alligator tears did open a door to her sadness. For life have more sorrows in it than people have water in their eyes, and if you could match your grief in tears, you surely would drown. So that is how Sharon end up at the Revival church. She find out what it mean to dance for the Lord, and she see that it was more sweet than dancing for the sons of men. At first, I never talk to her. Her eyes was always shut tight, and it would ongly take the first drum to knock for Sharon to lose herself trumping. When somebody get into spirit, nobody won’t bother that person, for them is off into a whole nother world, and for many that is the ongly sweetness they get in life.

Shhhhhhhhh

But one day I get work to wash clothes at a house belonging to a Mr. Leroy. It was one of those houses that look like it make out of concrete and light. I never know houses could build so strong and still have so much brightness inside. I get the work because it was near to Christmas time, and Mr. Leroy did have plenty people visiting from foreign, so there was more clothes to wash than usual and more cooking and more cleaning, and the regular staff couldn’t keep up. They put me outside by a washbasin and hand me a mountain of clothes, and a box of detergent, and a blue-bummer soap, and a bottle of bleach. But my eyes was fixed on the big house. I try to imagine myself living there, my foot up on a hassock and other people outside washing my dirty drawers. My mind start to drift and I begin to do foolishness. I put all the clothes in one tub—colored and whites, and then I throw in detergent. Then I open the bleach bottle. Just like so I feel something slap me at the back of my neck.
Tough bitch! You have no sense? You don’t see you bout to ruin the clothes? God help you if you mash up Mr.’s clothes that you can’t afford!
I look round and see Sharon. Her face did set like she was regarding a mawga dog. I realize then that she was Mr. Leroy’s housekeeper and this is where she work during the day. She was looking at me so vex I know she don’t recognize me. I don’t have on my headtie. I don’t have on no robes. I start to laugh.
In the balmyard you always walk past me quiet and call me “Mother.” You always have your eyes on the floor. But now you suddenly have strength to call me “tough bitch.”
Sharon rub her eyes and look on me. She look on me again. Then she start to stammer.
Lord have mercy! Prophetess! Forgive me please, I never mean …
I stop her,
You did well and mean what you say. And furthermore you was right. My mind did leave me and I was doing stupidness.

Shhhhhhhhh

That is where our friendship start. On Sundays we walk to the balmyard together and when service done we walk home hand in hand. Her fool-fool man was scared of me. I get used to things like that. A man may have muscle and fist, but if him don’t have Jesus, if him only have evil in him heart, then he sure to avoid people like me, Warner Women, who could call down God on him raas. One day Sharon did come to me laughing.
Mother Ada, my man fraid of you like puss! Yesterday he ask me for money and I tell him I don’t got a red cent. I see like him getting vex and ready to put him hand on me again, but I just look up on the clock and act like I talking to myself. I say, I wonder what time Mother Ada coming back here? Mother, I barely done the sentence and him was halfway down the road. I don’t even see when he did open the door to leave!
Me and Sharon was like sisters. One day I say to her,
tell me bout those clubs that you dance in. What is they like? They is really dens of evil?
Sharon think bout it a little and then say,
Not more than so. Every place in this world is a den of evil, but it don’t got nothing to do with the place. It have everything to do with man.
I tell her something that I was thinking for a long time:
Sharon, I want to go with you one night.
She laugh.
No no Mother! Somebody like you can’t go to a place like that.
I get vex.
But is you just tell me that nothing wrong with the place. Not more than so! Your words, not mine.
Sharon frown.
Come now, Mother. Don’t act like you don’t know what is what. If people see you there …
I pipe up quick,
If people see me there, I see them too.
But she wasn’t convinced.
Is not the same.
Other people can do what you can’t do. And if word ever get back to Captain, he beat you to a pulp—beat you worse than my man beat me.
I tell her,
I can handle Captain. And I serious too. I want to come one night. I not a woman to waste my words. I ongly say what I mean.
She frown deeper this time because she know I was serious and that I was stubborn to a fault.
All right. All right. Next Monday night I will take you, but only if I get you ready. Kill me dead,
she say looking up, making her oath to the sky,
I not going to make nobody realize that is really you.

Shhhhhhhhh

On Monday night I was sitting in Sharon room and she put on every kind of powder and every kind of paint on my face. I don’t even recognize my own self. I feel like some alien from outerspace. Then she give me a green outfit to put on. The thing was so tight that if I had a fifty-cent in my pocket, you would see Marcus Garvey face clear clear, and him would be fighting for air. Now that I in all this get-up, I can’t believe I put myself up to it. I start worry but Sharon is the one who confident now.
Not a soul will recognize you, Mother. Look on yourself … you look like a woman!
I ask her,
So what I did look like before?
She never even pause.
Before you did look like somebody that man was fraid of. Tonight you look like somebody a man would touch.
So we head out. She take me to the club, and Jesus-Savior-Pilot-me! I see things that night that appear to me like a miracle. I know it wasn’t God in that place, not the same God who we did know in the balmyard, but what I see on that night was just as wonderful as when the Savior turn water to wine, or when he make the blind man see. When Sharon start to dance, the Spirit of the Psalmist was in her. Lickle by lickle all her clothes drop off and she stand up on that stage naked as the day her mama did birth her. Sharon spread her legs wide and show the whole place her woman-parts. All the man them start to whistle. Then, suppose I tell you what happen next. Even right now I don’t too believe it. Sharon roll a ganja spliff, cool cool, and she light it. And where else that girl put it but right up into her coochie. Eh eh! I never know woman-parts could be so strong. Sharon could do things with hers that make me feel like me was not a proper woman myself. She smoke the spliff with her coochie—inhale it deep, then the lips of her woman-parts open up and clouds of smoke just come out. The men start behaving bad that time. They clap and give her one whole heap of money—like all of the day’s earning did gone to Sharon in that moment. Later on when we was walking home I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. I hold Sharon hand like she was my woman, and she hold my hand like she was my man, and I start to feel happy in a way that maybe I was not happy before. I never before have a sister. I say a prayer that night that things would stay like that forever.

Shhhhhhhhh

Then one day Sharon say to me,
Mother, nothing in this country for me no more. I going to leave when I can.
The news break my heart, but it didn’t shock me. People did leave whenever they get the chance. So I just ask her simple when she thinking of leaving, and where she planning to go. Sharon get silent. The silence stretch so long that I wonder if she hear me. I ask again, and get back silence a second time. A bad feeling start come over me. I ask her a third time and maybe vexation was in my voice.
When you leaving, Sharon? How long now you been planning this?
She answer at last,
Mother, I sorry I never tell you before. Is tomorrow I leaving.
And that was the last I ever see her. And those was the last words I ever catch from her lips. I was vex and sad and angry and so many different things at one time. I can’t even tell you when I did start running. That is what heartache do. It possess your body like spirit and make it do foolishness, make you run away from your friends and don’t tell them good-bye. The worse thing is Sharon never reach foreign. That night the man must have seen her packing and know it was all over. So he beat her. He give her the beating that he never able to give her before. He don’t stop when he hear her crying. He don’t care that this time him is bruising her, making her skin turn purple and red. When he finish, he himself walk to the police station, cool as ice, with his hands in the air, and tell the corporal,
you all best lock me up now, cause I just done kill the bitch.
When they find Sharon they only know it was she because him tell them it was she. Plenty days my mind run on Sharon even now. I think if grief never take over my body, I would have been able to tell her good-bye. We would have hugged each other like sisters and cry unto each other’s shoulders. For who knoweth the hour that is appointed unto man and woman?

Shhhhhhhhh

The next friend I did have was Doreen. I meet her by buck-ups if you call such things buck-ups—I would call it an arrangement made by God. It was He who had been whispering hard in my ears that day. The message come to me like the most complicated one I ever get. God telling me he want me to go to a place, but I never hear of this place before. Still, I decide to be obedient. I wrap my head and tie a scissors round my waist. Then I start walking and ask the spirits to show me the way. I get lost three times. The way confusing and whichever spirit whispering in my ear don’t know left from right. I was almost ready to call it quits, for the Lord couldn’t say I never tried, but at last I come to the house. People did form a big crowd outside, all of them silent like they was waiting on something. When they catch sight of me coming, it was like this is what they was waiting for. The women find permission to bawl and they start to shout out in the streets,
Lawd, he dead now! See the Warner Woman coming! Him dead now for sure!
I don’t pay them no mind. I walk into the house and into the room where a woman was wiping cold sweat from the brow of her little boy. His eyes was closed. His skin looking gray to me. Him look like him fast asleep, but he trembling something terrible in that sleep. I see that this lickle boy is not more than six years old and my heart break for him. The woman who I take to be his mama look up to me now, she hold on to the bed like she trying to stop herself from faint. She try to say something but no words coming out. She get up and then this time she faint for true, right into my arms. I had to fan her until she come back to herself. She mumbling.
I think I was ready for this, but I not ready. Lord take the case!
I talk to her soft,
Calm down, Mama, calm down. God not ready neither.
Her neck spin right round and she look up on me funny.
Four doctors I been to already. Four. And all of them tell me the same thing. They tell me nothing can do for him. They tell me him is way past the point of help.
I tell her,
Doctor don’t know a goddamned thing. Nothing wrong with the boy in his body. Is bad spirit was put on him.
I stand up now and take the scissors in my hands and I start to cut the air above the boy’s head. I cut and clear and cut and clear. I get vicious with the air like I was cutting cane for buckra. The boy start to cough. This is the first sound I hear from him and I know him coming back to life. I start to speak in language. I call Satan by all the awful names I know him by, and I chase him out of the room. I call Rutibel by all the names I know him by, and chase him out too. The mother can’t believe it. Her boy getting better right in front her eyes.
Go,
I tell her.
Get a fowl quick as you can. The healing don’t complete yet. We have to give the lickle boy a bath.
She run out and come back, a green and red fowl squawking in her hands. I take it back out to the yard and put it in a bucket. I read the 65th Psalm.
O God of our Salvation, who art the confidence of all the ends of the earth, and of them that are afar off upon the sea.
I read the 118th Psalm.
Let Zion now say—his mercy endureth forever. It is better to trust in God than trust in man. The Lord is my strength and my song. This is the Lord’s doing and it is marvelous in our eyes.
I cut the fowl neck, quick so it can’t make a sound. The blood start to pour. I dip my finger and go inside to make the sign of the cross on the boy’s head. We pour the rest of the blood in a bath and put him inside it. Then I call on Miriam and Raphael, on Michael and Gabriel. I hear a fluttering of wings like the spirit of God and I know everything is going to be all right.