Island Songs (21 page)

Parade Bus Terminal, downtown Kingston, Jamaica
October 1958

Sitting upon his luggage and dabbing his forehead with a flannel, Jacob could only chuckle when a wild-haired beggar approached a pedestrian pleading for spare cash. The wayfarer shook his head before hurrying on his way but the bare-footed moocher lifted his head and said, “t’ank yuh fe considering me plea,” before walking away as if he was departing the stage following a command performance. Glancing at the bus driver who had driven Jacob and Jenny from Claremont to the capital and was now putting his feet up in his cabin as he rolled a joint, Jacob laughed out loud. “Yes, Lord,” he whispered. “I ’ave plenty work to do inna dis place.”

Arms crossed and eyebrows angled in perfect impatience, Jenny paced up and down ten yards of the street, her eyes searching here and there. Despite the one-hundred-degree heat, no bead of sweat marked her angular face. The frosty, disapproving look that her mother offered her when she departed Claremont was still fresh in her memory, whereas the tears of her father were fading. Now in the city, she seemed to dislike the very air she breathed. Her white shoes were echoing off the concrete and she ignored the nodded greetings from people who passed her. She was wearing a smart yellow, calf-length dress and a white hat that made observers think ‘wha’ is dis long, well-dressed woman doing inna downtown?’

“Half-past two Hortense said,” Jenny complained while glaring at her watch. “Where she der? It’s t’ree ah clock now. Yuh t’ink me ’ave time to stan’ up an’ look ’pon tough-toe people?”

Wearing a light-blue suit with a navy-blue tie, Jacob replied, “nuh stress yaself, my love. We’ll give dem anoder fifteen minutes an’ if
dey don’t come den we will mek our own way. I ’ave de address.”

“Mek we own way?” Jenny protested. “Say we get lost. Only de Most High knows wha’ will happen to we wid all dese wolves an’ leopards aroun’. Look ’pon dem! Me surprise dey don’t chop out me liver to put inna dem cooking pot!”

Laughing, Jacob returned his gaze to the street, watching the downtown people going about their daily business. He noticed they moved quicker than the clans of the Claremont valley and seemed to carry a heavier burden upon their shoulders. “Don’t start fuss, Jenny. All I see is poor people ah walk up an’ down, doing dem t’ing.”

Jenny primed her tongue to cuss about the beggars and vagrants she had seen since she had disembarked but before she could do so, she heard her sister’s voice.

“Jenny! Jenny!”

Spinning around, Jenny saw Hortense pacing up the uneven pavement to greet her. She was waving and smiling, her sheer presence causing people to turn their heads. “Hortense Huggins,” Jenny rebuked, her hands upon her hips and her humour failing to improve. She restrained her relief. “Don’t yuh ever keep time! Jacob an’ meself been waiting fe long time an’ de people aroun’ look ’pon we like dem ah craven wolf ah look ’pon ah t’ree legged sheep.”

“Oh, Jenny stop ya naggy-naggy self,” Hortense laughed, giving her sister a mighty hug. “Yuh always mek prize bull outta maaga calf. Always ah moan an’ complain about somet’ing. Me surprise yuh never get arrested fe licking down de bus driver.”

“So yuh notice how dem rude an’ ungodly too? Me could nuh believe me ears. Every second word ah bad word an’ if Massa God don’t strike him down tonight den Him mus’ ah stop lissen.”

“Oh, Jenny, come here girl an’ give ya liccle sister ah mighty hug.”

Jenny seemed to be embarrassed as Hortense kissed her on both cheeks and squeezed the breath out of her. “Hortense yuh ah grip me too tight. Yuh waan crush me? Look how yuh crease up me nice dress! Yuh know how long it tek me to press it dis marnin? Me had
to rise at four o’clock when even de big mout’ rooster still ah sleep!” Jenny didn’t reveal that she had longed for her sister’s embrace.

“Jenny! Yuh don’t change at all,” remarked Hortense, releasing her cuddle. “Ya still ya cuss-cuss self. Don’t ya long mout’ an’ busy busy tongue ever say anyt’ing else dan pure complaints?”

Almost yielding to a smile, Jenny asked, “where’s Cilbert?”

“Cilbert stop off der ah bar to buy some liquor. He soon come.”

Hortense then turned her attention to Jacob who had been laughing at the exchanges of the two sisters. They hugged each other warmly as Jenny searched for Cilbert.

Carrying two bags full of Red Stripe beer and Dragon stout, Cilbert approached from a side road. Jenny spotted him first. She broke out into a full grin and although feeling an urge to run, walked casually to greet him, feeling conscious that Hortense’s eyes maybe upon her. She didn’t want Hortense to know that the fine yellow dress that Mrs Walters had made was for Cilbert’s benefit. He still had that loping, feline-like strut, Jenny observed, and the promise of mischief in his dark eyes. The hat, angled to cover his left eye, made him look mysterious and sexy. “Cilbert! Long time nuh see. Yuh been looking after me sister alright? She chat off ya ears yet?” She kissed him formally upon the left cheek. Cilbert placed his hands on Jenny’s shoulders and returned the kiss upon her forehead. Jenny felt a rippling, tingling sensation that electrified her body. Her skin, it seemed, became extra-sensitive and she worried that her pleasure overload might be detected.

“Of course me look after her alright,” Cilbert finally answered. He took a step back. “Jenny, yuh look so elegant, lady-like. Mighty fine! Yuh mus’ be keeping Mrs Walters well happy. Marriage mus’ agree wid yuh.”

Momentarily blushing, Jenny soon regained her composure. “Well, me ah preacher mon’s wife so me affe look me bes’. Me cyan’t shame Jacob an’ dress like me ah penny ketcha. Nuh, sa.”

Jenny and Hortense carried the drinks while Cilbert helped Jacob with the luggage. On their way to Trenchtown, Jenny stole quick, cautious glances at the stony-expressioned shanty dwellers,
sometimes regretting that she had coerced Jacob into their move. But the sight and sound of Cilbert, whistling some doo-wop tune, convinced her that her move from the country was worthwhile.

Upon reaching the government yard where Hortense and Cilbert lived, Jenny found that the neighbours had been expecting her and prepared a hearty meal. Laura and Mercy had been busy in Mercy’s kitchen and had cooked a soup dish over a coal fire that included pumpkins, yams, diced beef, roasted mackerel, bammy, green banana, peppers, callaloo and scallion. Jenny greeted her neighbours courteously, offering her hand and exchanging pleasantries. She thanked them warmly for the dinner but stopped short of revealing too much about herself.

Mid-way through the meal, Bigger and Kolton appeared clutching bottles of rum, a carrot cake and box juices for the children who were not shy to meet the new residents. “Good afternoon, Miss Jenny,” Clifton, Kolton’s seven-year-old son, said. “Yuh look so pretty inna ya yellow dress. Ya pretty like de film star Dorothy Dandridge dat me papa love but me mama don’t know dat. Cyan yuh please buy me ah bicycle? If yuh smile nice to Misser Oliver he will give yuh ah discount. Misser Oliver sure like ah pretty woman! But him wife don’t know dat!” Jenny could only laugh and presented Clifton with a sixpence for his cheek.

The men decided on a game of dominoes after dinner and their body language displayed that they didn’t want the presence of women to talk over or interrupt their game. Hortense likened them to Miss Martha’s husband’s friends who after dinner would retire to a different room in the house to sip brandy, smoke Cuban cigars and play games of cards. Martha would lead her women friends to the verandah where they would gossip and comment about the latest aristocratic scandal while downing fruity, rum cocktails.

As Mercy and Laura washed up the dishes, Hortense linked arms with Jenny and took her on a tour of the government yard and the immediate area. She noticed that children felt free to run into any apartment without fear of rebuke and everybody seemed to know everybody. In one afternoon she had learned of the sexual conquests of a fifteen-year-old boy, the complete life story of
Mervin the Moocher who lived in a shanty hut outside the government yard and told in no uncertain terms that Duke Reid’s sound system could ‘mosh Sir Coxsone into de ground’. Jenny listened to how the Chinese shop proprietors looked upon blacks with scorn, the voting intentions and political beliefs of a dozen men and that the feisty fourteen-year-old Miss Pauline was made pregnant by a one-legged, eight-fingered card shark who lived up in the Wareika Hills. Jenny felt that the communal lifestyle she had witnessed could be a little too intimate for her but didn’t relate any of her concerns to her sister. Walking with her head held high, Jenny smiled pleasantly to whomever she met and left them in no doubt of her good standing. “Praise de Lord,” she would offer when parting company. “An’ may He shine bright ’pon yuh.”

For a first night in Kingston treat, Cilbert had acquired tickets for Jenny, Jacob, Hortense and himself for a talent show at the Carib theatre. Cilbert revealed that Delroy Dyer and his Mighty Invincibles would be appearing and it was also an opportunity for Hortense and himself to show their support to their neighbour. Although Jacob complained of tiredness and the need to rise early next morning to begin his duties with a Pentecostal church in the Red Hills district of Kingston, Jenny quickly accepted the invitation upon his behalf. “Jacob! Yuh cyan let Cilbert down! Him go outta him way to treat we. So ya coming an’ don’t give me nuh fuss!”

“Jenny, my love. I only t’ought yuh might be ah liccle tired an’ mebbe yuh waan to res’ ya sweet head,” Jacob explained.

“Nuh, sa! How could me be tired when me sister an’ me generous brudder-in-law offer to take we out fe de evening? It would be ungrateful to refuse.”

The theatre walls were cracked and eroding. The wooden seats were hard and chipped and a single spotlight seemed to have a mind of its own, careering erratically all over the auditorium; the man operating the spotlight was toking on a huge spliff. Tobacco smoke had browned the ceiling and the aisles were full of cigarette butts, dead matches, fruit peel, nuts and soiled napkins. A partisan audience hooted in derision and threw polystyrene cups and other
missiles whenever nervous-wracked harmony trios or soloists that they didn’t recognise appeared on stage. Some were unable to sing their first notes, deciding that no long-held dream was worth this abuse and opting for the relative safety of backstage; Kingston comedians long ago had decided not to chance their fortune.

The Mighty Invincibles appeared on stage for their set dressed in hired sky-blue suits, white frilly shirts and black pointed shoes; their trousers and sleeves were woefully too short. They looked as uncomfortable as a group of lost English merchant sailors asking for directions in a seedy Trenchtown bar. Hortense and Cilbert leaped out of their seats to holler their approval but Delroy Dyer and his fellow band members took one long fearful look into the cursing patrons, then glanced at one another in dread and froze. The compere rushed out and smiled away the embarrassment as the crowd mocked and laughed. Jenny remained in her seat, watching the proceedings with apathy as Jacob tried to restrain a half-grin.

Leaving the theatre, Cilbert, recognising the disappointment in Hortense’s face, led his party to a rum bar just off the junction of Half Way Tree. The streets were alive with ravers who were heading to a sound system lawn dance, groups of men huddled around lamp-posts and insect repellent fires who debated on everything from the size of Mr Manley’s feet to the offspring of the Lost Tribe of Israel. Jenny, unsettled by the noise around her, offered a disapproving glare to the shanty town whores making their way from downtown Kingston to solicit outside Devon House – an old colonial building that had been refurbished as a restaurant and club where middle-class Jamaicans listened politely to over-smiling mento bands performing beneath the umbrella of palm leaves. Jacob and Jenny, taking in their surroundings, noticed that motorists failed to stop at traffic lights and cyclists breezed by offering words of wisdom, utter nonsense and damnation.

Taking a table upon the pavement, Cilbert paid for the drinks. Lighting his Buccaneer cigarette, he asked Jacob, “so, wha’ do yuh t’ink of de big bad city?”

Jacob smiled. “Alive an’ loud. I never knew Jamaican people could be so colourful.”

“So many beggars,” interjected Jenny. “Dem everywhere! Cyan’t de government do somet’ing about dem?”

“Nuh, Jenny,” answered Hortense, sipping her rum and coke. “Only de fittest ah de fittest survive. Ya get used to it.”

“Jamaica
is
meking money,” added Cilbert. “But de sufferahs don’t see it. Profits from bauxite an’ udder t’ings are banked inna foreign lands. Mostly America.”

“Yuh intend to start ah family here inna Kingston?” asked Jacob, directing the question to both Hortense and Cilbert.

“Nuh, sa!” Cilbert quickly replied. “Me see some ah dem children who leave school inna Trenchtown an’ all dem cyan do is stan’ up ’pon street corner an’ cut dem eye after people an’ look trouble. Me don’t even feel safe going to de picture house nuh more an’ watch film.” He remembered the assault he had suffered. “Bad bwai ah loiter der an’ trouble decent people. Der is not’ing fe de young inna Kingston. Nuh, sa! Me an’ Hortense agree dat we will ’ave children when we reach ah England. Dey will ’ave ah better chance der. Who knows? Ah son ah mine could be ah doctor or lawyer one day. Or even Prime Minister ah England!”

For a short second, Jenny gazed into Cilbert’s eyes, liking the determination and conviction in them. “Jacob an’ meself are t’inking de same t’ing,” Jenny said.

Jacob looked perplexed at his wife. “I cyan’t remember…”

Interrupting Jacob’s sentence, Jenny reasoned, “but me darling, Jacob. It mek sense. It’s ah blessing to come to Kingston an’ serve its people inna Godly way. But der will be ah time when me waan to start ah family. An’ yuh mus’ waan wha’ is bes’ fe dem. An’ England will offer dem so much more dan Jamaica.”

Irritated, Jacob took a swig from his bottle of stout. Cilbert and Hortense exchanged a quick glance.

“Well, Jacob,” said Cilbert, wiping his lips with the back of his right hand. “Yuh ’ave ah mighty job ’pon ya hands. Some ah de people inna Trenchtown cyan’t be saved. Most of de time yuh’ll be wasting ya words. Too many ah dem cyan’t read. Inna Kingston der is too many people wid wooden ears an’ concrete minds. An’ in me opinion, yuh cyan’t really blame dem. De Most High don’t shine
bright ’pon de people ah Trenchtown. Since me been here, me see too much sufferation. Where is de Most High when He is most needed? Dat’s why nuff people turn to crime an’ badness. An’ de political people recognise dat an’ mek use fe dem. For dey cyan’t see nuh betterness. Nuh improvement inna dem lives. Dey feel de Lord God has forsaken dem. Me cyan’t see how yuh cyan change dat.”