Strange Music (30 page)

Giving a broken trampled look, ‘Wot if me run away?' me ask Lickle Phoebe. ‘Yu'd shout afta me?'

Lickle Phoebe sings, ‘Yu cun run if yu waan. No one come afta yu.' She's skipping to and fro, halting on stony track like a goat kid then leaping across boulders and back to rubbed smooth sandy places where track's beaten by many tired feet.

‘An yu won't raise de alarm? Yu'll cover yu mouth?'

Lickle Phoebe keeps skipping. ‘Yu cun run if yu waan. No one come afta yu.' Slowing to a walk she say, ‘Ow yu wanna know? Me won't tell no one if yu go, so ow yu wanna know?'

Pickney isn't made of bones, skin, flesh, blood. Kill it. KILL IT
afore ninth day. Osun, spirit of healing streams. Osun, yu know, will guide yu
. Me remember now all Leah said.

‘Yu hungry?' I ask Lickle Phoebe.

Lickle Phoebe say she's not but she sucks loudly on me yellow candy stick, sharp cheekbones showing through skin. Skin scarred with cane sores, deep scratches, cuts from tending pumpkin and squash plot, no more Lickle Phoebe's a light, loose chile. Wide-eyed as a cud-chewing cow Lickle Phoebe works on me yellow candy twist. Skin crusty, clothes needing patching, she's scratching, scratching flaking scabs. Me think she turned sick with something. That's why me feel bad about taking she bitts.

Flowers stray onto red stony track. Mango trees lean over like tall women with not enough in their pockets to buy what they want fram we stall. You towered over me. Strong arms. Words. Branches, spread life's wisdom to me fe me die when they took you, Isaac, and you leave me at plantation.

Single smoke strand stretches across evening sky smudgy above mountain ridges but a clear sign fe parting. We come plodding up a low hill, every step bringing me closer to running.

Pickney's red crying face turns up to mine. Standing still, letting him suck what he can, me struggle to let out a word. Part of me body's trapped in him face – all me want to do's forget.
Cyaan name im. Me cyaan love im. Lickle Phoebe cyaan love im
. Burning bagasse and molasses stink hangs stale in orange sky, pecks and prickles me nose too.
It's de running time
.

‘Pickney tire?' Lickle Phoebe ask.

Sleepily him head moves sideways, banging me breast. Him eye, a lantern dimly shining, makes four with mine. Me breasts will burst. Snake of true hatred runs through me blood. Clamping on again, sucking from nipple tip till it bleeds, pickney drains what goodness me have. Flames we see from hilltop sweep orange-grey to black through cut stubble, hunting out coney, snake, boar, sleeping pickney. Smoke curls back on itself from fire's red blaze, a wall of air trembles and shivers like sugar furnace. Boldly raging flames pour smoke up into dusk-blue sky leaving a sooty path; soon there'll be nothing but trash, and a sea of smouldering ash.

Coming over hill's wide shoulder me pledge to pay back Lickle Phoebe's bitts some day. Me gave she me last candy twist. Me did that fe she.

Flames reach over big hill's brow, making afternoon air ripple like freshwater streams.

‘Dem must finish burnin afore brown dusk settle on plantain grove,' Lickle Phoebe say.

Old Simeon from Cinnamon Hill stands upon a grassy hummock under a clump of trees. He rests on a spade, body looking stunted like clouds have pressed him down. Behind him, violently shaking its head, stands a mule, and behind grey mule minister's cloak billows, great bat-wings shadowing a shiny-smooth mahoney-wood coffin.

‘Somebody dead,' Lickle Phoebe say.

‘Cyaan say. But coffin's real enough,' me say, wanting to run, now, as we trudge over dunes.

Lickle Phoebe's drawn spent face scarily mirrors sharp-shaped rocks on mountains ahead. ‘Is Mister Richard Barrett dem bury,' she say. ‘It puzzle me fe tink where im shadow go afta im dead.'

‘Mister Richard Barrett? Ow yu know im dead?'

Lickle Phoebe gives a strong smile. ‘People say Leah mek poison fe im.'

‘Mister Richard Barrett, dat one, Mister Sam cousin?'

Me head-tongue say,
Mister Barrett, yu me pickney fadda. Bury de fadda, bury de son
.

Minister's cloak flaps whipping around legs like it's trying to push them from under him, and Old Simeon's skin gleams funeral satin black as him elbow slides off spade handle. Though him skin's aged him muscles swell richly as burnished mahoney wood – Simeon's turning back to him job. Red sandy earth clods flump on grass. Each thump say,
Reach across, put wandrin spirit back. As lang as yu understand dis yu free
.

Pickney's feet start up jabbing breasts again. Silent as Jancra wing-tips slipping blue-black into evening sky, Leah's words come on feeble winds, and cord tying red pickney and me together withers, finally. Old Simeon's spade scrapes raw rock stone, smashes into rock-hard earth.

Not looking back me run. Me head thumps with what Leah said:
Yu must make all thoughts go. Yu must be strong as hurricane
. Wind have fingers; hands; fists; howling, living breath; and if me stop now me'll be afraid, afraid of what chile might do. It knows it's returning to spirit world? Me cyaan bear to tell fe true.

‘Sheba! Sheba!' Lickle Phoebe bawls. Me cyaan answer. There's too much hurt to understand, too much to explain. Taking grass path, swamped by a knowing pain, wanting to shout
Phoebe! Cover yu mouth!
me run. Branches grasp at arms, spiked wooden fingers cruel hard-burying into skin. Me mind say,
Pickney's soul isn't born. Peacefully it'll go back to where it belongs
. But fear clings to me.
Keep running. Don't ever turn back
. Over rocks, through streams evening sun spills copper-red across, run, leave no tracks. Pickney's head knocks on me breast. Screeching bird shape cuts forest. Still. Hot. Dead.

Clapping on sand, slapping stone, me feet sound stiff and risky against sure but faint sounds of Phoebe shouting. Grasses slowly rush past. Lickle Phoebe's eye looks after me. Me know she's standing, shouting, though no answer comes. And even when Lickle Phoebe's calling's stopped and shouts fade to silence, me know she eye bawls fe another glimpse of me back, running away.

Scrambling on tides of fear me dare not one peep at struggling, wailing red-skin chile. Moving through underbrush me don't run now but stop, looking way way below like me can see into dust of me life that's past.

Me eye follows uneven bristly-bush path leading to ledges, up and across leafy skies. Now me see a safe safe hiding place where jagged rocks overhang a hollow bare pink cliff face.

Bamboo clumps burst over rocky edges. Tree ferns, thinly green, reach into blue. Air plant's grey roots streaming like hair kept alive by what? Red rocks' thick fingers shoot skywards. White streams plunge from cracked rugged crags to a bowl of swirling quivering water beneath. Grooves scooped trough-like into rocks make paths to soothe tired feet. Lolling on me breast's him head.
Me did make such a face?
Oh, to sail de winds, to fling meself up and out, flapping great wings and be free free free. But him wispy hair holds fast on me neck like grasp of him hand on me finger, and presses on a sticky hollow under me chin.

Brushing aside creeper curtains, sticks snap light as tiny bones beneath cautious feet. From cave roof a rank rat-bat stench fills me nose. Me fingertips unlatch lips dragging down me nipple. Me lay pickney down, without belief in what me doing, on powdery, feather-soft rat-bat dropping bed, without belief in Osun, without belief in God.

Fingers uncurl from tightly clenched hands like tiny brown tree ferns unfurling; searching fe me voice pickney's head moves blindly. Cyaan hold him tenderly like it Isaac's chile. Isaac's chile it cyaan be, fe Isaac's face me should see. Should be Isaac's skin me stroke, dark richly smooth; eyes, full bright moons.

Side by side we sleep then as dusk grows colder me body wraps warm round pickney's tiny softly breathing curves. He snuggles, elbows nudge me belly.

Me mind begins to race. Me see Lickle Phoebe's pale black face; drawn with sadness she eyelids close. Why me did leave shack village? me wonder – Eleanor, Sylvia, owl-eyed Lickle Phoebe. When me listen to me heart me know that part of me life's long gone. And when me shut eye still me see thicket, hair-like creeper strand, banana bunches, brilliant wiry flowers palm-climbing. Vines strangling tree ferns. Ackee. Bare pink cliff face, as if pickney and thick forest journey have been carved into me eyelids.

Light fades from cave's coldly dark mouth. Me think,
No longer sun will yu scorch pickney wid yu fiah
. Tight and close me draw me bandana, protecting pickney from tomorrow's hot spears. Fastening a hand round him neck me wonder, this how to soothe spirit chile to sleep?

Tenderly rubbing him back, me lay pickney over me knee.
Dis more hard dan cane-piece work
. He struggles to breathe on him belly.
Yu can put spirit back, if yu waan to yu know yu can
.

Him body jerks, mouth gurgles, soaking cloth with spit. Me smother him face tighter with bandana. Panic writhes through muscles, through crackling foaming bubbles frothing from him throat. Him head struggles hard.

Bandana lifts from him nose and sucks into it with each breath. Never did flesh die so hard. Never did me know such power in so small a body, such small fists.
Pickney cyaan fight forever, can he?
Wishing me used creeper-rope to hang him, not this strangle-hold, me loosen bandana, slowly. Bloody white blobs form in a lather round him mouth, round nose. Him body thrusts forward and up then falls floppily. Cyaan look again though chile don't flinch.
Him flesh return to water?
Me won't risk uncovering him fully yet fe me feel pickney's spirit soar. Hear me now, even when cloth was drawn tight me felt him eye upon me. Me think he'll keep breathing. Suddenly me realize, no. We free.

Slowly me untie bandana though tiny thumping feet suddenly fight again savagely. Blood leaks from him nose slanting down across him cheek and tiny perfectly rounded chin. Me tears don't heal, they seal what me done.

Rugged mountains cast long cold shadows. Moonbeams slide down rocky slopes. Down steep mountain-goat path me walk numbly and stiffly, picking a way through trembling grasses, a limp bundle of a body cradled in me bandana, thumping dully against sorrow-filled chest. Sand, whitened by sunshine, lights up under moon's silvery touch. Me feel him warm, still twitching, feet. Black branches' shadows point like fingers to moonlit seawater. Running through thick wood forest me go, toes slipping between sleepy flowers' droopy heads, running through mangroves; trees, perched on roots like ready-woven baskets, trunks twisting skywards. Night winds stroke shady pimento groves freely before a white sand bay.

Me eye rest on me pickney – a lead-heavy shell.
Wait fe dawn den bury wot yu done
.

Sky turns a deep mango colour, red-purple streaks flare across. A feeling fills me body of holding you at night, Isaac, safe safe safe. But even this leaves me nowhere stranded. Sadness stained.

Pelicans glide, bills sagging. Me filled with a cry but all sound's missing. Red sun rolls up from cool blue sea. Gently me lay pickney down having carved sand aside till fingertips touched chilled stones. Wind gusts hold their breath. Me feel white with fury fe me have no wrap fe him body bare; only cold sand to clothe him. No funeral drum beats dawn air but me heart throbs strong to soothe him.

Watching red sky splinter with gold me cyaan look true at him fe fear him stare can cut me down.

Me lay out tiny hands, arms outstretched like branches, him darker cheeks, bulging tongue, bruised neck, face so sad me want to offer relief, offer to him comfort forever, as fire drains from dawn sky. Me don't have no lock-up fe cell bars these hands, cell walls him cloud-soft skin. Sky held its blue breath when me crouched, waiting fe pain to swell. Kneeling forward me whole body shuddering and rocking in huge waves, agony with spirit chile came. In Sylvia's shack me animal-cries brought no one, fe all field-hands were out working. And labour lasted so long me believed something was wrong. It were more like a battle than a birth. Between waves me rested till next pain crest, scared pickney wouldn't fit, afraid me split, tear apart. Soft, smooth, warm, a pale copper monster's born, wriggling, squirming, howling. Memories float leaving my mind –
This curious limp thing could feel, cry, stretch him spine?
– there's a bleak deathly gleam to him wretched copper face now. Me did make an kill such a face. Me watch meself fade in and out of it.

Yu must make all thoughts go. Yu must be strong as hurricane
. Lower, lower me sink heavy with woe, spreading coarse gritty sand over him body till me fingertips burn. Breezes whistle through mangrove branches – him voice discovers a way out, wailing across water like angry nesting morass bird. Feelings cyaan be dashed, crushed. Wanting to rip feelings out, me drag me eye from me pickney spirit grave, step across sand and away from him.
Spirit's no longer here
.

Sky glares slippery red. Sea's angry sparkling blue eye's staring staring staring. Cupping hands over me ear me stare back, searching fe Isaac. Longing.

Pelican-wing shadow roams across many fine lines left on sand by waves lapping. Past enters me head. It happens now. Again. Tiny pieces come but them too sharp to see clearly.
Slippery red between me legs. Hot. Cold. Pain
. Night's darkness enters each day. Me see buckra's white face. Me cyaan find a path from Mister Richard Barrett, cyaan remember way out so stop, and stoop. Smooth sea-washed abeng shell me cling to me ear sings of dashing over sand, dropping canoe Isaac and me carried, painted black, dug from a cotton-tree trunk. You laughed, Isaac, scattering squawking chickens into palm-thatched fishermen's huts, a clutter of nets, cowskin sails against bamboo walls. Cyaan feel seawater, cyaan feel warm morning sun breathe on shoulders, only you, Isaac, and morning before abeng, and warmth of you arm round me shoulder; lying, lip to lip; you body warmth, salt of you breath, and kissing you sleeping head.