Island Songs (15 page)

Cilbert pulled Hortense back to him and reassured her by stroking her face. “Hortense! As if me could look fe anoder when me ’ave yuh. Nuh boder yaself! T’ings will work out jus’ fine. Me will come back to Claremont every weekend to see yuh. An’ also me will come back when me der ’pon vacation. Den, when me get me trade papers we cyan ’ave ah big wedding an’ set up home somewhere nice. Or even go ah foreign land. Yes, sa.
England
.”

Wrestling herself free, Hortense stood up and placed her hands on her hips. “
Nuh
. Dat cyan’t go so! Yuh nuh lissen to me when me talk about David?”

“Yes, Hortense, me understan’ ya tribulation but me promise it will nah strike again.”

“Cilbert!
Don’t
tempt de will of de Most High. Who knows wha’ him ’ave in store fe we. Marry me now before fate come down crushing ’pon we!”

As Cilbert walked back to the DaCosta home that night, he pondered Hortense’s sudden display of vulnerability. He took it as a good sign, reasoning that she needed commitment. It had also dampened his own fears, for he dreaded that while he might be away studying in Kingston, a well-booted man could take Hortense’s fancy. It had been a great worry, especially as Cilbert had yet to make full love to Hortense. He recalled his father saying to him once, “yuh cyan never be sure of ah woman’s love ’til ya mek her sweet wid ah mighty climax an’ de moon juices run like plenty, plenty rain filling dry gulley. When yuh give dat pleasure to her, she will nah look anoder. Fe true!”

Reaching the DaCosta home, Cilbert roused his uncle from sleep. He poured a rum for his uncle and himself and offered him a cigarette. They sat in chairs upon the verandah, listening to the eerie and mysterious sounds of the Jamaican night and peering into the blackness. Cilbert emptied half his mug in one gulp. He grimaced from the burning sensation he felt in his throat and then announced cheerfully, “me an’ Hortense gwarn to marry inna de nex’ few weeks.” Cilbert’s smile had never been so broad and his
eyes sparkled with excitement. “Cyan yuh believe dat? Me gwarn to marry de prettiest girl ah Claremont.”

Mr DaCosta, his eyes not fully open, replied, “de prettiest an’ de loudest.”

Early next morning, Jenny was washing the family clothes in the river. She came across the light blue frock that Hortense had worn to Elvira’s birth-night party. She held it to her chest and closed her eyes. She imagined Cilbert forcing himself upon her, pulling at her clothes. She managed to free herself and was running through a mango grove, trying to escape. But Cilbert’s pursuit was swift. He caught up with her and tore off her frock, exposing her breasts. Jenny fought him off ferociously but when his hand slid down and pressed upon her crotch, Jenny yielded, allowing Cilbert to do whatever he wanted. Her flesh was screaming with excitement as Cilbert roughly palmed her genitals, breasts and buttocks. He forcibly pushed her down upon the ground and Jenny felt the soil grazing her stomach. Jenny then felt Cilbert’s manhood penetrating her, a powerful thrust that resonated throughout her body. A weird, excruciating pain but deeply pleasurable. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him on.

Opening her eyes, Jenny saw that she was still holding Hortense’s dress and in a fit of pique, ripped it from the collar to the sleeve. Seconds later, she offered a quick prayer to God, asking for His forgiveness.

Riding the family donkey home, Jenny thought of explanations for what had happened to Hortense’s dress. Hortense was absently feeding the guinea fowl when her sister returned, humming some hymn. “Hortense! Hortense!” Jenny hailed mournfully. “Tribulation ah strike me today! Me cyan’t believe wha’ happen.”

Ignoring the frenzied feeding in front of her, Hortense replied, “wha’? Ah tall fine strange mon bid yuh good marnin? Donkey ah shrug yuh off becah yuh nah rinse ya armpit? De sex crazy one-eyed bull inna Misser Dawkins plot mistake yuh fe cow?”

“Nuh. Me was scrubbing ya favourite dress an’ all of ah sudden it jus’ tear up. Me cyan understand it. Mrs Walters mus’ ah made
some kind ah mistake. Me very sorry. It jus’ tear up jus’ like dat.”

Suspicion upon her face, Hortense walked towards Jenny. Jenny dismounted from the donkey and went to look for the washing line to hang the clothes upon. Hortense caught up with her just outside the storage room. “Wha’ yuh mean it jus’ tear up?”

“Me cyan’t explain it! Mebbe de stitches were loose or somet’ing like dat. It jus’ come apart.”

Hortense went to retrieve the dress. She studied it like a juror scrutinising a murder weapon. She found that the dress wasn’t just torn or coming loose from the stitching. “
Lie
yuh ah tell, Jenny! Me bes’ dress! An’ yuh tear it up to spite me about somet’ing. Mebbe becah me look so
nice
inna it. Mebbe becah me don’t spend so much time wid yuh nowadays.”

“
Hortense
! How yuh coulda say such ah t’ing?”

Hortense threw the frock down to the ground in disgust. “Why yuh tear up me dress?
Tell
me before me strike yuh down as de Most High is me witness!”

“Me
nah
tell nuh lie! Mek de Lord strike me down if me nuh tell de trut’! It jus’ come apart as me washing…”

Before Jenny could finish her sentence, Hortense clenched her right fist and swung a right hook that connected with Jenny’s left cheek, knocking her to the ground. Chickens scattered and the dogs began barking. Fine dust scattered in the air as Jenny found herself sprawling on the dirt. Hortense sprang and straddled her sister’s back, proceeding repeatedly to cuff the back of Jenny’s head, forcing her to taste the dry earth. Reacting ferociously, Jenny, with a mighty shrug, managed to force the heavier built Hortense off her and began to kick her about the head.

Hortense spread her palms across her face to protect herself, not quite believing the intensity of Jenny’s assault; in their previous fights Jenny had always been the first to cry off complaining to Amy that Hortense had been too rough. The kicking had paused, enabling Hortense to peer through her fingers. Her eyes widened in fear of what she saw next. Jenny had picked up three stones and with an untamed rage, ran up to Hortense and hurled one. It struck at the small of Hortense’s back. Hortense grimaced and writhed in
pain, trying to scramble away for Jenny was readying herself to hurl another missile, levering her right arm behind her. “Yuh Old Screwface loving Jezebel! See me don’t cramp an’ paralyse yuh – yuh dutty bitch!”

It was Carmesha who stayed Jenny’s arm. “Wha’ yuh doing? Yuh waan
kill
her? Me cyan’t believe me eyes!”

Still furious, Jenny looked upon Carmesha for a tense second with rigid brows. She then tossed the stones behind her and stormed off into a field, mouthing choice Jamaican expletives. Carmesha tended to Hortense and later in the evening, Amy, who had returned from her stint in the market square, boiled her some bush tea that included a stalk of sinsimilla, to ‘fling away de pain’; Levi bought it for her from his neighbours in the foggy hills. Amy fiercely scolded Jenny, demanding what had ever come over her, but Jenny ignored her, remaining tight-lipped. Hortense stared at her sister throughout the evening, concluding that perhaps the dress
did
come apart in her hands. Why would she ketch such a fierce rage? It was only after midnight that Jenny felt remorse seep into her heart. Sleeping beside Hortense, she snuggled up to her and began to stroke Hortense’s head. Hortense didn’t hear Jenny whisper, “me so sorry, Hortense. Me nuh know wha’ come over me. Me cyan’t believe me strike de one me love de bes’. David tell me to look after yuh an’ look wha’ me do. Me will ask de Most High fe him forgiveness. Sleep well.” Although fast asleep, Hortense seemed to sense a comfort with her sister’s touch that she had known since birth. Instinctively, she manoeuvred herself into her sister’s embrace, sighing pleasurably. Amy, secretly looking on, smiled.

In a simple ceremony in March, 1954, attended by family and close friends, Cilbert and Hortense married in Isaac’s church; Jenny was the chief bridesmaid. The reception, held at Mr DaCosta’s plot, was a subdued affair with Cilbert’s father, Constantine, still sore about the Almyna issue. He begrudgingly sank his wedding punch drink while constantly eye-passing Hortense, finally realising that the black-skinned Cilbert’s opportunity of climbing the Jamaican social ladder by marrying the
lighter-complexioned Almyna, was now denied. When Constantine wasn’t studying Hortense, he stole glances at his own caramel-skinned wife, wondering what possessed her to marry him.

Blissfully unaware of the politics that surrounded her wedding, Hortense was the happiest she had ever been. Mrs Walters had adjusted and embellished Amy’s old, white baptism dress and Hortense appeared radiant in it; Mrs Walters left no doubt as to who had customised the dress. She named it ‘de Angel’s Frock’.

Looking forward to his wedding night, Cilbert had to almost drag his new bride away from her dancing, much to the amusement of the guests. The couple spent their first night of marriage in the home of Mr DaCosta’s nephew, Hernando, who lived in isolation three miles to the west of Claremont; his family remained at Mr DaCosta’s for the following week.

Even Levi, now coupled with Carmesha, attended the wedding; he wore Joseph’s old marriage suit that Carmesha had fashioned and shortened for him. Daniel, now accustomed to living in the country, ran around with his new friends but received a beating for staining his new pants with guava juice; Neville, picking up his errant great-grandson, rebuked Carmesha for her assault.

It was only Jenny who seemed to register her father’s absence. Jacob, her escort, felt a certain pride linking arms with Jenny all the way from the church to Mr DaCosta’s home, but when he found her alone in Mr DaCosta’s backyard, reflecting sorrowfully on whatever grievance she bore, Jacob couldn’t even hazard a guess on what was troubling her. “Jenny,” he called softly. “Look how long we know each udder. Yuh cyan’t tell me of de mighty burden dat seem to lean ’pon yuh?”

Jenny didn’t even meet Jacob’s questioning eyes. “Jacob, ya sweet like sugar inna milo, becah only yuh ah sense me bruise soul. Me lose me sweet sister today. Me bes’ frien’. Me never did t’ink either of we coulda ever marry. Y’know, becah we so close. Me t’ought dat we would be togeder fe ever. Y’know, Hortense an’ meself against de world. Everyt’ing happen so fast. Me lost Papa an’ Hortense soon gone. Not even yuh cyan help me now. Dis is between me an’ de Most High. He’s been very cruel to me. Papa always said He’s
ah spiteful God. Yuh know, me try an’ live me life good, de way de Most High waan we to live. But der mus’ be somet’ing inside of me. Somet’ing bad fe Massa God to treat me dis way. Me cyan’t understand it.”

“Jenny, He don’t expect we to be perfect an’ nuhbody ah expect yuh to be so. Least of all me. He will understand dat ya feel dat ya sister abandon yuh. He knows how close yuh two is, especially after ya papa run an’ gone. An’ wid de grievous loss of David. Ah long time I ’ave been watching yuh try an’ be de perfect Christian girl. Why yuh don’t try an’ be yaself? Living ya own life. Hortense had to grow up one day. An’ she don’t depend on yuh so much as before. Yuh affe let her go.”

Jenny momentarily shot Jacob a cancerous glare, thinking how dare he tell her to let Hortense go, but she soon recovered her composure. “Go’long Jacob, me will be fine inna short while. Gwarn an’ enjoy yaself.”

Hortense had only five days to enjoy her honeymoon, for Cilbert bade her a tearful farewell before he set off to Papine. He promised he would return every weekend and he kept to his word, catching the first Saturday morning ‘bungo bungo’ bus from Crossroads, Kingston and arriving in Claremont just before noon. He would collect Hortense from her family home and they would spend most of their short time together in a spare room at Mr DaCosta’s, only emerging for meals and lazy rambles in the surrounding hills and groves. When they were not making love, Hortense barraged her husband with questions about the big, bad city.

Unable to capture a good night’s sleep whenever Hortense was away, Jenny loathed the prospect of weekends, despite offering her brief opportunities to bless her eyes upon Cilbert. She also found herself pining for Hortense’s larger-than-life company, her cantankerous ways and her dawn singing. It felt as if some part of her being had been ripped away forever. On week-days, she craved Hortense’s attention feverishly; walking with her to the river when it was Hortense’s turn to wash the clothes, learning gospel songs together, washing and braiding Hortense’s hair even when she didn’t require it and occasionally surprising Hortense with
questions about her love life.

“Jenny!” Hortense would rebuke. “Yuh gwarn so innocent an’ everybody ah say how ya nice like de virgin Mary herself. But me know better. Ya tongue ah betray yuh! Lord me God! Jenny, yuh cyan’t expect me to talk about dem kinda t’ings when me ah married woman. It nah right. We’re nah nuh two foolish teenager who ah talk stupidness while we’re stripping corn! Go look Jacob! It’s time yuh ’ave ah mon friend, becah yuh cyan’t spend ya time ah follow me around like puppy dahg dat lose him mudder. An’ Jacob love yuh more dan yuh ever realise. Why yuh t’ink him don’t find ah girl yet? Jacob waiting fe yuh! Mebbe he’s de answer to ya problem becah yuh start to get ’pon me nerves wid ya company.”

Her smile rapidly evaporating, Jenny stormed off in a rage. Hortense muttered under her breath. “An’ dey call
me
full ah nettle! An’ wha’ is so wrong wid Jacob? He would look after Jenny so nice.”

Isaac kept faithfully to his twice-weekly visits to Amy and it was on a Thursday in June, 1954, that he found his son, Levi, sitting around Amy’s kitchen table. Securing his donkey, he saw Amy approaching him with a mug of coffee and a freshly-picked avocado. “Now, yuh lissen to me, Isaac,” Amy ordered. “Ya gwarn talk to ya son! Nuh excuse! An’ me waan nuh argument! Me will leave yuh be becah me ’ave ah liccle shopping to do.
Don’t
drink off me rum!”

Amy marched off, muttering something under her breath about the stubbornness of Jamaican men. Isaac neared Levi cautiously, debating whether he should trouble the rum flask inside his jacket pocket. Levi looked on his father’s timid approach blankly, as if he was waiting for a bus to stop. The onlooking Jenny, her mind whirring with some notion, ran up to Isaac. “Preacher Mon! Mighty good to see yuh. Praise de Lord!”