The Other Side of Paradise: A Memoir (5 page)

After the sermon, I have to explain to the whole Sunday school class why I must obey my brother. “The Bible says that I must obey my brother because God put man in dominion over all the other beasts of the earth. And because the one time Adam listened to Eve, he fell into sin and was cast out of Paradise by God.”

Delano sits in the back row grinning. I wish he was close enough for me to hit him with my stupid Bible again.

S
tacey, Grandma say we have to leave this house and move in with Uncle Harold and him wife.” Delano drops this bomb as he throws a green mango up into the air and catches it. “Uncle Harold coming to get we tomorrow.”

I have a hundred questions I want to ask him. How does he know? Why do we have to leave so quickly? And when are we coming back? Delano is so excited that the questions all die in my throat. He goes on and on about the car that Uncle Harold will drive when he comes to get us. I wish it were our mother coming to get us. That night I quietly watch Grandma pack all our things in a large plastic bag. I want to take the things out and put them all back, but I know that she will only get upset with me and end up packing everything anyway. I ask if we can take our little folding tray, but Grandma says the car can only hold our clothes, not furniture.

The next day a policeman arrives in a big brown motorcar. With a stern face he beckons for us to come closer. I look away, but Delano goes to him.

“Good morning, there, young man. Where is your grandmother?”

“She inside, sah.”

“Well, go and fetch her, then.”

His voice is too loud and it sounds like it is coming from a cave. We run to the veranda and Delano disappears inside. I watch the policeman through the spaces in the railing. He doesn’t move. He just waits there, leaning on the car with one leg crossed over the other. His big black police stick hangs from his belt. Grandma comes out and he tips his hat
at her. She latches the front door, wipes her eyes, and fixes her tie-head. She checks the door again, folds the yellow foot-wipe, and walks down to the car. We pad quietly behind her. I worry that Uncle Harold can see my heart hammering at my ribs.

I reach up and take Grandma’s hand. “Grandma, please, make us go back inside the house.”

“Don’t worry, man, nothing more not left inside there. Hurry up come. And oonu say good day to oonu Uncle Harold?”

We stop in front of the man leaning on the car.

“Good day, Uncle Harold.”

The smell of him tickles my nose. I press the side of my face into Grandma’s dress and try hard not to sneeze. He nods at me, pats Delano on the head, and takes the two bags from Grandma. One has all our clothes and Grandma’s Bible; the other one is full of ackee, breadfruit, bananas, and sugarcane that Grandma got for Uncle Harold and his family.

I have never been inside a car. The seats are warm and slippery and the air from the windows moves the hair on my head. Uncle Harold rolls down his window. Then he turns the key, and the car makes a big growling noise. He takes off his hat, hands it to Grandma in the passenger seat, and turns on the radio. Uncle Harold must be rich. We don’t even have a radio inside the house.

“Children, please be careful that you do not touch any of the window or door controls back there. It could be very dangerous. Someone could get killed if you do not do as I say.”

“Yes, Uncle Harold.”

We pass the police station and the church and Marse Jeb’s house. I don’t want to leave like this. I want to just run up the road and tell Marse George and Miss Sylvie and Miss Cherry that we won’t be there next Saturday morning. The road gets wider and wider as we drive farther and farther away. Colorful houses and yam hills whiz by. Children with water buckets on their heads stick their tongues out at us. Goats with long beards amble across the street. Uncle Harold blows the horn to make them move faster. We pass old Indian women, with braids so long they have to sit on them, selling shrimps, peanuts, sweetsops, apples, roasted yams, and fried chicken.

The car is moving so fast, I feel like I have to throw up. I carefully pull
the neck of my yellow and blue dress forward and quietly puke into my chest where nobody can see it.

For a long time, we pass only trees and grass and cows standing in large green pastures. I want to go to the toilet but I am afraid to talk over the radio. I press my legs together very hard and pray that we get there soon. Grandma does not ask Uncle Harold for anything. When we finally arrive in Bethel Town, we see a dark-skinned woman with short hair, holding a little baby and standing on the veranda steps.

Uncle Harold puts his arm around the woman and says, “Children, this is your Aunt June. She is my wife. You will be under her jurisdiction and my soundest advice to you is to try your very best not to transgress her house rules.”

Aunt June hushes the crying baby. He is very small and his head looks like someone squeezed the sides very hard. His face looks like he is going to the toilet, and he smells funny. The more Aunt June hushes him, the more he cries.

Aunt June hands the baby to Grandma. “Howdy do, Aunt Bernice. I am so glad to see you. I beg you go clean him up for me, please.”

Grandma whisks the baby off. I hear her singing and making sucking noises to make the little baby laugh.

Aunt June turns to us and looks us over. “Good afternoon, children.” Her voice is very strong and deep. “You will need to take off your shoes before you step inside the living room. And don’t leave them scattered all over the veranda floor.”

Delano unbuckles my sandals. Their veranda floor is cold and made of red concrete tiles with little white dots on them. The railing is made of concrete too.

Aunt June sits. “Now, children, please tell me, who is who?”

I hop from one leg to the other and look at Delano, who is busy untying his own shoes.

“What is the matter, little girl? None of you have names?”

I stop bouncing and begin the introductions. “Yes, ma’am—me mean, Aunt June. Fi me name is Stacey, and me brother name is—”

Aunt June stands up and smacks her hands together. “No, no, no, no, no! Not a bit of that language in here. In here we speak in proper English. My name is Stacey, and my brother’s name is…Now say it all again.”

I am glad to see Grandma coming back, jiggling the baby, who is gig
gling with delight. “Look ’pon me baby, look ’pon me baby, look ’pon me baby, now!”

Aunt June takes him from Grandma. “And who is this, smelling so good? Is this Mummy’s baby smelling so very good?”

“You don’t need me to do anything now, ma’am?”

“No, Aunt Bernice, you should go unpack your bags now. You and the children are going to be sharing that back room with Samantha and Shane.”

I hold my coco-bread and jump quickly from one bare foot to the next. “Aunt June, Aunt June, me can go to the toilet, please?”

“Aunt June, may I go to the bathroom, please? Say after me, ‘Aunt June, may I go to the bathroom, please?’”

I jump and repeat, “Aunt June, may I go to the bathroom, please?”

“Yes, you may. And let go of yourself. It’s not good manners to be doing that in front of other people. Go right through the living room and then the dining room. The bathroom is the blue door on your right. And do not wet the floor on your way there!”

“Thanks, Aunt June.”

“Thank you, Aunt June. Thank you, Aunt June—don’t tell me I will have to teach you children everything!”

I move very slowly, keeping my thighs pressed firmly together as I walk. Inside, there are two brown doors, both slightly ajar. I can see two beds through one of the openings. Through the other, plates piled on a table. There is a fridge and a dining table and a cabinet with pretty glasses and plates and cups in it. A very old man is asleep in a big chair. He groans as I pass. But he does not wake up. I step over his outstretched feet.

The rugs in the bathroom match the toilet cover. And there is a flushing toilet. I lift the lid to look into the white bowl of clear water. I sit slowly. I don’t want to make a mess. I want to go badly, but it takes a really long time for anything to happen. When I am done, I push the little silver lever and everything goes rushing down the hole.

Out on the veranda, I whisper to Delano, “Them have a gas stove and a TV, and a place in the bathroom to put your toothbrush, and plenty, plenty storybooks.” He motions for me to be quiet.

“Okay, you two, these are your Uncle Harold’s children. This is Garnett, who is thirteen, and Ann, who is fifteen, and Shane, who is almost
seven, and Samantha, who is nearly five. And you already saw the baby, whose name is Andrew.”

Our cousins look nothing like us. And Ann does not look like the other children. Everybody is darker than her. And she has short hair, like a boy. Aunt June takes the baby inside. Samantha and Shane are the exact same age as Delano and I. Shane smiles at Delano. Delano smiles back. Samantha has short, thick plaits and a round face that would be very pretty if she wasn’t making faces.

“Is what happen to your face?” I ask.

“Is what happen to your skin?” she taunts. “Why it so red and ugly? And what is that mark on your chest? You smell stink, like vomit!”

“If you smell vomit is fi your own self you smell it ’pon!” I shoot back. “And why fi you skin so stink and dirty and black?”

“Mummy! Mummy! See Stacey out here calling me stink and dirty and black!” Aunt June is in the room in seconds.

“What? What did you say to her?” Her voice is even deeper now. “We certainly do not use those words in this house! And I hope you do not think you are better than anybody else in here. Your color means nothing in this house, you hear me? Nothing! Now get out of my face before you get a beating your first night here!”

“But, Aunt June, is she did say how me red first. Me never say nutten to her at all.”

“Child, what is that coming out of your mouth? Speak properly! Did I not tell you that that kind of language is not permitted in this house? Lord help me with these new crosses I have been given to bear!” She throws up her hands and leaves.

Grandma arrives with a wet rag. She takes off my yellow dress and wipes me down from neck to waist.

Delano is already playing cowboys and Indians with Shane and Samantha. I follow a brown mange-covered dog to the backyard. There are pigs wallowing in a pool of mud in a barbed-wire pen. A black and white goat chewing an old leather shoe is tied to a tall tree with big red leaves. I sit under a tree and watch the chickens scratch seeds from the dust around me. I am grateful for the quiet of the animals. They stare, but it does not feel like they can see me.

At eight o’clock Aunt June says we have to go to sleep. Delano and I are to sleep with Grandma in a big old iron bed. It is much bigger than
the bed in Lottery, but here the white sheets smell like bleach. Grandma is not there when we say our prayers. Delano takes the corner. He makes me lie down in the middle of the bed so that there will be room for Grandma when she comes. Samantha and Shane climb onto the other bed. I wait until they fall asleep before I jab Delano’s side.

“Delano, Delano, you sleeping?” He does not respond. “Delano! Delano!” I poke him again. “Delano, I really don’t like this new house!”

I pull his hair and he elbows me. “Stacey, just shut up and go to sleep, man!”

The fowls squawk in their coop. A door closes. A radio is turned on. I miss the crickets at our old house. I imagine Miss Cherry standing by the road and calling out for us. No one will be there to answer. I cover my head and try my best not to cry. I wonder how our mother will ever be able to find us here. I don’t want their electricity or the inside toilet or the stupid TV. I want go back to our little room in Lottery where I am not afraid to open my mouth and talk.

P
a Larry is Aunt June’s father. He is so old that he goes to the bathroom in his pants like Andrew. But he smells much worse. When he eats dinner, the whole table is covered with his food. Between Andrew and Pa Larry, Grandma is always wiping somebody’s mouth or somebody’s bottom. There is no time to talk to her about anything because we also have a lot to do. We start school the following week.

Aunt June makes us try on the uniforms that Samantha and Shane have outgrown. They slip easily over our skinny frames. Aunt June says that fabric is very expensive, but she is going to buy enough cloth to make at least one new set for each of us. Uncle Harold asks her why we have to get new ones if the old ones fit us.

“Harold.” Aunt June’s voice is impatient. “They cannot go out on their first day in old uniforms. You want everybody to talk about them? They are already getting some old uniforms, and schoolbags and shoes, and this is the first day. They should have something that is not hand-me-down.”

“All right, Mrs. Jennings, you are in charge.” I think it is stupid that he calls her Mrs. Jennings.

“And just to let you know, Harold, this is not costing you one penny.
I paid for the cloth and I am making them. If my children was with other people, I would pray them would send them through the door looking decent on the first September morning.”

She sits at a sewing machine with the word
SINGER
written in big letters on the side and warns us to take good care of our things because she does not have money to buy new ones. She tells us she does not expect any financial help from anybody. “Not your Uncle Harold, not your grandmother, not your good-for-nothing mother who leave and don’t even send one penny to buy an egg to feed you!”

As she cuts and sews we have to try the uniforms to make sure they fit. In between stitches, she bakes and makes sweets and jams. Women pass by and purchase bottles and pans of baked and broiled sweets. They also buy eggs by the dozen. I wonder why she is so worried about money.

One day as I slip out of my half-finished uniform, I ask, “Aunt June, you make a lot of money from the things you sell, and your husband is a rich policeman with a big car. Why you always looking for more money? The Bible say,
The love of money is the root of all evil
.”

The pins prick me as she drags the cloth over my head.

“Christ Almighty! You fresh, eh? What your Uncle Harold does with his money is neither your business nor mine—but the money I make in this house go toward taking care of everybody. You think is easy to feed eight people on a teacher’s salary? And now there is you and your brother and your grandmother. It is a blessing indeed that I have the animals so I can sell two eggs and kill a pig or a goat. Only God knows how else we would manage!” She tucks a pleat in the cloth and puts it back over my head.