The Other Side of Paradise: A Memoir (7 page)

D
ecember arrives and the days shorten and cool. Christmas day, which will be my eighth birthday, is only twelve days away. Samantha says that this Christmas is going to be very special because Aunt June is going to buy a big Christmas tree. And Uncle Harold has hinted to Samantha that he may buy her a special present. She tells me that there may be a present for everybody. Delano and Shane want water guns. Samantha wants a talking dolly. I hope and hope and hope and hope that I will get my own set of Nancy Drew mysteries. Every day all the girls at school sing “The Twelve Days of Christmas” at recess.

Samantha marks off the days on a calendar. Some days she lets me make the
X
. I am very careful not to make it too big or too small. Samantha stands behind me and supervises. Delano and Shane say it is a stupid idea, but every morning before we leave for school they stand by the wall and watch us cross out the day.

By the time we get to the tenth day, the excitement has mounted to twenty girls marching around the schoolyard in a line. Each girl holds the waist of the person ahead and sways to the rapid rhythm of our chant. Every girl is sure that she will get what she wants on Christmas morning. It feels good to be a part of such a big loud group. And everybody is extra nice to me because Christmas day is also my special day. All the girls say that having a birthday on Christmas is like having two birthdays together.

At home the house is busy with the smell of baking. The tables are covered in flour and sugar and butter. Big bowls are atop every surface. Samantha and I park ourselves in the dining room, hoping to taste anything that Aunt June will let us. The sweet fruit preserves are drained and measured and added to the cake mix. Raisins and prunes and dates are from the store and are very expensive, so we only can taste the ones that fall on the floor. Those fruits come all the way from Montego Bay. Aunt June says they really come from a place in America called California.

All year, Aunt June has been collecting the skin of grapefruits. Diced and sugared and soaked in wine and rum, they make up the mass of the bittersweet fruits that will be in the Christmas cakes. We can eat as many of those as we want. As the mixes are made and poured into baking tins, we lick the empty bowls clean. Then we march through the house screaming the words of our anthem at the top of our lungs.

Finally it is December twenty-fifth. It is so exciting to wake up and suddenly be eight years old. The first carolers come by bright and early. “Silent Night” filters into the back room from the front yard and I turn over and pull the sheets up to my neck and snuggle in while I listen. Delano groans and covers his head. Grandma is up already. I can smell the sweet hot chocolate she is making. Hot cups will be handed out to everyone when the singing of the carols is done. The Christmas cake is cut up into thin slices and passed around on a silver tray.

When the carolers are gone, Aunt June tells us to hurry up and get dressed for Christmas service. I bound out of bed and pull the covers off Delano. He kicks me harder than is necessary, but not even the sore spot on my thigh can spoil my good mood. The ride to the church is quiet. Everybody else is sleepy. But I am silent. I don’t want to get in trouble on my birthday. The service is quick. By seven we are back at home eating ackee and salt-fish and roasted breadfruit. When the plates are piled into the kitchen, Grandma heads out back to wash them.

We are all excited when Aunt June tells us to come with her into the living room. There is a huge pile of packages on the couch. I am so excited my ears are buzzing. Aunt June announces that she has at least one present for everyone. One by one she calls our names and hands us each a wrapped bundle. Then she calls Samantha and Shane and Garnett and hands them more presents.

When she is done, Samantha has three boxes and a brown paper package. Shane has two boxes and a bag of things wrapped in different kinds of paper. Garnett has three things on his lap too. Delano, Ann, and I each have one thing wrapped in brown paper, tied up with a red bow. Aunt June smiles at me when I dutifully unwrap a pair of blue canvas sneakers from the Bata shoe store. Delano opens his to find a water gun. Ann unceremoniously unwraps a new church dress. Shane has a new Hardy Boys mystery, a pair of church shoes, a water gun, socks, a belt, and some red pencils. Garnett has a new T-square and a school bag complete with school supplies. But Samantha is the queen of the day. A brand-new dolly with a change of clothes, three new panties, a pair of shoes, one new Bobbsey Twins and two Nancy Drew mysteries lay scattered around her. I have to work very hard to keep from screaming out loud and stomping all over their shiny new things.

Everybody is saying thank you to Aunt June. My eyes fill with tears as I look again at the gifts that Shane and Samantha have opened. I should be happy for these sneakers. Nobody has ever given me a present before. I should be grateful, but I think I deserve more.

Aunt June turns to me and clears her throat. I put the shoes back in the brown wrapping paper and look up at her. “Aunt June, thanks for the shoes, but is Christmas,
and
it is my birthday
too
. Everybody else get one present on them birthday. And now they get Christmas presents too. I think I should get two things today!”

Aunt June does not miss a beat. “Well, Stacey, you do have two things there, two things that make a pair. One foot is for your birthday, and the other is for Christmas.”

I say thank you again and put the sneakers inside the bedroom. I find Grandma praying under the ackee tree. When she asks me what’s wrong with me, I bury my face in her lap and weep. I am tired of being afraid of Aunt June and having to live in her house. I am tired of Samantha always having everything she wants. I don’t want to live with them anymore. I
want to go back to Lottery. Grandma strokes my head, but it does not make it any better. I don’t really want Grandma. I want my own mother. I don’t understand why she left us. I cry loud and hard. I smell curry on her hands as she brushes away my tears.

Grandma tries her best to comfort me. “No, no, Stacey. No mind, man. No mind, whatever it is, God can fix it—”

“No, Grandma! I don’t want God! I want my mother! And I want my own father! How come is only me one don’t have no father? Even Delano have a father! Where I come from? Me drop from sky?”

“You have God in heaven as you father. The Bible say him eye is on the sparrow, so I know him watching over you too. Come, man. Stop the crying.”

“Grandma, I know my mother run away, but what about my father here on earth? Him run away too? Is what happen to me why everybody run away from me?”

“Stacey, stop that, man. Dry you face. All right, all right. Let me tell you something, nuh!”

“Grandma, I don’t want to hear ’bout no Heavenly Father. Everybody have that. I want to know who my real father is. Delano have one. Shane and Samantha have one. What wrong with me?”

“All right! All right! Dry you face!” Grandma finally relents. “As there is a God in heaven, stop with the everlasting crying! You would drive the living Jesus to sin himself! I going tell you, but you have to quiet yourself and listen.”

She strokes my braids and pats my back until I am quiet. Then she leans over and whispers, “Junior Chin. You mother did tell me that your father name is Junior Chin. Him live in Montego Bay.”

Surprised, I look up from her lap. I wipe my face as she continues.

“Him used to come to pick up you mother at the house when Delano was a little, little baby. Miss Cherry say him have a furniture store on Barnett Street, right in front of the Montego Bay Police Station. Him is a married man. With other children. You turn eight year old today. And is Christmas day. And you know already that this is the Lord Jesus Christ birthday?”

I nod. “Yes, ma’am, I know that.”

“Well, mark this day, and mark it well.” She slowly shakes her head and pats my shoulder. “Today, Christmas day, nineteen hundred and
eighty—I know that both you mother and you father will live to regret that them leave you by the wayside.”

She pauses, sits me upright, and looks into my eyes. “Them may not want you now, but if you make sure you work hard, that you make something of yourself—one day the two of them will come to your door to beg you for a drink of water! The Bible tell you,
The stone that the builder refuse will become the head cornerstone
! Matthew twenty-one, verse forty-two. Is right there in the Good Book! You only have to read it!”

She pulls me to her bosom. “Believe you me, they will beg you to recognize them as father and mother. Just trust in God and he will see you through.”

“Yes, Grandma.” Something strange sits in my throat, and Grandma’s voice is low and hard, as if she is angry.

She gets up and straightens her dress. “I don’t tell you these things fi make you feel bitter in your heart. Is just that you getting big now and is full time you know how things really go.”

I lie on the bed thinking,
My father’s name is Junior Chin. He lives in Montego Bay. Just like Delano’s father. Except he does not send groceries from his shop for me. He does not want me.

Not yet.

T
he summer holidays arrive and the long days stretch out endless before us. During the week Aunt June keeps us under close supervision. But on Saturdays she and Uncle Harold leave to buy the week’s groceries. And on the first Saturday of the month Grandma puts on her rainbow tie-head and boards the navy blue van to Montego Bay. She makes the long trip alone to collect food from Delano’s Chinaman father. Grandma is gone by the time I wake up. I open my eyes surprised to find her movements missing from the house. For a moment, I worry that she will never come back.

As soon as we finish the chores, Ann and Garnett cut across the green flatland of the front yard and disappear. Beyond the front yard is The Road, which is essentially a dirt track with a sliver of asphalt that runs down its center. We are not allowed out on The Road without permission.

Every day at home without the adults is an adventure. Delano has the best ideas, so he decides what we should do. We all follow him as he slowly circles the house. He uses a stick to poke the hard dusty ground. Then he leads us back to the front. He plops down on the front steps and sighs.

“So what we going to do, then?” Samantha looks to Delano.

Shane looks to the hills behind the house. “We could go tease the madman.”

“No, man.” Samantha shakes her head for emphasis. “I am not going back up there! Remember what happen last time? Me not going back there at all.”

“Ruff! Ruff!” Delano laughs and charges at Samantha. “The man is so mad, him think him is a dog!”

“Delano, that is not funny! We had to run off the track and into the bushes to get away from him!” Samantha sucks her teeth and pushes Delano away from her.

“We should go again, eh, Delano? That was a good joke, eh?” Shane and Delano are laughing so hard they start coughing.

Flat on the ground and exhausted from coughing and laughing, Shane turns to Delano. “So what we going to do, then?”

“We could chase rats!” Samantha throws a rock into the dry gully.

Delano reminds us that the red rats living there are no fun to chase in the summertime. The heat makes the furry creatures lazy, so we end up killing too many. Last summer the stink of their rotting bodies stayed in the air for weeks. And plus, it is no fun to run through a hot cane field in the middle of July.

“All right, Delano, since you knock down everybody’s idea, you tell us what to do!”

Delano sucks his teeth and walks away from her. We follow him. Even the animals seem bored. Under the noonday sun, the pigs are fast asleep in their mud-caked pens; the dried slush cracks on their pink skin. They don’t even grunt when Delano slaps a whole tin of Nestlé condensed milk in the trough. The goats ignore Shane when he tosses young mangoes at them. The cows only glance in our general direction when we tug at their thick nylon ropes.

Samantha and I follow them, moving sluggishly around the house. The dogs dig holes in the hard ground. They only move from one tree to the other to dig a new hole.

The cats do not get up, even when the dogs move. Only the scrawny chickens squawk when Samantha and I creep up on them and scream, “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”

The boys usually ignore the chickens. They consider themselves above chasing animals that girls chase. Today, however, boredom drives them to join us.

“Today, we are going to do more than chase them,” Delano informs us. “We are going to corner them and catch them!”

“Then what?” Samantha asks.

“Shut your big fat clappers and just do what I tell you to do!” Delano snaps.

He takes the left side of the house—that side has no fence. Shane cov
ers the back. Samantha and I are to chase the six chickens from the front yard to the left side. Delano will be right there to catch them.

There are three regular chickens, speckled brown and white, that look like the chickens in our library books. Two of the chickens, senseh fowls, have feathers that make them look surprised. They are bad tempered; they peck first and decide if it is wise later. We all bear scars.

The pride of the pack is the peel-neck fowl. Bald from the shoulders (or at least where a chicken’s shoulders are expected to be) to the beak and tiny, it squawks loudly and moves quickly. If any of us were lucky enough to hold it for a second, its cries brought the nearest adult to its rescue, or it found its way out of our grasp so fast, we could hardly boast that we had caught it.

When everyone is in place, Samantha and I rush toward the chickens.

“Chase wide so they will run to the left side of the house,” Delano shouts.

He dashes across the yard and meets Shane. The chickens commence a choir of squawking and turn back toward us. The senseh fowls are in the lead. Samantha and I look at each other, then at the oncoming fowls, and take off.

Delano screams, “Shane, circle the house and stop them before they get ’way!”

By the time Shane gets to the other side, every fowl but the peel-neck fowl has escaped.

“That’s why I don’t like to do anything with a bunch of fraidy-fraidy girls! Look how the both of you make the chicken them get ’way!” Delano is furious.

“All right, Shane, pay attention and don’t make Samantha and Stacey help you.”

They both close in on the last chicken. In a cloud of dirt and squawking, the animal flies straight up into the air. The copper swirl of dust and feathers is everywhere. I am worried it will be naked when they finally catch it. On its way down, two pairs of hands seize it. It cries out, but the boys do not let go.

Samantha and I are jumping up and down. “Get him! Get him, Delano! Hold on to him!”

The excitement makes my head spin. I am running around the boys
as they struggle to grab the fowl. When Delano finally grabs it, I squeal and cover my eyes with my dusty hands.

“Stacey, stop the cow bawling so I can think of something to do with it!” Delano orders.

He holds the chicken by its spindly yellow legs. It is silent now. Its head is hung low, almost to the ground, and its eyes are blinking. It looks like it is waiting to see what will come next. We follow Delano to the back of the house. He sits on the back steps swinging the chicken by its legs. The three of us sit on the ground around him. Delano stands. The sudden movement makes the chicken cry out. We laugh. He swings the chicken back and forth. The squawking eggs him on, making him swing the chicken even harder. The cries drown our laughter as he swings harder still. He now has to stand with one arm out to keep his balance while he is swinging the chicken around in full circles above his head. He keeps swinging until his arm is tired and the squawking has stopped. The chicken is not moving anymore.

“What happen to it?” I ask.

“Nothing. It’s trying to trick us, so we will let it go. Swing it some more,” Shane says.

“I’m going to tell,” Samantha blurts out.

“Nothing is wrong with it,” Delano says. “See how the chest is still moving? It’s still alive. I’m going to make it scream again.”

He slowly moves his arm around. This time there is only a weak cry.

“I’m going to put him down now. Make sure him don’t run away.”

He gently puts the chicken down. We form a circle around it. The heaving brown body lies there for a tense moment before it struggles to its feet.

“Hold him! Don’t let him run away, Delano!” Shane is shouting.

Delano grabs it again.

“See, it not dead, just lazy. I bet it still strong enough to carry all of us on it back,” Shane pronounces.

“Okay, let’s ride him, then,” Samantha suggests.

“I don’t think we should,” I caution.

“Why not? Shane just said it could carry us!”

Delano says nothing.

“Is ’fraid you ’fraid?” Samantha taunts.

“Yes, is ’fraid you ’fraid?” Shane adds.

The worst thing to do to Delano is call him a coward.

“I not ’fraid of nothing! Make we ride him.”

We sit on top of each other. Shane, the biggest, sits first. Then Delano sits on him. There is a thin cry from the chicken when Samantha settles on her brother’s lap. By the time I sit, there isn’t a sound coming from below.

“Make him move, Shane,” Delano urges.

“I’m trying.”

“Hit him, like a horse,” Samantha volunteers.

“Yuck! I think it’s having diarrhea, and it’s all over my pants.” Shane leaps to his feet.

The rest of us tumble to the ground.

I land on something wet and brown and warm. We scramble to our feet and look at the chicken, which is flat and oozing a dark fluid from its tail. It looks pitiful; its bruised, bald, head twisted to one side.

One eye stares wide open. The other is closed in one-half of a blink, leaking some kind of watery stuff. It’s crying, I think, the poor little thing is crying.

“I think it dead.” Delano’s voice is small in the big backyard.

We all stand there uncertain of what the long pink neck—curved and elegant even in death—means. If I look at one eye, it is alive but tearful. If I look at the other, it is dead.

“I’m telling on all of you!” Samantha breaks the silence.

“If you tell on us, you have to tell on yourself!” Shane counters.

“But I didn’t do anything.” Samantha is crying.

“Yes, you did!” insists Shane. “You was the one who said to ride it. And you helped to ride it. Maybe it was your big fat batty that make the fowl dead!”

Samantha looks at Delano and me. We both look steadily at the dusty ground. She stands there for only a second before she turns her back and stomps toward the house.

“What we going to do with him?” Shane asks, the next adventure glimmering in his eyes.

“I don’t care. You do what you want with it,” Delano mutters before he turns and walks away.

I follow my brother to the ackee tree at the farthest end of the backyard. I think of the chicken blinking when it is alive. Not blinking when it is dead. I can’t get the image out of my head.

“Delano, you saw the chicken eye? It look like it was crying, don’t? It did definitely look sad, don’t?”

“Stacey, right now me nuh care ’bout how the chicken did look. Right now me just thinking ’bout what will happen if Aunt June find out that we kill her chicken. If she and Uncle Harold find out that we was in it, they will think that we ungrateful to them for making us live here. They might make Grandma take us to live somewhere else. Grandma don’t have nowhere else to live.”

“We could go back to Lottery. The house not big like this one, but is our own. We could go back and go to school at Miss Sis.” I miss our old teacher. I miss the head rubs and the smell of thyme. The thought of going back makes me happy.

“How you so stupid?” His anger surprises me. “It was never our house in the first place. We did only rent it from somebody. We can’t go back there now. Somebody else live there now.”

I know that Grandma tells Delano things she does not tell me, but I am the one who was born in that house. My navel string is buried in that yard. I know I am only in Bethel Town because of Andrew. As soon as he gets bigger we are going to move back to our own house in Lottery. My mother had bought the bed I had been sleeping on in that house.

“What you mean by that? Who live there now?”

“Boy, you really don’t know anything, eh?” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, I don’t know who live there now, but I know is not our house. Grandma move us here because she retire from the police station job. She never have no money to pay rent. So we had to come.”

“But, Delano, how you sure is not our house? Grandma could be renting it to them now, you know!” He doesn’t respond. “I don’t care what you say. It is our house, with the little blue and white folding tray and the little green veranda. It is our house in Lottery!”

I kick the dirt and wipe the tears from my face.

“Shut up, nuh, Stacey. Just shut up! You think because you say something it just go so all of a sudden? You must learn fi take things as them is. Is so it go. We have to behave or else they will put us out. Is just so it go.” He is crying too. Delano almost never cries. Not even when he is getting a beating with Uncle Harold’s police belt.

“But Shane and Samantha help kill the chicken too. They not going to put them out,” I argue.

“Jesus! Me have to tell you everything? People can’t put out them own children. But we don’t belong to them, only to Grandma, and not even
for real. She is only our grandmother. She only have us because nobody never want us when we mother run gone lef us. Them can put us out, but them cannot put out them own children.”

“But, Delano, you can go live with your father.”

“Yes, but where you and Grandma going to live? You don’t even have no father. And even if somebody take in Grandma, nobody will take you in. Nobody but Grandma want you.”

That hurts, but because he is crying so hard, I don’t say anything. “Don’t worry, Delano, nobody going to find out. None of us going say anything.” I am not so sure about Samantha, but I cross my fingers and say a prayer.

Delano looks at me like I am the biggest idiot in the world. He turns away and covers his face with his hands and sobs. I watch Shane lift the limp carcass high above his head and toss it into the gully. The feathered missile looks like it is flying as it hurtles toward its final home. Shane’s bright blue Gator sneakers kick dust over the wet spot on the ground.

I hate him. And Samantha. I hate their new sneakers and their new schoolbags bought for them right from the store.

O
ne Sunday morning in July, Aunt June muses aloud that she hasn’t seen the peel-neck fowl in a few days. Uncle Harold wrinkles his brows and says, “Mrs. Jennings, I have been telling you for months now that we need to set some poison. A rat or mongoose must have taken that fowl right from the coop.”

“Harold, I am tired of telling you that if I set poison for the mongoose the fowls will eat it too. The children just have to make sure that each fowl is accounted for before they close the coop at night.”

Uncle Harold turns to us at the table and says, “I hope you are taking note of what you just heard. We cannot afford to lose livestock to these rodents. Just make sure every latch is closed before each of you go to bed at night.”