Authors: Alex Wheatle
Cilbert did as he was told. “As me getting better now, yuh cyan bring Lincoln tomorrow? Him mus’ ah wonder where him papa der.”
“Yes, him do,” smiled Hortense. “Sometimes inna de marnin him look over to ya side of de bed an’ him ’ave ah look ’pon him face dat ah say, ‘where dat big lump dis marnin?’”
“Dat is good fe know. Yuh know, Hortense, sometime me ah
wonder wid all my work an’ now dis sickness if him know who me is. Me always felt dat me never really get to know me papa so me don’t waan Lincoln to feel dat same feeling.”
“Nuh worry yaself, Cilbert. Lincoln know who yuh is.
Definitely
. Besides, me talk about yuh all de while to him.”
“Dat nice,” Cilbert nodded as he opened the newspaper. “Dat nice.”
There were no tears upon the number 45 bus that evening as Jenny, unable to restrain her satisfied grin, looked into her food container to confirm yet again that Cilbert had eaten solids for the first time in weeks. “We will remember dis day,” said Jenny to Hortense. “Cilbert finally turning de corner. An’ even de cursed snow is finally melting! Yes, sa! Massa God is smiling ’pon we. Praise His very name.”
Hearing a knock upon her bedroom door at 3 a.m. the following morning, Hortense got up, checked on Lincoln who was sleeping peacefully inside his cot and answered the door. She declined to switch on the light as Mary Skidmore’s frame filled the doorway. She was fingering the crucifix that was hanging around her neck and her tired eyes were smudged with tears. Her lips were quivering, mouthing words that never produced no sound, and she continually shifted the weight on each foot.
“Wha’ is it? Miss Mary? Somet’ing happen to Misser Sean? Stella alright?”
Shaking her head, Mary looked down to the carpet. She now wrapped her right hand around her crucifix. “I got a call from the hospital. Cilbert died half an hour ago. Bless his soul.”
Mary’s head dropped into Hortense’s embrace as Hortense felt her heart almost stop. Unblinking, Hortense stared out into the darkness of the passage. Her breathing ceased for six seconds and her mind exploded with memories as she and Mary clung on to each other. In split seconds, Hortense recalled the first time she had blessed her eyes upon Cilbert at Elvira’s birthday night party. Then an image of her brother David’s dead body being washed and anointed by her mother. David’s face morphed into that of Cilbert’s and it was now Hortense performing the dead rituals as a
rooster’s call rang in her ears. Hortense moved away from Mary’s arms, her steps unsure and her gaze distant. A cold numbness coursed through Hortense’s veins and her eyes refused to blink even when her head hit the mattress.
Struggling to compose herself, Mary whimpered, “oh my, Jesus! Oh my Jesus! Let me tell Jenny and Jacob, they’ll know how to look after yer. I’m not much good in these situations, Hortense.”
Leaving Hortense staring blankly at the sleeping Lincoln, Mary pounded up the stairs and with both fists, hammered upon Jenny’s door. A minute later, Jenny, Jacob, Stella and Mary came into Hortense’s room, all of them stepping as if any undue pressure might deepen Hortense’s grief. Someone switched on the light and they found Hortense staring at her framed wedding photograph, tracing Cilbert’s image with her right index finger. Lincoln awoke and this prompted Hortense to emerge from her trance-like state. She picked him up, held him against her shoulder and began rocking him back to sleep, walking him around the room. She failed to acknowledge the people within the room. Unsure of what to do or say, Mary slipped out to put on the kettle. Jacob sat on the bed and dropped his head in sorrow. Stella, tears free-falling down her cheeks and dribbling over her lips, walked up to Hortense, placed her arms around her and buried her head into her back.
Rooted to the spot, Jenny had to lean against a wall to remain upright. From the pit of her soul, a scream was fighting ferociously to be unleashed and Jenny fought to restrain it, the pain in her struggle displaying itself in her face. She attempted to focus her gaze upon Hortense but she only saw the accusing glare of her mother. Her breathing accelerated and she began to feel dizzy. Inching away from the wall, she fell onto Jacob’s lap, burying her face into his thighs. She slammed her eyes shut, refusing to allow tears to form and this act, added to the struggle to control the escaping emotions of her soul, propelled her into unconsciousness for two minutes. Nobody noticed.
Until the alarm clock rang at 6 a.m., Hortense lay upon the bed, staring at the ceiling. She was trying to remember the ‘washing of the body’ rituals that as a child she had witnessed her mother
perform. She comforted herself with the belief that Cilbert will finally meet David in the afterlife. Lincoln fell asleep on top of her, his head snuggled between her breasts. Stella was curled up beside Hortense, still wearing her dressing gown, her eyes raw and reddened. Jenny’s head still rested upon her husband’s lap, her eyes now open but the fatigue from her inner battles was visible in her utterly wracked expression. Above her, Jacob whispered prayers to himself, his lips hardly moving and his eyes closed. Empty mugs of tea and coffee littered the dressing table alongside a half-opened packet of short tea biscuits. Standing unopened was a bottle of Irish whiskey that Mary had left at 4 a.m. before retiring to her own bed, unable to cope with everyone’s grief.
The next day, Hortense, accompanied by Jacob, officially identified Cilbert’s body. She was allowed to wash his naked body and place blessed water, that she had obtained from Mary, into his mouth and upon his chapped lips. She maintained a dignified presence, never failing in her duties and holding her grief at bay.
Cilbert was buried in a corner of Streatham cemetery on the 11
th
May, 1963. Spring had finally arrived and the clouds were parting, but the snow had left puddles in its wake all over the cemetery, causing the gravediggers problems with mudslides. Grieving family and friends, including Cilbert’s workmate Delgado, Lester and his brother, the Skidmore family and members of Jacob’s church, had their arms stretched out to the heavens. They sang hymns and spirituals by the graveside, not caring about their muddied footwear. Jenny sprinkled rum onto the lowered coffin as Hortense looked on, her expression blank. Hortense never sang a word.
Earlier in the day, speaking to the mourners in his small church hall, Jacob spoke of a ‘determined, honest mon who loved his family more than anything’. The congregation clapped as Jacob, glancing at Hortense, felt her loss and anger.
Following the service, Jacob assured Hortense, “we will keep praying for Cilbert’s soul to be delivered up in heaven. Cilbert an’ myself never agree ’pon everyt’ing, but I owe him ah lot. Me never forget de way him ah help me wid me studies.”
No emotion showing itself upon her face, Hortense answered,
“me t’ank yuh fe ya kind words. An’ yuh give ah nice sweet service. But, preacher mon.
Don’t
tell me dat heaven is under de earth.
Our
heaven was ’pon earth. Being togeder! Living we life. Dat was our heaven. Yuh cyan pray if yuh waan to, but ya prayers an’ Miss Mary’s prayers never save me husband. Massa God
never
lissen to yuh or meself so me don’t see why me shoulda talk to Him! Nuh, sa! Praise de Lord, everyone ah say. Read de Bible preacher mon ah teach, sing ya hymn out loud so Massa God cyan hear, dey insist. But when we call ’pon Him. Him ignore we. All dese so-called religious people don’t really know wha’ life is wort’. Me don’t mean to offend yuh, Jacob, but me affe speak how me feel. An’ me feel dat
ya
God has forsaken me.”
Shocked by Hortense’s tone, Jacob attempted to smile away his embarrassment and went to receive other mourners.
Spotting a weeping woman standing on her own away from the congregation who had encircled Cilbert’s grave, Hortense, recognising her, walked slowly up to her as compassion rose in her heart. The woman was wearing a fine cut black suit and an expensive black hat. Her black shoes were now mud-brown. The tissue she was holding in her left hand was soiled with tears and mascara.
“Almyna,” Hortense called. “Why yuh standing der ’pon ya own?”
Stepping back a pace, Almyna scanned the mourners through damp eyes. She spotted Jenny who was glaring at her and she decided to turn around and walk away, feeling her presence would not be tolerated.
“Almyna!” Hortense called again.
Stopping in her tracks, Almyna waited for Hortense to come to her. The two women communicated something with their eyes. There they stood for a full minute before warmly hugging each other. They remained in their embrace for the next five minutes, no words of comfort or sorrow necessary. Jenny and Jacob looked on in disbelief as the rest of the mourners wondered who this woman was. Hortense invited Almyna back to her home for the wake and Almyna reminisced about Cilbert’s childhood days – memories
that Hortense was eager to hear. Watching Jacob and the members of his church, Hortense whispered to Almyna, “dey t’ink dat great Massa God will come down from de sky an’ mek everyt’ing alright. Well, dem foolish to believe dat.” Almyna nodded but was unsure what Hortense was talking about.
“Why did yuh ask me to come here?” asked Almyna.
“Becah me don’t know how me coulda be vex wid someone who truly loved Cilbert,” answered Hortense. “Remember when we reached port at Sout’ampton? Almyna, me see de way yuh look ’pon Cilbert when we go our separate ways. It was de first time me really feel sorry fe yuh. Me don’t know how much yuh love ya husband, Hubert, but me know how much Cilbert meant to yuh. Yuh had ah right to attend his funeral as much as everybody else.”
Slightly nodding, Almyna replied, “yes. Me cyan’t deny dat. Even though me spread cruel words about him. So wha’ yuh gwarn do now, Hortense?”
“Carry on,” Hortense replied, determination in her eyes. “Raise me son de bes’ way me know how. Inna Englan’. Everybody t’inking dat me should go home, but before me do dat me affe fulfil Cilby’s ambition.”
Jenny let it be known in quiet conversations that Almyna had tried to prise Cilbert and Hortense apart so she could win him herself. “She ’ave ah mighty nerve coming here so!” Jenny remarked. “An’ nuh shame!”
On her way out of Hortense’s apartment, Almyna noticed the sideway glances aimed at her. Jacob was standing by the door and Almyna said to him, “if me was ah stranger, me would nah know who is de widow – Hortense or Jenny. Me admit dat me nuh perfect. But before yuh judge me yuh should judge ya wife.”
About to reply, Jacob bit his tongue for he didn’t want to provoke a scene. For the remainder of the wake, Jacob studied the body language of Jenny and found a loss within her eyes that was profound and deep. A realisation came to him that perhaps Almyna’s accusations were correct.
Suffering a churning sensation in the pit of his stomach, Jacob waited to confront Jenny when all the guests had departed and
Hortense was asleep.
Sitting on her bed in her dressing gown, Jenny was braiding her hair, humming a hymn that was sang beside Cilbert’s grave. The sound she emitted was like a lament. Jacob was parked on a chair beside the dressing table, still wearing his suit. Working things over in his mind, he glanced at the alarm clock upon his bedside cabinet. The time was 12.45 a.m.
“Yuh loved him, didn’t yuh,” Jacob said quietly.
“Loved who?” replied Jenny. “Wha’ yuh talking about, Jacob.”
“Cilbert.”
Jenny laughed but then she saw the seriousness of Jacob’s expression. “Of course me loved him – as ah friend an’ ah brudder-in-law.”
“NUH,” Jacob raised his voice. “Yuh loved him in de Biblical sense.”
“Jacob, ya being silly. Mebbe yuh drink too much rum tonight. Yuh know it don’t agree wid yuh.”
“DON’T PATRONISE ME!” yelled Jacob, rising to his feet and walking over to his wife.
Dropping her comb on the bed and sensing Jacob’s fury, for the first time since she knew him, Jenny was scared of her husband. She backed away to the bed headrest, bringing her knees against her chest. Jacob then chuckled – a self-mocking sound. He then got up again, unscrewed a rum bottle that was resting on the dressing table, poured himself half a glass and downed it in one gulp.
“Jacob, wha’ is troubling yuh?” asked Jenny, struggling to hold onto her composure.
Pulling open a drawer beneath the dressing table, Jacob took out a Bible – it had belonged to his father.
“Swear ’pon dis dat yuh never loved Cilbert!” he ordered.
Jenny flinched and struggled for words. Her lips began to tremble.
“Dey say love is blind but me de blindest of all of dem,” Jacob laughed, throwing the Bible to the floor. “Me papa did ah warn me about getting involve wid ya family. An’ his words were true.
True
like ya ridiculous love fe Cilbert – God rest him soul. Me wonder if him ever knew?”
Realising that it would be pointless to deny Jacob’s allegations, Jenny kept quiet. Never seeing him like this before, she feared for her life.
“It all mek sense now,” Jacob resumed. “It’s why yuh did waan me to go to Kingston an’ to Englan’ too. Me was so blind. Ya even cook Cilbert him birt’day dinner one time inna Kingston an’ me did ponder fe ah moment if yuh an’ Cilbert had somet’ing going on. But me put it outta me mind, telling meself dat would be ridiculous.”
Covering her face with her pillow, Jenny could do nothing but cry.
“
Me
should be de one bawling!” Jacob ranted. “Wha’ was ya plan? To tek ya sister husband away? Wha’ kinda madness is dat? Mebbe me should tell her. Hortense should not be blinded to ya wickedness!”
“NUH, JACOB,” Jenny suddenly pleaded, throwing her pillow upon the bed, her tears smudged upon her face. “Nuh, Jacob. If yuh do dat me don’t know wha’ me should do wid meself. Me will
tek
me own life!”
“An’ yuh would, too,” Jacob laughed. “Ya love fe ya sister me don’t doubt an’ me know dat if Hortense look ’pon yuh wid scorn it will destroy yuh. An’ dat is why dis palava is so hard to understan’. Knowing dat if Hortense ever found out about ya mad lust, she woulda curse yuh ’til ya grave. An’ yuh woulda be an outcast. But ya still follow Hortense an’ Cilbert wherever dem go.”