Authors: Alex Wheatle
Unable to restrain her laughter, Jenny hurled a cob of corn in Hortense’s direction, striking her on the chin. “Ah good shot dat,” Jenny exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “Ha Ha!” Outraged, Hortense picked up four cobs but before she could retaliate, Amy appeared under the door frame; her temples were a little greyer but for a woman in her mid-forties, her face was remarkably unlined. “Yuh two nuh finish yet?” she barked. “When me was ah girl chile me use to strip untold corn fe me fader, t’ree times as much as me give yuh tonight. It only used to tek me two hour. Anyway, yuh cyan stop now an’ mek ah coffee fe ya fader an’ meself. Nuh fret about Kwarhterleg becah ya fader ah boil up some herb fe him. Tomorrow yuh cyan both wash de callaloo an’ strip de scallion. Water affe fetch inna de marnin too an’
don’t
forget to feed de fowl.”
Running to the kitchen, Jenny and Hortense passed their father on the way who was carrying a pot of steaming water; he had just turned fifty-one but no silver had yet to trouble his pitch-black hair; a few God-fearing villagers took this as evidence that Joseph was in league with Old Screwface. Joseph had boiled strongback leaf, grated orange skin, coconut and lime peel, ginger, sersee leaf and a rare herb that he called ‘lion-tail’. The remedy emitted a powerful aroma that cleared every bunged-up nostril in a twelve-yard radius. Indeed, Joseph’s fever remedies had proved to be a good source of income during the past few years.
Kwarhterleg was laying on Amy and Joseph’s bed, his face – lit by a kerosene lamp situated by the door – sweating like an Englishman demonstrating how to cut cane on a plantation. A mug was beside the bed and Joseph filled it with his medicine, a concoction that he had learned from his mother. Before giving Kwarhterleg the potion, he wetted a handkerchief with over-proof rum and dabbed Kwarhterleg’s neck and chest with it. The strong smell of rum and herbs soon filled the room. Kwarhterleg’s tired eyes seemed to yearn for a peaceful death.
“Now, Kwarhterleg,” Joseph instructed. “Yuh affe drink all-ah it.
Den fill it up once more. Me will leave de pot beside de bed. De somet’ing will mek yuh breathe more easier an’ cool ya mad fever, drawing it out. Now drink like how yuh drink ya Red Stripe beer inna Misser Robinson’s bar.”
“T’ank yuh, sa,” Kwarhterleg panted. “Moonshine. Since me know yuh, yuh ’ave been mighty good to me. Ah true brudder. When yuh first come ah Claremont dem used to say yuh is de angel of deat’, but yuh ’ave proved to be de child of light. May de Most High bless ya soul. Me jus’ waan to tell yuh dat before me pass away an’ greet me ancestor. Serious t’ing.”
“Kwarhterleg, stop chat ya mad foolishness!” rebuked Joseph. “Ya nah about to dead ’pon me. Yuh only ketch ah liccle fever. Ya soon better so cease ya mad deat’ talk!”
They both heard a loud knock upon the door. “Who de backside ah come to me door at dis late hour?” Joseph complained.
“Nuh fret yaself, Joseph,” Amy called from the storage room. “Tend to Kwarhterleg an’ mek sure him ah drink him remedy. Mebbe de remedy will quiet him labba labba mout’! Me never know ah mon dat cyan talk so much when him sick! Me will see who ah come.”
Amy went outside and was surprised to see Isaac securing his donkey to a tree. Carmesha stood still, as if afraid to take a step. Puddles were around her feet. Daniel was sleeping, snuggled upon his mother’s shoulder. Isaac found it difficult to meet Amy’s eyes. “Isaac,” she called. “Why yuh bring strange girl wid pickney to me door ’pon dis hour?”
Carmesha stepped back a pace but Isaac, supporting her back, brought her forward. Tears were welling up in Isaac’s eyes. “Isaac, why yuh ah start bawl?” Amy wanted to know. “Is it yuh de fader ah dis young girl pickney? How many times me affe tell yuh to keep away from de young girl dem. Ya black bamboo don’t satisfy yet? Me don’t know how ya poor wife put up wid yuh. Talk to me mon! Old Screwface ah tie knot inna ya tongue?”
“It’s David,” Isaac stuttered. “David dead.”
Isaac bowed his head. Carmesha began to sob once more. Amy stood perfectly still, just gazing ahead at nothing in particular as if
trapped in some kind of surreal world. Joseph emerged out of the house. He looked at the head-bowed Isaac, the crying Carmesha and then at his shocked wife; she remained rooted to the spot but her lips were trembling violently. “Preacher Mon?” Joseph asked. “Yuh never come here so. Is it me one son?”
Isaac answered with his watering eyes and a slight nod.
“Yuh better come inside,” Joseph offered after a pause. Gently taking Amy by the arm, he led her into the house. Isaac and Carmesha followed him. They all sat down on the girls’ bed. Kwarhterleg, whimpering, tried to raise his head to discover what was happening but Joseph’s potion was having its powerful affect. Jenny and Hortense appeared from the kitchen.
“Papa! Wha’ ah gwarn?” Hortense demanded. “Wha’ wrong wid Mama? Who de strange lady wearing de dutty frock wid pickney? Why Preacher Mon come to we house?”
Joseph, who was about to answer, peered into Hortense’s eyes, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He dropped his head and searched for Amy’s right hand, grabbing it tightly. Carmesha was now in utter turmoil, rocking herself back and forward, letting out an agonising wail.
“Papa! Tell me mon,” Hortense urged. Jenny was behind her and she placed an arm around her sister’s shoulders, frightened to discover what might have happened.
Isaac took it upon himself to pass on the news. “Hortense. Jenny. May de Lord God protect yuh. Ya brudder David ’as passed away to de eternal life. Police ah Spanish town arress’ him an’ apparently batter him ’til him dead. I’m really sorry. May de Most High bless him soul.”
Summoning every last drop of power in her lungs, stretching her neck tissues and straining her vocal chords, Hortense screamed. She rushed towards Isaac, shaking her head and began to assault him with wild punches. “IT NUH GO SO! IT NUH GO SO. LIE YUH AH TELL! LIE YUH AH TELL. IT NUH GO SO, IT NUH GO SO! COME OUTTA ME YARD PREACHER MON WID YA SERPENT’S TONGUE!”
Pulling Hortense off a shaken Isaac, Joseph lifted and carried her
outside but her shouts and shrieks grew more intense. Joseph suffered scratches and slaps to his face. She began to curse Isaac, using foul words that shocked the preacher. “Preacher Mon place obeah spell ’pon me sweet brudder becah him nuh like yuh, Papa! Him kill David fe true! Let me go, Papa! Me waan
kill
Preacher Mon.”
Amy offered no flicker of a reaction to her daughter whatsoever. She just sat still, staring vacantly ahead. Jenny went to her mother, placed her arms around her neck and buried her head into her bosom, sobbing silently. Amy didn’t seem to notice. Amid all of this, Daniel slept silently, only caring for his next meal.
“Preacher Mon kill me sweet David,” Hortense raged on. “
He
truly hate yuh, Papa. Yuh mus’ kill him, Papa!”
Embarrassed, and with guilt preying on his mind, Isaac dropped his head.
“Isaac, nuh fret yaself,” whispered Amy. “Hortense don’t know wha’ she ah say.”
Three hours later, Joseph had managed to sedate Hortense with some bush tea; he had used a stalk of sinsimilla as part of his potion, an extremely potent variant of the cannabis plant. Joseph never revealed where he had found it, not even to Kwarhterleg. Sometimes he had found use for the herb as a pain killer and Amy, who suspected that Joseph was growing it somewhere near his plot, would secretly boil it with her coffee to quell her period pains. But Joseph would never smoke it, unlike some men in the village who swore the herb presented them with ‘stamina fe grine woman’.
Now sound asleep, Hortense lay perfectly still. Daniel was at rest snuggled up next to her. Jenny, sitting up beside her sister, was stroking Hortense’s hair, lost in her own thoughts. She looked upon her sister tenderly, only hearing Kwarhterleg’s rasping snores – he having been knocked out by the concoction he had drunk. “Nuh worry yaself, Hortense,” Jenny whispered. “Me will look after yuh. See me don’t keep me promise to sweet David, until de end of we days.”
Isaac had departed an hour ago, informing the family that he would
do anything they asked of him. Over-dramatically, with tears running down his fleshy cheeks, Isaac bowed and then kissed a stunned Amy’s hand as he left. Amy, Joseph and Carmesha had relocated to the kitchen; Joseph had lengthened it over a period of time and now there were stools for everyone to be seated around a small homemade table. They were all sipping goat’s milk and rum from chipped mugs. The unseen owls outside, or ‘Patus’ as the locals called them, hooted desolately. A low fire was flickering, flashing erratic light upon everybody’s pained expressions.
“Carmesha,” Joseph said softly. “Me waan to tek home me son’s body. Where it der?”
“Inna de police station ah Spanish Town. Dem would nah let me tek it becah dem say me nuh married to him an’ me cyan’t prove David ah fe me relation. Yuh affe go der an’ present papers ah identification.”
“Joseph,” Amy said in a whisper. “Me waan me only son home.”
Joseph nodded, filling his pipe. “Yes, me too. Me gone when de first light ah shine. Yuh two should try an’ get some res’. Carmesha, yuh is family now. Never forget dat. Me cyan’t believe me ah gran’papa. Me cyan’t believe me one son dead…”
Carmesha helped Amy into the house, leaving Joseph alone with Panama and his thoughts. He sucked the tobacco mightily, blowing smoke into the kitchen’s ceiling. He watched the wisps disappear and thought his family was cursed. Maybe he had brought the curse with him and had unknowingly blighted David with it. Perhaps he should leave, he thought, and take the curse with him.
A new day. The sun had barely risen when Joseph secured the straw-filled cart to his donkey. He had already eaten his breakfast but the cool water that cleansed his face couldn’t rinse out the dreadful feeling in his stomach. He stuffed a crocus bag with two mangos, a water coconut, plums and an avocado for provisions and some mint leaves. He then set off for the near seventy mile journey to Spanish Town – the old Spanish capital of Jamaica.
He first went through Walker’s Wood, where the fronds of the trees that fringed the path shielded the sun and young bare-footed children pushed vendor carts of green banana and plaintain. They
lived in ramshackle dwellings that clung on for dear life to the tangled hillsides. For a moment Joseph considered walking in a straight line deeper into the wood, waiting for nightfall and allowing Old Screwface to claim him.
The village of Moneague owned a beautiful small-spired church with white stucco walls. A burial ground lay behind the building and Joseph felt a chill in his heart. David appeared smiling in the forefront of his mind. Innocence marked his expression. Joseph dropped his head and wept silently, only hearing the creak and rhythm of the wheels and ignoring passer-bys who offered him good mornings.
Joseph finally reached the outskirts of Spanish Town just after six thirty in the evening. He had been journeying for nearly thirteen hours. He asked someone for directions to the police station and twenty-five minutes later was showing a surly policeman his marriage certificate that was signed by Isaac; Joseph didn’t reveal that he was unable to read what was written on the document, apart from his own name that Amy taught him to write.
David’s body was in a corner of what seemed a forgotten stone cell. The tough, dirt ground was specked with blood. Joseph presented his two police escorts with such a hard baleful stare, that they feared that they had just been cursed. The officers, one of whom had scratch marks upon his face, soon left Joseph to his own devices, saying they had errands to perform. Joseph, parting the locks on David’s head, noticed the back of his head had sustained a blow from a blunt instrument. Congealed blood was spotted around the neck and upon his bare shoulders and back.
Lifting up his son very carefully, Joseph carried him over his right shoulder. He took him to the police station’s back yard where he cleansed David’s fatal wound with water from a stand-pipe. He then carried him to his cart, laying him gently upon the straw. Before he set off once more, he wetted and sprinkled mint leaves over the body. He threw the police station another vengeful glare and then grabbed the hemp reins of his donkey, leading him on. He ignored the gawps and whispered comments from passer-bys. His lasting memory of Spanish Town was of the many, many people
occupying such a small area and how none of them seemed to care about his grief.
Fourteen hours later, Joseph was glad to see his home village. His legs were almost failing him and twice he considered parking the cart and joining his son in everlasting sleep. Seeing nobody about, he parked the cart by the side of the house and stole inside the storage room seeking a plastic sheet. He rummaged around for thirty seconds when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and found Amy, standing with arms folded, a compassionate look upon her face. “Joseph,” she whispered. “Tiredness mus’ be killing yuh. Me never t’ink yuh woulda come back so quick! Go to ya bed, mon. Me an’ Carmesha will wash David’s body.
Gwarn
! Let me tek de burden now.”
Nodding wearily, Joseph slipped away to the bedroom. As soon as he lay down, he fell into a troubled sleep. Amy found Carmesha, who was sitting in a nearby field, rocking her baby. She was staring vacantly ahead. “Carmesha! Joseph come back wid David.”
They both headed outside to the cart. Amy swept the mint leaves away from David’s face with her hands. Then using all of her fingers, felt the contours of David’s face and wiped away the specks of dirt upon his forehead. She looked at him adoringly, making no sound. She kissed him upon the forehead. “Please forgive me, David,” she whispered. “When yuh lef’ me six years ago me tongue was full of nettle. Me deeply sorry fe dat. How could me ever doubt ya devotion to me? Everybody know dat yuh ’ave de most pure heart inna dis family. Even me papa know dat fe true. Sleep peacefully me liccle bwai. Me favourite chile. Sleep peacefully.”
Biting her lips, Carmesha watched Amy with overwhelming pity. She could hardly bear to stand there so she went to collect two jugs of water. When she returned she found that Amy had pulled off David’s pants and undergarments. He lay naked under the morning sun. Amy handed David’s clothes to Carmesha. “Burn dem, Carmesha, becah dem clothes ’ave de stench ah deat’.”