Conquering Kilmarni (11 page)

Mr. Devon smiled. "You're right, Zackie. But it was a hearse, not a truck, and it was trying to overtake a car driven by a fellow named James Bond, otherwise known as 007. The movie was called
Dr. No,
I believe."

"Me sure would like to see it," Zackie said.

At the foot of Cambridge Hill the mountain road ended, and the rest of the way to Kingston was along the edge of the Caribbean. Traffic began to thicken as they passed
the peninsula road that ran past the airport to the old buccaneer town of Port Royal. In the city itself it was so heavy that Mr. Devon soon gave up trying to find a place to park. "If we're going to have time for Constant Spring," he said, "we'll have to use the parking garage." And even that was so full that he had to drive up the ramps to the top level.

"Now, then, what are you boys going to do while I run my errands?" Peter's father glanced at his watch as they rode the elevator down to the street. "It's eight-thirty now. We should meet somewhere for lunch, don't you think?"

Peter passed the question along to Zackie by looking at him.

Zackie must have anticipated the problem. Without hesitation he said, "Will it be all right if me skip lunch and meet the two of you later, Mr. Devon?"

"Why? What do you have in mind?"

"Me would like to go to Constant Spring right away, suh. Me can take the bus."

"By yourself?"

"Well . . ." It was Zackie's turn to look at Peter.

"I could go with him, Dad," Peter said quickly. Once before in Kingston he had ridden the local buses. He and Mark had come to town with their dad and wanted to see the famous Hope Gardens while their father was busy at the Coffee Industry Board.

After giving the suggestion some thought, Mr. Devon finally nodded. "All right." He took some money from
his billfold and put it in Peter's hand. "This should take care of bus fare and lunch for the two of you. Suppose we meet back here at the garage at, say, three o'clock. Does that sound reasonable?"

Peter looked at Zackie.

"Three o'clock, Mr. Devon," Zackie said. "Yes, suh. Thank you."

"And be careful, both of you," Mr. Devon warned.

Zackie had been to the island capital a number of times before, he explained to Peter as the two boys hurried away. There was a truck that made the trip daily from Rainy Ridge, with passengers and produce, and he went along at times to help the higglers who bought vegetables from him. None of those higglers went to Constant Spring, though. They went to markets in the city proper.

"But me know where to get a bus to Constant Spring," Zackie said with confidence. "Come on!"

He was right. In less than half an hour they were seated together behind the driver of a big, noisy vehicle that bored its way through the city's traffic like a bulldozer through a forest.

Peter sat next to the window and, when he saw that Zackie did not want to talk, contented himself with looking out at the city's sights. Zackie must be excited—and nervous—at the prospect of seeing his mother, Peter guessed.

The bus stopped every little while. People got on and off—all kinds of people. There was a busy place called Cross Roads, a sort of city within the city, with a theater
and big stores and other large buildings. Then another busy meeting of roads called Half Way Tree. The whole world, Peter decided, was full of cars, bicycles, motorcycles, and big buses.

Then the traffic thinned out for a few miles, and Zackie nudged Peter on the arm. "The next stop is for the market, Peter."

The bus hissed to a halt, and they got out. And as the vehicle lumbered on without them, Peter wondered how he would ever find his way back to his father if Zackie were suddenly to disappear in the big, open-air market at which he was staring. It seemed to cover several acres of ground and was like a huge jigsaw puzzle. Everywhere he looked were displays of fruits and vegetables, some on tables, some on the ground, with sellers calling to one another or talking to buyers, and crowds of customers walking around, looking at what was being offered.

Zackie touched him on the arm again. "You coming, Peter?"

"Huh? Yes, of course!" Once, with Mom and Mark, Peter had ventured into the Coronation market, in the heart of downtown Kingston. Not to shop, although Mom had bought a few hard-to-find vegetables and other things there, but to walk around and see what was going on, because the Coronation was written about in books they had. This, though, was different. This wasn't a maze of crowded city streets choked with heat and smells. It was like a country fair.

But Zackie was in no mood for sightseeing. At the very
first table they came to, he stopped and spoke to a young woman behind it. Zackie asked her if she knew a higgler named Elaine Grant.

"Who, sonny?"

"Elaine Grant, ma'am. Me did hear tell she work here."

"Elaine . . . Elaine . . . Now, me may have heard that name, yes, but me don't recall where, sonny. Look. You see that lady over there with the red bandu 'round she head? The one selling yams?"

Zackie turned to look where she was pointing. "Yes, ma'am."

"That lady been here years, and know everybody. You go and ask her."

"Thank you." With Peter trailing, Zackie hurried to a woman who had many kinds of yams heaped up on the ground. This higgler was old and wore an old felt hat and was puffing on a pipe as she stood there with her hands on her hips.

In answer to Zackie's question, she said, "Elaine Grant? Me know Elaine, yes, but she nuh here today."

Peter was watching Zackie closely, and saw the eagerness disappear from his friend's face.

"Not here, ma'am?"

"Me did hear she sick, boy."

"Do you— Do you know where she live?"

"No, boy, me don't. But there is a woman here who likely does." She took the pipe from her mouth and turned to point with it. "You see that table down there
where the lady selling callaloo and scallions? The young lady in the white dress?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You go and talk to her now. She and Elaine Grant has become good friends since Elaine work here. She name Jennifer."

Zackie's look of eagerness returned, and again he led the way, with Peter hurrying to keep up. This woman was about the age the boy's mother would be, Peter guessed. Her table was in a shaft of sunlight and her dark skin shone with perspiration.

"Miss Jennifer?" Zackie said.

"Yes, sonny?"

"Me name Zackie Leonard. The lady over there did say you know me mother."

The woman had been making up bundles of the green called callaloo and tying them with thin strips of banana trash. Putting down the one she was working on, she leaned forward with her knuckles on the table and seemed to hold her breath while peering at Zackie's face. "You are who?"

"Zackie Leonard, ma'am." It came out as if Zackie had rehearsed it and made up his mind to keep calm. "Elaine Grant is me mother."

"Well, I . . . Come 'round here! Let me look at you!"

With a quick glance at Peter, Zackie obeyed. The woman named Jennifer put both hands on his shoulders and studied him again.

"I've heard so much about you from Elaine, and now here you are," she said. "And look at you!" she went on excitedly. "All grown-up and handsome!"

"Miss Jennifer," Zackie said, "does you know where me mother is? Me did come here to find her."

"Yes, I know where she is. She's at home sick today. Not real sick," the higgler added quickly. "Only feeling poorly."

"But where is she live?" Zackie begged.

"Before I tell you where she lives, let me ask you something." Jennifer stepped back a little, frowning now but still staring. "What do you want with her?"

"She me mother! Me must have to find her!"

"You're not mad at her for leaving you?"

"No, no, me not mad at her!"

"Because I want you to know she would have taken you after your granny died, 'stead of letting your daddy have you. Many a time she has told me that. The problem was, she never had enough money to rent a decent place for the two of you to live."

"Please," Zackie begged. "Where she is, Miss Jennifer?"

The young woman seemed to hesitate. Then she peered at Peter. "Is this white boy with you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Maybe he should not go with you to your mother's. She lives in a part of Kingston that isn't so nice. But you're not to be mad at her for that, you understand, because she does her best, believe me. It's just that she never
seems to have any good luck, and can't get enough money saved up to move out of there."

Zackie looked at Peter. "Is you going be mad if me go there without you?" he asked.

Peter had been wondering whether he should go the whole way. "Maybe you ought to see your mother alone, anyway," he said. "It'll be better for you. I can start back to my father."

Zackie smiled his thanks and turned to the higgler again.

"All right," she said. "I'll write it down for you if you're so determined." Reaching into a pocket of her white dress, she took out a scrap of paper and a stub of pencil. "Do you know where that is?" she asked, as Zackie peered at what she had written.

"Me can find it, ma'am, thank you." Full of impatience now, Zackie grabbed Peter's arm. "Come, Peter!" Then, as they hurried to the bus stop, he said, "If me not back there at the garage when you daddy come at three o'clock, the two of you can go home without me, you hear? Me will get a ride to Rainy Ridge on the truck."

"Suppose you miss the truck. You'll be stuck here in Kingston all night."

"No, me won't. Me will take a bus to Morant Bay and beg a ride with somebody going up from there."

A bus was coming. "Is this one we can take?" Peter asked.

The vehicle veered in to the curb and Zackie said yes,
it would take them back downtown, so Peter stepped aboard. This time they sat in the back, and for a while Zackie was silent, perhaps thinking about all the things the higgler, Miss Jennifer, had told him.

Cross Roads and Half Way Tree were behind them when Zackie broke his silence. "What me can do, Peter, me can go with you back to the garage, then find me mother but not stay with her long. If she say it is all right, me can come back another time and bring some money to help her move out of that place."

"No, Zackie." The bus had reached the downtown place where they had boarded the one for Constant Spring, and Peter stood up. "You go to your mother now. I can find the garage by myself."

"You sure?"

On the sidewalk they faced each other. "Hey, look," Peter said, "you think this is a big city? You should see Miami."

"Which way is the garage?" Zackie challenged. "Tell me!"

Peter had to laugh. "Go on," he said, giving Zackie a push. "Just be sure to get back there by three o'clock, because we'll probably be going home through the Bay and my dad hates to be kept waiting."

His father almost always took the long way home from Kingston so he could stop at the Morant Bay cemetery where Peter's mother and brother were buried. Thinking about it made Peter remember the two funerals—the walks to the cemetery from the church in the Bay, and
standing at his father's side by the open graves while the coffins were lowered into them. Rain had fallen the day Mark was buried. Dad had refused to use an umbrella and had come down with a bad cold.

When he stopped remembering, Peter realized Zackie had disappeared—whether to walk to where his mother lived or to take another bus, Peter did not know. He began walking. With time to waste, he didn't hurry but just strolled along, heading in the general direction of the garage. As he walked down King Street, in the heart of the city's busiest shopping district, he looked in store windows and watched the crowds of shoppers.

Feeling hungry, he went into Woolworth's and sat at a lunch counter, where he ate two beef patties and drank a bottle of orange soda. Then, to kill time, he crossed the street and went into a big store called the Times Store. There he just walked around, upstairs and down, looking at what was on sale.

By the time he reached the parking garage, he was tired from so much walking and looking. His father was not there, of course. It was only a quarter to twelve. He sat on a bench near the booth where Dad would have to pay before taking the car out, and would be sure to see him. Then he shut his eyes and wondered how things were going for Zackie.

M
r. Devon came at two-thirty, and Peter told him what had happened. They sat together on the bench and waited. Zackie did not come.

At three-thirty Mr. Devon said in a tone of voice that told Peter he was beginning to be annoyed, "We can wait another half hour, and that's all. I'm sure if he found his mother it must be hard for him to break away, but I said three o'clock for a reason, Peter. I want to go home by way of the Bay."