Strange Music (24 page)

Beneath hall clock, bent over cedar-wood bath, Old Simeon's grey head, ratted hair. One crooked hand grips bath's wooden rim, other's rubbing sides with orange skins. How fast Old Simeon become a stranger after I wrong him.

Coming a little further down stairs, I say to him, ‘Yu know bout Mistress Maria's letta?'

He looks up through him one good eye, saying, ‘Eh! W'appen?'

I take another step. ‘Dis letta Junius de key get yu fe stealing fram Mistress Maria.'

Old Simeon's hand slips from bath rim. Staining air, him face a dried prune saying, ‘Letta? Where?'

Nodding towards Mary Ann, I raise a finger to my lips, ‘Shsh, yu'll wake she. Yu don't know wot Junius' letta mean? Den me tell yu. Mister Sam cousin telled me yu a-tief. Dem kill yu if dey catch yu ere.'

Hungry for disbelief Old Simeon hobbles across hallway, plants himself full-square in hall middle like a stunted palm tree. He looks up cock-eyed. Sadness is on me.

‘Me ear bout yu an Mister Sam at busha-house party,' Simeon's hiss-sniggering. ‘Yu git any money? We know wot all yu up to. Leah telled ebberyting.'

‘Don't touch me wid yu lie,' I yell. Running at Old Simeon, I stumble against him crippled leg. ‘Don't touch me, yu stained. Cyaan have chigoe fly hatch under me skin. Yu ear?'

To repay me badness, Simeon says, ‘Me mek Charles know wot yu did.'

‘Yu did tell Charles?' Under mill-house roof I know Charles' sloshing scum across wood floor.
He does know?
Others done it, I'm thinking – snatch pickney spirit from spirit world – that's what Leah said.

I wrench orange skins from Old Simeon's fist. Old Simeon's clenched fingers match Pa's own blunt hands. Lunging forwards, I strike with my knuckles across him cheek. ‘Dis a knife me slice up yu face wid.' My fist's held ready to strike again.

Old Simeon's overall trouser's torn, him old leg blister slants up like two grinning lips.

‘Have mercy,' he groans, folding with pain, ‘fe me weak bones vexed, an me have vexation of de spirit. Yu young an yu spirit burn wid fiah like yu pa say. Mek me tell yu oo me did tell afta yu bring swimps an cassava. Don't give me no food wid droopy bottom lip. Me cyaan have no bottom lip droop in me cassava.'

Mockingly, I repeat, ‘No lip droop in me cassava.'

Mary Ann's awake, making little whimpering sounds. ‘Get back to sleep,' I say.

Straightening stiffly, Old Simeon says, ‘Lunatic. Yu Ma dirty ooman too.' Him skewed old face chuckles. ‘Yu know me teeth bad but me can still eat bellyful-a swimps an cassava. But wot a ugly sin yu mix up in. Give tanks me don't tell minister.' Old Simeon's rheumy eyes run up different ways; one east, one west. ‘If minister know wot yu done yu cyaan git marriage certifikate fram im.'

‘Wot me do gain fram marriage? Barrett family show woman cyaan hold man dat way.' I grew up in great house, I'm thinking. Lived here all my life. But nothing in it belongs to me.

Old Simeon drags bath out through hall to back verandah. Mister Sam's moaning pulls me dog-trotting up to bedchamber.

‘Mister?'

‘Water.' Awkwardly he slides onto one side, hot yellow face turning from me.

Bedchamber reeks of rank flesh, of what shouldn't have been. What's past spreads in my belly, feeds off me. Beyond pain's where I live. Beyond fear. But there's no beyond horror. Horror don't end.

I check Mary Ann, for when Mister Sam returned to Jamaica he made all badness happen again and again and again.

Mister Sam was with she at Barrett Hall. Barrett Hall great house have a big square face. Four windows for eyes. Its shutters, long lashes, some open others closed. Two thin wooden legs support a small square nose jutting from face middle.

Mister Sam leant back in verandah rocking-chair sameway as hog soaks up sunshine – mad for basking in heat I'm sure – he followed Mary Ann through half-closed eyes. I knew because I saw, kneeling in hallway, polishing yacca floor.

Flicking a gold sovereign onto him sleeve,
Heads she wins, tails she loses
, satisfaction crawled across Mister Sam's face.
She loses. Hope's far from this unlucky place
. He walked between great-house legs. House had one eye open. I wanted its legs to buckle and squash him like ants squash under feet in sand.

Blue sea glittered. Barking dogs strained on chains. No wind blew, no other sound but for him boots crunching sand.

Groping with toes, I felt my way down verandah steps. My sight set on Mary Ann, air whispered against my cheek – Barrett Hall's crammed with duppy. Me might have thought them shadows. But shadows can't touch skin, can't be heard inside heads. Shadows don't have voices. Muttering voices. Do they.

On far lake side, Mary Ann, a bold puppy, trotted at Mister Sam's heels past big pig wallowing up to him belly in mud. Leaving coconut brushes under verandah floor, with one eye fixed on Mary Ann, other on Mister Sam, I crept after them, crouching behind tamarind trees, uprooted stumps, branches stripped by hurricanes of leaves. Cane-cutters had hacked back mango grove too, clearing a lake-side place for cattle to feed. Passing blue lake water I couldn't grasp what was happening, everything looked wrong way up. Even me.

Mister Sam led Mary Ann along grove path under blue sky. Trees. Blue sky. Trees. Ivy strips and moss dripped ragged from bark. Mangoes hang thickly there, weighing branches down. Jancra slid from a drooping tree into a sky same blue as glittering sea.

Hovering like Jancra shadow Mister Sam talked to Mary Ann. Most words didn't drift far enough but ‘Good . . . are the others, Mary Ann?' reached my ear.

‘In cane piece, in great house, Mister,' I heard she say.

Him mouth working, Mister Sam dug deep in waistcoat pockets, drew out a fat white string. Mary Ann nodded. Silvered drops slid into she curled palm; softly blinking, smooth as oyster shell's pearly-white mouth. I watched Jancra peer over she. Coral necklace in she hand. That boy was big but no man. I call him Jancra that boy-man.

They sank down in tall yellow-green grasses, Jancra's stiff white shirt soaking she up. My whole world. White fingers tangled in black curls. I wanted to mash him face with my feet but suddenly my heart gave way, my legs wouldn't work. Crickets screeched in trees and thickets: this fierce jarring high-pitched chirrup became deafening.

Mary Ann rolled aside when he loosened him embrace. Dusting off clothes Mister Sam stood up, looked down – sprawling girl, coarse curls woven with weed-choked grass – he strode away. Glancing back blue eyes said she was never part of him world.

Cattle broke pen fence next day, Mister Sam sent Pa and Friday to cane-piece bottom for driving cattle from canes. My toes slipped between grasses, slid over mosses, following Mary Ann into grove again.

I waited. Mango-tree branches drooping low with fruit, moss and ivy wreaths made my hiding place.

Then Charles found she. Mary Ann's fingertips stuck to she palm. Charles uncurled them. ‘Mister wos wid yu?' he asked.

Shame flushed up my neck when Charles peeled Mary Ann's fingers back. Ground shook. Sand shivered, rippled towards Barrett Hall.

‘Where yu mama is?' Charles said. Great waves of fear bound me there. Until that day sometimes I thought Charles and me were close, yet strangeness of sand shifting beneath my feet made a mounting and terrible feeling of loneliness wash through my body. Mary Ann's chin trembled. Where sea ended and sky started became indistinct. A bank of mist. Green was gone from mango trees' arms. Coral treasure blinked. Nudge Mary Ann further and she cry. I saw Charles' belly breathing. Him wiry hands trembling. Ranks of trees. She thrashed and reeled to escape whip's lash but now Charles' hand was like a clamp and, with wild rolling eyes of a bull, he cracked cruel leather snake. Tail leapt up to she face then supplejack slashed she back. She face crumpled, body collapsed. Blue hills became purple, distant. Whip bit she flesh. Small brown birds flitted, danced. Charles walked away. Jancra circled slowly. Jancra's uncle has so many children I lose count.

Lying on she belly, shaking, head twisted up to whispering leaves, Mary Ann's mouth opened, half hidden by black tear-soaked curls. Lids covered Mary Ann's eyes like she long lashes grown too heavy. Skin on she leg backs honeycombed with angry weals, blood-streaked cracks. I untied bandana from my hair, wiped blood from she face. Great house stared. Sad blue sky stared. Ocean stared blue too. Charles walked on to church. Folding Mary Ann's body in my arms, warmth weighing limply on my shoulder – breathing harsh in sharp sunshine – I was hugging she to me.

But she became too heavy for me to carry far. Clinging to my waist, supported by my thigh, Mary Ann and me somehow made we stumbling path back to Barrett Hall. She face came up scarred and swollen where leather slashed from eye to jaw. I saw Charles in it when I dabbed torn flesh with my skirt-cloth.

I took across kitchen garden food for Old Simeon and Junius, great-house store-key keeper. In small square of kitchen window I stood grating cassava into a dish, knowing too well scrunching tread of bare feet was Charles back from church, at last.

I touched indigo bruises. Burning, Mary Ann winced, biting she lip in an effort not to cry. Charles' head passed kitchen-window square.

Slapping dough for white bammie cakes I was promising Mary Ann with my eyes, promising with all my might when kitchen door swung open.

‘Me know yu bin wid de minister,' I said.

Charles' mouth was a barrel. Words exploded from it. ‘Yes,' he said, ‘me wos at church. Ave yu given up yu work fe watch over yu dawta? Where were yu? Yu don't marry.' Charles spat. ‘Yu a-sin.' Inside I was screaming
Go go go, Mary Ann
. ‘Lard God have mercy,' Charles said, keeping him eye on me what said I remind Charles of him loss. Of all he wants to forget.

Mary Ann limped from kitchen corner.

Charles' hand let necklace free. ‘De minister say I must crush dese beads between stones.' Trinkets Mister Sam wrapped in Mary Ann's fingers made a clunk-chinking sound on top of oak dresser. ‘It'll reach Mister Sam's ear an mek im shamed.'
Then do as he said
, I thought.
But that won't take away poor shame of beating your own dawta. I'd be afraid to even enter Christ's church. You're behaving white. How can you not be sinner?

Charles dried palm sweat on osnaburg trouser legs. I could tell Charles had been drinking Jesus' blood. Could smell wine when he breathed. Him eye made four with mine, we both knowing if he did speak of this to Mister Sam, Charles would lose more pay, again. Mister Sam too high and him too wingy to understand Charles' anger. I put on flagstone floor a bowl of ackee, cassava dish, chicken gizzard, feet. And felt Charles' hand soak into my skin. Poison was in my mouth. I was swallowing.

Trapped between another fight and losing Charles or Mary Ann, I search through fear for forgiveness for Charles, finding it somehow in days that have passed between now and then.

Closing chamber door on Mister Sam, I'm wondering how to unpack a bundle of nerves in my belly, for seeing Rebecca Laslie.

In slow chase I'm tracking Sibyl across front lawn. Cotton-tree roots stand up sameway as chicken feet, nubbly and splayed. Sun-yellow logweed flowers stud springy moss-soft path. Lining lane to store tamarind, orange, cinnamon trees, all drenched in scarlet sunrise brings.

‘Yu dere!' somebody shouts.

I'm turning my head, glancing across my shoulder a figure behind catches my eye. ‘Cyaan see oo is it running up behind,' I say, coming close in to Sibyl. ‘E wavin, shoutin.'

Sloping over grass towards we, he slows, becoming a man, becoming Junius, ankle-deep in weeds, shouting, ‘Eh! Eh! Yu dere! Yu a-go to market? Buy sum kawn fe me, buy tobacco yard.'

‘Yu have money?' I ask.

‘Pass by me yard, pretty ooman. Mek we do a-ting.'

‘Karri it ere.'

‘Me cyaan do dat! Mornin sun hat hat hat.' Junius sidles up to me, savage morning light in him eye, pinching my buttock, whispering, ‘Too hat fe me.'

I don't mention Mistress Maria's letter to Junius with Sibyl standing there. She might hear true thoughts in my head.

Sibyl says, ‘Kaydia, a-come.' She lifts linen basket from cotta, slumps hard against store door.

Sidling closer Junius hip me hip, him crooked mouth winking says, ‘Nothing vencha, noting done. Pass by me yard. Me a-go dere now.' Junius sets off swinging along path from store hut, but him head pointing back to Sibyl says, ‘Soon me open store fe yu.'

I cut across driveway overlooking orchard, foothills, wooded slopes. Market basket I fetch from garden-shed fruit rack. Pulling branches low, I snatch ackee hanging in ripe clusters like little red lanterns against dusty blue sky. Basket's soon stacked high with mangoes, freshly dug cassava. Tracks twist through flowering yam to Junius' smart white house. I knock.

‘Is oo dat?'

‘Is only me.'

‘Me a-come.' Wide door swings back. ‘Me have a-lickle ting me know yu like to see,' Junius says importantly. Leaving me in open doorway proudly he struts across hut's one room. Solid red mahogany dresser running along back wall overshadows everything. He strokes oiled red wood. Carved into cupboard doors are coral and cresting waves in a palm-tree-lined bay; craftsmanship I see belongs to Pa. Junius opens one door ajar and boasts, ‘Me leave Jamaica ana free man in me new home, Ingland, afore freedom come to yu.'

‘Pa say yu a-slave again back in Jamaica.'

Swinging cupboard door wide, ‘Me
display
,' Junius gives out, him face well pleased. ‘Ingland crockeries!' He holds up faded blue china cups he hoards in cupboards, mostly cracked or with handles missing. ‘Mek me give yu a-good price.' He steps away from cupboard and, like him scared others hear what he says, moves nearer to me. ‘Dese cracked cup specially blessed, broke in Ingland thunderstorm.'