Island Songs (32 page)

“Of course not,” replied Cilbert, now looking away from Jenny.

Rising to her feet, Jenny went to wash out her mug. On her way, she used her shoulder to nudge and close the kitchen door. She returned to her seat, feeling her heartbeat accelerate. “Me know Hortense is me sister an’ me love her more dan anyt’ing in dis world. An’ me waan to see her happy wid life. It pains me to see her inna contention wid yuh almost every day. De both of yuh deserve happiness but if yuh cyan find it den me an’ nobody else should complain if yuh decide to go ya separate ways an’ look fe happiness elsewhere. Yuh understan’ wha’ me ah say, Cilbert.”

Rocking back in his chair, Cilbert replied, “Jenny, it’s not as bad as dat. Me sorry dat de impression we give is one of bad vibes. Me promise dat we will try an’ stop de cuss cuss so dat yuh don’t affe worry yaself about we.”

Placing his mug upon the table, Cilbert reached for Jenny’s hands. “Jenny, yuh been such ah good frien’ to me. Ya probably me bes’ frien’ in dis world, closer to me dan any of me sister or brudder an’ even Lester. Me t’ank yuh fe ya concern but we’ll be alright. Don’t boder yaself. Me don’t mean to mek yuh worry about Hortense’s happiness. Mebbe when we get we own place t’ings will settle down. Dat’s why me work so hard.”

Leaning over, Cilbert kissed Jenny upon the cheek. He then stood up, smiling. “Where is Jacob dis marnin?” he asked.

“Oh, he’s waiting at de church hall in case anybody turn up der. He did cancel de service becah of de weder but him ’fraid dat some people might still turn up.”

“Yuh know, Jenny, Jacob an’ meself don’t agree on everyt’ing but him ah
good
mon. An honest mon. Better dan meself. Me really look up to him but
don’t
tell him dat. Yes, sa. Jacob heart pure.
Don’t
bruise it, Jenny.”

As Cilbert walked along the hallway, Jenny heard him cough again as he climbed the stairs. She wanted to pursue him and declare
her love for him but she could never do that. She had to admit to herself that indeed, Jacob was a good man, almost holy. But she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with a man who never done wrong. She wanted someone dangerous, someone to make her heart race, she still wanted Cilbert. Making love to Jacob had become a chore for her, she realised, and she wondered how much longer she could sustain her marriage. Hortense didn’t even want to escort her back to Jamaica for a holiday and Jenny felt that her sister no longer needed her protection and counsel. Going back to Jamaica will give me time to t’ink, Jenny said to herself. Mebbe me need starting afresh, away from Hortense. Me jus’ cyan’t stan’ Cilbert an’ Hortense looking so good togeder!

South London, England
April 1963

Pulling on his Wellington boots and preparing for overtime on a Saturday morning, Cilbert coughed into his soiled, bedraggled handkerchief. The pain shooting up from his chest caused the inside wall of his throat to stretch, it felt like somebody had forcefed him with cubes of coarse peppered hay. Studying the rust-coloured mucus that Cilbert’s chest had thrown up, Hortense arose from her bed, caught Cilbert with an uncompromising stare and ordered, “
right
, dat is
it
! If yuh waan go work yuh affe lick me down first! An’ if me affe use me fist as God is me witness me will!” She then marched towards the door, placing herself in front of Cilbert, her hands on her hips.

Having suffered shivering chills, high fever and chest pains in the past few weeks, Cilbert relented and threw a Wellington boot to the floor. He dropped to the bed, seemingly relieved that Hortense denied him from setting off to work. His eyes spelt resignation and exhaustion. In the next two days, Cilbert, confined to bed, weakened considerably, despite the ginger, hot honey, Irish whiskey teas and aspirins that Hortense gave him. “He’ll be alright,” assured Mary the next Sunday afternoon; she had poured boiling water into a bowl and tipped four capfuls of whiskey and a sprinkle of black pepper into it. Hortense added strips of ginger. Cilbert, not fully convinced of this remedy, now with a towel covering his head and too weak to resist, held his nose an inch away from the cocktail, the fumes warming his face, assaulting his nostrils and stinging his eyes. “Just a touch of the flu,” Mary casually remarked while holding down Cilbert’s head. “He just needs some rest and lots and
lots of fluids. The whiskey will uncork his nose alright. By the time I’ve finished with him he’ll be able to smell the Guinness brewery in Ireland.”

The following Monday morning, Hortense, not wanting to wait for an evening visit from the doctor, escorted a whimpering Cilbert, who was almost drunk from his treatment of hot whiskey bowls, to the surgery. Hortense had to use all her strength and balance to keep him upright; the pavements were coated with treacherous ice and she nearly slipped into a newspaper advertisement board that head-lined how militant groups among the 25,000 Aldermaston marchers clashed with the police at Whitehall.

Examining Cilbert’s chest with a stethoscope and the mucus from his cough, the doctor diagnosed pneumonia. “Wha’ is dat, doctor?” Hortense queried immediately, scanning the physician’s eyes for any hint of foreboding. “Ya scare me! It sound evil! He will be alright?”

Pausing before answering, the doctor replied, “most cases of pneumonia clear up by themselves but your husband is at an advanced stage from the infection. The colour of his phlegm is a tell-tale sign. You see, it’s an infection of the lungs. He will have to enter hospital and receive an immediate course of antibiotics. Penicillin.”

“Antibiotics! Penicillin? Wha’ is dat? Yuh sure he’ll be alright? Me did keep tell him to go an’ see de doctor but him ah always say, ‘me fine, stop fussing, Hortense’. Some mon jus’ don’t waan to lissen an’ Cilbert is stubborn like sulking mule!”

“Antibiotics is a medicine to help clear infections. Please don’t worry, Mrs Huggins. With rest and the right medication, your husband will recover.”

Although the doctor displayed a certain calmness, he dialled for an ambulance to take Cilbert to the hospital for prompt attention. He turned his back to Hortense as he spoke quietly into the phone. Sitting beside Cilbert in the ambulance, Hortense held and stroked his limp right hand, gazing into his weary, half-opened eyes. There was no glint, no hunger for life, Hortense found, despite Cilbert trying to raise a smile that failed to reach his cheeks. “Nuh boder
yaself, Hortense,” he stammered. “Yuh t’ink dis foolish cough coulda beat me down? Nuh, sa! Watch when summer ah come! Along wid me own people me will be cheering on de mighty Frank Worrell when him ah come out to bat at de Oval. He will lick de English fe
six
! An’ me will go to work wid me head lifted high. Yes, sa! Mighty Frank will show de English dat we West Indian
are
good at somet’ing. Whatever dey might say.”

Returning the smile, Hortense couldn’t stem the tears falling down her cheeks. Upon reaching the hospital, Cilbert received his first dose of penicillin after Hortense assured the medics that he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Between her sobbing and the attacks of panic dancing in her mind, she called home. Stella, Jenny and Jacob soon joined her at the hospital, none of them quite believing the severity of Cilbert’s illness. They all sensed the fear within Hortense’s eyes and comforted her the best way they could.

“Cilbert
strong
,” assured Jacob, embracing his sister-in-law. “Look how him recover from de beating him ah suffer inna Trenchtown.”

“Cyan yuh say ah prayer fe him?” asked Hortense. “Please.”

“Of course,” smiled Jacob, taking Hortense’s hands within his own. “
Dear Lord. May yuh protect Cilbert from any tribulation an’ watch over him in his time of need. Give him the strengt’ to recover an’ de spirit to endure
.”

“AMEN.”

Stealing fretful glances at Cilbert and finding the shadow of sickness upon his face too much to bear, Jenny had to sit down for she felt her legs would soon fail her. She closed her eyes and said her own silent prayer as the emotions raging inside her battled to be released.

By nightfall a doctor had reassured Hortense that Cilbert’s condition was now stable, although he was running a high temperature and was unable to eat. He was lying perfectly still on his back, the rich, chocolate colour of his face now a dull, winter-brown. His eyes moved slowly to acknowledge his visitors and his mouth was slightly open, lips trembling, as if it would take a mighty effort for any animated conversation. His fragile breathing
was hurried and his right hand rested upon Hortense’s left arm. Hortense regarded him lovingly, her eyes full of compassion, her smile defiant. In contrast, behind her, Jenny could not deny the utter turmoil in her expression. She fidgeted in her seat, her eyes darting here and there, unfulfilled hope ripping her heart asunder. In her mind she heard a voice say, ‘at least yuh had him, Hortense. If him dead me will never get de chance.’ Shaking her head and burdened by guilt, Jenny stood up. “Hortense, it’s getting late. Me affe go home now. Jacob an’ Lester took Stella home four hours ago. Yuh coming wid me? Me sure Cilbert will be alright.”

Only listening to Cilbert’s delicate breathing and her eyes appreciating the contours of his face, Hortense didn’t hear her sister. Jenny kissed Hortense upon the top of her head before departing. As she stood waiting for a bus she recalled the night of Hortense and Cilbert’s wedding. She was brooding in Mr DaCosta’s back yard, consumed with jealousy and anger, when Jacob found her. She admitted to him that sometimes she had ‘dark thoughts’ and couldn’t understand why. She now realised that as far back as she could remember there was a part of her which was ungodly. She remembered one harvest night when she faked a leg injury because she just couldn’t tolerate her father carrying Hortense home. She recollected her spiteful ripping of Hortense’s party dress. And now she still felt cursed with loving Cilbert, despite her prayers to the Most High to release her from her lust. Feeling utterly powerless to break her infatuation, Jenny boarded the bus pulling up outside Kings College hospital with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Me mus’ be de reincarnation of Jezebel,” she whispered to herself. “Wha’ mek me so bad-minded?”

The viral infection that rampaged through Cilbert’s body proved a ferocious foe for the penicillin to battle. Nurses had to place cold flannels upon his forehead at night in an attempt to check his rising temperature. Waking up following a couple of hours of hard-fought sleep, Cilbert found himself and his pillow drenched in sweat. Now he could hardly utter a sound and he continually dreamed of his mother leaving a naked baby beside a swift-flowing stream.

Controlling her worst fears, Hortense kept rigidly to her daily routine. She would wake Lincoln at 5.15 a.m., feed him his breakfast of cornmeal, cinnamon flavoured porridge and Rich Tea biscuits before bathing him in the kitchen, using the hot water from the kettle and a large plastic bowl. She then powdered him with baby talc and anointed his skin with vaseline before dressing him in clothes that his father had bought for him. Draining the last drop of her nutmeg-flavoured tea, she would knock upon Mary’s door at precisely 6 a.m., handing over a crying and bewildered Lincoln into Mary’s arms. Hortense then set off to County Hall where she performed her cleaning work as diligently as she had ever done, not stopping for a conversation with anyone.

Finishing work at 10 a.m., she took a bus to Kings College hospital where she insisted upon giving Cilbert his morning ‘bed wash’. There she remained until the late evening, speaking to Cilbert of their future together and the brothers and sisters they would provide for Lincoln to play with in their own house. They dreamed of playing with their children in a back garden of a big mansion up in Strawberry Hill. Cilbert, unable to answer his wife, would raise a weak smile, all the time resting his right hand upon Hortense’s left arm, his bleary gaze never leaving Hortense’s face.

Jenny would arrive early in the evening, bringing with her cooked Jamaican food that she hoped Cilbert would today be able to consume. Cilbert would offer Jenny a smile in a gesture of thanks but would gently shake his head. This repeated action only added to Jenny’s dread, and upon their journey home, it was Hortense drying Jenny’s tears upon the number 45 bus. “Nuh worry yaself, Jenny,” Hortense would soothe. “Cilbert
will
shake off dis sickness. Wha’ chance do dis pneumonia ’ave wid Jacob praying, Miss Mary praying, Miss Mary’s priest praying an’ de good will of our family?
Nuh chance
! Yuh wait an’ see, Cilby will be soon up an’ about like ah spring lamb who step ’pon ah dutty nail.”

2nd May
,
1963
. Arriving at hospital at 11 a.m., Hortense found Cilbert sitting up in bed. For the first time in weeks he offered a smile that showcased his teeth and animated the fine lines upon his
temples. His face was still shrouded in sickness but his gaze was keen and direct, his head movements responsive. “Yuh look ah whole heap better!” Hortense smiled.

“Cyan me read ya paper?” Cilbert asked, resisting the pain from his throat and chest, trying to impress Hortense with his new-found strength.

“So yuh feel better?” Hortense chuckled, passing over to him her edition of the
Daily Mirror
; the front page spoke of Winston Churchill’s imminent retirement from politics.

“Yes, me feel ah liccle better,” Cilbert answered, his voice still frail but it seemed returning to its full baritone. “De nurse tek me temperature dis marnin an’ from ah 105 it drop down to 104. Dis marnin me even struggle over to de toilet. It tek de breat’ outta me but me made it.
Don’t
tell de nurse! Me jus’ don’t like using dem bed pan.”

“Cilbert! Yuh know yuh affe keep ya energy! See me don’t tell de doctor an’ tell him to cuss yuh if yuh try dat again. Yuh mus’ res’ yaself.”

“Stop ya naggy naggy self an’ come over here an’ give me ah hug.”

Hortense could do nothing but smile and sat beside Cilbert upon the bed. Cilbert’s embrace was weak and it was a mighty effort for him to lean into Hortense’s arms. He fell back against his pillows, breathing hard but tried to disguise his obvious discomfort with a grin. He placed his right hand upon Hortense’s left arm and gazed adoringly into her eyes. “Now lissen to me, Hortense. Me know me not ah perfect mon. Me impulsive, me like de bright lights, me stubborn an’ sometimes me selfish. Me eyes
too
fixed ’pon de prize of ambition.”

“Cilbert don’t worry yaself about…”

“
Don’t
interrupt me, Hortense. It affe be said. When me come outta here me gwarn to change me ways. Be more of ah family mon, spend more time wid Lincoln an’ yaself. Me affe stop sporting at Notting Hill, coming home jus’ as de bird dem ketch der worm. Me sure de Mangrove club cyan get along fine widout me. Lester affe find somebody else to sport wid.

“Being in here it give ah mon ah whole heap of time to t’ink. Yes,
sa! When me ably me will write ah letter to me Mama. Yes, somet’ing me affe do. Let her know she ah gran’mudder. Let her know how much me love me wife. Yes, sa. Dey
will
accept yuh! Me will mek sure of dat. Sometime de boredom inside here drive me mad. Especially at night time when me cyan’t sleep.”

Cilbert paused, not wanting to reveal his nightmares to Hortense. “Me ’ave been very selfish,” he continued. “Miss Mary tell me one time dat ah mon should nah live to work but him should work to live. Y’understan’, Hortense? Do yuh understan’ dat yuh was de only girl fe me? Nobody else ah compare. Nuh, sa! Fe true! Nuh matter wha’ anybody might say.”

Placing a hand upon Cilbert’s left cheek, Hortense replied, “but yuh only working so hard to provide fe me an’ Lincoln. Of course, we ’ave our fussing an’ fighting an’ sometimes me waan to lick yuh wid de Dutch pot, but when me wake up an’ see yuh lay down beside me inna de marnin, me coulda never wish fe ah better mon. Now me tell yuh dis,
don’t
let ya head swell or me will lick yuh wid de Dutch pot fe true!”

Cilbert laughed but his chuckles soon turned into coughs. “Don’t excite yaself,” said Hortense, patting his back. “Yuh mus’ res’ now. Becah me waan yuh fit an’ well to tek me to de cricket inna few weeks time.”

“Yuh waan watch de cricket wid me?” Cilbert wanted confirmation, leaning forward, his eyes full of excitement. “Ya coming to de Oval wid me?”

“Yes, do me ’ave to say it twice? Me cyan’t understan’ how grown mon get demself inna tizzy about ah mon wid stick licking ah foolish ball. But me will go wid yuh jus’ fe de atmosphere. Now lay back down an res’ yaself.”