Strange Music (5 page)

Papa
has
come! Good health is restored! I hear his voice below in the drawing-room.

Chapter Two

Yawning long, loud
Fuuuuffuu-ffuu
abeng swallows Lickle Phoebe's bawling. Happily me body moves under Isaac's, moving on love. Isaac's breath in me ear smothers more gentle rhythm of sea licking shore, hungrily shifting sand deep into she watery belly.

Leaves rustle when we shuffle-drag weself from sack's warm dent. Me eyes wrestle with darkness. Blindly me fingers touch axe, hoe, billhook, all sleeping beside machete against wattle-shack wall.

Me first in line, picking a way we'd beaten, air sticky amidst waist-deep grasses, path sealed in a strange silence of empty shacks, provision grounds in hills above. But Isaac's voice thrusts out ahead of me, chanting, ‘Hi! de buckra, hi!' a deep-toned song through me soul. Me file after Isaac through cane-piece gate where cinnamon treetops join in a arch, following him machete blade sprouting over him shoulder. Slowly me voice meets Isaac's, and soon all we voices grow as one rumble pouring up into sky, held by nearly coming day's yellow-grey glow.

Bad spirits, waiting to suck pickney blood, feed round cotton tree trunks. Lickle Phoebe, Harry, all them pickney run from cotton tree branches we pass beneath. Bad spirits stir, swirling round tangled roots. Branches dance and sway above sameway as arms can, fe cotton tree possess a soul. Tall grasses grapple with legs straying from cane-piece track, sliding alongside cattle pen. Heavily tools rest on shoulders now, telling me we almost on main cane-piece track.

Legs dangling, Harry swings from top rail of gate head overseer's unlocking, pushing open. Before ditch and earth rise up to cane rows is sitting place fe stillness leading to dawn.

Canes murmur a little. Overseer's hunting fe cart whip. Sitting place fills up with First Gang, fills up with exhaustion. We gang up close, talk hushed.

‘Windows of great house wasn't lighted,' is Windsor's voice.

‘Me call anodder meetin,' Uncle Ned hiss excited. ‘Torch it. Burn it down.'

Isaac sweeps machete blade
swish
, slicing grass heads, whispering, ‘We cun mashup de door den . . .'

‘Yu a-mek too much nize,' me feel say.

‘Me a-come wid me machete,' Uncle Ned say, pounding machete handle on de ground, each dull thud throbbing through me legs. ‘Let we godeh now.'

‘Slavery's ended,' Big Robert say, ‘no need fe torching. All we free free.'

‘Yu full-a foolishness, Big Robert,' me feel say. ‘Way we live jus git worse.'

‘Buckra comin,' is Isaac's voice.

‘Silent!' me hiss. Suddenly we more still than cinnamon tree. No one move cept head overseer. Although we stand together, each one now alone. But nothing have life on its own forever. All we's one soul. Me fear harm Isaac want to do to Mister Sam's great house Isaac will do to himself; to me. To all of we. If me hurt somebody, is me who hurt. Me know.

Overseer's lantern searches wide round cane piece, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth him yellow lantern glow.

‘Me naa do it, me radda go to me sack,' Windsor say. ‘Me gawn back now.'

‘We family.' Slapping de ground with him foot, Isaac pleads, ‘Windsor, yu cyaan go, yu me brodda!'

Windsor stray off into morning darkness. Taking. Taking. Taking. All them that won't work take. Take what small hope we have to get canes cut, get crop in. We gang burst apart, rally together; burst apart and keep changing shape like a sea swelling up heavily til winds thrash we down again, bring we crashing down on each other, breaking gang up with crushing pain. But we'll rise, swell, bunch together again.

‘Sheba?' is Isaac, gentle-soft him voice slips into me ear.

‘Aha,' me say.

‘Yu gawn back to yu sack?' Isaac's voice takes me to grassy hollow he settled in. Sliding sideways, Isaac makes room fe me to sit beside he and Eleanor.

‘Minister say if we work hard Lord will protect we,' me feel say. Elbowing me chest, Isaac's deeply mad, him back's turned on Lord Jesus. Me snuggle against him shoulder, me weary head sinking into me neck – sleep weak – though sleep's a day away. Me hear Isaac suck in him cheek, make chupsing sounds, suck air between him teeth. Folding arms around him – Isaac, me – we wrap weself together. Tight. More tight than mango flesh clings to mango stone. More tight than ever. You reach into me heart, Isaac; you stay deep at de core of me body. But darkness of night lives in each day and we cyaan hide in forest fe everything far and near consider we prey. Me looking up to dawn star fe hope, fe buckra breaks black woman like he breaks him horse. By riding she. Long ago Eleanor warned me, and she always right. But she no look at me that day fe she telled me: ‘Sheba, yu mama ded. Died in Kingstan lang ago.'

‘Trouble-Too-Much ere?' Eleanor's whisper asks.

‘Me ere.'

‘Son, me thought yu gawn. Uncle Ned gawn back.' Eleanor snorts, ‘Me no like dat.'

‘Others follow Uncle Ned,' Isaac's voice say it true. ‘See Bacchus, see im dere?' Isaac whispers in me ear, ‘Bacchus gawn back now.' Me cyaan see Bacchus, me can sense him feet creeping alongside cattle pen near plantation path. Isaac whispers, ‘Windsor, Colonel, Jane, Stanley, Sylvia. Bout half de gang lost.'

Eleanor clasps she arm round me shoulder. Warmth spreads into me skin when she presses me hand. ‘Yu got cockroach?' she asks.

‘Aha.'

Eleanor passes overseer's clay water bottle onto me lap.

‘Jus let me fingers undo knot,' me say. Dead cockroach hides in a tight knuckle me tied in skirt cloth. Untangling knot me hear Lickle Phoebe start up bawling. Cockroach falls from cloth onto me lap.

‘Unscrew top,' me say to Eleanor. She eye makes four with mine. She skin, ruddy-black, blends with dark morning light, but beautiful smooth skin's a poor reward from God, me think, fe hardness that's she life. Eleanor takes clay bottle from me. Cockroach makes splash-plunk sound falling in overseer's water bottle.

Hungry fe work to begin, head overseer ambles aimlessly, fingers fiddling with hat brim.

Big Robert, Trouble-Too-Much, Isaac, Isaac's mama Eleanor sit firmly settled against dawn glimmer. Emily, Lickle Duke, Isaac's sister Lickle Phoebe, Harry – all them pickney fidget-fight in long grass and weed that slyly turns brown then green with sun's rising glow.

Overseer's crouching, fingers tapping on him trouser knee, then on gate rail. Slowly wooded shadowing mountains appear.

‘Yu filled water bottle fe me?' overseer asks Eleanor. And me know workday's about to begin.

Weeds cling to shins, grasping like pickney's fingers. Me's here but cyaan be found. Swiftly slashing sugar stalks in cane tunnels, leaves slice arms, me feet sole cracking hard like rock-hard earth, skin sand-dry. Using machete to chop in line, stumbling in furrow, stubble knee-high, row so long gang end looks blurry; stacking, waist-deep in cut cane, cool shade only fe feet, a rash breaks me skin, lashing bundles together with string.

Shouting, ‘Git a move on, yu missed some,' overseer's voice carries over gleaming green-cane sea, shouts back from mountain's raw-pink face. Overseer's sky-blue eye's gaze strong as sun's rays striking we back. Him sour groan, ‘Ay,' sweeps cane piece. ‘Where's de rest of First Gang?'

‘Dem far away.' Isaac's shout returns like it's trapped.

Overseer's voice rings out astonished and filled with disgust: ‘Yu should be grateful me don't use cat-o'-nine-tail because Old Mister he had dat whip banished.' Overseer's belly droops like corn-filled sack over trouser top. Mighty vexed he picks a spare machete, joins we cane-cutters battling in cane tunnels. Cinnamon Hill keep four top buckras: Mister Carey; Mister Sam; Mister Farquerson; Mister Sam's cousin; then there's head overseer, and overseer fe each gang. All we cane-piece workers get split into gangs. First Gang have heaviest task but all overseer and buckra feed worm of fear burrowing into we mind.

And now me back's hunched from cutting and bending like me cyaan take more agony, cyaan cut another cane. Me eyes screw tight against strong sun's blast.

Overseer stands straight and quiet, brown hair blowing in dry dry winds. Winds making lonely sounds, bashing and thrashing through rippling canes.

Suddenly me see minister climb down from him shiny black horse. He rushes, black gown flapping behind like wings. Cane-cutters mob together in a crowd-ring. Minister desperate to spread Lord's word wide. Minister struggles through mud, through rain to school-house. School-house empty. Pickney no like rain. But minister struggles same time, same place next Sunday. Him crazy?

Minister say, with pink lips split from dryness set in a saintly smile, ‘You must hurry with your work because soon the burning must begin.'

Hatred bulges from Isaac's eyes. ‘Lissen, Mister, lemme tell yu . . .' Me eye springs on Isaac, forcing him mouth shut.

‘Trust in the Lord.' Minister's arm's raised, him tight fist punching sky. ‘Let His strength flow through your bodies.'

‘De field-hands oo won't work, yu say, mek de crop get in late,' Windsor shouts, pointing at minister. ‘Yu must mek Mister Sam give betta pay so we all can get crop in before it's ruined by rain.'

Trouble's rough voice shakes: ‘Seen a lot, seen too much. Anger mek we blind now. We need more pay.'

‘If the crop is late you won't get any money,' minister say.

Trouble's hard face turns mahoney-wood black, eyes angry sparks. Breaking a path between Isaac and me, Trouble-Too-Much cries out, ‘At Oxford estate Mister Sam brodda pay betta!'

‘This, I believe, will pleaseth God.' Minister's voice drops. ‘But pray, how did you hear of this?'

‘Yu lead struggle wid empty hand,' Isaac say.

Coming in closer, Eleanor growls, ‘Yu gainst we, Minister. Yu shoulda come to speak fe we at great-house verandah. Yu know we cane-cutter gang cyaan work fe noting, or fe less pay.'

Swallowing hard, minister stumbles back, licks lip cracks. He had enough a we heat.

Overseer's eye-look threatens. He that vexed he fret and fret, yelling, ‘Yu lot, git back to work.'

Anger rises in me, me cyaan hold back. ‘Betta Mister start at dawn, finish at dusk,' me feel say to overseer. ‘Dat buckra, Mister Sam, always late start, early finish. Sleep all afternoon. At night an animal in im come out. Me tell Mister Sam, if e don't pay proper wage, sixpence, all we go.'

Isaac say, ‘Dat rite.'

‘You have not the right to claim more from your young master,' minister shouts, ‘because you didn't make a satisfactory agreement before undertaking your work. Now you refuse to accept the two bitts your master has offered. You should have followed my advice, for is it not better to sit still than to rise up and then fall –'

‘A-good, me say. Minister, a-good Samaritan, come to aid poo neger like we.' Pushing past me and Isaac, Big Robert sings out, ‘Wash me clean of sin, sweet Jesus. No longer me follow Baptis chutch, me wanna be born again!'

Beckoning Big Robert forward, minister say, ‘Speak louder, man.'

‘We negers know noting. Buckra minister know everyting. He have a rite to be massa. Me say of de young buckra oo wrong we humble sinners ere, Fadda, forgive im, fe e know not what e do. An me pity de young buckra fram Englan, e cyaan git trew neegle's eye.'

‘True! True!' chants John from back of crowd-ring.

‘Silence!' minister shouts. ‘This man has an important point to make.'

Big Robert's skinny chest, streaming with sweat, rises and fattens with pride. ‘No longer me fear mussa but wen me yeare of de ways of de Lard me shake an shake, waan yeare de Holy Bock speak fram itself. Forebber grateful to God an me queen in Englan oo kill de slavery monster ded in Falmout chutch. Since dat day me drink no water, only wine, Mussa Minister, sah,' Big Robert say. He wipes sweat drips from him chin.

‘So why have you not made yourself known to me before, if you believe the word of the Lord so strongly?' minister ask Big Robert.

‘Trongly me feel is true true. But me need to be sure tis de Lard an Mussa in me heart an not de debil come to confuse me. No doubt in me mind now, mussa. Dat wot me tellin yu. Fe me wait fe a year till dis day come, Mussa Minister, sah.'

‘You say you drink only wine.'

‘Mussa, water's all me drink, Lard's water taste like wine.'

‘What about rum?'

‘Peas, ax me no more but odder pusson ere will speak gainst me if dat's de truth.'

Even harsh light seems to mock Big Robert. Me too shame to shame him more. De special kind of quiet stings.

‘If odder pusson speak gainst me,' Big Robert say, ‘me deserve to suffer fe me sin, me deserve flogging. Ebery bad ting me no more do. Teach me, a poo neger servant, to blong to de chutch, den we cun flog de debil out-a Jamaica an build a trone fe Mussa Jesus. All is equal in de Lard's eye, all black pusson sinner same as white mussa sinner. Dem dat lie, tief, bline to good ways of marriage certifikate fram de person minister ere. An me bin savin, savin, savin since dat day me see de lite. God bless minister an misses minister an deliver we poo neger servant fram evil. Amen.'

Minister ask, ‘Will anyone else stand before God and open his heart to Our Saviour, Jesus Christ, like this good Christian man?'

‘Ooebber tink me live to see dis day?' Jumping up and down Big Robert shouts, ‘Me rich! Me rich! Yu mek me, a poo sinner, rich, Lard! Yu cared fe an lubbed dy wandering sheep. Wen lost, yu find me. Wen thirsty, yu quench me. Yu put out me fiah fe pum-pum. Yu fed me! Wen me sick fram flogging yu comfort me in yu chutch. Miracle werker! Hab mercy! O Lard, yu hab de power an de glory fe meking leper clean. Forgive we ungrateful chillun fe not following de Fadda's werd, Minister, sah. Me bin waitin fe dis day. God give me sweet faith in Jesus. Me nebber lissen to no debil no more.'