The Heart Does Not Bend (16 page)

Mama remained at Uncle Peppie’s and stayed unhappy. She wouldn’t move back to Glory’s apartment.

Things were not going well for me, either. Glory and I barely spoke to each other. She complained when I played the radio loud or watched too much television. “Yuh can’t find something useful fi do? Mi nuh know what you coming to.” I cursed her in my mind, hoping I would soon be out of there. I became defiant, and some evenings when I left for the library or the strip malls on Eglinton Avenue West, I didn’t return until midnight. Sid, too, had grown even more quiet and withdrawn, often staying out late at nights.

The only cheerful one of the lot was Uncle Freddie. One Sunday afternoon he came by with a new girlfriend, Bella, a white girl, fine as a needle and golden-blond. She was pretty, with large green eyes and an easy smile.

We found out later that she was Italian. I didn’t believe it, with her thin, wiry body and the colour of her hair. Everyone knew Italian women looked like Sophia Loren.

“Meet Bella.” He smiled proudly. “Dis is mi future wife, and baby modder.” We were all a little taken aback. None of us had seen her before, except Sid, who greeted them with familiarity.

“Nice man, nice work. Sit down mek we drink a toast,” he said, smiling.

“What we toasting?” Glory asked.

“Yuh don’t hear yuh brother? Dis is him future wife.”

Glory looked dumbfounded. Uncle Freddie laughed. “We going to do it soon, in de spring. We decide on April first,” he said, watching Glory.

“Yuh joking, right?”

“No, me and Bella decide on de date.”

Glory looked at Bella and then back at her brother.

“Ah don’t mean to put mi mouth in dis, but why April Fool’s Day? Why not another date without dat deh kind a meaning?”

“Glory, yuh too conventional, and if we going to get married we might as well have fun, right, Bella?” he said, turning to her. She smiled, squeezed his hand and laid a kiss on his ear. Glory rolled her eyes.

“Time fi a toast,” Sid said, pouring two shots of Scotch.

“What about us ladies, we nuh count?” Glory asked.

“Yes, man, yes, of course,” Sid said. “What yuh having, Bella?”

“Coke or ginger ale, if you have some.”

“I’ll get it,” I offered. “Glory?”

“Yes, bring the same for me,” she said.

“Yuh tell Mama and de others yet?” I heard Glory asking.

“No, not yet. Ah will tell dem next week over the Christmas holidays.”

I brought back the drinks and we toasted Freddie and Bella.

On their way out, Glory pulled Freddie aside. “Yuh better tell Mama first, yuh know how she can get,” she advised.

Freddie sucked his teeth, kissed Glory on the head and walked to his car.

“See yuh all over de Christmas.”

“Don’t bother saying anything to Mama,” my mother said to me after they drove off.

“Why would I do that?” I asked.

She gave me a cut eye and walked back into our apartment.

The Christmas holidays came with snowstorms and bitter winds, but nothing could dampen my happy mood. Glory had given me permission to spend the days leading up to Christmas at Uncle Peppie’s house. I was pretty sure it was for her own reasons. She and Sid were having problems—the rough, hushed voices coming through their closed bedroom door made that clear. Sid drove me over to Uncle Peppie’s; Glory didn’t come. On the way there Sid seemed preoccupied and we hardly talked. I was happy just to get out of the apartment.

Mama was in the kitchen buttering cake tins.

“Girl, yuh nuh ’fraid snow blow yuh weh?” she joked. “Mi up from dawn a bake.” We could have been back on Wigton Street, except for the snow and cold outside.

Uncle Peppie and Aunt Val were still at work. I watched Mama mix the cake batter with a big wooden spoon, her great breasts heaving up and down.

“Molly, girl, get a pen and paper and come write down dis recipe. Yuh mother nuh interested in dem things, but yuh fi learn. A Mammy teach mi how fi bake and even if yuh nuh like fi cook, it good fi know how fi bake. And a cake is a thing of beauty, jus’ like de flowers yuh love fi plant.”

I wrote down the recipe for the Christmas cake in a lovely hand-bound notebook Aunt Val had given me for my last birthday. All I had ever written in it was my name, because I hadn’t wanted to spoil its pristine beauty.

“Remember, before yuh get to dis stage here of mixing, yuh have to follow de first rule, it very important. For yuh just don’t get up one morning and decide yuh go mek
Christmas cake. De fruits dem haffi soak, yuh haffi give dem time to mature. So dat is de first thing yuh do. Yuh can soak dem for two months, but fi get de best cake, soak de fruits eight to ten months before fi yuh use dem.”

I wrote in my best handwriting:

“Ah remember when we was children in Port Maria, as soon as Mammy use up de fruits, she put couple more bottles to soak. De cake dem come out rich and black. In dem days we use a touch of molasses in de mixture,” Mama said. “When yuh ready fi bake, yuh tek out enough of de soak fruit according to how much cake yuh going to mek.”

“When mi was growing up, Mammy never use recipe fi her cake, so we never know ’bout nuh exact measurement fi anything. Remember seh she couldn’t read, and we nuh know ’bout cookbook. So most of mi learning tek place under mi Mammy skirt tail. Glory just like Joyce, she never tek to de cooking and baking, is me and Ruth watch Mammy and run up and down a help her. Joyce was younger dan us, all de same. She was Pappy favourite, then Ruth. Mi come last in fi him book, him nevah really count mi, but mi had de love of mi dear mother.” Mama’s eyes grew misty with remembering.

“Mammy cakes use to be de talk of Port Maria. Everybody want to know how dis little white woman wid de blue eyes could a mek dem breed a cake.” Her eyes were still misty as she spoke, but the swirling wooden spoon in her hand never lost a beat.

“Yuh great-grandmother was a strong woman. Very strong, she mi tek after.” Mama laughed as she recalled a story. “One time when Mammy pregnant wid Joyce, things was hard wid us, for we never have ’nuff money. So Mammy go down to the little grocery shop to go ask for credit. Ah went wid her dat day, and as she open her mouth to ask Mr.
Taylor for credit, him say to her, ‘Miss Galloway, yuh husband have a box of groceries here.’ Mammy open de box and what yuh think she see? All kind of luxury food. Can sardine, herring, bully beef, mackerel—in those days dem was luxury items for poor people, and here him was buying up groceries for a woman him had over de other side of de bay. Well, Mammy never do a thing but tek up de box and put pon her head, thank Mr. Taylor and we go home.”

Mama shook her head. “When him come home, him nearly dead, for Mammy tek out all de canned goods and set dem on de table. Ah tell yuh, him was no match for Mammy. She was a white-skinned woman, but none of dem black woman in de Bay was a match for her. People had tendencies to think that she was a weakling, but all who know her, know dat she wasn’t a woman to mess wid. She use to mek us laugh, for she was a woman who tek serious things and turn joke, like dat same day, we laugh and talk all de way home, and when we reach home, we give Ruth de joke.”

She laughed again, remembering. “Mi father did think him strong, but him was a weak man. Him had de physical strength, yes, for him was a well-built black man, wid good looks …but weak, dat’s why him fall prey …” I closed the notebook quietly, not wanting to break this special time with her, so rare since she’d moved away.

“Nuh close de book yet, you might as well tek de recipe for icing de cake, it short and simple enough,” she said, turning to me.

I spent the rest of the afternoon writing down recipes. Mama moved from cakes to preparing the sorrel drink.

“Mek mi give yuh de recipe for sorrel drink, for yuh cyaan eat Christmas cake widout sorrel. Remember we use to grow it in de yard back home? Man, when you consider how it use to grow so plentiful, and here it cost a small fortune in de West Indian shop.”

“Well, girl, yuh can’t say yuh granny never give yuh anything. Yuh won’t use it now, but put it up—ah know a time will come when yuh going to crave a cake, and yuh will be proud when yuh mek it yuhself and it turn out.”

On Christmas Day there was enough food for three holiday feasts. Mama really outdid herself. The table was laden with sliced, honey-marinated ham garnished with grilled pineapple slices, roast turkey served with English potatoes, fried chicken with fried plantains, curried goat, steamed snapper in ginger and thyme sauce, gungo peas and rice, coleslaw salad, potato salad, Aunt Val’s macaroni-and-cheese pie, cornbread and a baked sweet-potato dish. A large selection of beverages occupied a side table: fresh carrot juice, ginger beer, sorrel drink, eggnog, rum punch, punch à creme. And finally there was Mama’s black Christmas cake and plum pudding.

We couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas. At three o’clock our guests began to arrive. First Glory and Sid, then a couple from Aunt Val’s workplace, her two sisters and their husbands and her nephew Jeffrey, then Justin. When Uncle Freddie and Bella arrived, he introduced her to everyone, including Mama. This time he said nothing about the wedding or the pregnancy. My heart pounded and I looked over at my grandmother, but she said nothing.

Bella sat next to Mama on the couch while the others mingled. Freddie went down to the basement with Sid, Justin, Uncle Peppie and the rest of the men. Glory, Aunt Val and the other women chatted in the kitchen. Mama and
Bella looked as comfortable as a pair of old socks. She asked a lot of questions about Jamaica and about Uncle Freddie. Mama was careful with her answers and said nothing about his bad habits. Instead she talked about crab season, flying kites and all the wonderful things I thought she had forgotten about him. Bella enjoyed Mama’s stories and whispered to her about the wedding and the pregnancy.

“Don’t say a word, he wants to announce it at dinner.” She giggled shyly. “Can I call you Mama?”

“Sure, darling,” my grandmother said, looking pleased.

As we were about to sit down to eat, there was a loud knock at the door. Uncle Peppie opened it and in burst three more people whom I didn’t know. It was obvious that Glory, Uncle Peppie and Uncle Freddie knew them well.

“Come in, come in, come out of de cold,” Uncle Peppie bellowed. “Mek mi tek unnu coat. Val!” he shouted merrily. “Come look who de wind blew in.”

Uncle Peppie served them drinks and introduced them to us. They were Aunt Val’s uncles, Washington and Melbourne, and her aunt Gwendolyn. The uncles were both over six feet tall. Melbourne was older—I guessed by a good ten years. Washington was closer to Mama’s age. He was the slimmer, less balding and more neatly dressed of the two. Melbourne looked clean but shabbily put together, and he had a beer belly.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Maria. I have heard so much about you from Val,” Washington, the more handsome of the two, said. Melbourne looked on, smiling, as his sister, Gwendolyn, struck up an animated conversation with my grandmother.