The Heart Does Not Bend (18 page)

Mama continued to visit Melbourne, and as Glory had forewarned, they drank heavily every weekend. The family never visited Melbourne’s house. Glory said, “Ah can just see de place, big and run-down, stink of liquor and in need of work.”

Mama began to take a nip or two of drink at Uncle Peppie’s, and soon she was drinking heavily there, too. Aunt Val was the first to complain to Glory about the burnt meat and the half-cooked rice. Glory sympathized with her, but that was all she could do. Val complained to Uncle Peppie, who did nothing, then she spoke directly to Mama, who responded by sucking her teeth and spending more time at Melbourne’s. She cursed Aunt Val for interfering and cursed Uncle Peppie for being weak. One day, a Wednesday, I phoned her, and she answered with a heavy cough.

“Mama, what happen?” I asked.

“Nutten. What yuh mean?” she bellowed loudly into the phone.

“Nutten.” I had never confronted her about her drinking. “Ah will talk to yuh later, Mama.”

Later that evening when I called, Uncle Peppie answered the phone, his voice tired and disappointed-sounding.

“She in bed, Molly. She not feeling well.”

The lies, I thought after I got off the phone, secrets that are not secret, those unspeakable truths.

It was inevitable, yet when it happened we were shocked. Uncle Peppie and Aunt Val got the call. Mama had been
admitted to the emergency ward at a nearby hospital. She’d had a stroke at Melbourne’s place. Fortunately it was minor, but she had kidney and liver complications. She spent seven days in hospital before the doctors decided they had to take out one of her kidneys. The family kept a vigil by her bed. Glory only left the room to talk to the doctors.

When Mama was discharged, we brought her to our apartment, where Glory, Bella, Uncle Peppie and I fed her soup and tended to her around the clock.

On her follow-up visit to the doctor, he told her she had to make some fast and hard decisions about cigarettes and alcohol. They put a strain on her heart, and her lungs would give out if she did not quit smoking. Glory had gone to the doctor with her, so I heard the entire report while Glory was on the phone with Uncle Peppie.

One night soon after, Uncle Peppie and Freddie came to visit. They sat down with Glory to have a talk with my grandmother.

“Mama,” Glory started, “we worried ’bout yuh, and yuh have to change yuh lifestyle if yuh want to live. Yuh hear what de doctor say, dat if yuh continue to drink and smoke, yuh taking yuh life in yuh hands. De best thing to do under de circumstances is to stay here wid mi, where mi can take care of yuh.”

My grandmother’s eyes were as cold and hard as the marbles Punsie and I used to play with on Wigton Street. Uncle Peppie took her hand and squeezed it awkwardly.

“So what yuh have to say?” She swung her gaze toward him.

“Mama, we all want yuh to live for a long time. Glory have a point—why yuh don’t come back and live with her, and yuh know yuh always welcome at my house.”

My grandmother coughed heavily, spitting the mucus into her handkerchief. She fixed Freddie with the same cold gaze. He spoke before she could.

“Mama, everything up to you. Ah love you, but what else can I say except we all responsible for weself?” Glory gave him a cut eye, but he took no notice. Silence weighed the room again, then Mama turned to me.

“What you have to say, Molly?”

I was taken completely off guard, so rarely was I asked to give an opinion. I looked at my mother, then down at my hands.

“Talk, gal, mi grow yuh wid intelligence and sense,” Mama said roughly.

“Mama, yuh should do what you think is best,” I said.

Glory interrupted. “Mama, stop de games please. This is serious business. As a matter of fact, yuh should join Alcoholics Anonymous because yuh need help. Serious help. Yuh drinking is a major problem an’ it go kill yuh if yuh don’t stop.”

A strained smile pulled at the corners of Mama’s mouth. “But you have mi life all planned out, eh?”

“Mama, I am only thinking of you and you need help, you’re sick,” Glory pushed on.

“Go weh, gal,” Mama replied, her voice razor sharp. “Who yuh think bring yuh on dis earth? Yuh think if mi couldn’t tek care of miself, you would be here?”

Glory looked at each of her brothers for help, but none was forthcoming. Uncle Peppie looked off into a far corner of the room and Freddie at his watch.

“Let mi say dis one time. Ah not going to no Alcoholics Anonymous, dat is fi white people and weak-minded people,
and mi nuh fit into any of dose category. Unnu mussi tek me for a damn fool.” She paused, her breathing heavy. “And furthermore, mi ah go live wid Melbourne. Him is a good man and him need a woman to tek care of him.”

“And who going to tek care of you?” Glory demanded.

“Yuh don’t worry ’bout dat,” Mama said.

“Then mi wash mi hands, Mama, do as yuh please,” Glory said angrily.

“Ah have to leave soon—ah have to pick up Bella,” Uncle Freddie said.

Glory’s voice was resigned. “Well, go.”

He kissed Mama on the cheek and turned to give Glory a kiss, too, but she turned away. “Sis,” he said, “don’t worry so much. Things will take care of themselves. ’Bye Peppie, Molly.” And he was out the door.

Near tears, Glory escaped to her room. Uncle Peppie squeezed Mama’s hand again and she held on to his. It was a tender and sad gesture. He loved his mother dearly, yet he couldn’t speak up even for her own good.

Mama left our apartment a few days later and moved in with Melbourne.

Part Three

FROM THE DAY MAMA LEFT US
she never took another drink or lit another cigarette. She never joined AA either. She slipped into the disorder of Melbourne’s home and in time created a steady comfort. He was a man with a big heart. He had a genuine affection for people, and he liked nothing better than an audience. When Mama went to live with him, he was spending most of his time at the local community centre, where he relived his past as a boxer. An audience of young and old was always on hand to listen and to help him remember the story he had told many times. In the evenings he watched television with Mama, and their weekends were filled with friends and drinks and plenty of food. Visiting them, I felt like I was back on our dead-end street.

I’m still awed by Mama’s strength. She continued to serve rum and other potent beverages to Melbourne’s guests, and I never saw her begrudge them a drink or deliver an envious look. Even years later, when Melbourne’s hands trembled from too much drink and his cough had turned to emphysema, she patiently rationed his drinks and cigarettes. By then it was too late for him to quit.

Glory never did come to terms with Mama living with Melbourne, but that didn’t matter to Mama. What mattered was that she was once again mistress of her own house. Again she provided daycare for children to earn her own money. She did this for years, despite Melbourne’s protests that they had enough to live on without her working. Over the years she stashed her earnings in several bank accounts.

One day Bella left. She left to save her life, and in so doing she gave up Vittorio. He was an absolute darling, a two-year-old with grey-green eyes, a butter complexion and sandy-brown hair. His lips were wide and thick like hard-dough bread under a spread of butter. He was not blessed with Freddie’s strong jaw, but he had inherited his father’s prominent nose and his mother’s delicate, oval face.

We all knew from way back that Uncle Freddie was a woman-beater. We had crossed our fingers and hoped that with Bella, the wedding and the baby, things would be different. But twice I remembered hearing Glory on the phone, telling him he could be charged with assault if Bella ever pressed charges. He didn’t listen, he never had. Even Uncle Peppie and Sid tried talking to him about it, but Uncle Freddie ignored their soft manner and brotherly pleas. Mama was his harshest critic, but because he had become so accustomed to her disapproval, she had no impact.

Mama really cared for Bella, and they spent a lot of time together. Even before Vittorio could talk, he knew all the
rooms in Melbourne’s massive three-storey house, for he and Bella were regular visitors. I, too, had warmed to Bella from the first. She was at most eight years my senior, the big sister I never had. I told her secrets and asked questions I would never have asked my mother. We laughed about silly things, tried out different hairstyles on each other and went shopping at the mall. She taught me Italian swear words and how to say, “I love you.”

We had all seen her bruises, but we did the polite thing and kept quiet. Some nights she’d be wearing dark glasses. Sometimes I’d go to babysit Vittorio and she would make excuses about bumping into a closed door.

One day I was visiting Mama when she called. We were in the living room watching
General Hospital
, and Mama was trying to teach me to crochet, but my fingers wouldn’t obey. The phone rang and when Mama answered, I heard Bella’s high and trembly voice.

“Mama? Mama, I’m at the Toronto Western Hospital.” Then I heard her crying. Mama didn’t wait to hear anything else.

“Hold on, Bella, ah coming.” And she hung up the phone.

We hurried to the hospital. What a sight she was. Swollen eyes. Bruised arms. A broken nose. Her beautiful golden hair chopped off.

“Mama, I didn’t do anything,” she said.

Mama hugged Bella, careful not to hurt her. She sat down next to her, her eyes pools of sympathy.

“Mama, yesterday was my mother’s birthday.” Bella struggled to speak.

“Tek it easy, dear, ah right here,” Mama reassured her.

“I called her to wish her happy birthday. He was right there, he knew who I was talking to …and he just slapped me in the face for nothing.”

She started to cry again, and Mama stroked her hand.

“So I said to him, ‘What’s your problem, Freddie? Do you have a problem?’ and he just stared at me with his nostrils flaring like I said something awful. So when I hung up, he started in on me, kicking and slapping me around. He didn’t stop until Vittorio started to scream, and the next-door neighbour threatened to call the police. Then he kicked the front door open and left. The neighbour helped me into a cab.”