The Heart Does Not Bend (26 page)

She nodded and fumbled nervously with the gold ring on her right hand. “Ah wish it was Wigton Street mi going back to,” she said.

I had forgotten this vulnerable side of Mama, for I didn’t see it often. “Mama, don’t think ’bout dat. Grand-aunt Ruth and Aunt Joyce and everybody else looking forward to seeing you. In a few months when yuh get adjusted, yuh can move back there,” I said, even though I knew it would take more than a few months.

We moved swiftly through immigration. I signed the necessary papers, answered questions and with some help collected our luggage. Soon we were outside in the heat. Grand-aunt Ruth, Aunt Joyce, Uncle Mikey, Cousin Icie and Cousin Ivan were there to meet us. We hugged and kissed and turned each other around, looking at what the years had left us.

“Ah glad fi see yuh, gal, yuh don’t look a day older,” Aunt Joyce joked.

“Welcome, mi sister, we glad fi have yuh back. Praise de Lord.” This from Grand-aunt Ruth.

“Mama,” Uncle Mikey said, and burst into tears as they held each other for a long time.

A street vendor went by yelling, “Coconut water, coconut water.” Cousin Ivan called out to him and bought us each coconuts. Mama drank hers quickly and asked for another.
“Lawd, a long time mi nuh taste coconut water sweet like dis.”

The last of the evening sun touched her face, and the hard lines at the edge of her mouth softened. We piled into Cousin Ivan’s van for the ride home. We drove along the Palisadoes Road, the sharp smell of the sea, like raw fish, overpowering our noses and bringing back memories. The sun was setting on the Blue Mountains in the distance.

The ride to Grand-aunt Ruth’s was full of talk, Mama wanting to know about everything. “What about Port Royal? Dem to do anything new wid it?”

“Dem talking ’bout new developments. More hotels, shops, beach area. It coming along. Is over dere ah work in de hotel as a waitress,” Cousin Icie said proudly.

“Dat nice, Icie, ah glad to hear dat,” Mama told her. “How ’bout Paul and Helen?” she said, turning to Uncle Mikey.

“Mama, dem leave de island long time ago an’ dem settle in Chicago. Open de same business dere. Dem doing well.”

“Yuh never think of going dere?” she asked.

“No, Mama. My visit to Miami every couple of months is good enough. Times change, yuh know. Anything in foreign you can get here for de right price.”

Aunt Joyce cut in. “Enid come home, yuh know. She lef England about four years now. Looking real good. She bring home some fabulous clothes. She live up on de hills. When yuh settle, we can go visit her.”

“Ah would love to see her. Ah always did like her, for she was a woman wid sense,” Mama replied. “What about Connie Brown?” she asked.

“She also do well. She come home from America and build a fabulous house in Orocabessa. Yuh want to see it! It gorgeous, and it overlook de sea.”

“Maria, yuh remember Inez Clarke?” Grand-aunt Ruth asked.

“Yes, nuh di gal we grow up wid in Port Maria?”

“She did leave Port Maria, yuh know. Her man send fi her. She go to America but she never mek it. She mash up bad. She a walk street and pick up cigarette butt.” My grand-aunt sighed and shook her head.

“She nuh mash up, she mad,” Aunt Joyce said. “Dem need fi scoop her up off de street and tek her to Bellevue. If it was America she would be in a institution.”

Mama sucked her teeth and said, “Joyce, nuh talk foolishness, for America full up a mad people a walk up and down.”

“Joyce, yuh think enough room deh Bellevue fi house all de mad people who a walk round?” Grand-aunt Ruth challenged. “Inez harmless, and she nah trouble anybody. When mi use to have de restaurant she use to come by dere, but since mi sell it mi lose touch.”

Aunt Joyce shook her head. “She could a do better. She go foreign and mek white man tun her fool. Is a real shame when we set we sights high an’ den we drop.”

Mama asked Uncle Mikey about his other friends who used to come to the Sunday parties. He filled her in, but there was no mention of Frank.

“Myers come back to town, yuh know,” Aunt Joyce said. “Him buy a house on Wigton Street.”

“Ah so,” Mama said without warmth or curiosity.

“How his children?” I asked.

“Dem abroad someplace in America wid dem mother. Dat relationship mash up long time, yuh know.”

“It will be nice to see him again, after all these years,” I said, remembering.

Once we got off the Palisadoes Road, the traffic slowed to a halt. Cousin Ivan cursed the roads, the traffic, the government, then the other drivers. We passed through neighbourhoods that looked like footage from a war zone, with one-room squatter’s shacks that seemed too frail to hold back a high wind. Some didn’t have enough zinc for the roof and were covered with heavy brown cardboard boxes.

“A Allman Town dis?” Mama asked.

“No, Auntie, dis is off Warika Hills,” Cousin Ivan said.

“Oh,” she said, as if remembering.

“It use to be nice place, yuh know, back when we was young, but de gunman dem move in and tek it over …but good people still live here,” Grand-aunt Ruth said.

There were broken bottles, garbage, stray dogs in the road. The smell of stale urine seeped in through the open window. Men stood idly on the street corners. Children ran around shoeless, expertly dodging broken glass and dog shit. It was a free-for-all, with car horns sounding like an out-of-tune band. Everyone was in a hurry and Cousin Ivan was no exception, shouting and cursing through the window.

“Dem blasted deportees, dem come from foreign and bring back too much cars. Is dem cause de traffic jams,” he complained angrily. Someone tried to overtake our van and came much too close. Cousin Ivan pushed his foot hard on the gas. The van let out a merciless screech and we were
almost thrown out the window. Cousin Ivan yelled at the other driver, “Yuh buy yuh licence?” He criticized the man’s beat-up car and raced ahead.

We drove a while longer, and as the car headed toward the Blue Mountains, the air got cooler. Trees and bushes and manicured gardens appeared in the distance. Cousin Ivan turned into Grand-aunt Ruth’s driveway, and the dogs ran to the gate to greet us.

“Move out of de way, Brownie!” Cousin Ivan shouted. When we got out of the car, he said, “Hold on, mek mi tie dem up, dem sneaky, yuh know.”

“Yes, dear, for mi never get a dawg bite in all mi life, an’ mi too old fi get one now,” Mama laughed.

We were up late that night, catching up on events and people before we finally surrendered to sleep. Uncle Mikey left, promising to call soon.

Next morning the crowing of the rooster in the backyard, the smell of roasted salt fish and breadfruit, fried plantains, ackee, fried dumplings and Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee welcomed us home. A rare smile flashed across Mama’s face. She ate a portion of everything, though she kept saying that it was too much food. “Ah couldn’t tell when last ah eat like dis. Mi have to go back on mi low-fat diet, but dis morning ah cyaan pass up dis food,” she said.

Right after breakfast, I got ready to go and collect the barrels, bed, television and other goods from the wharf. Aunt Joyce insisted I go with Cousin Ivan.

“No, nuh bodder wid no cab. Yuh is a foreigner. And dem wretches out here know de foreigners and dem will tief
yuh. Better yuh give Ivan de money fi de gas.”

As Ivan drove, I had to hold on to the car door so as not to be thrown around. Now that the grand-aunts and my grandmother were not in the car, he was eager to show off his driving prowess.

We didn’t return home with the barrels and the other items. The officials at the wharf told me corruption was rampant and they’d had problems with people pretending to be returning residents, coming in with valuable goods without paying sufficient taxes; then they would sell them and go abroad again and repeat the same process. They needed more proof that Mama was indeed returning, and they wanted to see her in person. Cousin Ivan spoke up before I even had a chance. “De woman cyaan come. De woman is a cripple.”

They still wouldn’t release the goods. We were told to go to the building next door and wait in line. We waited and waited, in the heat and confusion. Cousin Ivan grew impatient and began to pace the floor. “Ah don’t have time for dis kind of crap. I is a busy man,” he said loudly in the direction of the receptionist. The woman looked at him with indifference and said, “Sir, I don’t control de storage, and I doesn’t work at the wharf. I’m just de receptionist.”

It was clear from her tone that this wasn’t the first time she’d run into the likes of Cousin Ivan. He walked away from her desk, cursing the whole country—its inefficiency, the people in the office, customs. A woman sitting on a chair nearby agreed with him.

“Yessir, ah know exactly what yuh mean. Is seven weeks mi waiting for mi barrels. I have been in dis office every day since, and mi still cyaan get a straight answer ’bout mi barrels.
Dem think everybody is a tief when is dem is de real tief.”

Another man, about fifty, wearing starched white pants and a white shirt, gave his piece. “Some a dem a more tief dan de prisoners in Kingston Pen. Last year dem tek away four turkey and five ham from mi. Seh dem cyaan come in unless dem cook. I sure dem never throw dem away—dem carry dem home and nyam dem.”

The broker in Canada had given me his word that there would be no problem: “I will tek care of everything from up here. Mi have contacts wid people out dere, dat’s why mi in de business.” After I paid him he added, “Just show dem de letter from de doctor. De one saying she is a cripple and everything will be okay. Dem have more sympathy fi ole people.”

I handed the receptionist the letter from Mama’s doctor, which said she was disabled and couldn’t move around with ease.

“Mi still have to see her—anybody could get a doctor’s note from foreign,” the woman said leisurely.

“How yuh a go see her and she cripple, yuh have wheelbarrow fi carry her?” Ivan asked. She ignored him, and I shook my head in slight disgust, hoping she’d see I was different from him.

“Get a letter from yuh grandmother and bring it in tomorrow.”

When we were home and I told Mama what had happened, she wasn’t happy. I assured her that I would write the letter and would go back early the next day. It didn’t help much; her mood was downcast all through dinner.

“Mi want mi own bed to sleep in. Ah doubt if ah will ever see de television set and de VCR, or de hairdryer and all mi other things,” she said gloomily. “Dem will probably tief
dem. Dis country nuh change at all. Mi come back after all dese years and de same waiting game. Everything is a lineup.”

Aunt Joyce joined in and said her piece about government corruption.

Next morning I left early with Cousin Ivan. I went back to the same woman, and this time I didn’t wait long in the line. I handed her the letter.

“Okay, just go down de hall and out de door through to de other building. They will make arrangements for de goods to be delivered.”

Cousin Ivan went off to get something cold to drink. I took a number and sat and waited. When my number was called, a man motioned me into his office. I handed him the papers, and he looked them over for several minutes, then set them on his desk and asked about the contents of the barrels. It was all written on the paper in front of him; nevertheless, I ran through the contents. Next he wanted to know my relationship to the owner, which was also in the letter right in front of him. Then he wanted to know how long I would be staying in the country.

“A few weeks,” I replied in as friendly a manner as I could muster.

“Dat mean dere is enough time for me to show you what our country have to offer. How about tonight?”

“No, tonight is not good,” I said, regretting my friendliness. “I have to settle all of this barrel stuff first.”

He was persistent. “Come on, sister, yuh need to relax, enjoy de weather.”

“I have someone,” I said.

“Him on de island?”

“No, but …”

“No problem, den. How him going to know?” He laughed, exposing a chipped tooth. “Ah tell yuh what, give mi yuh phone number. Ah will see dat everything go through with these barrels.”

A knock at the door saved me. It was another worker reporting a shipment gone bad, confusion about the billing, the woman outside cussing. I was quickly handed back my papers and sent off to another building.

Outside, the heat was sweltering. Cousin Ivan sat with a drink under a shady tree. I waved to him and pointed to the next building. There I was led into another small room, where I went through the details again. The official said I’d have to pay taxes on the goods. I told him I had already done that with the customs broker in Canada. “Dis is a different tax,” he said confidently.

“But we’re not bringing in excess goods. We’re taking in less than an average returnee.”

“Well, dat is true,” he said, running his tongue over his teeth. “Dat true …but de lady old, and she coming wid washer, dryer, car parts; now what a old lady do wid car parts?”

“She can’t carry gifts fi family members?” I asked.

“Yes, anybody can carry in anything. It will just cost them.”

He sat there cool, while I wiped the sweat off my face and sat upright in the chair.

“How much is the tax?” I asked him in a tone that made it clear that I understood this was robbery.

He rubbed the corner of his eye sheepishly, then said, “Just give mi a money and mek we settle it right here. No need
for a pretty lady like you going through all dis trouble.” He gave me a broad smile.

We bartered until we came to an agreement. The money went into his pocket, and he stamped the paper and gave it back to me.

“All right, ah will send dese down to de wharf. Yuh things should arrive sometime dis evening. Walk good.”

Nothing arrived that evening, and by the next morning Mama was vexed. “Just give mi a cup of coffee and a slice a bread, mi nuh hungry,” she said at the breakfast table.

Aunt Joyce was ready to start up the talk about the laxness in the country, but a look from Grand-aunt Ruth changed her mind.

“Maria, yuh look tired. Why yuh don’t go back to bed?” Ruth asked.

I went off to make phone calls. Before I got through to the right person, I’d talked to six different people. Each time I repeated the story. Finally the official I’d seen the day before came on the line.