t’ing an’ it ah drive me crazy wid frustration.”
“Papa, yuh love to repeat yourself. Every day me see yuh ya say de same t’ing. Everyt’ing will be alright. Nuh fret, Papa. Me give up long time to try an’ dig de deep soil ah Joseph mind. It mek nuh sense to trouble him about it nuh more.”
“Amy, me hope yuh is right,” Neville replied, intimidating his daughter with unblinking eyes. “But me warn yuh! De same tribulation dat Joseph run away from will look fe him an’ knock ’pon him door.”
Sensing her father was right, Amy didn’t want to admit it openly. Discomfited by her father’s hard gaze, she walked off to find Jackie.
“Amy,” Neville called. “ Don’t speak ah me dreams to anyone ! Yuh know wha’ people ah like in dese parts but der are udder powers dan de Most High inna dis world. Powers dat uneducated people cyan’t understan’.”
“Yes, Papa. Nuh fret yaself.”
An hour later, Amy and Jackie had stripped the headless goat free of its coat and suspended it from a tree, prepared for seasoning; the head was buried by Neville in a field a mile away. Lifting his face tothe heavens he offered a quick prayer of thanks. Meanwhile, the children looked on the goat’s carcass and licked their lips.
Kwarhterleg, who had plucked, gutted and chopped up a chicken, was tasting his cooking in the pot when Amy arrived home, the steam carrying a seasoned, mint and pepper aroma that made everybody hungry. The old man was stirring the pot with one hand and with the other, used his crutch to fend off the dogs who were yapping at his one heel. Jenny was sitting down in the kitchen quietly reading the Bible and Hortense was trying to catch a ride on David’s back but David, not at his most playful, kept shooing his younger sister away. Drawing on his pipe in another corner of the kitchen, Joseph sat deep in contemplation. Hortense spotted her mother’s return. “Mama! Mama! Cyan me stay up fe harvest night? De rest of de girl dem ah school are staying up, Mama. An’ dey will tease me if me don’t reach, Mama. An’ yuh know dem kidren tek any chance to cuss me an’ Jenny. Please, Mama. Papa tell me to ask yuh.”
“Yuh behave yaself inna school dis week, Hortense?”
“Yes, Mama. Miss Mary even stroke me head top when me finish me spelling an’ write essay about de English empire. Dis week we learn about Queen Elizabet’ de first an’ how she mosh up, cramp an’ paralyse de Spanish Armada. Mama, Miss Mary show me England ’pon ah map an’ me did ah wonder how ah land so small coulda ’ave king an’ queen dat rule half de world. An’ Miss Mary smile wide like ah piece ah long, golden corn when me sing de English national anthem – me know all de words. Liccle after dat she give me ah sugar water fe me pretty work an’ singing. De udder girl dem ketch red eye. Jealous dem ah jealous. An’ Mama, two of de bwai dem did ah cuss cuss Papa’s name. If dem carry on see me don’t tell Gran’papa an’ he will set curse ’pon dem dirty behind!”
“Yes, dat true, Mama,” added Jenny, her fury obvious in her expression. “Sometime it mek me mad an’ me waan to do dem ah evil somet’ing. Like giving dem poison cassava to nyam. Beast dem bwai ah beast, Mama an’ may dem burn inna hell-fire!”
“Jenny, mek sure dem t’oughts get outta ya head,” rebuked Amy. “An’ yuh too, Hortense.”
Jenny turned to Hortense. “Ya tek all day to write de strikin’ essay,” she revealed. “An’ when Miss Mary turn her back yuh rush come to me an’ copy wha’ me write.”
“ Lie she ah tell, Mama! Me pretty work was all by meself!”
“Alright, Hortense an’ Jenny. Me don’t waan nuh contention tonight! Me sick an’ tired of it. Jenny, yuh should be helping ya younger sister anyway. Hortense, yuh cyan stay up ’pon harvest night, but yuh affe help out wid chores tomorrow.”
“Nuh problem, Mama,” grinned Hortense, cutting her eyes at her sister. “Anyt’ing yuh
“Papa, yuh love to repeat yourself. Every day me see yuh ya say de same t’ing. Everyt’ing will be alright. Nuh fret, Papa. Me give up long time to try an’ dig de deep soil ah Joseph mind. It mek nuh sense to trouble him about it nuh more.”
“Amy, me hope yuh is right,” Neville replied, intimidating his daughter with unblinking eyes. “But me warn yuh! De same tribulation dat Joseph run away from will look fe him an’ knock ’pon him door.”
Sensing her father was right, Amy didn’t want to admit it openly. Discomfited by her father’s hard gaze, she walked off to find Jackie.
“Amy,” Neville called. “ Don’t speak ah me dreams to anyone ! Yuh know wha’ people ah like in dese parts but der are udder powers dan de Most High inna dis world. Powers dat uneducated people cyan’t understan’.”
“Yes, Papa. Nuh fret yaself.”
An hour later, Amy and Jackie had stripped the headless goat free of its coat and suspended it from a tree, prepared for seasoning; the head was buried by Neville in a field a mile away. Lifting his face tothe heavens he offered a quick prayer of thanks. Meanwhile, the children looked on the goat’s carcass and licked their lips.
Kwarhterleg, who had plucked, gutted and chopped up a chicken, was tasting his cooking in the pot when Amy arrived home, the steam carrying a seasoned, mint and pepper aroma that made everybody hungry. The old man was stirring the pot with one hand and with the other, used his crutch to fend off the dogs who were yapping at his one heel. Jenny was sitting down in the kitchen quietly reading the Bible and Hortense was trying to catch a ride on David’s back but David, not at his most playful, kept shooing his younger sister away. Drawing on his pipe in another corner of the kitchen, Joseph sat deep in contemplation. Hortense spotted her mother’s return. “Mama! Mama! Cyan me stay up fe harvest night? De rest of de girl dem ah school are staying up, Mama. An’ dey will tease me if me don’t reach, Mama. An’ yuh know dem kidren tek any chance to cuss me an’ Jenny. Please, Mama. Papa tell me to ask yuh.”
“Yuh behave yaself inna school dis week, Hortense?”
“Yes, Mama. Miss Mary even stroke me head top when me finish me spelling an’ write essay about de English empire. Dis week we learn about Queen Elizabet’ de first an’ how she mosh up, cramp an’ paralyse de Spanish Armada. Mama, Miss Mary show me England ’pon ah map an’ me did ah wonder how ah land so small coulda ’ave king an’ queen dat rule half de world. An’ Miss Mary smile wide like ah piece ah long, golden corn when me sing de English national anthem – me know all de words. Liccle after dat she give me ah sugar water fe me pretty work an’ singing. De udder girl dem ketch red eye. Jealous dem ah jealous. An’ Mama, two of de bwai dem did ah cuss cuss Papa’s name. If dem carry on see me don’t tell Gran’papa an’ he will set curse ’pon dem dirty behind!”
“Yes, dat true, Mama,” added Jenny, her fury obvious in her expression. “Sometime it mek me mad an’ me waan to do dem ah evil somet’ing. Like giving dem poison cassava to nyam. Beast dem bwai ah beast, Mama an’ may dem burn inna hell-fire!”
“Jenny, mek sure dem t’oughts get outta ya head,” rebuked Amy. “An’ yuh too, Hortense.”
Jenny turned to Hortense. “Ya tek all day to write de strikin’ essay,” she revealed. “An’ when Miss Mary turn her back yuh rush come to me an’ copy wha’ me write.”
“ Lie she ah tell, Mama! Me pretty work was all by meself!”
“Alright, Hortense an’ Jenny. Me don’t waan nuh contention tonight! Me sick an’ tired of it. Jenny, yuh should be helping ya younger sister anyway. Hortense, yuh cyan stay up ’pon harvest night, but yuh affe help out wid chores tomorrow.”
“Nuh problem, Mama,” grinned Hortense, cutting her eyes at her sister. “Anyt’ing yuh
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