ask.”
Amy turned to Jenny who returned to reading her Bible. She felt no need to ask her if she was good at school. Praise de Lord, Amy thought. De Virgin Mary herself coulda never behave better when she ah girl chile.
“Mama,” Jenny called softly, her voice much more fragile than her sister’s. “Cyan me wear me pretty pink frock fe harvest night, Mama? De same frock me wear to Auntie Virlinger wedding. Nuh worry, Mama. Me would never dutty it. An’ even if me did dutty it me would carry it over to river meself an’ scrub it ’til it cyan’t clean nuh more.”
A smile curled around Amy’s mouth. “Yes, Jenny. But yuh too affe help out tomorrow an’ rise up inna de marnin wid de rooster call.”
“Nuh worry yaself, Mama. Me will rise fe true even before sweet Papa ah pull on him mighty boot an’ drink him first marnin rum when he t’ink nuhbody ah look.”
Joseph had to yank his pipe from out of his mouth in order to laugh.
Observing her father chuckling at Jenny’s remark, Hortense darted off to sit in the tyre hanging from the mango tree. She called on David to push her and thought of ways she could make David laugh.
“Kwarhterleg, yuh well ably inna de kitchen,” Amy said gratefully. “It smell nice.” She went over to the pot and tasted the boiled chicken; the dogs suddenly shied away as if greatly alarmed. “Yes, sa. Kwarhterleg, yuh waan me put on de rice?”
“Nuh, Miss Amy. Go an’ res’ yourself. Me ’ave t’ings inna serious order.”
Amy went off into the house to fetch herself a drink of goat’s milk and rum. She returned with a stool and set it beside Joseph. “Yuh look tired, Joseph,” Amy greeted. “Or is der somet’ing else ’pon ya mind?”
“Nuh, Amy. Not’ing ’pon me mind. Jus’ restin’ me bones.”
Amy decided to tackle her husband later, when Jenny, Hortense and Kwarhterleg were asleep. She steeled herself for another attempt to get to the root of Joseph’s mysterious past. In quiet moments she could detect a pain in Joseph’s eyes. It was this that had instilled a certain fascination all those years ago. That mystery, those repressed memories, what was going on in the back of his mind. When they became intimate during their courting days, Amy would question Joseph about his past. But he would just shrug, saying. “It don’t matter, Amy. De past is der inna de past. It’s de future dat me look forward to.”
Three hours later, Joseph was sprinkling rum upon the threshold of his dwelling. Amy watched him intensely. Unseen by both of them, David, who was in the yard, stood very still and looked out to the dark contours of the hills that lay to the south.
“Joseph,” called Amy, using her most diplomatic tone. “Don’t yuh ever get lonesome? Y’know, being ’pon ya own in dis cruel world. Widout nuh brudder, sister, mama or papa? Me family live all around dese parts an’ sometime dem get ’pon me nerves. But me woulda surely feel it if dem nah der. Y’understand? It mus’ be ah mighty burden… Yuh don’t wonder sometime where ya family der? Gran’papa always used to tell me dat de twig is mightier an’ wizer when him know where de root of de tree lay.”
Taking his time in answering, Joseph could not turn around and face his wife. He took a swig from the rum bottle, thinking that yes, Amy deserved an explanation, but after thirty years, he had still not come to terms with the horror of it. He couldn’t even understand himself why he had walked out on that day. But he had had to get away. If Amy knew the truth he would surely lose her respect. Ah good mon woulda never leave him distressed family,Joseph said to himself. But he had. Guilt had been a constant companion ever since. Guilt was with him when he rose in the morning and guilt spoke to him in the moments before he fell asleep. “Me alright, Amy,” Joseph finally replied. Nuh worry yaself. Ya family me tek fe me own so me don’t need anybody else. Yuh is me root
Amy turned to Jenny who returned to reading her Bible. She felt no need to ask her if she was good at school. Praise de Lord, Amy thought. De Virgin Mary herself coulda never behave better when she ah girl chile.
“Mama,” Jenny called softly, her voice much more fragile than her sister’s. “Cyan me wear me pretty pink frock fe harvest night, Mama? De same frock me wear to Auntie Virlinger wedding. Nuh worry, Mama. Me would never dutty it. An’ even if me did dutty it me would carry it over to river meself an’ scrub it ’til it cyan’t clean nuh more.”
A smile curled around Amy’s mouth. “Yes, Jenny. But yuh too affe help out tomorrow an’ rise up inna de marnin wid de rooster call.”
“Nuh worry yaself, Mama. Me will rise fe true even before sweet Papa ah pull on him mighty boot an’ drink him first marnin rum when he t’ink nuhbody ah look.”
Joseph had to yank his pipe from out of his mouth in order to laugh.
Observing her father chuckling at Jenny’s remark, Hortense darted off to sit in the tyre hanging from the mango tree. She called on David to push her and thought of ways she could make David laugh.
“Kwarhterleg, yuh well ably inna de kitchen,” Amy said gratefully. “It smell nice.” She went over to the pot and tasted the boiled chicken; the dogs suddenly shied away as if greatly alarmed. “Yes, sa. Kwarhterleg, yuh waan me put on de rice?”
“Nuh, Miss Amy. Go an’ res’ yourself. Me ’ave t’ings inna serious order.”
Amy went off into the house to fetch herself a drink of goat’s milk and rum. She returned with a stool and set it beside Joseph. “Yuh look tired, Joseph,” Amy greeted. “Or is der somet’ing else ’pon ya mind?”
“Nuh, Amy. Not’ing ’pon me mind. Jus’ restin’ me bones.”
Amy decided to tackle her husband later, when Jenny, Hortense and Kwarhterleg were asleep. She steeled herself for another attempt to get to the root of Joseph’s mysterious past. In quiet moments she could detect a pain in Joseph’s eyes. It was this that had instilled a certain fascination all those years ago. That mystery, those repressed memories, what was going on in the back of his mind. When they became intimate during their courting days, Amy would question Joseph about his past. But he would just shrug, saying. “It don’t matter, Amy. De past is der inna de past. It’s de future dat me look forward to.”
Three hours later, Joseph was sprinkling rum upon the threshold of his dwelling. Amy watched him intensely. Unseen by both of them, David, who was in the yard, stood very still and looked out to the dark contours of the hills that lay to the south.
“Joseph,” called Amy, using her most diplomatic tone. “Don’t yuh ever get lonesome? Y’know, being ’pon ya own in dis cruel world. Widout nuh brudder, sister, mama or papa? Me family live all around dese parts an’ sometime dem get ’pon me nerves. But me woulda surely feel it if dem nah der. Y’understand? It mus’ be ah mighty burden… Yuh don’t wonder sometime where ya family der? Gran’papa always used to tell me dat de twig is mightier an’ wizer when him know where de root of de tree lay.”
Taking his time in answering, Joseph could not turn around and face his wife. He took a swig from the rum bottle, thinking that yes, Amy deserved an explanation, but after thirty years, he had still not come to terms with the horror of it. He couldn’t even understand himself why he had walked out on that day. But he had had to get away. If Amy knew the truth he would surely lose her respect. Ah good mon woulda never leave him distressed family,Joseph said to himself. But he had. Guilt had been a constant companion ever since. Guilt was with him when he rose in the morning and guilt spoke to him in the moments before he fell asleep. “Me alright, Amy,” Joseph finally replied. Nuh worry yaself. Ya family me tek fe me own so me don’t need anybody else. Yuh is me root
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