The Heart Does Not Bend (23 page)

I said nothing, just stared straight ahead and felt like a fool. Then I was on my knees beside her.

“Lawd God Almighty, forgive me if is anything ah do to cause dis,” she prayed. “Oh Lawd God, mi saviour, ah kneel down on mi old, tired, bruk-up knees and pray to yuh, Lord, every night. Lawd, me is yuh humble servant. Tek Satan off her. Oh Lawd, tell me what to do. Talk to me, Lawd, talk to me. Is whose sins mi paying for? Mi father? Oh Lord, dis is too heavy a load. First Mikey, now mi one and only granddaughter.”

When she’d stopped praying, she appealed to me. “Molly, yuh have a daughter. Think ’bout her, if yuh won’t think ’bout me. Mek friend wid yuh Bible, for a de only weapon dat can drive Satan away. Yuh know seh dat di wicked will not inherit the Kingdom of God? Neider di sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor male prostitutes, nor homosexual offenders. So 1 Corinthians seh. Sodomite cyaan flourish inna God sight. It nuh right, it dangerous.” Her breathing became laboured and she had to rest between sentences. “Yuh nuh ’fraid? Look at yuh Uncle Mikey. Yuh had sense and yuh was bright, so yuh know what was going on in we yard. Yuh see de destruction. Yuh see why we had to run. Never forget dat we had to flee because of Mikey and Frank.”

I tried my best to hold back tears of humiliation. Ciboney had slipped in and was standing by the door. “Come, girl,” Mama called to her. “Come sit down and mek we read de Bible together.” Mama told me to read Psalm 51, to “wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.” At the end of verse 19, she turned to my daughter and had her read aloud Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd …”

Rose came home late that night, looking tired and smelling of weed and wine. I curled myself around her and listened to her soft snoring. Morning came too soon. I hadn’t told Rose about what had happened while she was out. While I was in the shower, I heard Mama calling for Rose. She offered her breakfast—she never tired of cooking, even though she had to use her walker to get around the kitchen. Rose loved Mama’s cooking and couldn’t refuse.

When I came out of the bathroom, I heard Mama’s strong voice. “It nuh right, Rose. Dem is white-people ways.”

“Mama, that is a matter of opinion. No disrespect but—”

My grandmother cut her off. “Rose, yuh is like another granddaughter to mi, yuh is like blood. Mi old and mi know what mi talking about. Yuh own mother would tell yuh if she know.”

“She know,” Rose said. “I’m an adult and I can decide what is right for me.”

“All I know is what de Bible seh—man do not lie wid a man as one lies wid a ’oman. Read Leviticus.” Mama hadn’t been prepared for a debate. “And dat go for ’oman, ’oman thing. Destruction can only follow, an’ mi nuh mek yuh ruin Molly—”

This time Rose cut
her
off. “Ruin? What yuh talking about? What yuh think Molly is, an innocent? Mama, ah don’t want to disrespect yuh, but I can’t sit here and listen to untruths. It not fair.”

The last place I wanted to go that morning was the kitchen, but I had to go to work, and I had to keep Rose from talking about Texas and our life there.

Relentlessly Mama pressed on. “So is how long dis going on? Yuh meet Molly like dat?” she asked coldly.

I entered the room, and they both looked at me. Rose’s eyes begged me to say something. I grabbed a fried dumpling off the plate Mama had set out for me and poured some juice. “Mama, ah have to go or ah will be late for a meeting this morning. Coming, Rose?”

“Yes, I’m ready,” Rose said thickly, “but your grandmother wants to know if I corrupted you.”

Trust Rose to be in a confrontational mood, I thought. In Mama’s eyes was a heavy cloud.

“Ah don’t know what yuh saying, Mama, but Rose didn’t corrupt me, whatever yuh mean by dat. Mi haffi go, ah late for work.” I grabbed my jacket, left my half-eaten breakfast and went out the door. I waited in the car for Rose, but she didn’t come out. I left without her.

That evening I went out with a few friends from work, and when I came home, I smelled like Rose had the night before. She was in bed; the night lamp was on, and a half-f bottle of wine and a glass stood on the table. The classified section of the newspaper with “Apartments for Rent” was spread out in front of her.

Rose looked at me and smiled. “You’re late. Mama got you walking and talking on streets?”

“Funny,” I whispered, making a face.

“Come have a smoke. Let’s get ripped. Mama went to church to cleanse us of our sins.”

“Where’s Ciboney and Vittorio?” I asked.

“Ciboney is spending the night with a friend, and Vittorio, who knows? Come.” She stretched out her hands. “I checked on Uncle Mel—he’s the only sane one around here, as far as I’m concerned—and he’s okay. We had a few glasses together.”

I sat on the bed, sighed, took a gulp of wine and a smoke from the joint she’d lit. “What’s all this?” I asked.

“Molly, yuh truly amazing. I guess that is what I fell in love wid, that blindness. Even in the face of God you can’t see Him,” she said, laughing.

I stared at her. “What’s all this?” I repeated, pointing to the newspaper.

“I’m finding an apartment.”

“Just like that, without any discussion?”

“We’re discussing it now, aren’t we?” she countered. “When do you think I decided this, Molly? You think I decided months ago or last week? You think I wouldn’t discuss it then?”

“What’s happening wid us?” I asked.

“Why you asking me? Is me alone make decisions?”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t up and move out. Rose poured me another glass of wine.

“I’m finding a place,” she said. “If you want, we can look together.”

“You know ah want that more than anything. That’s what we always talk about, but ah have to wait a bit, ah can’t leave now, not with …you know …things here …”

She sat staring into the wine bottle.

“What I’m saying, Rose, is that I’ll live with yuh, I’ll come, but ah need to settle things wid mi grandmother first, because she need mi help, yuh see that for yuhself, and then there is Ciboney.” Frustrated, I stopped there.

“I understand,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I understand, but I don’t like it. I wanted you to choose me.”

We made love through the night until a rose-tinted sunrise peered through the windows. By the weekend she’d found a one-bedroom apartment in the middle of the gay ghetto.

Believing she had scored a victory, Mama was beside herself with joy. “Girl, yuh doing de right thing mek Rose go,” she said to me. “Nuh mek evil lead yuh astray. Dat …thing is so wicked dat inna Genesis 19, Lot offer him virgin daughter dem to some battyman radder dan give dem de decent man
dem come fi get. Read dis, girl, it will help yuh through temptation,” she said, handing me her Bible open at Psalm 51. “And keep de Bible, sleep wid it under yuh pillow fi seven nights. Yuh will draw strength from it.”

Despite Mama and the guilt I felt, Rose and I continued to see each other.

Nine months from the day Rose moved out, Uncle Mel died. He passed away peacefully in his bed. I helped Mama make the funeral arrangements. We chose a casket and a burial suit, and planned a simple ceremony. It was a small funeral, just fifteen of us together in the chapel on a cold spring morning. Mama and I, Ciboney, Vittorio, Aunt Val, Uncle Peppie, his brother, Washington, and a few of Uncle Mel’s old friends. His sister, Gwen, had left Toronto several years earlier and didn’t come to the funeral. Rose attended, but briefly. Notable by their absence were Glory and Uncle Freddie. They sent condolences and wreaths, but they didn’t come. I don’t think Mama ever forgave them for that.

When the will was read, we learned that Mel had left all his properties to Mama. It was little consolation. His death took a toll on her, though she never spoke about it, and not even the Lord Jesus could light up the house. She continued to go to church, though the arthritis in her knees worsened. Sometimes they would swell up like jackfruit. I massaged them with Tiger Balm to relieve the pain. For this, she was always grateful.

One day her knees gave way completely. No longer able to go to church or do shopping, she had only her television and radio for comfort. Her failing health made her more dependent on me and put a strain on my relationship with Rose. I couldn’t see her as freely as I had before, and there were times I was sure Mama was listening in on our phone calls.

Vittorio was hardly around. Immediately after Uncle Mel’s death, Mama gave Vittorio the money for a sports car. It was a way of holding on to him, of making sure he stuck around. I hated to see Vittorio and Ciboney driving around, so carefree, while Mama made excuses for why Vittorio didn’t have a job. It was always someone else’s fault.

Whenever I could, I escaped to Rose’s place. But it didn’t take long for Rose to see that I was using her apartment to avoid facing the problems at home. She began to pressure me to make a decision.

“Is time to move out—you is a big woman. Vittorio getting all the benefits from your grandmother. Move out and let him take up his responsibility. Bring Ciboney if you want. When you going to think about yourself and your happiness?”

The truth was, I didn’t know how to leave. But I didn’t want to lose Rose, and she had begun talking about seeing other women. I moved some of my things to her apartment and offered to help with the rent. At the same time, I made sure Mama always had groceries, the house was clean, and she took her medication. There was no joy in my duties.

Mama started phoning her sisters more often than she had in the past, and she began talking about going home to Jamaica. She wanted to take a last sea bath, visit Port Maria, drink coconut water, sit under a mango tree.

“Everything turn out bad here,” she said. “Look pon Vittorio, him don’t even try to find work. Mi give him everything. Him just like him father, de tiefing, de womanizing, de night life. Still, him is mi responsibility. Ah tek him up when him was a baby and ah have to carry it through. Ah have business to fix, then ah want to go home.”

She called Vittorio, Ciboney and me to a meeting. I think she wanted to let Vittorio know she was serious about leaving, but his mind was on his new girlfriend. He kept looking at his watch, and for a split second I saw Uncle Freddie sitting there. I felt a tear open up in my heart when I saw Mama look at him so lovingly.

Vittorio didn’t say much. When she asked him what she should do with the house, he told her to do whatever she wanted. He said he wanted something new, a condominium, perhaps in Kensington Market or on the waterfront. Then he abruptly got up to leave.

Later, Ciboney told me that his new girlfriend worked in a massage parlour and was the mother of three children. Vittorio had told Mama that she was a bank teller.

Over the next few weeks Mama asked me several times, “What yuh think ah should do?” But she always answered her own question. She knew what she wanted and what was best for Vittorio. “Ah don’t want to sell de house. Mel wouldn’t want it so, and me don’t believe in dem something name condominium. Yuh cyaan buy house in de sky.”

Just after Uncle Mel died, Mama had bought herself a plot in the same cemetery, still resigned to finishing her life in Canada. She’d paid in advance for her casket and funeral arrangements. So, when she asked me to get a refund, I knew she was serious about going home.

She began her journey by giving away jewellery and personal possessions. She gave Ciboney a lovely gold chain and a single-band gold ring. Clothes she gave to less-fortunate church sisters, keeping only a few favourites. Then she called one more family meeting to find out what Vittorio’s intentions were. “I don’t want to take care of a house and garden,” he insisted. “I want a loft.”

His wish was beyond Mama’s understanding, but she would do anything to please him. She agreed to sell the house and give him the money for a down payment, but only if he would clean out the basement and take away his old stereos, speaker boxes, car parts, electronic devices and other junk. Weeks went by and he did nothing.

She kept up her correspondence with her sisters, promising them that she would soon be home. She told Peppie and Glory that she was moving back to Jamaica. They asked her to reconsider and move to Atlanta, but she was dead set against that idea.