attempts on giving her his attention.
Instead, Hortense began to crave attention from elsewhere – any passer-by, new person in town or distant cousin she had yet to know. She was always first to the door when a visitor called and never too shy to enter an adult’s conversation.
Chapter Five
Claremont Late
July, 1951
Standing upon his wooden verandah, Isaac, in grey pants that were held up with braces, threw chicken bones and left-over slops to his dogs. Their coats dripping with rain-water, the skinny mutts fought each other for the best scraps. Isaac, the kerosene lamp making a crude shadow of his generous bulk, ignored the intense frenzy below him and looked up to the dark, threatening heavens, wondering when the persistent drizzle that had begun in the morning would end. “Jamaica funny,” he whispered to himself. “When de sun ah shine, Jamaica like God’s garden, providing nuff shade ah beautiful green but when rain ah fall an’ de sky dark, I cyan imagine Lucifer an’ Beezlebub dancing inna de gulleys an’ ’pon mountain top.”
In Isaac’s role as preacher man for the Claremont valley district, he had just given counsel to a man who had just seen his eighth child being born. The man wanted to know if God provided any natural contraception for he could not afford a ninth child. Isaac advised him to sleep outside when he felt a stirring within his loins. Thinking about the man’s predicament, Isaac was about to go back inside when something caught his eye. Emerging from the grey murk at the bottom of the hill was a horse and cart approaching slowly around a bend; the man who held the reins gave the horse no respite with his stick. Isaac was curious. De light soon fail so why is ah mon making fe wid him wares at dis hour , he thought.
As the cart neared, Isaac heard the distinctive sound of a wailing baby. His curiosity piqued, he stepped off the verandah to meet the travellers, the rain pitter-patting upon his black felt stetson. Crownedby a black cloth hat, the man driving the old horse was a lantern-jawed, thick-set fellow; he was chewing tobacco in the left corner of his mouth, the few teeth he had were stained brown and his expression reflected the mood of the heavens. He presented Isaac with a threatening eye-pass before turning around and shouting at his passenger. “Dis is ah far as me ah go! Me don’t waan go any furder becah me waan reach home an’ me hear some strange tales about Claremont – obeah business, pagan business an’ all dat. De village ah der up ah yonder, one hour walk if ya feet nuh bruise! An’ may de Most High protect yuh!”
Not liking the defamation of his home village, Isaac returned the eye-pass with interest, thinking that this man probably lived in a major town for him to carry on in such a loose-tongued manner. Then, a young woman, her head wrapped in a black head-scarf, sat up in the cart, obviously weary. Tribulation was etched on her forehead and her eyes betrayed a grievous loss. She looked ahead at the rising hills before her and wept silently, closing her eyes for a few seconds.
Wiping her baby’s face free of the rainwater, she climbed off the cart, collected her two crocus bags and offered thanks to the man wielding his stick. The weary horse turned around obediently and set off again. “Ya lucky me come dis far,” the man said to the woman in a contemptuous tone. “Dis ride usually cos’ one shilling more.”
The woman’s child was wrapped in a tatty blanket and for a moment she was unsure of what to do next as the cart trundled haphazardly down the uneven hill; the two wheels were buckled, unable to run true. Only dressed in a printed blue frock and a white cardigan, she finally realised that Isaac was watching her. “Please, Misser. Me looking fe de Rodney family,” she said. “It’s very important.”
“De Rodney family?” Isaac asked. “Yes, me know dem well. Dem live inna Claremont, t’ree miles away. May I ask wha’ is ya
Instead, Hortense began to crave attention from elsewhere – any passer-by, new person in town or distant cousin she had yet to know. She was always first to the door when a visitor called and never too shy to enter an adult’s conversation.
Chapter Five
Claremont Late
July, 1951
Standing upon his wooden verandah, Isaac, in grey pants that were held up with braces, threw chicken bones and left-over slops to his dogs. Their coats dripping with rain-water, the skinny mutts fought each other for the best scraps. Isaac, the kerosene lamp making a crude shadow of his generous bulk, ignored the intense frenzy below him and looked up to the dark, threatening heavens, wondering when the persistent drizzle that had begun in the morning would end. “Jamaica funny,” he whispered to himself. “When de sun ah shine, Jamaica like God’s garden, providing nuff shade ah beautiful green but when rain ah fall an’ de sky dark, I cyan imagine Lucifer an’ Beezlebub dancing inna de gulleys an’ ’pon mountain top.”
In Isaac’s role as preacher man for the Claremont valley district, he had just given counsel to a man who had just seen his eighth child being born. The man wanted to know if God provided any natural contraception for he could not afford a ninth child. Isaac advised him to sleep outside when he felt a stirring within his loins. Thinking about the man’s predicament, Isaac was about to go back inside when something caught his eye. Emerging from the grey murk at the bottom of the hill was a horse and cart approaching slowly around a bend; the man who held the reins gave the horse no respite with his stick. Isaac was curious. De light soon fail so why is ah mon making fe wid him wares at dis hour , he thought.
As the cart neared, Isaac heard the distinctive sound of a wailing baby. His curiosity piqued, he stepped off the verandah to meet the travellers, the rain pitter-patting upon his black felt stetson. Crownedby a black cloth hat, the man driving the old horse was a lantern-jawed, thick-set fellow; he was chewing tobacco in the left corner of his mouth, the few teeth he had were stained brown and his expression reflected the mood of the heavens. He presented Isaac with a threatening eye-pass before turning around and shouting at his passenger. “Dis is ah far as me ah go! Me don’t waan go any furder becah me waan reach home an’ me hear some strange tales about Claremont – obeah business, pagan business an’ all dat. De village ah der up ah yonder, one hour walk if ya feet nuh bruise! An’ may de Most High protect yuh!”
Not liking the defamation of his home village, Isaac returned the eye-pass with interest, thinking that this man probably lived in a major town for him to carry on in such a loose-tongued manner. Then, a young woman, her head wrapped in a black head-scarf, sat up in the cart, obviously weary. Tribulation was etched on her forehead and her eyes betrayed a grievous loss. She looked ahead at the rising hills before her and wept silently, closing her eyes for a few seconds.
Wiping her baby’s face free of the rainwater, she climbed off the cart, collected her two crocus bags and offered thanks to the man wielding his stick. The weary horse turned around obediently and set off again. “Ya lucky me come dis far,” the man said to the woman in a contemptuous tone. “Dis ride usually cos’ one shilling more.”
The woman’s child was wrapped in a tatty blanket and for a moment she was unsure of what to do next as the cart trundled haphazardly down the uneven hill; the two wheels were buckled, unable to run true. Only dressed in a printed blue frock and a white cardigan, she finally realised that Isaac was watching her. “Please, Misser. Me looking fe de Rodney family,” she said. “It’s very important.”
“De Rodney family?” Isaac asked. “Yes, me know dem well. Dem live inna Claremont, t’ree miles away. May I ask wha’ is ya
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