had not married well at all. He had married out of infatuation, which was rare among McKenzies and was most definitely the work of Rebekah’s enchantment. And when Benjamin left her with man children—we must say man children, and not boys, they were gruff those lads, even before puberty—Rebekahdid not despair. Indeed, most on St. Thomas assumed that Rebekah had sent him away on a wind—and they were correct. The other women who married McKenzies envied her. She had managed a hat trick. She had the McKenzie name and the McKenzie sons, but she had escaped the McKenzie man.
It must be said that Jacob Esau McKenzie became the favored child. He’d come of romantic longing, not a longing for security. Yes, she’d tried to kill him, but if you ask even we old wives, we’d say that was out of worry and love. The love mostly won. But still there was the worry. Rebekah made Jacob go barefoot so his toes would not fuse into clefts as hers did, which was an Athy trait, from Rebekah’s line. But the big worry was over Jacob Esau not really being a McKenzie. Would he go unsupported by the McKenzie uncles when the time came for him to go to college or get a job? Would he be denied the good match in a wife? True, not being a McKenzie meant Jacob Esau wouldn’t suffer the prepubescent hair and deep toddler voice of his brothers. He was hers and Owen’s, but for all Rebekah’s knowledge, she did not know really what this mix might mean. It was Owen who’d once told her the story of the Duene.
To be fair, it is all maddening. These myths that conflate and grow into one another. Do the Duene men only live on the land of St. Croix? Do the Duene women only live in the sea of Anegada? Even myths must have their rebellions. Even we old wives must have our secrets.
What Jacob Esau had was an incredible confidence that would later make him a leader in the Army and presumptuous with another man’s wife. He could play the piano. He loved stewed cherries for their taste (both sweet and tart) and their color (deep red). And more important, unlike any other McKenzie man, he would fall madly and obviously in love.
This last one Rebekah knew. After all, Jacob was not a McKenzie. He could love and be loved. And if a man can love, it is only a matter of living long enough before he does. Rebekah knew this, but she was determinedto prevent it. Her husband was gone. And her lover was gone. All she had were her sons. If she could help it, the only woman her Jacob would ever love would be her.
To this end, Rebekah kept all her sons away from the Roman Catholic Church, despite the McKenzie baptisms. In that church there were women. Lovely young women with veils on their heads, just waiting for some man to lift and kiss them. Worst, there was Mary. The Virgin dressed always and forever in blue. Rebekah hawked up and spat when she thought of this. Mary was no virgin. Mary had fucked before marriage and then had convinced everyone, even her clueless boyfriend, that God had impregnated her instead. There was also Jesus himself, with all his nakedness on the cross and lovelorn face begging.
“Don’t take a person into your mouth unless you are willing to commit,” Rebekah told Jacob when he begged to receive the Sacrament like his friends. “It’s called Communion for a reason. You
commune
.”
But these islands are just too beautiful. You walk out of your own front door into cathedrals. You step down your own stairs up toward an altar. God speaks from the bougainvillea bush, from Mountain Top. You go to the beach and swim in holy water. The beauty, like God’s face, is ubiquitous and it is blinding. Of course, Rebekah would lose. Jacob would commune without her say.
We sometimes say their love began with music, but as with all things, it began with water. And as with all things of importance to us, it began on a beach. It began that day when Jacob saw Anette in her stewed-cherry dress, and Anette put the shell to his ear, and they each heard
It must be said that Jacob Esau McKenzie became the favored child. He’d come of romantic longing, not a longing for security. Yes, she’d tried to kill him, but if you ask even we old wives, we’d say that was out of worry and love. The love mostly won. But still there was the worry. Rebekah made Jacob go barefoot so his toes would not fuse into clefts as hers did, which was an Athy trait, from Rebekah’s line. But the big worry was over Jacob Esau not really being a McKenzie. Would he go unsupported by the McKenzie uncles when the time came for him to go to college or get a job? Would he be denied the good match in a wife? True, not being a McKenzie meant Jacob Esau wouldn’t suffer the prepubescent hair and deep toddler voice of his brothers. He was hers and Owen’s, but for all Rebekah’s knowledge, she did not know really what this mix might mean. It was Owen who’d once told her the story of the Duene.
To be fair, it is all maddening. These myths that conflate and grow into one another. Do the Duene men only live on the land of St. Croix? Do the Duene women only live in the sea of Anegada? Even myths must have their rebellions. Even we old wives must have our secrets.
What Jacob Esau had was an incredible confidence that would later make him a leader in the Army and presumptuous with another man’s wife. He could play the piano. He loved stewed cherries for their taste (both sweet and tart) and their color (deep red). And more important, unlike any other McKenzie man, he would fall madly and obviously in love.
This last one Rebekah knew. After all, Jacob was not a McKenzie. He could love and be loved. And if a man can love, it is only a matter of living long enough before he does. Rebekah knew this, but she was determinedto prevent it. Her husband was gone. And her lover was gone. All she had were her sons. If she could help it, the only woman her Jacob would ever love would be her.
To this end, Rebekah kept all her sons away from the Roman Catholic Church, despite the McKenzie baptisms. In that church there were women. Lovely young women with veils on their heads, just waiting for some man to lift and kiss them. Worst, there was Mary. The Virgin dressed always and forever in blue. Rebekah hawked up and spat when she thought of this. Mary was no virgin. Mary had fucked before marriage and then had convinced everyone, even her clueless boyfriend, that God had impregnated her instead. There was also Jesus himself, with all his nakedness on the cross and lovelorn face begging.
“Don’t take a person into your mouth unless you are willing to commit,” Rebekah told Jacob when he begged to receive the Sacrament like his friends. “It’s called Communion for a reason. You
commune
.”
But these islands are just too beautiful. You walk out of your own front door into cathedrals. You step down your own stairs up toward an altar. God speaks from the bougainvillea bush, from Mountain Top. You go to the beach and swim in holy water. The beauty, like God’s face, is ubiquitous and it is blinding. Of course, Rebekah would lose. Jacob would commune without her say.
We sometimes say their love began with music, but as with all things, it began with water. And as with all things of importance to us, it began on a beach. It began that day when Jacob saw Anette in her stewed-cherry dress, and Anette put the shell to his ear, and they each heard
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