The Star Side of Bird Hill by Naomi Jackson Page B

clean of the marrow, not sure whether Hyacinth would be proud of or horrified by her imitation of her mother’s lusty way of devouring meat.
    â€œCome sit with me, darling,” Hyacinth said. Dionne’s head grazed the wooden archway that separated the dining area from the front room; Hyacinth sighed at the sight of her firstborn grandchild who was growing faster than she could keep up with.
    When Dionne was close to her on the couch, Hyacinth said, “You know, sometimes I look on you and I can only see your mother.”
    Dionne smiled, because even though the woman Avril was now wasn’t who she had been, Dionne still thought her mother was the most beautiful woman she knew.
    â€œDid any letter come from Mommy?”
    â€œOne came last week.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me?”
    Hyacinth raised one eyebrow, and Dionne knew not to ask this question again. Dionne, more than her sister, found it hard to abide by the hill’s stringent rules of respect, which meant never questioning adults. It would take more than a few months for her to adjust from being in Brooklyn, where she thought for herself and for Phaedra and for her mother, to being on the hill, where she was expected to act as if she were an innocent and incapable of making decisions for herself.
    Hyacinth pushed her reading glasses further up her nose and set her newspaper aside. She motioned for Dionne to bring her purse from where it hung on the front door’s knob. She rifled through it until she produced a plastic bag tied tight around a stack of papers.
    â€œYou know, your mother used to play sports. That must be where you get it from.”
    â€œWell, it’s not like I’m any good. I think the girls only asked me because I’m tall.”
    â€œThat’s a start,” Hyacinth said, wresting the bag’s tight knot free. “When your mother was in school, she played everything—football, netball, track and field. You name it, she did it. When she was about your age, she went to England on some exhibition tour for the best netballers from the Commonwealth. She begged and cried to go, and when she came back she wasn’t the same. Everything was ‘in England, they eat baked beans with breakfast,’ and ‘I quite liked Tower Bridge.’ It was like she left Barbados one person and came back completely different. From then, she had a hot foot.”
    â€œI never knew Mommy played sports.”
    â€œThere’s a lot you don’t know, dear heart,” Hyacinth said, pulling a few sheets of paper from a white airmail envelope. “Will you read it for me? Tonight I’m feeling my age.”
    Dionne didn’t believe her grandmother, whom she’d never known to be any less than fully alert or mobile, but she took the letter from her and started reading anyway.
    Dear Mummy,
    I know I’ve been remiss in writing, but things here have been quite hectic of late. Looking for work keeps me busy and between that and the heat and trying to find a place to live for me and the girls, most days I come home and I’m bone-tired. I just want to eat and then fall into the bed in the same clothes Ihad on all day. So, all that is to say, I was writing this letter to you in my mind well before I sat down to put pen to paper. I’m glad to hear the girls are doing well and that they ask for me. It’s so strange being up here without them. Sometimes I feel like this apartment is too big and quiet for just me alone. Well, give the girls my love. If you check the bank on Monday, you should see something there for you. And of course I’ll let you know as soon as I can when I’m coming.
    Love, Avril
    Dionne turned over the last sheet as if expecting something more, a postscript at least. When she saw there wasn’t anything, she read the letter again silently to herself, and then handed it back to Hyacinth.
    â€œSounds like she’s doing well,” Dionne said