A Different Hurricane, page 9
One rainy Saturday while he and Allan were in fourth-year elementary, Gordon met him on the back porch crying. “Me mother sick in England,” he told Gordon. He’d already bragged: “Me mother is a big nurse in England, and she been a big teacher before she go to England.” After that tearful Saturday, Allan never spoke about going to England, but his church clothes and books continued to come from there. Back then, clothing made abroad stood out. Unlike now, when it’s mostly bought off the rack, local seamstresses and tailors made the clothes that almost everyone wore.
The year they both turned eleven and were in standard five, the government increased the number of secondary school scholarships to one hundred. Gordon and Allan were two of the more than 1,300 students who competed for them. Allan got one of the spots, but Gordon failed the English paper. In elementary school, he and Allan were the top students in math, but most of the time Gordon barely passed English. Allan went off to Boys Grammar School, and Gordon went up to standard six. His hope was that he would pass the primary school leaving exam. The few students who did were eligible for training to become primary school teachers, nurses, or police officers.
The Saturday visits stopped. Gordon was sure that Allan now looked down on him. They saw each other in church on Sundays and never said more than hi. But during the first week of the July–August holidays, Allan came over to Riley to visit him early one weekday morning and accompanied him to Carapan to pasture the goats and pick breadfruits to take home to feed the family and the pigs.
While they were walking back from Carapan, Allan put his arm around Gordon’s waist and said, “You think I ain’t notice that you don’t talk to me now. But I not letting you end our friendship. We been buddies since Teacher Miriam school. See. You smiling … so what is your plan for school?”
A month earlier, Lillian, over the objections of Ben, had taken him to see the principal at Emmanuel High in Mespo; he had passed the entrance exam and had been admitted and would start there in September. He gave Allan the news. Allan stepped ahead of him, turned to face him, dropped the jute sack of breadfruits he was carrying, and gave him a hug that almost strangled him. “I glad. Boy, you don’ know how I glad. We must go forward together. When you can find the time, we go study together. I a year ahead o’ you, so if you run into difficulty with anything I will help you. I have Spanish and French tapes and a tape recorder that my mother sent me. I getting the top marks in Spanish and French. You can come over the house and listen to them and get good in Spanish and French too.”
That hug. A warm feeling had come into Gordon’s body and he’d got an erection, but he attached no importance to it until three years later. By then Allan and he were members of the Evesham Methodist Youth Fellowship, and Joan, also a member, had the hots for Allan. At one of their meetings — they met on Wednesday afternoons — Gordon saw that Allan was encouraging her. Toward the end of the evening, Allan asked him something. He doesn’t remember what or the answer he gave. Three days later, he went to ask Allan for help with an English assignment. Allan’s desk was in his bedroom. When they finished, Allan said, “So what Wednesday been all about?” They were sitting on the edge of Allan’s bed.
“What? Nothing.”
“Nothing! I asked you a question and you answered like if you wanted to bite off my head.” His eyes twinkled. He placed a hand on Gordon’s thigh. Gordon hesitated, then placed his hand on top of Allan’s. They remained like that for several minutes, until Gordon realized that both their hands were sweating. He pulled his hand away and sat up straight — startled. Allan leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek.
It took a few years for them to be intimate like this again. In the interim, tragedy struck. A fourth of July. Gordon, Allan, and Ma Queenie were in the sitting room. Allan and Gordon had just finished talking about the GCE exams; the results were to be out in a couple of weeks — A level for Allan, and O level for Gordon — and depending on Allan’s results, there were tentative plans for him to join his mother in England and continue his studies there. They were listening to commentary about the American Independence Day celebrations on the BBC 7:00 p.m. World News, when they heard a car come to a stop on the road outside the house. The house was a few feet in from the road. Ma Queenie pulled the curtain to one side and looked out, went to open the door, and said, “Ginette, girl, what bring you here at this hour?”
Ginette entered. A woman around fifty, slightly overweight. She was wearing house slippers and a loose calico-print dress. Her hair was half in braids and half loose. It was clear that she’d come urgently. Ma Queenie offered her a seat on an armchair. Ginette pointed to the dining table. “Aunty, come. Sit here beside me.”
Ma Queenie shrieked and began to totter. Gordon and Allan rushed to support her and guide her to a chair at the dining table.
“Yes,” Ginette said. “Two hours ago, ten o’clock London time. At St. Mary’s Hospital. Lizbeth phone and ask me to deliver the message.”
Gordon pulled Allan into his arms and they both cried. Allan would later learn that the illness his grandmother had mentioned years before was cancer, that it had returned, and that Ma Queenie was prepared for news of the death of her only daughter, Theresa, but had kept the information from him because she didn’t want it to affect his studies. Three weeks later, Lizbeth returned to St Vincent with Theresa’s ashes. It overshadowed the good news that had come the week before: Allan had aced the A-level exams. Theresa had last seen Allan when he was two. Ma Queenie had already given Allan the details: “Your mother give up a teaching career and run from St Vincent in shame. That scoundrel, your father — he will roast in hell — promise to marry her, set date — everything — and when you hear the shout, two months before you born, he married another woman that he did done breed too.” Allan’s father lived in Ginger Village, about a mile away. A half-brother, a shy Afro-Indian fellow, was in class with Allan and Gordon, and a half-sister was two grades below. Gordon never saw them interacting.
The relationship between Allan and Joan deepened. She, too, was a student at Emmanuel High in Mespo. She and Gordon wrote and passed O levels the same year that Allan passed A levels, and she and Gordon began working as junior clerks in the civil service at the beginning of September — he at the treasury and she at the Ministry of Communications and Works. By then Gordon had begun to date Joy, a girl from Carriere, who came to the Methodist Church but attended St. Joseph’s Convent.
In September, Allan went off to Jamaica to study medicine. The Sunday before he left, he walked over to Riley with Gordon after church. They deliberately slowed their pace to put distance between themselves and the churchgoers. By the time they were at the foot of Riley Hill, the churchgoers had moved on.
Allan said, “Do you dream about me sometimes?”
Gordon didn’t answer.
“The answer’s in your face and in your smile.” Allan’s eyes glowed.
“Don’t even think about it. We’ll get into trouble,” Gordon said. “You live close to Ephraim. You told me that one time the villagers surrounded his house and broke down his door after someone saw a man come through the banana field and enter his back door.”
Allan nodded, turned his head away, and swallowed loud. “I wish we lived in England.”
“How’s that?”
“We could you know … and not worry that we’re breaking the law.”
“What about Joan?”
“Why? What about Joy?”
Gordon felt sweat dripping from his fingers and running down his face. He had an erection. He thought: this is Sunday; I’m coming from church; this is sinful.
“You think we’ll ever get over our fears and …?” Allan said. “Don’t you want to?”
“I’m afraid, and …”
“And?”
He wanted to say, sinful. “People will mock us and scorn us and even attack us like they do to Ephraim.”
“You’re right.” Allan looked away and swallowed. “I leave for Jamaica next Saturday. You’re coming to my going-away party?”
“Will Joan be there?”
“Yes. Stop talking about her. I want you to come and spend Thursday evening with me … alone. Granny will be at Women’s League meeting. Please. Please.”
Gordon said nothing. He was afraid. Allan was now around five foot eight, muscular, slightly chubby with a perfect V torso, and well-developed thighs. No doubt from those buckets of water he brought up the hill every morning. That smooth, obsidian-black face, lips full and slightly curled, those dimples and glowing eyes. Gordon dreamed about him often and saw the evidence on his pajamas next morning.
Then he’d sometimes look at himself in the mirror and wonder if Allan found him attractive. He was six foot one and slender. But if not for his muscular thighs, he’d have looked willowy. His face was angular, the colour of raw coffee beans, and his nose aquiline. It bothered him that he had a flat backside. Allan’s was the exact opposite. In his dreams Gordon sometimes caressed it.
He did not answer Allan.
“I see … I’ll wait for you and if you don’t show up, I’ll understand. Stop worrying about Joan. We don’t have sex. The only person I want …” He took a deep breath and turned his face away.
Gordon heard hiccups and turned to see that he was crying. “I’ll come on Thursday. I’ll come but we will not …”
“Just come. Just come.”
They met that Thursday. They kissed and fondled and masturbated. It left Gordon fearful and guilty and feeling dirty.
Allan went off to Jamaica. He was able to return home, sometimes twice a year — at Christmas and during the summer semester. He had the funds for it. As his mother’s dependent, he was entitled to a pension until twenty-one, until twenty-five if he were a full-time student in university, which he was. Allan told him that he’d met gay guys on campus and had had a few fleeting affairs. “It’s only in passing. You and I will stay together — here or, better still, in some country that’s less hard on gays — until the end of our days. That is, if you want us to.” By then Joy had left Gordon and he was dating Maureen. All this he told Allan.
“Just don’t get Maureen pregnant, and don’t marry her. Play the game, but remember that we belong to each other.”
When Allan finished his training and began to work at what’s now the Milton Cato Memorial Hospital, he began dating Winnie, a nurse on the staff there. Maureen finished her B.A. at Cave Hill that same year and began teaching at Girls’ High School. Beth entered the picture then, and all five of them would sometimes hang out. When Gordon and Allan needed to be intimate, they met at his grandmother’s house. She died two months after Allan’s return from studying in England. Eventually Allan got an apartment in town.
Chapter 9
Allan had been back for five years when Maureen announced her pregnancy. She whispered it in Gordon’s ear as they were entering a restaurant in Ratho Mill where they were having a going-away party for Winnie, who was relocating to California. Gordon was so stunned he didn’t remember what was on the menu that evening.
As soon as Allan drove away after dropping him and Maureen off at Maggie’s house, Gordon exploded. “You did that to force me to marry you, didn’t you?”
“No.” She began mounting the stairs to the house.
He reached for her arm and pulled her back. “We have a few things to talk about before you go in. Why you did this? I’m on the list of candidates for study abroad.”
“It’s an accident.”
“I don’t believe you. You told me you were on the pill. Otherwise, I would have used condoms.”
“The pill isn’t foolproof.”
“Get an abortion.”
“Abortion is murder. Are you mad?”
“And deception — what do you call deception?”
She began to cry.
He realized he was still holding her arm, preventing her from moving. He let it go. “Well, I’m not going to marry you. I’m not ready. I’m not marrying …” He caught himself before saying anyone. She knew he spent more time with Allan than with her. It had on occasion caused friction. She might speculate that something was going on between them. She’d asked him once if there was another woman, if he’d become tired of her.
The yard light came on. Seconds later, the front door opened, and Maggie, already in her nightie, came onto the landing.
Maureen turned to mount the steps. “You’re not coming in?”
“Not tonight. I need to clear my head.”
He walked out the yard into the narrow road and regretted his decision instantly. He debated whether he should go toward Calliaqua, Fountain, or Fairbaine Pasture. Either way, it was unlikely he’d find transportation at that hour. A long walk lay ahead. He nixed going toward town. Winnie might be with Allan. Even if she weren’t, Allan would want to know why he hadn’t stayed with Maureen and would give him shit when he found out why. He couldn’t take any more of that tonight. He decided to go to his mother’s house. It was a clear evening with an almost full moon. He climbed the hill up to the main road at Fairbaine Pasture, continued uphill to Belmont, walked across Ponsomby Ridge to Kelbourney, and then descended into Riley. A few minutes before midnight, he arrived home covered in sweat. He knew where his mother kept a bottle of overproof strong rum that she mixed with cayenne pepper, lemon, and ginger and administered for colds. He got the bottle, poured two ounces into a glass, took it into his bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and sipped it. His mind felt numb. The heat from the walk had worn off, and he felt cold.
This was not supposed to happen. He cursed Claude — he had died in Daytona Beach a few years before — a member of Evesham’s Youth Fellowship; he had gone to Emmanuel with Gordon, and afterward to teach at Kingstown Anglican where he met Maureen. Since Gordon and he both worked in town, they would on occasion go for a beer at the Cobblestone. On a couple of occasions, Claude brought along Maureen. The second time, a week before Christmas, Allan was home on Christmas break from Mona, and he joined them. Afterward, Allan told him, “Boy, she got the hots for you.” He hadn’t noticed. Joy had already dumped him for the fellow who eventually became her husband. Gordon needed the mask. He asked her for a date. He’d always felt the relationship would end as easily as it had begun, that she would see he wasn’t really passionate about her. But it lasted. He’d never had sex with Joy and with no woman other than Maureen.
He was still living at home for the most part, spending two, sometimes three, nights out. With Maureen, he’d told his mother, but he shared her bed on average once every couple of weeks. His father, Ben, had died two years before, about the same time that Riley got running water, electricity, and a paved road almost to the river. Plans were also afoot to pave the other half up to Kelbourney and on to Gomea. The changes had incited Lillian to add an extra bedroom, an indoor bathroom, and kitchen to the house. She and May shared a bedroom and the other bedroom was his.
For two weeks he did not speak to Maureen or Allan. Allan was the only one among them who had a house phone. Gordon was in the habit of calling him from work almost every day, but to avoid suspicion they’d agreed that Allan shouldn’t call him at work. Gordon and Maureen called each other from their workplaces. Those two weeks he told the receptionist at treasury, where he’d been promoted to senior clerk, that when Maureen called him, she should say he was out. She asked if it meant that she now had a chance. He told her to put her name in the hat.
“You and Maureen break up?” Lillian asked him toward the end of the second week.
“Mama, why you ask?”
“Well, you not sleeping out anymore, so I figure something not right between the two o’ you. Allan been by today and he leave a letter for you … I find that strange. The two o’ you working in town. Why he didn’ come by the treasury and give it to you? He could o’ phone you too and give it to you on your break or your lunch.”
“Mama, please. Just give me the letter.”
She handed him the envelope.
He walked outside, stood on the landing, and tore open the envelope.
My dear Gordon,
You have been avoiding me. You have never known how to deliver unpleasant news, and I know you have unpleasant news for me. Let me get to the point. Yesterday Maureen came to see me in my office at the hospital and announced that she was pregnant. She was very upset. She cried for a long time. She’d expected you to be happy about becoming a father, but instead you accused her of deception. Couldn’t you have chosen your words more carefully? Couldn’t you have taken a few seconds to consider how life-altering all this would be for her? She was so distraught, she even mentioned suicide.
Nor can she understand why you are so noncommittal about being a father. She said she wants to be a mother. She described you with some pretty forceful language, with the hope, I suspect, that I would relay it all to you.
I recall that when you and I spoke about managing our relationship to accommodate her and Winnie, the issue of pregnancy came up. I told you that I couldn’t be a father, not a biological one at any rate; I’d had a vasectomy before I left England. I never gave you the details. I’d told a fellow intern, who was gay, that you and I had committed ourselves to each other, but that we felt forced to have girlfriends to avoid suspicions about our relationship. He said, “And what if your girlfriend becomes pregnant and demands marriage?” We discussed that possibility, and he advised me to have a vasectomy. Remember when I came home, I suggested that if you wanted to be sure that no accidents came between you and Maureen you should have one too? Well, you didn’t. Now the orchestra is playing, and Maureen expects you to dance.
