Island Songs Read Free Page A

and examined his cutlass that was resting six feet away from him on the ground; the cutting edge of the blade stained brown from the soil. “Come Kwarhterleg! Amy should ’ave dinner ready an’ me sure ya belly ah tickle yuh like hog sniffing him tripe dat he cyan’t see. An’ me affe talk to Preacher-Mon.”
    Collecting his tools, pick, spade and cutlass, Joseph placed them inside an old crocus bag, slung it over his shoulder and started off. Kwarhterleg hobbled behind him, trying to keep up with Joseph’s long strides, his unlaced black boots making clear imprints in the rich soil. Refusing to walk more than thirty paces in a straight line, Joseph would suddenly zigzag to confuse any malevolent spirits that he thought could be pursuing him; even Old Screwface himself might take matters in hand after his recent comments, Joseph thought.
    They went downhill, following the goat’s path through a forest of palm trees before passing groves of bamboo, tambarine and ackee. It became hotter as they declined further, the mosquitoes becoming more numerous, energetically skitting through the dust. They soon saw the first corrugated zinc roofs of the sparse dwellings of their village.
    Most of the homes had only two tiny rooms – one for sleeping and the other for storing farming tools, cooking utensils, brushwood and water urns. A kerosene lamp, hooked on a wooden beam near the front door, provided light. Everybody had an outside kitchen – a corrugated aluminium roof set upon wooden stilts and a low fireplace. Some villagers kept their fires going all day to ward off the mosquitoes. Between the home and the kitchen was a patch of rock-hard ground where the chickens scratched, bare-footedchildren played, goats strayed and skinny yapping dogs – if they were bold enough to risk a thrashing – snouted for scraps. The village itself was sheltered by green-cloaked hills on all sides.
    The Rodney dwelling was similar to many of the others in Claremont except for the water lillies, tulips, Croton green and other flowers that Joseph had planted around his domain; Amy’s mother, Melody, named the ring of flowers Joseph’s Coat Of Many Colours. Joseph had also planted an avocado and a bambay mango tree which were now reaching their maturity; from one of their branches hung an old tyre, attached to a rope, still in the late afternoon calm.
    Jenny, Joseph’s ten-year-old daughter, was the first to see her father returning home. She halted the game she was playing with her eight-year-old sister, Hortense, and ran up to him, smiling. Joseph put his crocus bag on the ground, dropped to his knees and received Jenny into his tight embrace, returning his daughter’s happy greeting. Hortense came running behind her sister but Jenny was not about to loosen her firm hold around her father’s neck. Both girls had their hair braided for church but Hortense had thrown away the green Croton flower that had decorated her head. She had teased Jenny about the slaps she suffered from the preacher and aped the preacher’s actions by smacking her with the flower. Jenny had still kept her bloom, wanting to hold onto the gift that her father had given her.
    The two sisters were dressed in simple white knee-length cotton dresses. Kwarhterleg knew that Joseph only genuinely smiled when greeting his eldest daughter after a hard day’s toil. He didn’t even reserve this special greeting for his wife. Amy emerged from the house wearing a white head-scarf; it was clear she had passed on her looks to Hortense. Jenny was darker and much taller than her sister. Amy, thirty-seven years of age, looked no older than twenty-five. Her brown skin glowed like freshly melted milk chocolate and there was a proud fire in her warm caramel eyes. “Dinner soon ready,” she informed her husband. “Why don’t yuh tek off your boot dem an’ res’ yaself before me give yuh dinner. Jenny, leave ya fader alone an’ give him space!”
    Jenny reluctantly unwrapped her