MALACHI

By: J.May Afflick


The babies moved restlessly in their mothers’ arms and some of the toddlers played peek-a-boo with adoring adults. The pre-pubescent children played tag and the teenagers sent each other signals with facial twitches and body movements.It was Easter Sunday in Higgins Town. The Pentecostal church was filled to capacity with members and visitors for Easter Sunday services.

Pastor Nathaniel Octavius Buxton gazed over the rims of his glasses at the congregation, as he stood at the podium, arranging the pages with his sermon and giving everyone time to be seated.

Finally, he welcomed everyone, giving special attention to a few older members, and some of the younger ones who were visiting for the holidays.

Momentarily he invited the congregation to join him in prayer.

One of the faithful, Malachi Archibald, was seated in the center pew, next to Miss Irene, the buxom village midwife. Everyone in the district knew that Malachi didn’t quite ‘have all his marbles together’, being slightly touched in the head.

It was the height of cricket season and Malachi, a die-hard cricket fan, decided to take along his transistor radio with him to church. He did not want to miss the game. Jamaica was at the batting crease.

“Faadah, wi tank yu fi all yu tenda mercy. Wi tank yu fi all who are gathered here . . .,” Pastor Buxton began.

Malachi was listening to the cricket match and was so engrossed in the game that he seemed to have forgotten where he was. Miss Irene jabbed him in his side with her elbow, hissed her teeth, and looked at him with knitted brows. He hurriedly adjusted the volume and sat upright, looking straight ahead.

Pastor Buxton opened his eyes and looked up from the podium, panning the sea of faces, until his eyes settled on Malachi. Everyone looked up in unison and all eyes turned towards Malachi.

“Oonu done kno’ seh im nuh righted aready,” Miss Mattie remarked.

Some of the congregants snickered, including Miss Irene, even though she was a little annoyed with Malachi. Pastor Buxton, however, was not amused.

Everyone soon settled down again, although there was still some snickering at Malachi’s antics, and Pastor Buxton continued his prayer.

“Six runs to . . .,” Malachi declared, and was abruptly cut off by another of Miss Irene’s jabs before he could complete his utterance.

“Behave yusef!”Miss Irene whispered with an authoritative edge to her voice, with her eyes widened for added emphasis.

“Bredda Malachi! Dis is di house of di Laad, sah! Yu cyaan listen to di cricket match in ‘ere!” Pastor Buxton scolded from the pulpit.

“Sarry Pastor Buxton. Mi sarry, sah,” Malachi apologized meekly.

“Come ‘ere Bredda Malachi, mek wi step outside fi a minute,” Deacon Chambers said calmly, as he walked towards where Malachi was sitting.

“Yes, sah,” Malachi answered.

His tone was diminished almost to a whisper as he got up from the pew and followed Deacon Chambers out the door.

As soon as both men exited the church, the congregation, with the exception of a few ascetics, erupted in laughter. Deacon Williams, the choir director, called everyone to order, scolding them for, as he put it, “supportin’ slackniss an disrespeck eena God church.”

Miss Irene, who had a difficult time containing herself, covered her face with her handkerchief, peeking through her fingers, as she didn’t want Pastor Buxton to see her laughing. Her heaving bosom gave her away for it drew Pastor Buxton’s attention like a magnet.

“Cu ya! Den im neva up de a grin to? But si ya!” Miss Irene remarked, incensed at Deacon Chambers' rank hypocrisy.

After a few minutes, Deacon Chambers and Malachi returned. All eyes were on Malachi as he returned to his seat next to Miss Irene. He sat quietly with his head down, obviously embarrassed at what had happened. She flashed him a mischievous grin and then patted him on the leg, reassuring him that everything was fine.

“Is aright Bredda Malachi. Nuh worry yusef,” she assured him.

Pastor Buxton, still at the pulpit, decided to forego the rest of the prayer, and go directly to the sermon.

“Please turn yu bible to Mathew Chaptah 28, verses 1 to 10. Todeh is a blessid day, bredren!” Pastor Buxton informed the congregants, as he commenced his sermon.

“Hallelujah! Praise di Laad!” Miss Etlyn shouted, as she began shaking and speaking in tongues.

There was a resounding refrain of “Amen” from the more pious, and scattered nods from the rest. Meanwhile, Malachi had begun, once again, to listen to his transistor. He was missing the action and could not resist.

Pastor Buxton continued.

“Our Laad an Saviah Jesas Chrise was crucified, broddas an sistahs! Handed ovah by im owna people! Hallelujah! People weh eat an drink wid im!

“Yes, sah, outa di same mug to!” Miss Mattie concurred.

Miss Icy looked across the aisle at Miss Mattie and shook her head, for there was bad blood between them.

“By Judas Iscariot!”Pastor Buxton railed.

He grabbed hold of the podium with both hands and leaned forward, eyes bulging, to deliver the fundamental quality of the message.

“Fi tirty pieces of silva, Broddas an sistahs!” he continued.

“Preach! Bredda Buxton, preach!” Miss Lucy chanted from the back.

“An he was crucified fa our sins. Amen,” Pastor Buxton exclaimed, his eyes roaming the congregation. “ But he rose broddas an sistahs. . .”

“Caught!” Malachi shouted, as he threw his fist in the air.

“Bredda Malachi!” Pastor Buxton shouted. “Bredda Malachi, yu gwine haffi guh outside. A cyaan tolerate dis kine a disrespeck inna di church, sah!”

“Im shoulda shame a imself,” Miss Mattie said.

She looked over at Malachi and gave him a crucifying stare.

“Sarry sah, sarry,” Malachi apologized profusely, again.

He rose from his seat, looking around at everyone shamefaced. The congregation was in stitches.

Deacon Williams, who had previously chided everyone for laughing at Malachi’s behavior, laughed so hard that he had to be physically assisted from the dais. Pastor Buxton turned and glared at him.

Miss Irene dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. She folded her arms tightly in front of her, rocking back and forth, trying desperately to control her laughter, and more desperately to ward off Pastor Buxton’s leering eyes.

“Laad Jesas ha massy pon mi,” Miss Irene begged.

Everyone was laughing, including, eventually, Pastor Buxton.He stood at the podium and shook his head resignedly as he watched Malachi walking towards the door.

Malachi closed the door behind him and walked out into the church yard. As soon as he passed through the church gate and onto the road, he threw his hands in the air jubilantly and shouted, “Yes! Show dem how Jumaykan man play cricket yaw bwai!

Meanwhile, from the podium Pastor Buxton shook his head in affirmation of the knowledge that the spirit truly moves in mysterious ways.

FINAL JOURNEY

Final Journey

By: J. May Afflick

“I was a pretty young gal wen I was young ” said Aunt Hilda, her voice trailing off as she gazed afar – way back into the distant years. It seemed she was reliving every episode of her life. I remained silent, holding a tuft of her hair in my hand, waiting patiently for her to continue.

“You’re still beautiful, Aunt Hilda. Even more so now,” I said, trying to bring her back from her journey into time.

She sat in the old rocking chair with her now withered hands on her lap. The veins on the back of Aunt Hilda’s gnarled hands rose defiantly beneath her skin. Each vein was like a conduit, that told a tale of years of hard labor. The joints of her fingers were grotesquely swollen with arthritis.

She ignored my compliment and began to speak, once again.

“Dat Busha Wallingford was a good lookin’ white man. Yeye dem blue like di sky. I use to wuk fi dem up a di big ‘ouse. Yu si Busha two bwai dem? I raise dem. Fi mi two han tie nappy pon dem bahine,” she intoned, rocking gently.

Aunt Hilda shifted awkwardly and I couldn’t be sure if her apparent discomfort was from sitting for such a long time, or from the pain of reliving the memories. The old rocking chair was padded with some of Grandpa Clarence’s old clothes and two pillows, to make it more comfortable. She spent most of her days sitting on the verandah which offered a spectacular view of the valley – a sight not now for her sore eyes.

Her failing eyesight now imprisoned her in that rocking chair. Her memory was rapidly fading too. However, on her better days she would regale us with warm and exciting stories from her youthful years, and although Aunt Hilda was particularly fond of the story of her and Grandpa Clarence’s courtship those umpteen years ago, she couldn’t remember me, her only grandchild, the living testament of that courtship. She kept calling me Cislyn. Cislyn, her long deceased daughter, and my mother.

I remember Aunt Hilda from an earlier time when she was a vibrant woman. In these twilight years I chose to remember those days. I brushed what was left of her once lush black tresses and was transported back to the days when, as a child, I spent summers with Aunt Hilda in this same house. I remember my excitement when the big white house on the hill came into view, as we approached in my mother’s car. I remember, with especial clarity and fondness, Aunt Hilda, standing midway up the hill with her arms wide open, waiting to envelop me in her warm embrace.

I was always fascinated by her beauty and her strengths.

She was a tall, buxom, curvaceous woman, with a crown of thick, jet black hair which she wore in two thick braids on either side of her head, tucked under her signature red madras-plaid scarf. Aunt Hilda’s smile was warm and bewitching, and her dark, deep-set eyes sparkled like black pearls.

She possessed a physical strength that was unequaled by any of the women I knew then. I still marvel at the way she balanced two bunches of green bananas on her head, toting a basket full of yams or other produce in one hand, a hoe in the other, and still managed to walk with such ease. She was regal, even dressed in Grandpa Clarence’s old clothes, with the shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbow, and the water boots turned down below the knees.

Aunt Hilda could fell a banana tree and relieve it of its fruit in two sweeps of a machete, yet she could dance the quadrille like no other. She was as light as a cat on her feet and as agile as a gazelle. Having never remarried after Grandpa Clarence died, she always wore the sadness like a widow’s veil, and despite her best efforts to conceal her grief, her agony was contagious.

“Mi husban gone. Dem doan mek dem like Clarance Morrison nuh mo,” Aunt Hilda muttered.

I stepped to the side to look at her face and she struggled to see me.

“Cislyn? A yu dat?” Aunt Hilda called out. “Mi long fi si yu, yu si. ‘Ow yu tek suh long fi come? Weh mi one gran pickney deh? Cislyn?”

I stooped beside her and held her fragile hand in mine.

“This is not Cislyn, Aunt Hilda. This is Camille, your granddaughter,” I whispered softly.

My heart splintered into a million pieces as Aunt Hilda looked past me and into the distance. As I stared into her dimmed eyes, she looked at me, suddenly startled, and I leaned over and embraced her to diffuse her fright. What awful spirit had called her name, I wondered.

I resumed brushing her hair as she began to hum, ‘In the Sweet By and By’. I found myself humming along as my eyes welled with tears.

“It gwine rain soon. Yu si how di cloud dem heavy?” Aunt Hilda suddenly declared with a peppiness I had not seen in months.

Agreeing with her, I fought desperately to suppress my emotions, trying to enjoy this rare, short burst of joy. And then in an instant, I felt an intense anger. Anger at the fact that she had no memory of me and that she was so reduced to a mere shadow of the woman I once knew. I was angry too at my powerlessness in the face of her debilitation.

“Aunt Hilda, would you like to lie down and rest now?” I asked.

“I was a pretty gal wen I was young,” she whispered.

I moved to sit next to her and took her weathered hand in mine.

“It gettin late, a haffi guh home. Cislyn a wait fi mi. Is evelin time,” Aunt Hilda whispered.

She began to sing softly and then transited into a meek humming, “In da sweet by an by. . .we shall meet...” I picked up the strain when her voice faded.

Her wizened fingers went limp in my grasp and I clutched them close to my heart, as a puff of wind blew past and the blades of the fever grass bustled in the breeze. I covered Aunt Hilda’s legs with her favorite blanket, smoothed her hair and tied her head with her madras-plaid scarf.

“Desmond!” I called out to my son. “Go get someone to come help me carry Aunt Hilda inside. She’s gone.”

IVAN'S GOLD TEETH

By: J. May Afflick

Ivan Harris was not a very smart man. Anyone who would ask a dentist to remove all his good teeth and replace them with false teeth is indeed a certified idiot.

Ivan had the opportunity to go to the USA on the Farm Workers Program. He was so excited that he couldn’t stop talking about it. He suddenly changed into this person that no one in the district of Cocoa Piece recognized anymore.

He went to the US and spent six months there. When he returned, he was a new man. His walk and even his speech changed. It was the strangest thing to behold.

Before Ivan left Cocoa Piece, he had a beautiful smile. It was his most alluring asset. Even the rich girls, who, one would think, had no time for Ivan, flashed him a smile when they saw him. He was a handsome man.

When Ivan returned home from the US, he rose early one morning and for almost three days, no one knew where he was, or what had happened to him. Even his girlfriend, Clarice, had no idea where he was.

Ivan went to Kingston to a relative’s house to spend some time. Apparently, they had advised him that he would not be able to return home immediately after the dental procedure.

Three days later Ivan walked into his yard with two bags of groceries, his face swollen, and displaying a toothless grin.

Clarice was in the kitchen preparing dinner when she saw Ivan at the gate. She ran out to meet him and received the shock of her life.

“Ivan wah do yu? Wah do yu mout? A smaddy beat yu up suh? Weh yu did deh, three day nuhbaddy cyaan fin’ yu?” Clarice asked in rapid succession.

When I van opened his mouth to speak, he sounded like he had a mouth full of hot potato. His jaws hung like that of Papa Joe’s old mule. His eyes were swollen, and he had large bags under them as if he hadn’t slept in the three days he was missing.

I was sitting on a rock in my backyard, washing some clothes, and watching the two of them through the Hibiscus bush that separated our properties. Clarice’s eyes grew as big as saucers

and she stood, hands akimbo, as if she was ready to slap him silly. Somehow she managed to hold her temper. I guess she felt sorry for him when she saw his bare gums and felt that someone must have beaten him really badly.

I didn’t believe that anyone had beaten Ivan. If anyone got a beaten of that magnitude, so that he lost all his teeth, I don’t expect that he would be able to relate the story three days later.

They had taken the conversation inside their house and I couldn’t hear any more details. I dried my hands in my old apron and went down the road to my friend Cherry’s house to tell her that Ivan had returned.

I did not even get to tell her that Ivan had come home before she began telling me about the phone call she received that morning. Cherry’s cousin, Lamp Ile, told her that he had gone to the dentist for a few extractions, and he saw Ivan at the dentist’s office. He told her that the dentist and Ivan were arguing and he heard the dentist tell Ivan that it wasn’t a good idea to remove all his perfectly good teeth and replace them with false teeth, gold or otherwise.

I pulled up a stool Cherry had on her verandah and sat down. I couldn’t believe what she had told me. I couldn’t imagine anyone being that stupid as to remove their perfectly good teeth, only to replace them with false teeth.

Cherry and I sat quietly looking at one another in shock. She offered me a beer and since it was after 3 o’clock in the afternoon and I had already eaten, I accepted. I had a half of a cigarette that I had saved and I took it out of my brazziere. I lit a match and held the cigarette over the flame to dry the section that was damp. I then lit the cigarette and pulled on it long and hard. Then we saw Clarice approaching.

I wanted to get up but I couldn’t because it would have seemed like we were talking about her. In truth, we were talking about her. Cherry looked straight at me, for, she was waiting for me to make the first move.

“Gwaan Clarice gal, yu man come ome doah!” I declared.

Cherry dropped the bottle of beer on her big toe, almost losing the entire contents on the floor. Clarice walked up to the steps and sat down with her back to both of us. Cherry looked at me, pushing her mouth up at Clarice. She wanted to hear the news from Clarice but did not want to ask.

“Clarice, yu want a beer?” Cherry asked.

“Yu ha rum?” Clarice replied. “Fa, I haffi drink sinting trang.”

Cherry went inside to get the rum and I sat silently, patiently waiting for her return before I continued. I knew she wouldn’t want to miss a word. To fill the gap, I asked Clarice about the children, and when Ivan was going back to America. Clarice didn’t say a word.

At first I was insulted, but then I figured that the woman was so upset, she needed time to compose herself before she could speak. That mash mouth that Ivan brought home was quite a shocker.

Cherry returned momentarily, but I was so anxious to find out what was on Clarice’s mind that it seemed like Cherry was gone for an eternity.

She handed the glass of rum to Clarice along with a bottle of cola but Clarice downed the shot of rum bareback. I leaned back on the stool and looked squarely at her. Her face was twisted like a train wreck as she swallowed.

“Cherry, oonu nah guh believe wah Ivan jus’ tell mi seh. I bex till I cyaan even tell yu!” Clarice began.

“Clarice, wah app’n?” Cherry asked, looking surprised.

“Mi dear ma, Ivan nuh guh a town guh mek dentis’ pull out di whole a im good good teet dem, seh im waan false teet wid gol’ in front,” Clarice continued.

I fell back against the railing on Cherry’s verandah. I was glad that it was in such close proximity, for I would have fallen flat on my back. The laughter was churning in my stomach but I couldn’t get it out. All I could say was “Woyoyi!”

I curled my toes as tight as I could to stem the urge to laugh. I knew that if I succumbed to the urge I would surely wet my pants. I really didn’t want to hurt Clarice’s feelings either, because I knew she was shamed. However, Cherry did not exercise that level of control and was sprawled out on the floor, fluttering and whooping like an owl.

“Cherry, nuh laugh yaw, fa it nuh funny. Yu ebba si anybaddy dyam fool fool suh?” Clarice went on. “I deh ya deh fret seh dem mussi kill im a road. Come to fin’ out, di dyam ediat gaan a town gaan mek ass outa imself!”

My superb self control was for naught, for I joined Cherry on the floor right then. I laughed so hard I cried. I could not even give any more thought to Clarice’s feelings at the time.

“I gwine to be di laughin’ stock eena di districk! As if to seh mi nuh ha enough problem aready,” Clarice added.

Cherry and I were just about calm, when we heard Ivan calling Clarice and the laughing fit erupted again.

“Listen to how im soun’ like im mout full a waatah,” Clarice continued indignantly. “I woulda like fi kno’ di ass weh tell im fi guh do dis dyam foolishness. A woulda bax im ‘traight cross im mout!”

About a month later, Ivan announced that he was going to Kingston. Cherry and I assumed that he was going to collect his new teeth. Big Mout Iris had passed by the day before he was due to leave and saw him in his yard playing dominoes with some of his friends under a Sour Sop tree. She couldn’t miss the opportunity to ask Ivan about his teeth.

“Den Ivan, a wen yu a guh get yu new plate?” she inquired.

“A gwine a town a maanin, Mama Iris,” Ivan replied excitedly.

“Hmmm. Aye bwai,” Miss Iris groaned and walked away.

Maas Aaron, who they called ‘Drunk Aready’ piped up and said, “Ivan, yu kno’ yu a guh cut serious dash wen yu get dem teet deh bwai?”

He then cleared his throat and said, “Pass mi dah rum bokkle deh mek a full up mi glass!”

I wondered as I sat at my bedroom window, how Ivan could even entertain the thought of having all his teeth removed, and for no good reason. It was then that I heard one of the men at the domino table ask him the very question that I had been pondering.

“Ivan, man, mi haffi aks yu dis, fa mi nuh undastan. Wah mek yu pull out yu teet dem, man?” the fellow questioned.

I stood up immediately and leaned out the window, resting my elbows on the window sill. The wood was rough for the house was old and the paint was peeling terribly. The window sill squeezed my elbows but I couldn’t make a sound, for I didn’t want anyone to know I was there listening, and I needed to hear the explanation.

“Man yu nuh kno’ seh a dat a wear now? Ebery weh yu guh, star, man an man a profile, yu kno’?” Ivan replied. “Eberybaddy a ‘Merica a dweet, all a di money man dem. Man, yu guh a dance an all a di gal dem jus a rush yu. Dem like di gol’”

I sat down hard on the bed foot, stunned.

“Yu mean to seh dat fool guh a Farin guh tun ediat?” I grumbled as I paced through the house. “Bwai I hope dem doan sen’ im back up deh, fa im woulda come back wid glass ya’i dis time.”

I ditched the old apron and slammed the front door shut behind me as I marched off to Cherry’s. I had to tell her what I had just heard. I could not believe that any sane person, in America, or anywhere else in the world, would seriously consider, let alone go through with such a foolish thing.

I strolled up to Cherry’s verandah and, as I got closer to the front door, I heard multiple voices coming from inside the house. It seemed like Cherry had visitors. I turned around to go back home. I had planned to wait until later that evening to visit after her company was gone.

“Vie! Wah app’n? “Weh yu tun back fa? Come man, a mi bredda Joslyn frah town. Im daughta come frah Farin,” Cherry said as she made her way to the front door.

She had caught sight of me as I turned to leave.

I walked up to the verandah and Cherry opened the door. I removed my slippers and stepped inside. Cherry always had her floor Rexo shine. I looked at the young lady sitting in the settee and immediately looked at the picture Cherry had on the breakfront straight ahead. It was the same young lady.

“Vie, yu kno’ Joslyn aready. Dis is mi niece, Christine. She live a New Yawk,” Cherry chimed.

We said hello to each other and Cherry offered me a beer. I sat down on the chair next to a side table she had between the settee and the wall. I looked at Cherry with a desperate look in my eyes, for I wanted to impress upon her the urgency of my visit. I couldn’t quite figure out why Ivan’s decision was so important to me but I needed to corroborate this outlandish story, and if anyone could find out the truth it was Cherry.

“Suh, wah a gwaan Vie?” Cherry asked. “Mi nuh si yu whole day yessideh, wah app’n to yu?”

“Mi did guh a docta fi guh fin’ out wah mek mi back a hat mi sumuch,” I replied.

“Cherry, yu haffi hea dis. Ivan seh, di reason why im tek out all a im teet dem is because all a di man dem a Farin a dweet. Im seh di gal dem lub di man dem wid di nuff gol’ teet eena dem mout,” I blurted out.

Joslyn threw back his head and laughed so hard he began to choke. Cherry jumped off the settee and began hitting him in the back. Joslyn coughed and laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks. Suddenly, I didn’t think it was funny anymore.

I looked at Joslyn’s daughter, Christine, and she was in stitches as well, even though she did more to control her laughter. I suspect that she didn’t want to ruin her make-up, as she dabbed her eyes repeatedly with toilet paper.

“Cherry! Dis is no laughin’ mattah! Di man guh tek out di whole a im good good teet dem. Yu nuh seet?”I scolded.

“Vie, mi know, but wah yu waan mi fi do bout it? Mi cyaan gi im dem back,” she countered.

Then Christine spoke up.

“Im stupid? Im nuh kno’ seh di bwai dem up deh buy di gol’ teet dem an put dem on ovah dem own teet? Dem can tek dem off anytime dem ready!” Christine declared.

I felt numb. I no longer had the urge to laugh. I realized that a terrible catastrophe had come upon Ivan.

I went home and sat by the window staring out into the roadway. I remembered the time I had asked Doreen, down the road, to dye my hair. I had gone to Kingston and seen some women with burgundy hair color and was very excited about it. I remember walking into the MedicineRx pharmacy and purchasing a bottle of hair dye. The problem was that I couldn’t decide which was the correct color and asked the young woman at the cash register for help.

Suffice it to say it was not the right color and I walked out of Doreen’s house with my head tied up like a mad woman. Instead of burgundy, my hair came out looking like a woodpecker’s belly and parts of it looked like a bald head John Crow. Big Mout Iris was merciless, asking me why my head looked like ‘fiah run troo it’.

I sat quietly, remembering my mother’s warnings as a child, “Fallah Fashin nuh good!