CLAUDETTE'S SPACE - Here in Jamaica, Land we Love

FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE - PART OF THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY NOVEL;  SWEET HOME, JAMAICA.  When you have read and enjoyed it please make your purchase from one of the listed sites.

CHAPTER ONE:   A Shocking Discovery

I was thirteen, going on fourteen, when I discovered that my mother was not my mother.  That is to say, my father’s wife, whom I had taken for granted was my mother, was in fact, not.  It came as a great shock since up till then I had had no reason to suppose otherwise.

I was the second of five children, one older brother and three younger sisters, two of whom were twins.

I had always been the odd one out for several reasons.  First of all I was considered extremely bright at school while my siblings were, if not exactly dunce, at least of much lesser ability.  Instead of being praised and encouraged, however, I was often made to feel as if I were doing something wrong.

Secondly, I was noticeably several shades darker of complexion than my brother and sisters which, up to the point of my discovery, had been a source of puzzlement to me, but which was now logically explained.  Funnily enough it had just never occurred to me that I might be of different stock; why would it?

Thirdly, every child in the house was a favourite except me. My father’s wife, Mavis, favoured her firstborn and only son, as well as her ‘wash-belly,’ which is a term used to describe a last and often un-expected child who arrives some time after the main bunch.

As for my father, he made no attempt to hide the fact that he idolized his twin daughters who had been born on his birthday.  He called them his birthday girls.  I was nobody’s favourite.

I held some resentment at what I considered such gross unfairness.  After all, I was very intelligent and achieved great marks at school, invariably coming top of my class.  I should have received some recognition for that, if for nothing else, but this was never forthcoming.  Whenever I reflected on the matter, I generally came to the conclusion that I was less loved because I was blacker than my siblings; although, to be fair, there was no tangible difference in the way I was treated.

Far from having an inferiority complex though, I was strong minded and determined.  My teachers described me as being wilful, headstrong and argumentative.  I questioned everything and I was extremely vocal whenever my opinion differed from anyone else’s.  My teachers, in the main, thought this was good, but in my parents’ opinion I was just simply “facety,” or in English, rude or impertinent.

Well, the discovery came about as a result of my being “facety” with my mother.  The school had organized an outing to Stratford-upon-Avon for the English Literature class, to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  It was to be an afternoon performance which meant that we would not arrive back in London from Stratford till after dark.

My first mistake was in telling Mavis that I was going, instead of asking her if I could.  “Mum, I’m going to Stratford with my class to watch a Shakespeare play, live on stage.  Could you sign the consent form please?”  I held out the letter from school with the tear-off consent slip to be signed by a parent.  She ignored it.

“Ahoa!  Yu turn big woman inside here?  What yu mean yu going to Stratford wid yu class; who give yu permission, Mam?”  Mavis was scathing in her sarcasm.

“That’s why I’m giving you the consent slip, Mum,” I said patiently, “so you can give your consent.”  My voice was reasonable, but I knew from past experience it could be read as insolent.

Mavis still ignored my outstretched hand.  “But yu nuh need my consent.  Yu nuh tell mi seh yu-a guh a’ready?”  She turned her back and started taking dishes out of the sideboard to set the table for dinner.  I should have left it at that for the moment and approach her again when she was in a more amenable frame of mind; or even ask Daddy to sign the form.  But I didn’t.

“Look, Mum, there’s no reason for me not to go.  It won’t cost you and Daddy anything; I have money to pay my fare.”

Second mistake.  I should have humbled my tone, apologised, and asked her nicely if I could go.

“I see.  Yu is not only a big ooman who mek har own decision; yu have yu own-a money to.  Well, mek mi tell yu somet’ing, Michelle.  As long as yu are a chile in dis house yu will ask permission when yu want anyt’ing, and don’t inform mi of yu intention afta yu done mek di decision a’ready.  Yu not goin’!”

“But Mummy, I have to go.  This play is important for my English Lit. Exam.”

Third mistake; don’t be argumentative.  Accept defeat for the moment and then when she has had time to calm down you approach her and ask her nicely.  I would never learn!

I could see her starting to swell up like a bullfrog.  I had never seen a bullfrog swelling up, mind you, but I knew the saying well; she always used it on me when I dared to show my temper.  “Yes, gwaan swell up like bullfrog, I wi’ know how to burst yu bubble!”

 Well now she was the one swelling up with temper and I don’t mind admitting that I myself was beginning to get a trifle vexed.  She responded to my last statement. 

“Ahoa!  Yu have to guh.  I see!  Well gwaan den nuh, if yu bad.  Wi gwine to si which bull rule in dis pen!”

Now I was getting reckless.  My voice rose a decibel.  “Why yu don’t want me to do well in school?  You and Daddy never give me any encouragement, nor any praise when I do well.  Why unu even bother to let me go to school at all?”  And with that I flounced out of the room.

“Who yu t’ink yu talking to in dat tone of voice!  Come back here to mi!”  But I ignored her and ran upstairs into my room, slamming the door behind me.

Big, big mistake!  The door flew open and I was grabbed by the front of my school blouse while slaps rained on my face.  “Dyam wrenk and facety!  Nevah yu talk to mi like dat again, or walk out when A talking to yu!  And don’t yu evah, evah, slam any door in dis house again!  After all!”

I had definitely gone too far.  She was in a roaring temper, such as I had not seen for many a day.  She paused to catch a quick breath and then she was off again.  “A don’t know why yu faada bring yu come gi’ mi.  None a mi own-a children dem evah dare to back-answer mi, but yu, smaddy else pickney, come a wrenk wid mi; after mi raise yu from baby like one of mi own.  Yu is a ungrateful wretch, yu same pickney-gyal, yu!”

I had been trying to ward off her blows by raising my hands in front of my face, but at this astounding statement I went deadly still.  I don’t know if it was the fact that I had suddenly stopped moving, or whether she realized what she had said, but she let me go rather abruptly and left the room.

I collapsed onto the bed in a stupefied daze.  Phrases flashed in my head.  “……yu faada bring yu come gi me.”  “……smaddy else pickney…..”  “…..mi own-a children dem…...”  “……raise yu from baby like mi own……”

I was roused by a knock on the open door and I looked up to see my brother standing hesitantly in the doorway.  Even though Delroy was three years older than me and much bigger in body, I sometimes felt he was afraid of me.  He stood there now looking apprehensive, as if he thought I might attack him.  I stared silently at him and finally he spoke.

“Yu okay, Shell?”

Delroy and I had a very good relationship as brother-sister relationships went.  I did not resent him for being our mother’s favourite because he never took advantage of it or sought any special favours.  And he was always ready to offer comfort or support whenever I needed it.  Like now.

I didn’t know how to answer his question.  I didn’t know if I was okay or not.  I had just had a severe shock and was still trying to assimilate what I had learnt.  My mother was not my mother!  Who then, and where, was my mother?  And how did I come to be raised by this woman, my father’s wife?

My father was definitely my father, there was no doubting that.  Not only did I resemble him, but she had, in effect, confirmed it by saying that my father had brought me to her.

I had a sudden thought.  I ignored Delroy’s question and posed one of my own. 

“Del, did you know?”

He shook his head.  “I’m hearing it for the first time.”

He obviously decided that it was now safe to proceed into the room and he came and sat beside me on the bed.  We stared at each other in silence, neither one of us knowing what to say.

After a lengthy silence he said, almost fiercely, “It don’t make no difference to me, Shellie.  You’re still my sister.”

“Your half sister,” I reminded him.

“No!” he said vehemently.  “My sister; full stop.”  He tentatively put his arm round my shoulders, and suddenly the floodgates opened, and the torrent came.

Now, I prided myself on not being a crying sort of person; even when I was being beaten I would refuse to cry, which would infuriate my mother no end, so no one was more surprised than myself when I started to blubber.  It took Delroy completely by surprise because I don’t believe he had seen me cry since we were very small children.  On occasions when I felt I just had to cry I would go somewhere private and do so quietly and unobtrusively.

Poor Delroy was completely out of his depth; he just did not know what to do so he just held me.  At one stage I was dimly aware that the twins had come to the door, but Delroy shooed them away.  I cried for a very long time, and all through the crying I was thinking.

Why had I not been told that Mavis, my father’s wife, was not my mother?  If it had not slipped out in temper, would I ever have been told?  Were they perhaps waiting until I was older, or did they have no intention of telling me at all, ever?

I’m not sure if I was crying from hurt or from temper but I do know that the more I cried, and the more I reflected, the angrier I became.  How dare they keep such an important piece of information from me!  I was going to be fourteen in two weeks; surely I was old enough to understand?  Well I was going to make them pay.  I wasn’t sure how, but they would pay, both my father and his wife.

Not only would they pay for keeping that information from me, they would pay for not taking more interest in my academic achievements, and they would pay for making everybody a favourite except me.  My resentment rose in my throat like bile and almost choked me.