Come Let Us Sing Anyway Page 5

  The train hissed and she sat upright, fingers gripping the seat. She could see men and boys running up and down outside, banging the sides of the carriage. They were leaving. Mary squinched up her eyes and held her breath.

  ‘Everybody come ‘pon dis train now!’ the ticket master yelled down the platform. Mary watched people scuttle into their seats with handfuls of chickens and green bananas and ackee and everybody talking at a great rate. Most of them were women.

  ‘Lawd, my dear! Me never know waffi do when Berylou come to me yard lookin’ fe her man…’

  ‘Everybody come pon dis train now!’

  ‘You want busta? Icy-mint? Suck-suck? Weh you want?’ ‘Anybody who nuh deh pon dis train now get lef ah Kingston!’

  ‘Likkle girl, I goin’ sit down right here. You mind?’

  Mary stared. The man standing above her, smiling, reminded her of an antelope from one of her schoolbooks. His legs were stretchy and thin and he wore a brown pinstripe suit. Best of all, he was wearing a tall red hat, an American daisy sticking out of the side. She couldn’t speak. He was the most interesting-looking man she had ever seen. She could see that the women around them thought so too, as they were rolling their eyes and using their lips to point.

  The interesting man stretched out his hand for her to shake. He had very long fingernails, like the bus conductors grew on their little fingers and then painted red. But these nails were silver, and they’d been shaped into wicked looking points, and there were little daisies painted on them.

  ‘You don’t mind?’ asked the man. He was looking at her very seriously now, but it wasn’t the glare of other grownups, hush you mouth and don’t come inna big people business. He looked like he might just listen to what she said.

  ‘Anybody can sit down here, sir,’ she said. It was strange that an adult was asking her permission to do anything. It made her feel very grown up.

  ‘Good!’ The man sat down and continued to regard her, folding his legs underneath himself. He was smiling a smile of such beatific good will that Mary’s chest felt fizzy, like when she drank too much ice cream soda.

  ‘So you alright?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You is a likkle gyal.’

  She wasn’t sure what to say to that. People always said things that you could see in front of your face, and sometimes they said it twice. A fat man was fat-fat; a tall man was called Sky; the one-armed man was Oney; Auntie Greenie had a friend called Pot Cover, because of the shape of his forehead.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So what you name?’

  She was proud of her name.

  ‘Mary Anne Bathsheba Clientele Switzie Pearl and Ezmereleena.’

  The man smiled even wider.

  ‘Brown,’ she added.

  The man seemed suitably impressed.

  ‘Mary Anne Bathsheba Clientele Switzie Pearl and Ezmereleena Brown. Dat is one rahtid name.’

  She liked him even more now. Auntie Greenie would have had him straight out of her house for the bad word, but Mary thought he was quite exciting.

  ‘So what I must call you?’ he asked.

  Mary considered this. No one had ever asked her to choose. Only adults got to change Vi to Violet. She curled the baby hair at her temples, pretending to think. But she knew.

  ‘Ezmereleena.’ Mary was a boring church girl. But Ezmereleena would not be afraid of duppies or devils.

  ‘Good!’ The man clicked one silver finger against the other. ‘And you can call me President Daisy.’

  She stared at him. ‘Um… dat is you name for true?’

  He leaned forward. ‘You see how you choose Ezmereleena? Well, me did choose President Daisy.’

  She was confused. Everybody said never to question an adult, but this man wasn’t like any adult she had ever met. ‘What you is President over?’

  President Daisy laughed. ‘How you mean?’

  ‘President have tings dem rule over. Like… like a country. Or a city.’

  ‘But you smart! Well, I used to be President over Cockpit Country, but now I live in Montego Bay.’ Something about that seemed to amuse him a great deal.

  Mary realised that the train had already puffed out of the station, and it was going bang-a-lang, but she really couldn’t believe that devils would dare hurt her while President Daisy was sitting nearby.

  ‘You live inna Montego Bay?’

  ‘Nearby there.’

  He began to tell her about the countryside, but she found it difficult to concentrate on his stories as he swept his long arms around in circles. He had more dimples than she had ever seen on a person: two in one cheek, three in the other. Even his nose seemed to have a pleasant dip in its tip. His nails flashed in the sun as he spoke.

  ‘When I was just your size, I used to go to river in de morning time, wash clothes wid mi madda. All I could see as I look over de place is green hills and people ah tell you morning. Dem forget how fe do dat inna de big city dem. Nuff-nuff pickney deh bout, play cricket, climb all big tree, ketch fish and croakin’ lizard, and in de evening man and man play domino, roast fish an’ breadfruit, eat till belly full. You ever stand under a waterfall, Ezmereleena?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Auntie Greenie say I musn’t put mi head under water.’

  ‘Well, that is a shame. What else she said?’

  Mary folded her hands and recited obediently.

  ‘Remember to cream your skin a morning. Don’t sit with your leg spread; that is not a lady. Don’t eat and laugh, nor eat and drink at the same time. Chicken merry, hawk is near. You go to school to learn, not put on a fashion show. Don’t talk too loud – we are not up in heaven straining to hear you. Badder dog than you bark, and flea kill ‘im. Go to Sunday school and mind when preacher talk. Time is longer than rope. What sweet nanny goat, bound to run him belly –’

  ‘Lord have mercy!’ President Daisy interrupted. ‘What a whole load of things for one girl-child, and what a good memory you have!’

  Mary beamed and then exhaled in one big puff. She wished Toby could see her, travelling into Forever More, like a big girl. President Daisy was looking out of the window, humming to himself. She looked, too. They were running out of city, the last pieces of Kingston stretched out around them, tenement shacks topped with zinc sheets, like foil glinting in the sun. Up and down the carriage women continued loud discussions, mothers cuffed bawling children, mounds of produce threatened to burst and overflow into the corridors.

  Mary’s stomach, no longer distracted by fear, began to grumble again. A woman to her right sat with a tray of sweets between her knees. Mary craned her neck. Sticky Bustamantes, black with Demerara sugar; her beloved tamarind balls; coconut grater cakes all lumpy and pink on the top; gizzada tarts – her mother used to call them ‘pinch-me-round’; Chinese sweeties in salt and sweet flavours – all scattered on a bed of humble blue icy-mints. Mary’s mouth watered. Even one little icy mint would be so good. Her hand played with the money and instructions in her pocket. Auntie Green had written it down: ‘If you uncle not there, take the 73 bus and ask them to put you off at The Church of Immaculate Conception. Go in and find the pastor. He will know you uncle. Barney might have run to country, but he is a God-fearing man.’

  Surely Uncle Barney and his wife would remember to pick her up. She felt quite scared at the idea of a strange bus trip and a strange church.

  ‘Missa Daisy, ahm, how much you think that lady selling tamarind ball for?’

  President Daisy cocked his head to one side. ‘Well, I don’t rightly know. Mek we ask her. Lady!’

  Her stomach lurched. She didn’t want the woman to think she was definitely going to buy something. But it was too late. President Daisy was waving his long fingers. The woman swivelled her neck – and tray – to face them. She had been in deep discussion with the sullen man sitting next to her. He looked like he’d swallowed lime juice. The tray of sweets quivered.

  ‘How much fi you tamarind ball?’ asked President Dais
y.

  ‘Dollar fi three.’

  ‘Dis little gyal want three.’

  Dollar. No. She should keep the money safe. ‘Missa Daisy –’, but the woman was sorting through the tray.

  ‘Me will give her six fi $1.50. Weh you seh?’

  More money, now! The lady was haggling. This was worse. Mary put a hand on President Daisy’s arm, but he was grinning and showing his dimples. ‘$1.70 fe six, throw two icy mint in deh.’

  ‘Icy mint ah thirty cents fi one.’

  ‘You lie! Since when? Two dollar buy five tamarind, two icy mint, throw in a Busta.’ President Daisy twinkled. The woman twinkled back. The sour man twitched.

  The woman glanced at Mary. ‘Look how she need fi fat-up! Is only one Busta she want? Five dollar get package deal: two tamarind, three icy mint, two Busta, one gizzada, plus a bag ah Chinese sweetie. Di salt one. Is lunch dat!’

  ‘Lunch? Lunch mean chicken, man! Oxtail!’

  They were up to five dollars! This was getting bad!

  ‘Missa Daisy –’

  ‘Me soon come, sweetheart. Mek me just fix dis ooman!’ He twinkled some more. ‘Pretty ‘ooman like you, ah try tief a man?’

  The woman reached inside her voluminous skirts. ‘If ah lunch you ah look, me have chicken here. Ten dollar buy some good food. Look like you need it. What a man maaga!’

  President Daisy roared with laughter. As the woman began to pile out what seemed like huge quantities of food onto the carriage floor, Mary glanced around for someone to help her stop the flow of barter. Maybe the sour man would help. He would have a good-looking face if he wasn’t so miserable all the time. But the man looked even meaner now. His face was all puffed up, and his eyes moved back and forth between the woman and President Daisy.

  The woman flourished several icy, multicoloured bags above her head. ‘You want a suck-suck? It hot today, boy!’

  President Daisy looked at her and laughed harder. ‘You ah obeah ‘ooman to rass! How you manage keep dem suck-suck cool? You have ice inna you baggie?’

  ‘Eh-eh! Weh you know bout my crotches, boy?’

  ‘All like him don’t know nothing bout woman!’ spat the sour man.

  President Daisy fluttered his nails in a dismissive gesture. ‘Now, Miss Lady, I’m lookin’ two box lunch and three dollar sweetie fi me sweetheart, Ezmereleena.’ He beamed at Mary. ‘Don’t worry, me have money.’

  ‘Keep you money, bloodclaaht batty bwoy!’

  The train froze. The lady clutched at her tray. ‘Donovan,’ she whined, ‘you don’t see me doin’ business?’

  ‘Shut up you mouth, gyal!’ The woman ducked her head, all twinkle gone. Mary thought Donovan’s face was even worse than before. It was two times bigger, and his eyes were shining dangerously. His whole body was swelling, chest forward, fists clenching. He wasn’t as tall as President Daisy, but he was much bigger. And so angry.

  Mary looked at President Daisy. His body had changed too. It was as if he’d gotten smaller, just for a moment, like he was wrapping himself deeper into his own skin. But when he spoke, Mary couldn’t believe how calm his voice was.

  ‘Boy. Quiet youself.’

  It was too late. Donovan got to his feet. The sweetie tray teetered. Three tarts fell to the floor. Donovan crushed one under his heel. He was chanting now.

  ‘Batty bwoy. Maama man. Suck hood bwoy. You love dem nastiness don’t it, batty bwoy?’

  ‘Ezmereleena,’ said President Daisy. ‘Put you fingers in you ears.’

  She obeyed, disbelieving. The world became muffled. Why was the man being so mean to President Daisy? She could see both men’s mouths moving. I don’t want to see any beating, she thought. She took her fingers out of her ears. Not being able to hear them was worse than waiting on bang-a-lang devils in the train.

  ‘Ah going fuck you up, bwoy!’ Donovan snarled. He swung.

  The women in the carriage shrieked.

  President Daisy moved faster than anyone Mary had ever seen. He shifted to the right, unfolding himself out of his seat and past his attacker, all in one motion. His tall, red hat remained upright, serene and immovable.

  Donovan’s fist collided with the window, making a very satisfactory thwacking noise. He howled and cursed, cradling the wounded hand.

  ‘Boy, I don’t want to fight you.’ President Daisy was at his full height now. People stared and clamoured. Donovan’s woman croaked a protest. ‘Leave de man in him personal business, Donovan!’

  ‘Business? How you mean? Him fi dead!’ Donovan lunged at President Daisy, who sidestepped him again, making him stumble. The carriage lurched. Donovan righted himself, grunted, and tried to hit him again. Mary realized that she was sucking her thumb. She took the offending digit away from her mouth. That was for little girls. She gulped, waiting for the meaty fist to connect with President Daisy’s face. President Daisy stepped sideways. There wasn’t much space, but he seemed able to move around it like a peeny-wally. Donovan roared in frustration. Mary felt like her head would break into little pieces.

  Which is when President Daisy reached out and began to tickle the man.

  It was the last thing anyone could have expected. First, the silver fingers in Donovan’s solar plexus, as his hands went upwards in defence. His eyes bugged out of his head so hard, Mary wanted to laugh. Moving swiftly, his tongue stuck out in concentration, President Daisy danced his hands across his opponent’s body, shoulders, stomach, running under his arms, down to his hips, across his neckbones, fingers flying as if he was playing a piano, always two steps ahead before the other man could push them away. Donovan was practically crying in frustration.

  ‘You going to stop play with big man, boy?’

  ‘Batty –’

  ‘Alright, then. But if you play with big man, big man will play with you.’

  ‘Ease off me, man! Don’t touch me –’

  ‘Or what?’ President Daisy drew nearer. Donovan writhed and shrieked. President Daisy was holding one of his arms above his head, tickling his armpit. ‘You lucky that woman and pickney deh bout.’

  Tears streamed down Donovan’s face. He began to beg. ‘Please sir, please…’ He had dropped to his knees, but still President Daisy stooped over him, forcing laughter and painful gasps out of him. Mary thought he looked angry for the first time and that was a bit scary.

  ‘President Daisy!’ she said, as loud as she could.

  ‘You going back weh, boy? You going stop try frighten pickney?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah!’

  ‘Tell de likkle gyal you sorry. She name Ezmereleena.’

  Chokes, gasps.

  ‘Me sorry-me sorry-Ezmereleena. Me sorry!’

  ‘Stop, President Daisy, stop!’ said Mary.

  President Daisy looked confused, as if he’d been somewhere else, not there. ‘What?’

  She stared at him. ‘Stop tickle him now.’

  It stopped. The American daisy on the hat swayed gently.

  Donovan got to his feet, sweating profusely. He looked at President Daisy with something like awe. His sides heaved.

  ‘You… you touch me.’

  ‘Yes. A battyman touch you. Now go sit down in another carriage and take you woman with you and tell her nice things.’

  Donovan scrambled backwards. The sweetie woman followed him more slowly. As she passed Mary, she dropped five sweets into her lap. She exchanged a look with President Daisy.

  President Daisy nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  He sat down. His face seemed sad. Mary looked at him. All those things he said and Donovan said. It whirled around her head.

  ‘Missa Daisy…’

  ‘President.’ His face looked like he might cry, and she wanted to hug him so he wasn’t upset, but she didn’t know how. ‘I’m sorry, Ezmereleena.’

  She reached out her hand. ‘You want a tamarind ball?’

  They sat, sucking the sweets, spitting seeds into their hands.

  Mary extricated a lump of sugar from her back tooth. President Daisy rubbed
stickiness off his front teeth. The carriage went bang-a-lang. Soon she would be in Montego Bay, and there was nothing she could do about it. She put her hand on her jaw and sighed.

  President Daisy looked at her. His face had gone all soft, like cotton. ‘What happen?’

  It came out in a flurry. ‘My cousin Toby say dat country full up ah duppy and how dem smell bad and dem gwine come get me, an’ I know de devil in di train not comin’ while you is here, but de duppy going to definitely come for me and eat me spleen and I can’t tell Uncle Barney or him wife because dem is church people and all dem going to say is fooooolishness…’ Her lip trembled. She was telling a stranger all this, but he had an American daisy in his red hat.

  President Daisy patted her arm. ‘Don’t cry, Essy. Listen to me.’

  She sniffed and tried to be brave.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Country have duppy.’

  That wasn’t what she had expected at all. She put her thumb in her mouth.

  ‘But,’ President Daisy flung out an arm, ‘when you see them at night time all you haffi do is stop an say howdy. People think seh them bad, but that is a lie.’ He grinned at her. ‘You know, whole heap of people think something bad, but is just because they don’t have no experience with that thing. Me have nuff conversation with duppy and them never bother me yet. In fact, them smell like lady perfume.’ He sat back with a satisfied smile on his face.

  She couldn’t believe it. A specialist in duppies!

  ‘So… them not goin’ to trouble me?’

  ‘No, man. All you do if you see one is tell dem howdy, and dat you is President Daisy friend.’

  *

  She slept, then woke up when President Daisy shook her to say there were ten minutes left. She straightened her skirt and felt very alone indeed. She thought about how she didn’t know Uncle Barney, and even less about his wife. She’d sent Auntie Greenie an Easter bun last Christmas, with sultanas and wrapped in a yellow bow. A woman like that might be nice to her. But she’d also heard that women didn’t like strange girls in their houses. Auntie Greenie’s friends said so. Trouble was sure to follow when too many hen live in a rooster pen. Her mother had worked as a helper for her American husband before he divorced his wife, so she was already known as trouble. With a mother like that.