skipped gleefully at her coming to live with them, and a warm but reserved greeting from Henry, the too-too son-in-law, who was a doughy-faced white man with red hair and a freckled nose. The children paraded her through her new bedroom, prancing and jumping beside her with uncontrolled excitement and delight as though she were a new puppy. They showed her the bathroom, the closet, the kitchen, the cellar, squealing over every revelation. They took her to the backyard tree house, which both of them scornfully explained they were too old to enjoy anymore.
Cheryl-Lee, the younger daughter, confided in her about that nasty Timothy Pigeon who lived down the street and whom she intended to punch out next time he snickered at her in the school hallway. Henrietta, the older one, interrupted with superior criticism: As far as she was concerned, punching out a geek like Timothy Pigeon was not worth the trouble. Certainly, it was not worth detention. Precious lectured in a stern grandmotherly voice that Jamaican girl children did not punch out boys, but then she quickly bit her tongue when she remembered that she had once knocked out a boy with one thump outside the tuck shop after he had squeezed her batty without permission. Cheryl-Lee wanted to know what a girl in Jamaica would do if a Timothy Pigeon was always snickering at her, and Precious lied and said that she would ignore him. How could you ignore a geek? Cheryl-Lee asked insistently. Precious did not know what a geek was, and was about to ask when Henrietta suggested that instead of punching out Timothy Pigeon, Cheryl-Lee should drop a lizard down his pants. Cheryl-Lee thought that was a wonderful idea and asked her sister to help her catch a lizard for dropping down Timothy Pigeon’s pants, and the two children gambolled off down the street promising to return as soon as they had found the rightsized lizard.
Groggy with a hangover and befuddled at the newness all around her, Precious wandered back into the house where she found that Shirley had strapped on a gun under her armpit and was ready to leave for work. She kissed Precious goodbye and drove away after telling Henry not to cook any dinner for her since she would not be home until about 3:00 in the morning. Then Precious was left alone with Henry, wondering if she should warn him that his daughters were out looking for a lizard for Timothy Pigeon’s pants.
She decided that she shouldn’t interfere. Her brain was still-thirty thousand feet in the breeze. She was in a place which-struck her as strange as the moon and made her feel like a gate-crasher at a wedding.
She excused herself, went into her bedroom, closed the door, and crawled under the bed to catch her breath and take stock.
Precious took stock. Except for the distant burble of the-television in the drawing room, the household was quiet. From under the bed, America reminded her very much of Jamaica, the cobwebs under the bed being uncannily alike in either country. The stale mustiness of the mattress and the comforting dimness of the airless crawlspace between bedspring and floor were quite what she was accustomed to find under a Jamaican bed. If she didn’t know better, she would even think that she was under her own bed in Runaway Bay after a row with Theophilus.
It was still hard for her to believe that Theophilus was dead, but if he was dead under the bed, the one place where Precious always stared unflinchingly at the truth, then she could be quite sure that he would be just as dead in the open air. Her house in the Jamaica mountains was locked up and periodically tended by Maud, whom she had employed to tramp up the hill three times a week to dust and look after the dogs. She was still in a muddle about the house, but even her decision to let matters rest as they were for the time being didn’t seem so confusing under the bed.
At her age migration was certainly only a temporary measure. She did not really think that she would be living in
Cheryl-Lee, the younger daughter, confided in her about that nasty Timothy Pigeon who lived down the street and whom she intended to punch out next time he snickered at her in the school hallway. Henrietta, the older one, interrupted with superior criticism: As far as she was concerned, punching out a geek like Timothy Pigeon was not worth the trouble. Certainly, it was not worth detention. Precious lectured in a stern grandmotherly voice that Jamaican girl children did not punch out boys, but then she quickly bit her tongue when she remembered that she had once knocked out a boy with one thump outside the tuck shop after he had squeezed her batty without permission. Cheryl-Lee wanted to know what a girl in Jamaica would do if a Timothy Pigeon was always snickering at her, and Precious lied and said that she would ignore him. How could you ignore a geek? Cheryl-Lee asked insistently. Precious did not know what a geek was, and was about to ask when Henrietta suggested that instead of punching out Timothy Pigeon, Cheryl-Lee should drop a lizard down his pants. Cheryl-Lee thought that was a wonderful idea and asked her sister to help her catch a lizard for dropping down Timothy Pigeon’s pants, and the two children gambolled off down the street promising to return as soon as they had found the rightsized lizard.
Groggy with a hangover and befuddled at the newness all around her, Precious wandered back into the house where she found that Shirley had strapped on a gun under her armpit and was ready to leave for work. She kissed Precious goodbye and drove away after telling Henry not to cook any dinner for her since she would not be home until about 3:00 in the morning. Then Precious was left alone with Henry, wondering if she should warn him that his daughters were out looking for a lizard for Timothy Pigeon’s pants.
She decided that she shouldn’t interfere. Her brain was still-thirty thousand feet in the breeze. She was in a place which-struck her as strange as the moon and made her feel like a gate-crasher at a wedding.
She excused herself, went into her bedroom, closed the door, and crawled under the bed to catch her breath and take stock.
Precious took stock. Except for the distant burble of the-television in the drawing room, the household was quiet. From under the bed, America reminded her very much of Jamaica, the cobwebs under the bed being uncannily alike in either country. The stale mustiness of the mattress and the comforting dimness of the airless crawlspace between bedspring and floor were quite what she was accustomed to find under a Jamaican bed. If she didn’t know better, she would even think that she was under her own bed in Runaway Bay after a row with Theophilus.
It was still hard for her to believe that Theophilus was dead, but if he was dead under the bed, the one place where Precious always stared unflinchingly at the truth, then she could be quite sure that he would be just as dead in the open air. Her house in the Jamaica mountains was locked up and periodically tended by Maud, whom she had employed to tramp up the hill three times a week to dust and look after the dogs. She was still in a muddle about the house, but even her decision to let matters rest as they were for the time being didn’t seem so confusing under the bed.
At her age migration was certainly only a temporary measure. She did not really think that she would be living in
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