But that was a week ago. Not today. Not now.
CHAPTER 28
ZINZI
Accompong, Maroon Village, Cockpit Country, Day One
The hour is late. A strong breeze sweeps through the Cockpit, rolling over the hills and into the valleys and caverns. My nerves tingle. It’s been a long while since I’ve been home. But this visit is my mother’s doing, not my decision. She asked me to bring the Americans to Accompong, to leave the labor movement for a few days, just for her. I wonder if she even knows them—the Dunham expedition.
I stroll up the short pathway to my mother’s hut and am surprised. She is outside, snapping peas while sitting on the same three-legged stool Momma Jayden sat on those many years ago.
“I thought you’d be cleaning up after dinner in a house full of family. Are the twins inside?”
“Mi wondering when you were gonna come this way.” Her voice is the usual mix of gravel and honey. “Mi been watching you since you came up to the colonel’s house with all those people.”
“Good evening, Momma Hazel.” I use her full motherlyname. It’s been so long since she’s heard my voice. I owe her the respect. I kiss her on the cheek. She looks different. She looks old. I know she’s been ill, but most Maroons are ageless.
“It’s about time you came home. You haven’t bothered to visit your momma in ages.” She looks past me. “Who are those people who were with you in the colonel’s yard?”
“The Americans from Chicago. You sent me a note, Momma. Or Raymond sent it to me. You asked me for a favor.”
“Don’t quibble. Mi know about the note, and mi know the colonel has told the village about Katherine Dunham and the dances she wants to learn.”
“Oh, by the way, I should tell you that Vivian Jean Hartfield was very insistent that her maid—her name is Maxi Green—is a relative of ours,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I told Mrs. Hartfield I’ve never heard of her. And I didn’t go into any detail about Father’s side of the family because I don’t know enough about them.”
My mother grunts, which is about all the reaction I am getting from her on the subject. With her gaze fixed on the houses next door, she’s more interested in what’s happening in the colonel’s yard.
“The Dunham party will spend the night in the colonel’s main house. Their living quarters aren’t ready but will be tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s right, the colonel is hosting them,” she says. “Besides, you haven’t seen me in over a year. We should spend time together, just the two of us.” She closes one eye and stares at me with the other, and I can’t determine if it’s a wink, a twitch, or a wince.
“You look thin. And what have you done to your hair, curled on your head like some girl who doesn’t know the Cockpit—a girl who belongs in Kingston, dressed in floral dresses and store-bought shoes?”
“Momma, please. Can we discuss my hair and shoes later?” I glance at my hiking boots. “I’m here for only a day or two. And I don’t wish to have any disagreements with you.”
“A few days?” She drops the peas in the basket. “I told Raymond what to write, but it wasn’t my idea.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “A duppy told me to bring you back home. Mi never would have asked on my own.”
“Please don’t start with that. You know it’s forbidden even to say that word in Accompong.”
“Mi just telling you what happened.” She pats her knee. “And why you think mi whisper.” She raises a brow. “Come down here so mi can see you up close.”
I kneel in front of her. She takes hold of my face with both hands. “Tell me about your life in Kingston. Why you’ve stayed away from Accompong for so long? Mi know about you and the labor union movement. Are you in love with Allan Coombs? Or does someone else have your heart?”
Now, that is a question I will never discuss with my mother. “I spend my time with the labor movement and working at the Constant Spring Hotel. You already know this.”
“You and Mr. Coombs, peas in a pod? There is nothing more between the two of you but this union work?”
“That is correct, Momma. Can we stop talking about this now? I’m tired.”
Sleeping at my mother’s house may be the hardest part of being home. I forgot how she can be. Even when she’s unwell, she insists on having things her way. She wakes up before the sun rises, banging pots and pans as she prepares the morning meal, yelling for the chickens to gather in the coop or for the goat to get ready for milking. But I am not alone, it appears. The colonel’s house has the same lack of regard for sleeping in after a long journey, and shortly after I am forced out of my bed, Katherine and Vivian Jean stand at the front entrance to my mother’s hut.
They look absolutely desperate.
“Is there something you need?”
My mother peeks around a corner, tying a scarf around her head. “Mind your manners, Zinzi. Tell those girls to come on in.”
“You heard her.” I step aside and gesture for them to enter.
