After the Rain

By Maxine James

This is a story of overcoming in the presence of life's obstructions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Word Alive Press
• Release date: Mar 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781486614400

Book preview

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. The descriptive writing technique used to portray the imagery of the scenes made me feel as if I were there in Jamaica enjoying the cool breeze and warm sunshine. This book made me laugh—it’s quite hilarious! It also made me cry, as well as made me angry.

The book brought out so many emotions in me that I can only use one word to describe it—captivating. I enjoyed reading it, and the poems at the end of each chapter are the epitome of completion. I loved every bit of it!  I’d recommend it to anyone to read!

Keleisha Edwards-Mattis

Teacher, B.A. Human Services

AFTER THE RAIN

Copyright © 2017 by Maxine James

All rights reserved. Neither this publication nor any part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

The events of this story are true; however, some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version, which is in the public domain.

EPUB Version

ISBN: 978-1-4866-1440-0

Word Alive Press

131 Cordite Road, Winnipeg, MB R3W 1S1

www.wordalivepress.ca

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

James, Maxine, 1958-, author

After the rain / Maxine James.

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-4866-1439-4 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-4866-1440-0 (ebook)

1. James, Maxine, 1958- --Health. 2. Diabetics--Canada--Biography.

I. Title.

RC660.J34 2017 362.1964’620092 C2017-900016-0

C2017-900017-9

This book is dedicated to Blossom, Dorrett, Lloyd, Jimmy, and Jas— remembering the moonlit nights of eating mangoes or sugarcane

and telling stories under promising skies.

CONTENTS

After the Rain

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Conclusion

The Poet’s Corner

AFTER THE RAIN

After the rain a rainbow appears.

Blue, green, purple, orange, and red.

After the rain, blue skies return.

After the rain, a refreshing view.

Refreshing lands, refreshing fields and streets.

After the rain, trees smile again.

Worms by force leave their habitat so dear.

A drier surrounding they now seek.

Butterflies and bees get busy again.

And lilies in yonder field bloom again.

After the rain, birds sing again.

Food in abundance their eyes behold.

And when night is come.

Moon and stars shine down from above.

Refreshing view, refreshing land.

CHAPTER 1: RAY OF PROMISE

When I was old enough, about four or five years of age, my mother registered me at the Infant School, as we called it in those days. I remember her taking me to school on that first day. Upon reaching the village square, we turned east and walked up the slope to the building—an aging, cream-coloured church, the paint of which had started to peel and fade. The light brown paint on the wooden posts and windowsills hadn’t prevented termites from eating their way into the building.

I enjoyed school that day, because Mama stayed with me, and then we walked home together. The following morning, Mama walked with me the quarter mile to school. After handing me over to the teacher, Miss Nelly, she walked away from the school door, down the grassy bank, and out of sight. I was sad, and I felt like running out the door after her. I wanted Mama to stay or to take me back home with her; however, my sadness lingered just for a short while.

Our classes were held towards the back of the church; students weren’t allowed to explore the other half of the church, even if we wanted to. We stayed within our bounds, which were from our classes to the outside. There were corners inside that were wide enough for us to play in case it was raining or for some other reason we couldn’t go outside. Teachers and students used only the back-door entrance to the classes. On Sundays, and some other occasions, all other doors were open, and our classes were neatly tucked away so the aisles were left free.

After Mama left that first day, I stood looking at the other kids and the surroundings. The teacher then led me to a wooden bench with a desk attached that seated two. The surfaces of the benches were smooth, shiny, and quite hard, and they showed no obvious signs of having been penetrated by termites. They were stained with some kind of wood protection.

I can’t recall what I learned on that first day, but I do remember looking at the pictures on the wall in front of me that colourfully displayed the letters of the alphabet: A—for apple, B—for bat, C—for cat, and so on all the way to Z. The blackboard in front of us was set on the wall for the teacher to write on. The blackboard behind us was set on legs for the other class’s teacher to write on, as well as for dividing the two classes. There were four classes, two on each side.

Our lunch was cooked and prepared on the school premises by the caretaker’s wife, whom everyone called Mama Razz, and by her teenaged daughter, Dawn. To me, it looked like Mama Razz had given birth to Dawn at an old age, an age when most women have long reached menopause and ceased from giving birth; nevertheless, they were all healthy, strong, in their right mind, and kind-hearted. They lived on the premises, and Mr. Mack took care of the church’s property. Each day just before lunch, we all stood up in front of our desks and blessed our food before eating it by singing the song, For Health and Strength and Daily Food, We Praise Thy Name, Oh Lord. We would finish by saying Amen.

Like other children’s parents, Mama gave me an enamel mug and plate to take with me to school on Monday mornings, but after many dents and chips, she changed her mind and gave me plastic ones instead. She also made arrangements for the cooks to keep my cup and dish until the end of the school week. Mama always reminded me to bring them home with me at the end of the week. The cook usually washed them and placed them on a table near the door, and each child would take theirs.

Whenever Mama didn’t have enough money to pay for my lunch at school, she reminded me to come home at lunchtime for lunch. Sometimes I’d forget what the lunch plan of the week was, so I’d sit on the bench waiting for my teacher to place my little dish of food in front of me. One day, the other students had almost finished when my teacher noticed that I wasn’t eating.

Darcy, are you not eating today?

Yes, Miss Nelly, I replied. Then she checked the lunch list and found my name absent.

Darcy, your lunch is waiting for you on your table at home, she humbly told me.

When I walked home, Mama was waiting and looking out the bedroom window for me. Sometimes Mama walked back to school with me after lunch if she had an errand to run, or if she was going to buy something at the village square shops for dinner. Other times, I went alone.

If Mama was going visiting, on her way back home she’d come to school and get me. If my class wasn’t finished by then, Mama would wait for me near the open door outside, or stand within the four wooden posts of the little bell-house under the fifteen-feet high bell, shielding herself from the heat and sun.

Classes on Fridays were held in the morning, and once in a while Mama excused me from school for the day. She’d take me shopping in town with her, especially when buying me a pair of new shoes. I was always excited to go to town with Mama, whether she bought me something nice or not.

*****

Mama was a kind and gentle person. She was slender in body and had a delicate face with high cheekbones. When she’d go out, her hair was mostly done up in a hairstyle resembling a bun cut in half. Half of her hair fell to the back and half to the front, which she twisted, rolled, and pinned above her forehead. The back half she put in a hair net, keeping it from falling down her shoulders and back. When at home she simply braided it in two and let it down, but if it got in her way, she pinned it on top of her head. She never showed anger or discussed anything negative about anyone with us.

Whenever we took a trip to town, one of the first places Mama went to was to the spice shop. The shop owner bought bulk spices such as ginger, pimento, kola, arrowroot, and other products from us and from other people cultivating them. If we had nothing to sell, Mama would go to the bank and change the foreign currency my eldest brother sent to her from abroad. The money we got either way wasn’t much, because Mama would tell me that we wouldn’t get most of what we wanted since she didn’t have enough money. She bought the necessities first, and then any extras for as far as the money could stretch.

In town, Mama always held onto my hand when crossing the street, even though the streets were scarce of vehicles. Walking to the market down the street on sidewalks with only enough room for two, Mama allowed me to walk beside her as I held her free hand, but where there was not enough room for two, I walked closely behind. Eventually, Mama thought better of it and let me walk in front of her. Whenever a horse, donkey, or mule approached us, we stopped and turned sideways until it passed. Most times the animals walked freely into the streets, and whatever vehicle was approaching proceeded with caution. At the market, vendors sat or stood in the hot sun waiting for buyers to come to their stalls. Mama and I stopped by a shoe vendor to buy me a pair of school shoes. After I chose the shoes, Mama cast me a questioning look without saying anything verbally.

This pair of shoes was not worth the money, Mama told me when, after three weeks of wearing them, they fell apart. I knew Mama would have bought something much better, but since I was the one who chose them, Mama let me have my choice. She assumed the shoes had done their time in the hot, burning sun in the market waiting for a buyer to come, or perhaps the material was of poor value.

We walked around the market for awhile, not sure of what Mama was looking for, before we wandered into the fresh fish and meat section at the rear of the market, where we bought fish for dinner. This section of the market was the only part with an overhead covering, so it was much cooler. Now and then a bird zoomed through the fifteen to twenty-foot-high ceiling without stopping. After Mama chose the type and amount of fish she needed, the vendor weighed it on a scale hanging by her side and above her head.

Would you like me to clean them for you? the vendor asked Mama.

Yes, please, Mama replied. Stay here, Darcy.

My eyes followed Mama as she stepped across and down to the next aisle and bought wet-sugar. My gaze alternated between the fish vendor, as she skillfully removed the scales from each fish, quickly gutted them, and wrapped them in used newspaper, and the wet-sugar vendor, as he scooped up the sugar into a well moistened, one-pint aluminum, cone-shaped measuring can, turned it upside-down, and allowed it to fall into Mama’s container. At times, I lost Mama among other shoppers, but I kept looking until my eyes picked her up again. The wet-sugar vendor then threw the measuring can back into a large bucket of cold water on the concrete floor beside him (with other sizes of measuring cans). Mama unrolled the money tied up in her handkerchief, paid him, and then returned to me.

Heading back through the town square for home, Mama and I made two more stops. We collected my father’s shoes that were in for repair at the shoemaker’s shop, and we bought fresh-butchered pork from our village vendor for his dinner. He didn’t eat any kind of seafood or chicken, and fresh beef was sold only twice per week in the market (and it was usually sold out before we got there). Mama could have bought the pork in town, but Pupaw, my father, insisted that she buy the other stuff first and only buy him salted codfish or pork if there was money left over. Pupaw was always willing to eat ackee, callaloo, or some other vegetable with his dinner when there was no meat protein. When we reached home, Mama had one dollar left over and tied up in her handkerchief.

My schoolwork was done on a black slate by using a slate pencil. The writing would appear white on the slate. Sometimes my slate would fall and break, so I’d carry the larger part of the broken slate to school until Mama got me another one. There was another kind of slate that was made out of cardboard. It was covered with a mild, sand-paper-like slate material and had tiny white lines that ran across its surface. This kind of slate lasted longer, provided it didn’t get wet. I used my slate pencil until it reached a stubby end before getting a new one. A slate pencil was sold for about three pennies. To erase the writings from my slate, I’d wipe it clear with hibiscus flowers, which I picked on my way to school. If I had no hibiscus flowers, I spat on it and then wiped it clear with the end of my dress. Each night, Mama gave my slate a proper cleaning for the following day.

Once Mama felt comfortable with me travelling the road alone, she made me come home for lunch and return by myself. She watched for me every day at the bedroom window. After I ate lunch, she saw me off to school again. The school building was situated on a grassy hill at the village square. The west end of the premises contained a piece of level, grassy land. Mr. Mack’s house was situated towards the southwest of the land.

A large, fruitful hog-plum tree stood by the side of the road that ran parallel to the church (school). It spread its branches high across the road, casting a welcoming shade where one usually paused on one’s journey. The Smiths lived on the opposite side of the road, across from the school and the hog-plum tree. Whenever I walked by, I deliberately squished the fallen yellow-ripe plums with my feet so that they’d give off a stronger than usual plum fragrance.

My two nieces, Blossom and Dorrett, and I often took this route to our parents’ property, where we gathered our home provisions such as fruits, vegetables, yams, and firewood. The plums were not fit for human consumption, as they were infested with worms. The worms developed in them on the tree; however, the smell was sweet and tempting. They carried a wonderful fruity, tangy fragrance. Sometimes passing by we would stand, or at least slow down, to bathe in the aroma before we moved on.

The northeast end was mostly hilly and covered with green grass. Driving up to the building, one had to enter from the southwest. Walking up the northeast end was a bit rocky and difficult. There were four graves located at the top of the slope. Two had just the head stone, but the others had raised cemented tops, which appeared as a twin grave.

A large, fruitful locust tree grew on the hillside below the building. The branches spread high above the graves and over the road that ran east to west and joined the other road at the village square. Sometimes we climbed the rocks and sat between the graves under the tree, allowing the cool wind to mesmerize us. On windy days when the locusts were dry (mature), they would hit against each other as the branches swayed in the wind. Some of the locusts would fall to the grassy hillside under the tree, and some onto the street. A few would pop open when they fell onto the hard, paved street. Not all children ate locusts, because one could easily choke on its dry, sweet, powdery content; however, John the Baptist loved this stuff, and so did I.

The church’s tower-bell was usually rung by Mr. Mack early on Sunday mornings or whenever someone passed away. There was a special beat to the ringing of the bell when someone died, and one could also distinguish whether the deceased was male or female. The bell was only rung on the first afternoon after the person died.

Mr. Mack was a tall and respectable man. His old felt cap was never missing from his head, except when he was in church. He was well known also for his gracious long neck, especially when he pulled onto the rope, which activated the bell’s tongue. Early Sunday mornings, I could hear the bell ringing from my bed. I imagined Mr. Mack’s hand coming down, holding onto the rope, while his neck stretched simultaneously, leaning his head to one side. This was the church my nephew, Lloyd, attended, and it also housed my infant school. Lloyd’s service always ended about an hour and a half before mine.

The church I attended was located on a piece of land located between two quiet roads, both running parallel to the church building. Heavier traffic, four footed animals, and humans used the road above the church. Three fruitful grapefruit trees grew between the road and the church building on the slope above the church. A wide stairway led down to the church door from the side of the road. One could enter the church building from any of the four entrances. The pastor, deacon, and other church leaders usually entered from the door leading to the pulpit, which also led to the vestry. Others entered from the two side doors and from the back door. The stained-glass windows were open while service was in progress, unless it rained and the rain was blowing in.

Whenever it rained heavily, a section of the road turned into an overflowing gully until it flowed off to the side and down into Dry Gully at the turning of the curve. We named the stream Dry Gully because it only carried water when it rained, and then it swelled up to the size of a large rushing river. The rest of the road was pleasant to walk on. Whenever the donkeys walked on the rough part of the road, their loads or hampers wobbled from side to side.

The other road below the church was a dirt road, and a section of it had flat stones embedded into the cool, permanently damp ground. Chocolate trees, coffee trees, and yam vines arched above the road, keeping it cool. Another section, where donkeys travelled quite often, was rocky. If there was a rider on the donkey’s back, he or she would appear to be dancing or doing the rock-steady as it made its way over the rough stones. It was also a shorter route. This was the road we took home, and the road where I watched Lloyd, about five years my senior, pass by on his way home from his church.

I used to sit in my seat in church on Sundays, and with the doors wide opened I could watch Lloyd pass by. I was envious as I watched him quietly make his way home from his church, knowing that I had one more hour to go before my service ended. Lloyd was a high school student at this time. From the moment I’d see Lloyd pass by, my attention was divided— half on Lloyd, wishing that I had the freedom he had, and half on what was going on around me. I felt like a person going in and out of consciousness. I wanted to tear out of the doors after Lloyd, but I was scared of leaving in case an elderly person hollered at me, or Mama demanded that I stay until church ended. The elderly people were rough at times on children in church and tolerated no nonsense when we misbehaved.

Mrs. Viola Blackwood, my aunt, sang in the choir and sat on the podium; she would leave her seat during the service and come down to me, staring me in the face with an irritated look as she grabbed unto my knees firmly and demanded that I stop swinging my feet. After returning to the podium, she’d watched me like a hawk.

Lloyd was seldom around when I’d rush home after church. He was the captain of the cricket team and had a passionate love for the game, which he frequently played in his spare time after school and on weekends. One evening, a long way from home, Lloyd was playing cricket with his team and didn’t see the ball approaching him. The evening sun was shining in his eyes and had blinded him temporarily. The ball got him fully on the mouth and knocked out his two beautiful permanent front teeth. His lips swelled to about two times their normal size, and blood oozed out of his wound. Lloyd was ashamed to walk on the street in case people saw him, so he walked home through the bushes that evening. When Lloyd entered the yard, he stood still, looking at us half shamefully and in some pain.

What happen to you, Lloyd? his grandmother asked in a compassionate tone.

Lloyd took a tentative step forward and made a swinging motion with both arms, bringing them