Reynolds Seduce

1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-1-84523-304-4
Verlag: Peepal Tree Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 184 Seiten

The word has gone out that Seduce is dead, and the mourners gather on Church Island in the Caribbean for her wake. All bring their own memories of Seduce: her daughter Glory prays for the rescue of her mother's soul, but there are also those who have come to make sure that 'dutty filthy woman' has finally ceased to be a temptress to the island's husbands. Her grandchildren, too, both in their different ways marked by growing up in such a conflicted family, strive to find something positive in Seduce's life, and new directions in their own. And then there is Seduce's old lover, Mikey, come to make his peace. In this remarkable debut novel, told in patois prose that is poetic and delicate, profane and slyly funny, Desiree Reynolds has powerful things to say about race, class and the struggle between the sexes. Desiree Reynolds started her writing career in London as a freelance journalist for the Jamaica Gleaner and the Village Voice. She has gone on to write film scripts, poetry and short stories; Seduce is her first novel. A teacher, broadcaster and DJ, Desiree currently lives in Sheffield.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Reynolds, Desiree

Leseproben

Mikey

“Unaccustom as I and I is to talking out in public, I want fi say jus a few tings as Jah watches over all a we. I and I soon to tek me leave – no, no, me no mean me goin dead, too, doh me tink some ah you did tink so. Me choose life. I and I is a livin man; me no bargin wid death, no heng roun it, no let it be part of me life. So, me nah stay long, me ah go back up di mountain to me home, where Jah provide, but me feel it important dat someone talk dat knew her long, an I and I will tell you what dis woman mean to me. You all know di I. You all know she was de moon to me sun, di land to me water. Even when me a travel she close to me heart.

“Me nah fraid talk it, feel it. Di young people dem nuh know how to deal with what is in dem heart, but if you don’t say what in you heart, you heart goin trangle you. Mark me. Me know what me a talk. Me a talk bout di muscle string, di neck back, di shoulder blade, di han miggle, di foot bottom, di hair up di nose, di eye teet. An das all dat lay dung deh, inna di box, for we know she gone. Dat is just di ting dat use fi house her. All a we haffi tink on dat. We come to we own judgment.

“When me firs see dis likkle ting by di Lampi shed, me know di most high have provide me wid me queen. She tink she too nice. Is how high she nose coulda reach di sky, an she shorter dan we, eh? She start fi work dere, an every day me fine some excuse to go dere. Me start fi put me boat dere, me start fi sell me catch to di Lampi dem, but truly it was so I and I could catch a sight of she. She coulda run up an dung dem steps, up an dung, and when she done she sit down on the rocks and smoke she pipe. She start chat to we. She tell me she name, where she from. Everyting. Dere was no secrets. Me tell her everyting and dat was dat. Everyting set in stone. It already written. When she want me to teach she how to fish, me tink dat is why she chat to me in di firs place. She didn’t know how to swim, growing up here, and she didn’t know nuttin about fishin. Me tek she in me boat. She fraid. Yes me know she act like she ent fraid a nuttin, but mek me tell you, she fraid a water, like puss. She sit in di boat stiff so. Scared fi rock it. She seh me is rocking it fi joke and dat when she come back to land she goin stab me! Ha! She soon fine her sea leg. She put her line in and start to fish. Not long after, sumtin grab she line an she start fight. ‘Come here, you dutty, stinking was-not fish,’ she seh. ‘One a we a going end up in di pot tonight!’ Ever since den, before me put down my lines, dat is what me always seh, ‘One a we goin end up di pot tonight.’

“She and my mother – well some a you will memba me modder. Dat was a battle royal over I, and well, me modder didn’t like my involvement wid Sed. She hate fi accept me choice. But yuh have to accept yuh blood. Dat is for sure. If you lucky enough fi have pickney. We not so blessed and some dat are don’t deserve it. Yes, and I and I know di troot of it. Anyway. We not here fi dat. We here fi she. So hol up you glass and wish my queen safe journeys.”

...I an I tink she did know she soon dead. When me went fi see her di las time, she lay down. She neva git up again. She look at I and I and tell me to lay down nex her. Me fraid.

“You want me inna you bed?” Me shock.

“So?” She had dat look on her face, like you an di worl beneath her. But dat look would tek hol ah me, like bein drawn by you navel string.

“Well it’s been a lotta years. You a feel sick fi true.”

“You always haffi mash everyting up.”

“Alright cool down, sekkle. You mout goin give I and I headache.”

“God bless me days. You always sick. You foot, you han’, you head. Dis a hurt, dat a twis’ arf. Sumting always do you. It like dealin wid a likkle ole woman, to rarse.”

“An is yuh mek I and I tek sick, Jah know.”

She did know what I mean.

“When you did los di bwoy.” A tear run dung me cheek. Pain is still pain.

“Ole man, you no done barl? Dat a fifty years ago.”

“Me neva done barl. Neva. But Jah teach we forgiveness an conciliation.”

“Is what you talking, ole man? You like dem idiot pan di street.”

“A who dat?”

“Dem man, no wash, no comb dem hair, act like dem jus bush people.”

“You figet we all bush people. You figet bout you family a bush people an all what dem do? Woman, know thy self.”

She stop den, look out yonder window, searchin, me tink.

“You no haffi remine me bout me history, ole man; no one haffi do dat.”

“Jah know...”

“Jah know, Jah know. Seem like everybody a catch religion.”

“Depend on di religion yuh a catch.”

“Dem all di same.”

“No sah. Babylon try fi keep we under an use dem religion.”

“Yet you an you unwash breddas use di same book backra use fi oppress we. You too contrary to backside, ole man.”

“Yuh language bad terrible. Yuh no know how ole you is?

Carry yuhself wid some pride, African sister.”

“Oh God, me is me, ole man, an you an no odda crab-louse goin change dat.”

“I an I done fight wid you. Is dat what you call me for? Lissen to your words dat does hurt I an I ears?”

“I an I, I an I. You soun so fool fool. Come here before me shot you a lick you poop til nex week.”

“Not comin near you, man. Sometime man haffi be man.”

“By sayin no to me?”

“Dat’s right.”

“When truly, you nuh want fi say no to me.”

“Sometime you haffi do sumting you no like to do. Yuh sick, yuh sen di gyal fi me? What yuh want? I an I have plenty fi do.”

“What yuh a do?”

“I goin on a journey, a long way away.”

“Wait, you come here fi give me joke?”

An she laugh, dat bad-mine laugh an clap she han on top a di bed.

“Laugh all you want to laugh. Yes, woman, a call has come fi help di Etiopian broddas an sistas an babies slaughter under di tanks of di oppressor.”

“But wha we know bout dem? What about we?”

“We all di same, don’t you know dat? We mus know each an every one of us is di same or we perish. So say me kith an kin over di wata.”

“Not dat jackass dat want all ah we fi go back to Africa?”

“Him is di prophet most high.”

“Him! Me did know him uncle; yuh neva saw a man so tief.”

“Sed!”

“An what good did it do you di las time?”

“Dat was a long time ago. Maybe now di time is right.”

“You pick up you foot, seh you goin fight di war a di righteous, pan an island dat have no relation to we, an what happen? We free?”

“I an I was young den.”

“An you ole now. Look pan you, you can hardly walk. You can barely liff up youself. Look how you back ben’. Look how you foot stan when you came back before. Is me nurse you. Maybe me won’t be here to nurse you dis time.”

An she let di words drop an pitch outside. She did know.

She always try to catch me dat way. Always use death against me. Even my own. Di way a man know death different from a woman. I look dung at dese hands, dem have di tremble in dem dat get worse by di day. Bwoy, but ole age cruel. Maybe I an I cyant fight no more, is words now dat me haffi deal wid, not gun an knife.

Me look up an see dat she know me mine.

“Is whe you a go? You lef sumting out dere?”

Me know now what she a talk. After all dese years it still a get to she. Suddenly me feel betta bout getting ole cos di ole fowl still a feel jealous.

“Always a talk bout fight! Which part you can fight now. Can hardly tan up straight.”

“Is war out dere, Sed.” Me point out di window, the window she use to survey she queendom, she subjects – she keep she eye pan everyting in Paradise an beyond.

“Is a war in here to blood-eye, a war in here. Always war. People talk nex war a come.”

“I an I tell you.”

“An when it done, Church here still. An you can come home in a box, if dem fine you pieces. Lissen, ole man. Can you stop di trimble in you han an see straight nuff fi fire di gun?”

“I an I know all bout gun.”

“You sure you not goin shoot youself inna yuh one good foot?”

“No tell me bout gun, me can still fire a gun.”

“Den come fire it fi me, nuh?”

“No.”

So many times I see her on a wooden cot covered wid rags, in her hut on di alley, pon the sand, against a tree, under di stars, in di warm sea, pon a rock by di river, in di cole river. Layin dere, waitin fi me. Brown legs open, black eyes shut. Me no tink seh she know she did love me, but di look dat live in she eye dat day tell me she did feel it. And, of course, she right. Who was I? Ole man. But who we is if we stop fight?

“Come here, nuh.”

“No.”

“You no want to love me before you go?” She teasin me, she did know dat me not goin nowhere.

“We both too ole fi dat.”

“So you mean you not too ole fi fight, an...