The widow's might

Ditta Sylvester, Contributor

The circumstances surrounding the passing of Derrick Newman led many to assume that that the possibility of his widow and children continuing to live a normal life, was as unlikely as a river defying gravity to flow up stream.

Derrick had met his wife, Donna, at a beauty shop in Glandon - a quiet little seacoast town. About a fortnight before that, 22-year-old Donna Andrews had left her home in the country to become apprenticed to Marjorie Black, the owner of the shop. Derrick had dropped in just to pass the time and had been instantly attracted to the pretty, hard-working young woman.

Thirty nine-year-old Derrick was a big man about town. Raised by his maternal grandmother who had died some years ago, he had, with charm and determination, become quite a successful businessman. Derrick - who up until then - had been a girly-girly man, opted to quit womanising and settle for love and marriage.

Donna insisted on having a small wedding. Present from her side of the family were Judith - her mother, Judith's Aunt Alice and a few close friends. The couple spent most of their honeymoon in the big house near Glandon, which Derrick had recently bought. Donna reluctantly agreed to quit working and completely devote herself to the business of caring for home and husband.

TOO CONFINING

Even before the birth of the couple's first child, Derrick had begun to find marriage much too confining. At first, his infidelities were discreet, but by the birth of their second, he was enjoying himself too much to be careful and that which God had joined together, was fast beginning to come apart.

The baby was almost two when a new lady doctor came to town. Later that same week, Derrick paid her a visit. He fell in love instantly and was prompt in keeping the appointment for his second visit. The doctor ushered him into her office and with more kindness and concern than he had ever experienced, informed him that he was carrying the AIDS virus.

When his wife and children came home that night, Derrick was hanging by his neck from a rafter in the ceiling.

Not many days after he was buried, Donna was shocked to discover that her late husband was not half the businessman everybody had thought him to be. She had felt compelled to give him an expensive funeral, if only to detract attention from the manner in which he died. With little more than debts, the family had to leave the heavily mortgaged house. The widow's legacy turned out to be no more than a mite. Donna had little time in which to grieve. Quickly she found herself a cheap flat on one of the back streets of the town, into which she moved with as much furniture as the place could hold. An elderly neighbour agreed to keep little Josh and his baby sister, Kim, for a small fee, while Donna worked.

Mrs Black was happy to welcome her former employee back. Donna's old customers and friends greeted her kindly but for some reason, none wanted her to do their hair. By the end of her first day, she felt totally rejected and wondered what she had done wrong. That night, she spoke to Marjorie who was concerned but seemed to have no answers. She suggested that Donna might have better luck if she did manicures the following day.

At eleven o'clock, a stylishly dressed young woman came in to have her nails done. As Donna proceeded with the job, the woman said: "I'm sure I have seen you before but I just can't place you. Are you new here?" She spoke with an accent.

"I did work here a few years ago," Donna told her "But mi did stop an' come back yesterday."

"You left to have a baby?"

"Two baby an' a funeral," Donna said.

"What! Who died?"

"Mi husban'."

"You talking about that big funeral three weeks ago?" the customer asked.

"Yes, dat funeral."

"Derrick's funeral?"

Donna looked up. "You did know him?" she asked.

The woman looked away. Laughing quietly she said, "Did I know him! So you were Derrick's wife," she continued after a pause. "I should have known!"

"What you mean by dat?" Donna asked suspiciously.

"Nothing."

Minutes passed. Then, without warning, the woman pulled her hand away and abruptly stood up.

"Is what?" Donna asked.

"I have to go," was the terse reply.

"But mi not finish," Donna objected. "You leavin wid two nails not done?"

The woman flashed her a hostile look. "They say you can't get it by touching, but I not too sure about that one!"

Donna was confused. "What you talking about?"

"Why did Derrick kill himself?"

BEWILDERED

Donna gazed at her in silent bewilderment before it broke into her consciousness: The AIDS virus! That was the problem! Like this woman, her friends and former clients all felt that Derrick had given his disease. The thought had occurred to her but she had refused to face it, partly because doing so would lead her to question whether her children were as healthy as they looked. Now it had all come back like a slap.

Donna watched numbly at the yellow evening sun cast playful shadows against the pavement. The gloomy silence was broken only by the clip-clop of the woman's heels as she hurried away from the shop.

"Road-runna Jean dat!"

"Who?" Donna asked vaguely.

"Madam Jean Bernard. Highly educated, world-travelled, real estate agent," Marjorie said, exaggeratedly mimicking Jean's accent and gestures. "Dutty gal!" she fumed. "A play like she so hot!"

"But it look like she did know Derrick good. I wonderin' ... "

"Don't waste time a worry bout she, Donna," Marjorie cut in."I goin pay you for di rest of dis week. Stay home an' rest youself till nex' week you come back."

She thanked her employer and left, knowing fully well that there would be no point to her returning to work there. The experience had left her feeling like a leper.

Unusual Tension

A few days later, Donna was installed on a not-exactly-attractive stall in the town's market. Sure it was a step down, but her children had to eat. Her small assortment of slippers, underwear and children's clothes was quickly depleted and her mood began to lighten. She had just returned from replenishing her stock one Thursday afternoon when she detected an unusual tension in the atmosphere. A few women sitting close together in a tight group abruptly ceased their animated whispering the moment she entered. Donna greeted them but nobody responded.

She felt an urgent need to visit the bathroom and asked the neighbouring vendor to watch her stall. Minutes later, Donna came back to find most of her goods lying on the dusty, grey floor of the market while her neighbour tried to bury her face deeper into The Star she was pretending to read. Fear, like an icy hand of steel, held and crippled her for a moment. In a daze, she gathered her things from the floor and began to pack up. She would call it a day and return tomorrow. The acrid smell of raw meat and blood oozing from the abbatoir now mingled menacingly with the fumes of fear and fury.

Self-consciously, she made her way gripping her bags like they were crutches. She so wished she could be invisible just till she got to the exit. She was approaching the gate of the market when she heard behind her:

"AIDS gal!"

She stopped, her heart pounding, and looked back but nobody met her gaze. Donna quickened her steps and was almost through the gate when a stone made violent contact with her lower back. She almost lost her balance, a frightened cry escaping her throat as she glanced fearfully behind her. Everybody in the market was shouting now:

"Dutty gal!"

"AIDS gal!"

"We noh want noh AIDS from you!"

"Come out yah!"

Donna's feet assumed a life of their own as they took her charging, tearing, and stumbling aimlessly through the streets of Glandon. Half-blinded by her tears and the urge to escape, she was unaware of the stunned reaction of the people she passed or bumped into as she ran. Finally, having reached the deserted outskirts of the town, she paused. One slipper was missing but she was still clutching her bags.

She looked at herself through the eyes of someone way superior to what Donna Andrews had now become - scorned, worthless, rejected. Seating herself on a stone, she put her face in her hands and wailed like a hopeless, frightened child. All seemed lost. How could she go on now?

Could she even muster the strength to go on?

See Part 2 next week.

From Puss Food and Other Jamaican Stories by Ditta Sylvester is a production of LMH Publishing and is available at Sangsters Bookstores, Kingston Book Shop and other stores islandwide.