Читать книгу Brixton Bwoy - Rocky Carr - Страница 7

‘Have we got everyting?’ Pops called.

‘Yeah,’ came back the chorus.

‘Come on den, we go catch some fish.’

It was dark, pitch dark. There was no electricity in this part of Jamaica. It was rough country. From the hill near the house they could see the lights of distant towns, and Pupatee would sometimes stand there and admire the red and blue and white dots glowing in the darkness. But tonight they had their torches; Pops turned them upside down and soaked the wicks and lit them. The dogs drew back and spread themselves around the house, as if they understood they were in charge until the masters returned.

Pupatee and his older brother Carl, the last of the twelve brothers and sisters left at home, loved night fishing.

‘Why we go night fishing, Pops?’ Pupatee asked.

‘Because de fishes sleep at night,’ Pops said. His playful slap around the ear nearly took off Pupatee’s head. He was a big man, Pops, sometimes he didn’t know his own strength.

That afternoon, Pupatee and Carl had run home from school as fast as they could through the fields and forest, and over the streams and hills, ignoring the coconuts and cucumbers and guava and sugar-cane they could have picked along the way. They did not even stop in the mad woman’s orchards to steal her sweet limes or number eleven mangoes. When they got home, Mama gave them a good dinner of ackee and saltfish, with pumpkin and rice and avocado pears, and after they had eaten all they could, they took the herd down the river to drink. The animals sucked eagerly at the clear flowing water, which was so clean that the family would drink it straight from their cupped hands, and swim in it too on a scorching day.

While Pupatee and Carl had been away, Mama and Pops had cut some bamboo stems in the forest, and they were now working them into fish pots and spear sticks. The cattle were safely back in their pasture, so the boys joined in. They cut more lengths of bamboo at their joints, which formed a kind of cup. They pierced holes in the cups, poured paraffin through the holes into the lengths of bamboo below and rammed bits of crocos-bag material in after it.

When they were ready, Pops lit the boys’ torches and they walked in silence back down to the river. The night air was cool. Mama walked straight into the water with a fish basket which she held, gently moving, under the river banks. Suddenly she snatched it out and when the water had escaped there was a whole pile of fish flapping about at the bottom of the basket. Mama was tall and God-fearing, with a smile that never failed to make Pupatee quiver with happiness.

The fish were passed up to the boys, who gutted and cleaned them and put them in a bag container. Then they ran after Mama and Pops to see what they had caught next.

If fish were sleeping, Pops, and sometimes Carl, speared them or chopped them with cutlasses. While Pupatee watched, Pops and Carl turned over rocks in the water and almost every time found a long fat juicy eel lying there. After putting down the rock carefully so as not to wake the eel, Pops aimed for the head and chopped fast and clean.

Mama said, ‘Inu ush little.’ They all froze.

‘Ah wha?’ Pops whispered.

‘A whole eap ah sand fish sleeping next to each other. Me ah go try scrape some up in de basket ca dem so slippery you lucky to catch one otherwise.’

Mama bent down and moved in with the basket, catching four big sand fish, which was quite a rare piece of luck. As they all celebrated, Pupatee stumbled on a group of big red crayfish, their snappers sharp and ready to clip predatory fingers. He called his brother and when he was near enough Pupatee plunged both hands into the shallow water, grabbed two large crayfish, and flung them out of the water on to the land. Carl also dived in and caught one, and laughed because it was the biggest and fattest of the lot.

The night deepened, but none of them cared. Pops was chopping more fishes, while Mama and Carl were catching them with their bare hands under the bank. Pupatee was frightened of putting his hands into that gloomy water below the bank where they might touch something like a water snake or an angry eel, but when Mama and Carl and Pops put their hands in they usually came up with plenty of fish, or at worst grass and muddy rubbish.

Making their way down the river, they came to a large rock in the water with two entrances into the space beneath it. ‘Bet a large eel live under here,’ Pops said. Carl covered one entrance with his sharp pointed cutlass while Pops took care of the other. They checked with each other and thrust deep into the entrances at the same time; both smiled as they felt their weapons go into something soft. They put them down and picked up the rock, and there lay two large eels, each speared right through, floundering helplessly.

After three hours Pops said they should call it a night. They had collected so many fish that they had to leave some there in shallow water to stay fresh until they could return to carry a second load. Then they staggered home. They had plenty of different lovely fish. Although it was still the middle of the night, Mama started straight away seasoning the fish and salting the eels, putting on a big pot to boil up soup as well as a pan to deep-fry small fishes which they would eat whole, bones, eyes and all.

By sun-up, people from nearby were starting to come past to see if any fish were for sale. When Mama showed them the rare sand fish and the crayfish and eels, the buyers started bidding the highest prices.

Word soon got around, and before long young women and girls started arriving to help Mama sort out and cook all the fish. Pops was drinking rum with his friends, and Carl and Pupatee and some of the other boys went to collect coconuts full of milk for them to chase it with. (Sometimes Pops would make ‘Manhood punch’ with rum, eggs, condensed milk and oats – he said they would never have any trouble with the ladies while they drank it.) The morning ended with a huge feast of fried and steamed fish, fish soup with bread and crackers, all kinds of vegetables – pumpkin, breadfruit, plantain, gungo beans, callaloo and corn – and plenty of sugar-cane for those who weren’t keen on fish. The night’s successes were shared, and no one went away unsatisfied.

The restless lowing of cattle woke Pupatee and his brother from their midday rest. They picked up their soap and towels and led the herd to the river, where they washed and splashed about to cool off while the cows drank thirstily. After a while the boys realised how tired they were – they hadn’t slept a wink all night – so they got out and began to drive the cows quickly away from the river. One of Pops’s strictest rules was not to rush the herd, especially if any of them were carrying calves. But being tired and eager to get home, Carl pushed Pops’s cows too hard, and one panicked and fell into a big ditch.

They went for Pops and when he realised what had happened, he started fuming because it was his best cow, which was in calf. ‘Ah sorry fe de two ah you backside later,’ he shouted. They dragged the injured cow nearer home to keep an eye on it.

Back at the house, he turned and stared at the boys. ‘Carl, a you de one rush de cow mek she brek her back in de hole?’

‘No, ah no me!’ Carl protested.

‘Pupatee, ah must be you den!’

‘Ah no me, Pops,’ Pupatee cried.

‘Was it Carl?’ he demanded, and Pupatee was so confused and frightened of Pops that he forgot that he should have said no, and he nodded his head and said, ‘Yes.’

‘Me know it was you!’ Pops shouted at Carl. ‘Me ah go give you backside a good beating fe dat. You wait and see, Mister Carl.’ Carl looked at his younger brother, and Pupatee wanted the world to open up and swallow him for what he had said. All that day, Carl didn’t talk to Pupatee once or laugh or play with him. He wouldn’t even let Pupatee walk next to him. That night after dinner Pops caught Carl and gave him a bad beating, and afterwards Carl cursed both Pops and Pupatee.

The next day was Sunday. Hoping that he would be left behind on his own, Pupatee told Mama he was sick and couldn’t go to church. To his horror, Mama told Carl to stay behind too, to look after him. While she was at church, and Pops at his sugar-cane meeting, Gamper, one of their older sons, who lived with his women near by, between Gurver Ground and Cross Hill, turned up. He said he was going swimming with some friends, and invited Carl and Pupatee to go along. All the men and boys ended up down at the river by Mathew’s Deep Hole, named after a man who had drowned there. When the water was calm no one would believe it could run so deep. Soon Gamper and his friends James and Puttie were diving and swimming happily at one end, while Edward and Esau, the youngest, were playing in the shallows.

‘Come on Pupatee, follow me,’ said Carl. Pupatee laughed and followed him, excited that his brother was talking to him again. ‘Follow me, follow me,’ Carl kept saying as he swam backwards into the river. Pupatee followed, only to find himself in the deep hole with the current pulling him down, and Carl backing away.

A panic suddenly gripped Pupatee, and he began to splash about, trying to shout for help. He could see Gamper and his friends not far from where he was, but every time he opened his mouth to shout, water poured in and muffled his cry. He looked around for Carl, but by now he realised that his brother, his best friend, had left him to die.

Years later, Pupatee could still remember that moment. The world seemed to slow down almost to a stillness. Suddenly he stopped panicking and looked around calmly, seeing and hearing everything – Gamper and his friends swimming, Edward and Esau playing, the wonderful greenery surrounding the still water, the laughter and voices, even the birds singing. ‘Lord have mercy,’ Pupatee said to himself, and prepared to go. But as he was on his last breath, ready to meet his end, he heard a voice call, ‘Wait! Weh Pupatee deh?’

Making one last struggle to stay afloat, Pupatee lifted his head and saw Gamper and his friends stop what they were doing and look all around with frightened expressions on their faces. Then one of them shouted, ‘See him deh ah drown over deh!’ Another voice said, ‘See how you save man ya,’ and a figure made a large dive. When he came up he had Pupatee in his arms and was taking the boy to the shore. The others helped him and pumped water out of Pupatee’s lungs.

Gamper said, ‘You all right, Pupatee? How long you did ah drown for?’ As he tried to answer, water ran out of his mouth. ‘Wha you go in ah de deep hole for, bwoy? You mad? You no know seh ah dere Mathew drown? Ah Mathew Deep Hole, dat.’

He smacked both his younger brothers as he cried, ‘What would me tell Mama and Pops?’ Then he sent them home and told them not to mention a thing. Pupatee never did say a word, and after that the disagreement between him and Carl was ended. Carl had forgiven him, and Pupatee never thought to blame his brother. They were back to their normal selves, happily fetching and bringing back Pops’s herd from the river, cutting the grass in the sunlight, fishing and swimming.

Pupatee and Carl didn’t like to miss out on the big tasty dinners the grown-ups ate, but they had to be at the table at the correct mealtimes. Pupatee was unlucky and often late, so he and his brother soon became very good at ‘wild bush cooking’. They would make their own fishing rods and lines, and cook up tasty fish dinners outdoors using whatever vegetables and spices they could help themselves to. The weather was always hot and while their stew simmered they would sit in the shade listening to the birds squabbling in the branches above them.

Every Saturday without fail, Mama used to boil up a big pot of soup. All Jamaicans love soup; they believe it keeps them strong and wards off common illnesses. Mama was a fine cook and Pupatee loved her pea soup best of all. He used to watch it keenly, waiting in the delicious coconut-scented steam for the moment when it would at last be ready. Once he ate so much of it that he had no room left to breathe.

The rooster on the roof woke the household every morning.

‘Time fe go milk de cows dem,’ Pops would shout, his big body blocking the doorway. ‘We coming, Pops,’ the boys would call back to him as they rushed to wash and dress.

When the milking was over, Pops would send Carl and Pupatee out with the donkeys to cut grass for the cows, and woe betide them if they tried to cut corners and just cut the grass from the shade, rather than out in the open, where the sun had prepared it for the cows’ bellies.

By the time all this was done, and the boys had eaten their breakfast of fried saltfish, fried and roast dumpling, fresh hot chocolate and hard dough bread, and had run across the fields and streams, and up the hills, and down through the trees, they were often late for school. The first time this had happened, when Pupatee was only six years old, he had got a terrible shock.

The teacher sent Pupatee straight to see Mr Sweeney the headmaster. He found Carl already there, standing with his hand stretched out in front of all the older boys and girls. Pupatee went over and stood beside him. Carl whispered, ‘Take dem all pon one hand, Pupatee.’

The next thing he saw was a thick leather belt coming down three times on his brother’s hand. Carl didn’t make a noise, but after the third hit he put his hand between his legs to cool it. Then the headmaster turned to Pupatee. It was his turn. The girls in the class were all whimpering and saying, ‘Oh no, not a little boy like dat.’

‘Hush up!’ The headmaster’s voice echoed around the classroom until everything was still and silent again. ‘Stretch out you hand,’ he demanded.

It took the terrified Pupatee a moment to understand what he had said. Fright stopped him lifting up either his left or his right hand. When he did finally manage to get some movement from his hands, both came up together. The class burst out laughing, and Mr Sweeney grew even more furious.

‘Put one hand down, bwoy!’ he shouted. Pupatee tried to obey, but he was so nervous that both hands went down at once. There was another burst of laughter, which the headmaster cut short with a fierce look at the boys and girls behind him.

Mr Sweeney’s eyes then returned to Pupatee. He quickly lifted his left hand and the headmaster looked at him as if to say he was going to make these ones especially sweet. Slowly, he raised the thick leather belt. At the top he paused for a moment – and then he brought it down with such force that it was no wonder that when the belt reached the spot where it was supposed to connect with Pupatee’s hand, the hand was no longer there. The hand had returned to Pupatee’s side, and the belt swung through empty air until it landed with a slap on the headmaster’s own leg.

Now Mr Sweeney was really mad. ‘Ah six you ah go get instead ah tree if you no hold out you hand,’ he yelled. Pupatee looked at him for signs of mercy, but he just shouted again, ‘Bwoy, hold out you hand.’

Pupatee held it out, and closed his eyes, and the next moment he felt the fire spread across his palm. When the pain hit the tender part on the inside, he started jumping as if he was doing a rain dance.

It was a while before Pupatee was ready to put up his hand again. It had become shy and he couldn’t keep it still. Then that ‘Bwoy, stretch out you hand’ echoed through his ears again, and he put up his right hand this time. Mr Sweeney looked at him as if to dare him to move it again, and Pupatee closed his eyes as he took the lash. This second one was worse than the first and when the pain hit him Pupatee was jumping up and down like a stallion being mounted for the first time. Then he found himself on his knees, with his hand under his arm, as if expecting a gushing waterfall from his armpit to put out the fire that was now running through his hand and up the nerves into his body.

‘Only one more to go,’ the headmaster said, bending down to look at Pupatee. Through his tears, Pupatee could swear that for a moment he saw a look of sympathy on the man’s face, but then that hard look and stare returned and his voice boomed out.

‘Get up and hold out your hand, bwoy!’

Pupatee sprang to his feet, because he sensed the headmaster was about to start with his ‘six instead of three’ voice again. But now he didn’t know which hand to offer as they were both stinging like pepper in the eye.

‘Come on, bwoy. Me got a class to teach!’

He stretched out his left hand and a mighty whack came down on it. It was the last, and Pupatee fled out of the school screaming, found a tap and ran his hands under the cold water.

The first person who came to his rescue was Carl. ‘Me tell you fe tek dem pon one hand instead ah can’t use two hands.’

‘Me right hand no too sore, man,’ Pupatee managed to say.

Carl laughed and said, ‘Come, before dem beat we again.’ Then he led his little brother back inside.

After that, every week it was the same, and before long if they were late, Pupatee would persuade Carl to stay away from school for the whole day, running free through the countryside instead. And when they did go to school, although Carl was a good student, Pupatee learned almost nothing. He could just about spell his name, but not any more than that. He didn’t even know his alphabet, and it was all he could do to count to ten. He would just sit in school, and wait for the afternoon to end.

After school, life began. A whole group of them would set off to pick sweet limes and number eleven mangoes. The best grew on land owned by a woman they thought was mad. She would lie in wait for them and when they were in the middle of picking the juiciest fruit, high up in the trees like the doctor birds, she would jump out and surprise them, shouting, ‘You tief inu me catch you all tiefing me mangoes. Police, police!’ and they would run off as fast as Pops’s animals ran down to the river in June.

One morning, after cutting the grass and eating breakfast, Pupatee was late for school as usual. There was no sense hurrying now – Pupatee would get a beating whatever – so he dawdled, and Pops saw him ‘You na go ah school today, Pupatee?’ he called. ‘What wrong with you?’

‘Me pencil no sharp, Pops.’

‘Come, me sharpen it fe you, come.’

Pupatee followed him into the house and he took out his big, long razor. He was proud of this razor, and he took great care of it, cleaning and polishing it after every use. He opened it out and the blade shone as silver as the moon. He calmly sharpened the pencil and replaced the blade in the handle, winking at Pupatee and smiling.

‘Den de teacher na go beat you, man, de way you so late.’

From outside, Carl shouted, ‘Pupatee, de later we are ah de hotter de licks, you know. So you better come on, we half late already, ah!’

‘Me gone, Pops,’ Pupatee said.

‘All right, massah, me see you.’

Pupatee joined up with Carl, but he was walking slowly. ‘You no have fe hurry now, ca wha me no go anywhere near dat school deh today, fe me get no tree licks ah no dis or dat from headmaster, prefecs or Mama or Pops. Me know a nice place we can go over de mad woman place, go pick number eleven mangoes and bully mangoes and blackie mangoes and custard apples, mmm.’

Pupatee was all excited and ready to venture anywhere with his brother. Before long they found a family of Aba palm trees, whose nuts turned from green to bright yellow when ripe and tasted like miniature coconuts. Pupatee was up those trees quicker than a monkey, selecting the ripest and best, eating as he found them. ‘Look, ah number eleven mango tree. Dem big and ripe. No true, Pupatee?’ Carl shouted. Pupatee looked over from the tree where he was and it was a beautiful sight, all those mangoes, some red, some green, some light yellow, hanging from every limb of the tree. He came down the Aba palm faster than a snake and was soon gorging on the sweetest and juiciest mangoes.

Later they came across jackfruit, and they found sweet limes and pawpaws, and suddenly Carl said, ‘Look, bully mangoes,’ and Pupatee couldn’t believe what he saw – mangoes as big as his head. Pupatee had never seen them so big, and he could only manage one while Carl had two. This adventure went on all day, and the brothers were so full of fruit when they returned home that evening, they could scarcely eat their supper.

At school the next day, Pupatee used his newly sharpened pencil so much that he blunted it. He decided to sharpen it himself, and stole into the house the following morning to borrow Pops’s razor. Pops was so skilful with his razor that Pupatee had never understood how delicate that sharp blade was, and a big chunk snapped off in his hands. Horrified, Pupatee quickly put the blade back and crept out of the room even more quietly than he had come in. He ran all the way to school, and that day he was so downcast that the teacher asked him if he was ill. It was Friday, and Pupatee knew there would be a beating that weekend. All the next day, nothing happened, but on Sunday, after milking the cows, Pops announced he was going for a shave.

A few moments later, it happened. ‘Who use me razor and broke it up?’ Pupatee’s heart started beating fast – he knew he was in danger now. When Pops came out, he and Carl took off and luckily escaped, with Pops cursing after them. He was so mad it didn’t matter whose fault it was.

‘Oh no,’ Carl said, when they were far enough away for safety. ‘If him catch me, me ah go pretend me ah dead, ca him must kill we wid beating when him catch we.’

‘How you go pretend, Carl?’ Pupatee asked.

‘Just play dead wid froth coming out your mouth, and when the licks reach go’on like you can’t feel it, dat is how.’

They had to come home for dinner. It was fresh fried fish and eels with roast plantain and turned roast breadfruit, Pupatee’s favourite, but although he was starving, he couldn’t eat through worry. And anyway, they were only half-way through eating when Pops returned. He came straight for Pupatee, shouting, ‘Why did you broke me razor, bwoy?’

‘Me never meant it, Pops, do no beat me, Pops,’ Pupatee cried. ‘You ah beg, please no, do no.’

‘Ah going to bust you rass today,’ Pops cried, and he pulled out his belt and began to beat Pupatee.

Pupatee waited for the first three or four licks, and then put Carl’s plan into action. He went limp and began to collect spit in his mouth. After another three lashes, Pops realised something was wrong. He stopped.

‘Pupatee! Pupatee! Pupatee!’ he cried. ‘Kay, come see, him ah dead, Kay!’

‘Me ah come,’ his mother answered.

‘Pupatee!’ Pops was calling again. By now Pupatee had a mouthful of frothy saliva, and he let it bubble through his lips. Pops stared down at him and began to shake him.

‘Lord, Putoo,’ Mama cried. ‘You ah kill me wash-belly pickney!’

‘Me never did start ah beat him hard yet, Kay,’ his father protested while Mama picked him up and took him to his bed, where she rubbed ointment into his sores and aches.

That day, Pupatee was left to sleep, and for several days he was given tip-top treatment while he pretended to recover slowly. Even Pops came in to tell him he was sorry and he would never beat him again as long as he lived.

For weeks after that, Pops kept his word. Everywhere Pupatee went, he heard the neighbours whispering that he was the boy who had almost been beaten to death by his father. And Pops didn’t raise a hand against him. But then, when the incident had almost been forgotten, Pupatee irritated Pops and he swung out at him and caught him on his arm. It was hardly a lashing, certainly not a beating, but handiwork was there again for everyone to see.

‘From me born me never see ah boy pickney soft like gal pickney so,’ Pops protested to Mama. ‘One little slap and his arm swell up so. Dat is it, I will never put me hand pon dat boy ever again.’

‘Lord God have mercy, man, it looks like you broke him arm.’

Pupatee wanted to laugh, but he managed not to. From that day, his father never again laid a hand on him. Pops had a heart as big as this world, though nobody could see it for it was hidden away deep in his chest. Often in the years to come, Pupatee would remember how Pops had reacted to the pain he had caused: horrified by what he had done to the son he loved.

This was how life was. One year, when Pupatee was eight years old, they got news that their son Joe would be coming home for Christmas. Carl and Pupatee had a whole heap of brothers and sisters in England and America, some of whom they had not seen since they were babies, and some they had never seen. Joe was the oldest of them all, the first son, and he had not been home for many years.

The closer it got to Christmas the hotter it became. Most of the mangoes and other fruits were out of season until the next year, so they turned their minds to other food. There were many tasty birds to catch, like the pea dove, the ground dove and the white-winged and barby doves. These birds were easy to pluck and clean and Mama was always pleased when the boys brought them home. She cooked them over a raw fire, either pierced with a stick and rubbed with salt and seasoning, or fried with garlic, onions and peppers.

At the fine news that Joe was coming, Pops killed a couple of chickens. A few days later, he killed a couple of ducks and a big fat pig. Finally, they slaughtered two goats and invited all the neighbours round, saying Christmas had come early that year.

The day before Christmas Eve there was a big cleanup, and all the neighbours went home to get ready for their own family feasts. Joe arrived that night. Carl and Pupatee were very excited to see this brother who was like a stranger, and Mama and Pops were full of happiness at the return of their eldest son. The house seemed almost fit to burst with anticipation. When Joe walked through the door he didn’t let them down. He was not a big man, but he was dressed in slick English clothes, and when he spoke his voice was high and his English perfect. Pupatee had to concentrate to understand him when he talked.

Joe had gone to England many years before. He lived in London with his wife and children, and had a job as a van driver for British Rail. He seemed very old to Pupatee – he was, in fact, old enough to be his father. Carl and Pupatee were very proud to have such a big brother. They stayed up as late as they could listening to the talk until Mama noticed the time and sent them up to bed.

The next morning, the rooster woke the house with a triple cock-a-doodle-doo alarm. Mama and Pops were dressed straight away and headed through the door to get their daily chores done early. Carl and Pupatee were washed and dressed early too. They helped Mama light the log fire and then went to help Pops milk the cows. When they brought the milk back to the kitchen, Mama asked Pops if he was going to kill another goat to celebrate Joe’s arrival.

‘Wha? A little goat?’ Pops replied. ‘Wha you ah talk seh woman, we son come home from faran country and you ah tell me fe kill just one little goat! Oh no, we ah go kill one fat bull fe him. When him ah go back we can kill one little goat, yes, but me would be too shame fe kill just a goat fe him arrival!’

Mama was laughing, and Carl and Pupatee looked at each other in amazement. A fat bull! That meant pure beef for Christmas!

‘Carl, Pupatee.’

‘Yes, Pops.’

‘Go get de youngest, fattest bull and bring him down to de slaughter post.’

‘Yes, Pops.’

Just then, Joe walked into the kitchen and wished everybody a good morning.

‘Ho, you get up already,’ said Pops. ‘Good, you can help me kill one fat bull we killing fe you welcoming home,’ said Pops.

‘That sounds like my kind of talk,’ said Joe.

Mama was still smiling with delight as Carl and Pupatee went for the fatted bull while Joe and Pops got rope and a big sharp knife, and when the boys returned with a young beefy bull, Pops and Joe tied it to the slaughtering post.

Before they could begin, Mama called everyone for breakfast. They all sat around the big table in the kitchen and ate their bellies full of fresh hot chocolate, saltfish fritters, fried dumplings, salt-fried pork with callaloo greens and two big half-ripe roasted breadfruits as extras. While Mama started cleaning up in the kitchen, Pops and Joe took a bottle of white rum and two coconuts with milk inside for a chaser, and went and sat in the sun near the bull at the slaughtering post.

Carl and Pupatee were left in the kitchen to help clean up and after a while an argument started. It was over something trivial, a fishing weight, but soon they were readying for a fight. First Carl hit Pupatee, and just as Pupatee drew back his fist to hit him back, Joe walked into the kitchen. He needed a file to sharpen the knife that was to be used to kill the fatted bull.

‘What!’ cried Joe, taking off his belt and giving Pupatee a few whacks. ‘How dare you hit your elder brother. Don’t you ever do that again.’

Tears poured down Pupatee’s face. It wasn’t the pain, but the shock of being hit by his brother Joe, who he so idolised.

‘Wha wrong with you bwoy, wha you ah cry for?’ Pops asked.

‘I caught him throwing punches at his elder brother and gave him a slight belting,’ Joe said.

Pops laughed and Pupatee turned round to see a smile on Joe’s face, which only put him in an even hotter temper.

‘Pupatee, wha you ah cry like a girl for?’ said Mama when she saw him coming towards her, sniffing away.

‘Nothing.’

‘Come, me comb you head fe you, son.’

Pupatee went to her. Mama’s warmth was comforting, and he felt better after she had oiled and combed his hair. You look nice now, Pupatee,’ she said. He smiled.

Outside, Pops and Joe were tying up the bull so that it would not be a danger during its slaughtering. The post was an old stump of a tree, still attached to its roots. After a while the bull was trussed to the post by its horns, and it looked fierce no longer, but frightened. It mooed and tried to pull itself free, but its struggles were useless.

Carl appeared with a large container to catch the blood for the dogs. Pops offered Joe the big slaughtering knife to do the killing, but Joe refused. Pops smiled. ‘Faran country changed you a lot, son, you used to love doing de killing years ago.’

‘Can Pupatee do it, Pops?’ Pupatee said. They all turned to see him watching them from the veranda.

‘You still a pickney, bwoy, dis a man work.’ Pops laughed, then he looked at him and said, ‘Pupatee, you no remember de time when you kill Massah Tom little pig?’

He did remember. An animal had been raiding one of Pops’s far-off vegetable fields every night and Pops had grown so weary that he had offered his sons a pile of money if they caught it and killed it. So one day, Gamper and Carl packed a tent, food, knives, cutlasses and machetes and walked to this far-off field. They set up their tent and slept at the spot where they expected the intruder would try to get into the field. That night, it showed up just as they hoped. It turned out to be a very large sow, bigger even than them. The boys were frightened, but they wanted the money even more than they were afraid of the harm that sow might do them. So Gamper charged at the sow and dived on it with a long sharp knife. The sow put up a strong fight, trying to escape from Gamper and Carl. Even after its throat had been cut, it stumbled several yards before it finally fell down and lay still.

Mama and Pops had made much of Gamper and Carl, giving them their money and praising them to the skies. So when, several months later, Pupatee came across a piglet, he pulled out his knife and killed it. But no one had told him to kill this piglet, and it wasn’t even trespassing, so instead of getting a hero’s welcome, Pupatee got only a good beating.

‘Pupatee! Pupatee?’

‘Yeah, Pops?’

‘You deaf?’

He shook himself out of his trance. Joe and Carl tied a rope to the back legs of the bull and Pops took the knife and pulled it across the underside of the bull’s neck, cutting right through and almost taking its head off. The blood gushed out and fell into the waiting container. The bull made one last deathly moo, kicking and quivering all over, and as the blood poured from its throat, the dogs began to gather.

‘Pupatee, you and Carl go bath, den go tell de people you big bredda Joe deh home from England, and one big whole dinner get together ah ran fe him. And me, and you Mama, ah invite everyone. Also tell dem on sale is fresh beef. Tell dem me kill de best bull and plenty good food is here.’

‘OK, Pops.’

‘And son, go tell de whole ah you cousins and dem friends fe come help Mama,’ said Mama. ‘And hurry, Pupatee.’

That night, when darkness fell, they had a great feast of beef from the slaughtered bull. They built a big fire and roasted nuts and all kinds of other goodies, like breadfruits, sweet potatoes, fish, birds, yam and sweet corn. There was rice and peas, boiled pumpkin and plates of fried green bananas. Everybody joined in the fun of lighting fire crackers and big loud bangers and rockets which flew up and exploded with a wonderful brightness in the pitch dark. And all the time people were playing music and dancing and singing. Pupatee’s disagreement with Carl, and even his beating from Joe, was soon forgotten, and it was the biggest and best Christmas ever.

A few days later it was time for Joe to go back to England. The whole family were sitting together, Pupatee between Mama and Pops. Then Mama said, ‘Joe, me ah beg you. One last favour for Mama, do son.’

‘What is it?’ asked Joe.

‘By de time Pupatee and Carl done looking after dem fadda’s cows, dem always late fe school and Pupatee no even badda go sometimes. Lord have mercy pon me, Joe, me wash-belly pickney no even know two letter out de ABCDEFGH, so me would ah glad if him could ah come ah England wid you, to go school, where him would ah learn fe spell and write him name.’

‘Oh no, Mama,’ Pupatee stuttered. He was happy at home with Mama and Pops and Carl. But to his horror, Joe agreed.

‘I suppose he could wash my car on Sundays,’ he said. ‘You can send him over in a few weeks.’

And that was that. There was nothing Pupatee could do. Mama had made up her mind and he was going to England. After all, Joe was there and so was another brother and several of his sisters. Pupatee would be looked after fine.

When the day finally came for Pupatee to leave for England, his father was not his normal self. Pops barely looked at him or said goodbye. He didn’t want his youngest son to go, but he hadn’t been able to persuade his wife. She was a determined woman. Mama, Carl and Pupatee left Pops behind and set out for town, where they stayed overnight, and the next day they made their way to the airport.

At last the moment came when they all stood by the escalator that would take Pupatee to the plane and away from everything familiar.

‘Bye Mama, bye Carl,’ he said quietly, turning to start up the escalator.

‘Wait!’ Mama cried. ‘You not going to kiss Mama before you go to England?’

Pupatee ran back and threw himself at his mother, hugging and kissing her. Then she gently sent him on his way. As he was carried along on the escalator, tears dripped on to his shoes. It was the first escalator he had ever seen.