TO MOM, WITH LOVE

Four titles recently featured in Bookends may just be the perfect gifts for Mom this Mother’s Day

The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress (Doubleday), by Ariel Lawhon

They say behind every great man, there’s a woman. In this case, there are three. Stella Crater, the judge’s wife, is the picture of propriety draped in long pearls and the latest Chanel. Ritzi, a leggy showgirl with Broadway aspirations, thinks moonlighting in the judge’s bed is the quickest way off the chorus line. Maria Simon, the dutiful maid, has the judge to thank for her husband’s recent promotion to detective in the NYPD. Meanwhile, Crater is equally indebted to Tammany Hall leaders and the city’s most notorious gangster, Owney “The Killer” Madden.

On a sultry summer night, as rumours circulate about the judge’s involvement in wide-scale political corruption, the Honourable Joseph Crater steps into a cab and disappears without a trace. Or does he?

After 39 years of necessary duplicity, Stella Crater is finally ready to reveal what she knows.

Frog Music (Little, Brown and Co), by Emma Donoghue

Summer of 1876: San Francisco is in the fierce grip of a record-breaking heat wave and a smallpox epidemic. Through the window of a railroad saloon, a young woman named Jenny Bonnet is shot dead.

The survivor, her friend Blanche Beunon, is a French burlesque dancer. Over the next three days, she will risk everything to bring Jenny’s murderer to justice – if he doesn’t track her down first. The story Blanche struggles to piece together is one of free-love bohemians, desperate paupers, and arrogant millionaires; of jealous men, icy women, and damaged children. It’s the secret life of Jenny herself, a notorious character who breaks the law every morning by getting dressed: a charmer as slippery as the frogs she hunts.

In thrilling, cinematic style, Frog Music digs up a long-forgotten, never-solved crime.

Transcending Pain: 50 Ways to Transform Your Hardest Days, by Jacqueline Ramsey

This is a detailed, easy-to-read book that seeks to explore the interconnection between the mind and the spirit, as well as the management of the body. It offers any patient dealing with chronic pain a collection of information, suggestions, techniques and points to meditate on, all extensively researched and sourced from authoritative publications.

Ghana’s Beautiful Gardens, by Karen Hendrickson

Ghanaian-based Jamaican author Karen Hendrickson has recently published a coffee table book, Ghana’s Beautiful Gardens. In order to share the beauty of Ghana’s gardens – which she describes as “exquisite, lush, tranquil gardens that are lovingly cared for by their owners” – with the world, Hendrickson, along with her friend and co-author Arafua Aning, decided to go behind the walls of these private homes and photograph some of Ghana’s most elegant gardens.

Child Month Feature:

Atty, Porty, and Ram: Jamaican Musketeers

By Hazel Campbell

CONCLUSION

4

On Fridays, Grade 7B had classes in the computer lab. This Friday morning they lined up behind their teacher to go into the lab for lessons they all enjoyed. Mr Curling turned the key, entered the lab first, then gave a loud exclamation of surprise and annoyance. “Who leave on the computers?” he yelled.

When the children entered the room, they saw that all the computers were on, even though the screens were blank. There were also books open on the tables and the chairs were all out of place.

“The last ones to use this room yesterday are in serious trouble,” Mr Curling said. He looked at the timetable on the wall and called a girl named Cutie to fetch the monitor from Grade 7A.

When the girl came she insisted that her class had turned off the computers and left the room tidy. “Ask our teacher, if you don’t believe me,” she said. Miss Campbell always checks that we leave the place tidy and she lock up when we finish.”

Porty, Atty and Ram looked at one another. More mysterious happenings at night.

At lunch time that day the three musketeers discussed the situation further.

“We have three mysteries to look at,” Porty began. Two at our school…”

“Where you get three?” Ram asked.

“Shiney disappeared, remember.”

“But that is different.”

“Maybe not,” Porty replied. “I watch the detective shows and sometimes even when you can’t see it, all the mysteries are connected.”

“And if you solve one, you solve the others,” Atty said. Unlike Ram he was enthusiastic about detective work.

“What you guys talking about? a voice behind them asked. The three musketeers looked around and saw a boy they all called Shrimp standing behind the bench on which they were sitting.

Shrimp was a strange boy. He was the smallest boy in their class, but had the biggest voice. If you only heard him speaking you would think he was a much bigger fellow.

“You were eavesdropping!” Porty began.

“You don’t know it’s against the law to listen to other people’s conversation!” Atty said.

“Which law, that?”Shrimp asked.

“Our law,” Ram told him.

Shrimp ignored that. “Listen, guys,” he said in his booming voice. “You know there was a fourth musketeer?”

They eyed him without answering.

“Yes,” he went on. “His name was D’Artagnan. (He pronounced it Dartagan) I could join you and be him.”

“Go away,” Ram said.”Keep out of big man business.”

“No. Seriously. In fact he was the most important musketeer. Read the book. I have some ideas about the mysteries. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“What you thinking?” Porty asked.

“I think I know how we can catch the bad guys. But I not telling you, unless you let me join you.”

The three musketeers looked at one another.

“Maybe…” Atty began.

“No!” said Ram.

They looked at Porty. He had his hand over his mouth. He was silent for a few minutes then he said, “Let’s hear what he has to say. If it makes sense he can join us till this blows over. “

“Yes!” Shrimp said enthusiastically. But you have to call me Dartagan.”

“Okay, Darty, but you better come good.”

There was no room for him on the bench so he cotched on a nearby rock.

“Here’s what I think,” he began. “It has to be an inside job, right? Somebody has a key to all the rooms. So if we keep watch we can catch the person in the act.”

“Brilliant,” Ram said scornfully. “As if we never know that already.”

“Wait a minute,” Porty said. These things happening at night. How we going to keep watch, without getting in trouble? Besides, Security’s already keeping watch.”

“How you know he’s not in it, too?” Darty asked. He didn’t like the change of name too much, but thought it better than ‘Shrimp’, so he decided not to say anything. “If is not the Security, then he know something about it, since he says he never see or hear anything at night.”

“Well, what plan you have?” Atty asked.

“I think we should keep watch tonight.”

“Why tonight? Is Wednesday night the first thing happened.” Porty pointed out.

“I don’t like it,” Ram said.

“Well, we don’t have school tomorrow so we can stay up late, and…”

“What we going tell our parents?”

“You don’t have to tell them anything.”

“But…”

“Is fraid you all afriad?” Darty asked. He looked at them. He was disappointed in their reaction to his plan.

“Of course, not,” Porty said quickly.”But we have to know exactly what we’re doing. If we going to thief out, we have to know how we’re going to do it.”

“That’s just it. We not going to tell anybody anything. We going to thief out.”

“I don’t like it.” Ram groaned. But the others ignored him, spending the rest of their lunch time planning how to go about keeping watch at the school that night.

5

Porty, Atty and Ram stood at the corner not far from their school. The street light there was not working, so it was a bit dark and a good place to wait without being seen. But it was getting late and they were wondering if they should wait for Darty.

“After all him big talk, perhaps him couldn’t get away,” Atty said.

“Give him a few more minutes, then we will start the plan,” Porty said.

“I don’t like it,” Ram complained.

“We know!” Porty and Atty said at the same time. They were feeling nervous and didn’t want to hear Ram with his constant complaining.

“Him coming,” Atty said. A strange-looking figure was walking towards them.

“Boy, is what you wearing?” Porty asked. They stared at Darty. Even though it was dark they could see that he was oddly dressed.

“The musketeers always dress up,” Darty answered.

“You look like a idiot,” Ram said.

Porty and Atty couldn’t help snickering. Darty was wearing a felt hat which was too big for him. He had on jeans and he had stuffed the legs into high-top sneakers and …

“Is you sister blouse you borrow?” Porty asked. The three musketeers put their hands over their mouths as they tried not to laugh loudly.

“I borrowed this from the costume room at school, okay?” Darty said. He didn’t mind their laughter. “No harm in looking the part.”

His striped shirt looked more like a long-sleeved lady’s blouse with lacy frills around the neck and at the wrists. Jutting out from his waist was what looked like a piece of wood.

“The musketeers carried swords,” he explained when they asked him what that was.

“Me not playing no part looking so,” Ram said.

“Come,” Porty said. “Time to go… If you can see where you going,” he added. The felt hat kept falling over Darty’s eyes, sending them into another round of laughter.

They walked away quickly from the corner. The street lights were far apart, so they hoped nobody was noticing them as they made their way back to school. They had already mapped out their route. Behind the school was an old shed which was rundown and kept locked. They didn’t know what was inside it. Right beside the shed, however, the security fence had a hole in it. They planned to enter the grounds through this hole. They all crawled through safely except Darty. The frill on one of his sleeves got caught on the wire.

“Guys!” he called in his bullfrog voice.

“Shh!” They didn’t know where the security guard was, and didn’t want to attract his attention.

“I need help,” Darty said, in what he hoped was a soft whisper.

The others couldn’t help giggling when they saw him caught in the fence, but they quickly unhooked his sleeve.

“You see how stupid this costume is?” Ram asked.

Fortunately, in the darkness Ram could not see Darty’s ugly look.

One behind the other they crept onto the compound, then Porty stopped so suddenly that they all bungled up behind him. He pointed towards a window in the shed. A dim light was showing through a crack in the closed window.

“Somebody’s in there,” Darty whispered.

“Shh!” the others commanded again. Darty could not whisper quietly.

He passed the others and crept up to Porty. “Let’s try the door. If somebody is in there it might be not be locked.”

“You mad!” Porty whispered. Suppose is the thief and he catch us?”

“Well, we not going to catch him if we just standing out here.”

“What you think?” Porty asked as they huddled together.

“Make us leave, now,” Ram said.

“Try the window. See if it lock,” Atty said. If we see anybody inside, we can run away before them can catch us.”

They could see that the old wooden window opened out, but if it was locked from inside they would not be able to open it.

“Take this,” Darty said in his loud whisper. He took the pretend sword from his waist and handed it to Porty. He was too short, but Atty, who was the tallest, could easily reach the crack in the window and try to pry it open.

Nervously, the boys crowded around Atty as he slipped the piece of wood into the crack in the window. He was trying to force it open. Was the thief inside?

The window opened with a loud crack, as the rotten wood crumbled. The boys gasped at the sight which met their eyes. Seated on a box reading a book by candlelight was a girl who looked up in surprise and then terror at the faces of four boys peering down on her. She jumped up in alarm and overturned the candle. The flame from the candle quickly caught some papers which were lying on the floor. Before any of them could catch their breaths, the flames began to spread – the room was on fire.

“Get out! Run!” the boys shouted. But the girl did not move. Surprise and fear seemed to have turned her into a statue.

“Help me up!” Darty said. Pushed up by Porty and Atty, Darty climbed through the window and jumped into the room. He grabbed the girl and pushed her towards the window. The other boys reached out and grabbed her hands and pulled her through. By the time they pulled Darty through the window, he was coughing from the thick smoke which now filled the shed.

The shed was burning quickly; they would have to leave before they were seen. They pulled the girl, who still had not said a word, through the hole in the fence and started running away.

6

The five of them didn’t stop running until they reached a large open lot where they hid behind some bushes. They didn’t talk as they tried to quiet their heavy breathing and understand what had just happened. Darty was still coughing. Then Porty dialled 110, the emergency fire brigade number on his cell phone. “Fire!” he yelled.”At Success High School!” Then he turned off his phone. He didn’t want them calling him back.

Before long they heard the fire engine siren in the distance. The brigade was on the way to put out the fire.

Darty was the first to speak.”Wow! Was that an adventure or what!” he exclaimed.

“Shiney,” Porty addressed the girl. “What were you doing in the shed?” He asked the question they were all wondering about.

“I…I was hiding.” And to their surprise she started crying.

They were all too embarrassed to say anything, so they kept quiet until she stopped sobbing. Then she told them her story.

“My mother and I had a big quarrel. Every day she don’t do nothing but nag, nag, nag me. Since she spending her money to send me to school she expect me to do everything in the house. Sometimes, I can’t even do my homework. And she still want to come beat, beat me up. So I run away.”

“But what were you doing in the shed?” Ram asked

“I never have anywhere to go. I was walking past the school and I see the old shed, so I went there.”

“It was you break into the canteen and the computer room?”

“Yes. I was hungry, and in the night I find a door open and some keys in a lock, and the lights were on and I go into the canteen and take some food, but somebody was in there before me cause it was pull up-pull up. Then I heard like somebody coming and I grab the keys and run back to the shed.”

“Somebody was in there before. Aha!” Darty said. “Somebody was thiefing the food.”

“A next night I use the key and went into the computer room and I was so vex to see how your school have so much computer and we have only three for the whole school. I turn on all of them and pull up the place.”

“Then how the Security never catch you?” Atty asked.

“Security? Him don’t stay. After school close and everybody gone, him leave too.”

“Shiney,” Porty began.

“Don’t call me that,” she interrupted him. “My name is Shaneke.”

“Well, Shaneke, Your mother and your family are very worried about you. You have to go home.”

“No!” She exclaimed. “She going beat me.”

“She not going to beat you, She’s really worried. They all put your name and picture on the TV. She will be glad you are safe.”

“I think if you talk to her and tell her how you feel, she will listen to you.” Darty said. “That’s what Miss Atom always say we must do.

“You prefer to go to the police station?” Ram asked.

“No,” she replied.

“Then come. We will walk with you,” Porty said.

There weren’t many people on the road to see the strange procession of Shaneke escorted by the four boys. When they reached her gate, the dog in the yard started barking, then stopped when he recognised Shaneke.

“What you going tell them about the fire?” Ram asked.

“Don’t tell them nothing. It was an accident,” Darty said.

His voice, as usual, was too loud. Somebody in Shaneke’s house called out, “Who’s that? Who’s out there?”

“We gone!” The boys whispered as Shaneke answered loudly, “Is me, Mama.”

A woman’s voice screamed, “Shaneke! You come back!” The whole street must have heard her. Lights were turned on and doors started opening. When the boys looked back, Shaneke was being hugged by her mother.

“Good job, Musketeers,” Porty said in a satisfied voice.

“I lost my hat!” Darty wailed.

“That’s a good job,” Atty said. They all started laughing.

Hazel Campbell is the author of many children’s books, including Ramgoat Dashalong and Bernie and the Captain’s Ghost.

Childhood fancies

By Jean Goulbourne

All day long the rain drummed its

dull beat on the zinc roof,

and all day long I fretted.

I wanted to see the sun.

I hated clouds.

Water drip-dripping from leaves,

tip-tipping in a steady drizzle,

then moving its thunder

across the landscape –

Blotting life,

plotting strife.

Till I learned some time later

from childhood

that rain brought the liquid

to spring food crops,

to water the grass

on which I once tumbled,

to lift the thirst

from parched lips,

to fill every body-cell

with its life-giving gift.

==================

Recommended reading for children and young adults by Jamaican writers

Island Princess in Brooklyn by Diane Browne

All Over Again by A-dZiko Gegele

Inner City Girl by Colleen Smith Dennis

Sketcher by Roland Watson-Grant

Love Wounds

Chapter 17

The following week we were at Martin’s mother’s for Sunday dinner and Barbara was complaining, loudly, to her son, something she was fond of doing. “Megan don’t want the baby to spend no time with me,” she said, shooting him a baleful look before glancing briefly at me for what I imagined was support, although she had never once before required it in the time I’d know her. I kept my face neutral, lowering my head quickly to examine my almost clean dinner plate. The baby in question Barbara was referring to was Chelsea, Martin’s almost four-year-old daughter, named for his favourite football team, who sat blithely on the floor, watching the DVD of her favourite movie she watched every time we visited her grandmother’s.

Barbara refilled Martin’s glass with soursop juice, pouring some more in hers, as well. “I don’t know what I ever do to that girl, “she went on sullenly, “why she think that, because she having a problem wid you” – here, she looked pointedly at me – “she must take it out on me.”

Abruptly I stood up, began clearing the table. Neither of them volunteered to help me, excusing themselves instead, armed with cigarettes, and go out on the verandah to continue their conversation and share a smoke. It was times like these that I felt I didn’t know Martin at all. In our life together he didn’t smoke, but here, at his mother’s home, he dragged on her unfiltered brand and pretended to not notice his mother’s dislike of me. It was as if he turned into somebody else and he had a life independent of the one we had when we were in our cocoon at our home. And it was in these moments that I wondered if I could conceive of a future with him.

I listened to their voices rolling in like gentle undulating waves toward me from where they stood, blowing smoke upward to the sky. According to Barbara, Chelsea’s mother Megan had begun making Barbara’s life hell by not allowing her to spend more time with her grandchild, the way she had shortly after Chelsea was born. I knew that it was merely an action borne out of malice, good old-fashioned spite.

Megan had been a groupie he’d met, years before, during a charity celebrity football match for which her company was one of the sponsors. She was striking – short and extremely curvy body she squeezed into bright, body-conscious outfits that only emphasised her heavy backside. She wore her black weave in wavy ringlets down her back and make-up that on anyone else would suggest a career in television or the stage. She was completely superficial, with a screwed-up value system, according to Martin, and he had allowed himself to be seduced by her attractive physical packaging. Soon they become involved in an on-again-off-again relationship, that had been on the verge of becoming off again, permanently, when she’d become pregnant. They’d tried to make the best of the situation; she moved in with him but even before the baby was born, Martin had known it was never going to work. Megan hadn’t objected too strenuously when he’d moved out and left the house to her and Chelsea. She lived rent-free in an impressive housing complex that specifically accommodated the new upwardly mobile working class and young black professionals and had, up until then, only been able to dream about. Martin was good about his fiscal responsibility to her and Chelsea, and that, in addition to the income from her customer service representative job at a popular athletic gear company, had her living the life she’d always wanted for herself.

Almost.

As I’d always suspected, Megan had never really given up on the idea that she and Martin would get back together. That had been their pattern, hadn’t it? True, she’d known about me, and must have reasoned that it was because of me that Martin had moved out. But I think she believed me to be a passing fancy. I was not the kind of woman he typically got involved with, after all, as his mother also loved pointing out. However, when Megan discovered that he’d moved again, this time into an apartment with me, that’s when things had become ragged. Moving in with me meant one thing, really: things were really and truly over with them.

Later, after we dropped a sleeping Chelsea back at her mother’s and had got back to our apartment, I seriously considered telling Martin that I was pregnant. As I brushed my teeth I tried to imagine how I’d say it. I’d sat with the knowledge for more than a week now, trying to figure out how I truly felt about being pregnant. Of course, it was unplanned, even though Martin and I had experienced occasional lapses in judgement when it came on to condom use. However, we were generally very careful, or at least I was. Still, I saw now that pregnancy was a topic we should have discussed since we weren’t always as vigilant as we were supposed to be.

I could hear Martin in the bedroom talking to somebody on the phone, and I tried to tamp down a bout of queasiness by coating my tongue with some toothpaste. I just could not be pregnant, I thought, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Apart from the fact that I saw first-hand how complicated a child had made Martin’s life, I was also unsure about whether or not I wanted a child (I saw myself as a career woman for whom children were not part of the picture), or if I even wanted one for a man I wasn’t married to. In this modern age there was hardly any stigma attached to having children out of wedlock (who used that antiquated word “wedlock” anymore?), but I was, it occurred to me, disappointingly conservative despite all my talk about being a forward-thinking millennial woman. In constantly updated five-year plans for my life, I’d never seen myself becoming a babymother. It simply wasn’t something the women in my family did; it wasn’t a status we were socialised to accept. But, say I went ahead with the pregnancy, would Martin accept it? He loved Chelsea, doted on her in fact; it was actually inspirational seeing him with her. But there was a deep-seated resentment of the little girl’s mother that I was afraid could, like a bad odour, attach itself, also, to me.

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK