Chapter 27
OTHELLA
Accompong, Maroon Village, Cockpit Country, Day One
Familiar music fills the air. New friends dance the Lindy Hop and shimmy to Cab Calloway’s searing vocals. The chorus shouts back and forth at the top of our lungs, “Hi-de-hi-de-hi-de-ho.”
“Minnie the Moocher.” It never crossed my mind that I would be dancing and singing to Cab Calloway on my first night in a Jamaican jungle.
It’s almost perfect. I just need a gin and tonic to wash the taste of those hot peppers outta my mouth and an Italian beef to fill my empty stomach.
I only had two swallows of stew. The first spoonful, I was hungry and swallowed it quickly, but the second was a mistake.
My impatient nature got the best of me. If I had just waited another second for the spices to hit the back of my throat, that second swallow would never have happened.
Tully keeps the turntable spinning and plays at least six records, most of which he has played twice.
He announces the last dance, and we kick up our heels until he closes the lid of the portable phonograph.
Afterward, I collapse onto a stool, sweaty and ready for bed, wherever we’re supposed to rest our tired bodies.
“My legs feel like melted butter,” I say to Robbie with a laugh. He joins me at the end of the long table, away from Iris and her family, who are still chatting with Katherine and Vivian Jean about American music and dance. “My backside hurts, too.”
“You’ve been dancing for an hour. I’m not surprised you’re sore.”
“It’s not only the dancing. I blame my aching ass on those mules.” Robbie’s cheeks turn red like a juicy ripe tomato, and he ain’t all that light-skinned. My language must have shocked him.
“Do you need—do you need,” he begins, but becomes lost in his thoughts.
“Just tired, but wasn’t that fun? Do you think every night in Accompong will be this much fun?”
“I doubt it. Look at Miss Katherine. She isn’t happy with this rigmarole.”
“What do you mean by rigmarole? I don’t think she’s unhappy. She was dancing. And call her Katherine.”
“Okay. okay. She might’ve been dancing, but she’s here to conduct fieldwork, which she’s very serious about. I read one of her papers. She’s not playing around. She’s gonna keep us busy, and tonight didn’t go the way she would’ve preferred. Least that’s what I’m thinking.”
“I don’t see it that way,” I respond. “She just likes to dance. I do, too. It doesn’t matter what kind of dancing, as long as there’s music that lets our feet, hips, and bodies move to the beat. It’s all about having a good time.”
I feel slightly disappointed by Robbie’s attitude, but I wave it off as Iris summons us inside the main house.
She directs us to a large open space where we’re given rolled-up cloth, which I assume we can use as a pillow or sheet.
It’s cooler than I expected in the jungle at night, and I search for a spot to rest my head and use the sheet to cover myself against the chill.
With Robbie nearby and the others around us finding their spaces for slumber, I’m almost settled when Colonel Rowe suddenly appears in the archway, startling me.
From the first time I saw him, I thought of Reverend Nathan, purely because of his appearance, nothing about his behavior.
He’s quiet, standoffish, and uninterested in mingling with the visitors from America.
“What is wrong? Every time Captain Rowe is nearby, you act all cockamamie.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, but I do.
“What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing. Go to sleep. You say we’re gonna have a busy day tomorrow. We should get some rest.”
I shoo Robbie away. There’s something I don’t wanna tell him about.
When I first laid eyes on Captain Rowe, I almost screamed.
Then I thought about running at him and knocking him in the head.
But how would I look if I did something crazy like that?
So, instead, I clenched my fists and pulled my arms behind my back to keep myself from doing anything.
After that, we sat down and ate that pepper stew, and Iris found the phonograph.
I didn’t think about Rowe and Reverend Nathan while I was dancing.
Robbie notices things like that about me.
I want to tell him the story but know what he’ll say.
Whatever issues I had with Reverend Nathan won’t trouble me no more.
He’s in the middle of America, while I am on a Caribbean island with no plans to return to Chicago.
I want to believe he’d be right in his thinking.
So, lying on the floor, I pull the cloth up around my throat and close my eyes, but the memory of the last time I saw Reverend Nathan won’t leave me be.
I should never have gone to the church. I should have known he was the same no-good son of a gun he’d always been. But I’m muleheaded. I thought this time it would be different.
AME Fellowship Church on 24th Street, Chicago, A Week Earlier
It is not a dream. It isn’t happening again, but I remember every detail, and it’s as clear as crystal.
I ran from the apartment I shared with Perry, desperate because I couldn’t find my money and couldn’t keep searching because Perry might rise up from the floor, and I wouldn’t get out of that apartment alive.
I needed help. I needed cash and headed to the first place that came to mind—and it wasn’t Tony Schaefer.
I take a puff of the lit cigarette between my teeth. My leather-trimmed suitcase is clutched in one hand, and my purse is squeezed under my armpit as I reach the corner of State Street and Wabash, just a block from the AME Fellowship Church.
The sun has dipped behind a cloud, but the August heat lingers.
Sweat trickles down the front of my polka-dot dress into my brassiere, soaking my breasts and ruining the bodice.
I take another drag of my cigarette, blinking smoke from my eyes and breathing in the scent of jasmine and rose petals.
A nearby fragrance shop reminds me of how Perry would prepare me a bath.
Pour in sweet-smelling perfumes and read to me while I lie in the tub.
He’d even light a candle. A sweet side of him, but it only surfaced on his better days, which were never frequent enough.
If Perry hadn’t died, he would never have forgiven me for hitting him in the head with that standing steel ashtray. Something twists in my chest.
Breathe, Othella. Breathe.
The church’s steeple reaches high into the sky, while the brick facade glows bluish-white in the sunset.
I don’t recall ever seeing it that color before.
Reverend Nathan used to tell me that the church was built on a small hill so it couldn’t be missed from dawn to dusk, whether the day was sunny or cloudy.
“There’s no way to avoid the Lord,” he would say.
“He reigns from on high, almighty and all-powerful.”
I light another cigarette and quicken my pace. A few minutes later, when I reach the church, I drop the remnants of my cigarette on the ground and extinguish it with the toe of my spike-heeled pump.
As I step inside, I am not surprised that nothing has changed after three years.
The pulpit still sits at the end of the center aisle.
Above the altar, Jesus Christ continues to hang on the cross, gazing down at the congregation with that same expression.
The wooden benches, though empty, smell of linseed oil.
The stained-glass windows are unchanged as well.
I used to stare at them for a long time, marveling at how the colors of things seemed to shift.
Tree leaves appear blue, swirling through the sky, while at night, stars drift from the moon like falling snowflakes.
“Can I help you?”
I recoil, instinctively lifting my hands to guard my face from the incoming punch, but the voice isn’t Perry’s. It is too high-pitched. I push away the anxiety swirling in my chest and meet the gaze of a scrawny kid wearing a stiff-brimmed cap and baggy dungarees.
“Who are you? And where’d you come from?” I ask roughly.
“Right over there.” The boy points. “Around that corner, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am. Makes me sound older than I am.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with a smirk.
Ignoring the stubborn child, I say, “I’m looking for Reverend Nathan. Is he in the rectory?”
“Follow me.” The boy takes off, and I follow.
Finding myself in a familiar place, I shorten my stride.
I’m in the hallway lined with framed photographs, one featuring the round-faced Miss Lucille, the reverend’s wife.
She should’ve been a better woman. She should’ve looked out for me when her vile husband put his hands all over me.
How come she never noticed? How come I never fought him off?
I guess I had no steel-standing ashtray to fight off the beast.
“Hey, boy. That’s the door over there, isn’t it?”
“See? You didn’t really need my help after all.”
“I suppose not,” I respond.
I knock on the rectory door, and a deep voice invites me inside.
Reverend Nathan sits behind the same long wooden desk, which is as large and pudgy as ever, though the crescent-shaped patch of hair that circles his head has turned completely white, and his eyes are red and watery.
“Othella! My girl, how I’ve missed you. Miss Lucille missed you, too.” He maneuvers around the desk and approaches me like boiling water, arms flailing and lips bubbling.
I turn my back and place my suitcase near the door.
When I turn back, holding my bag tightly against my chest, I allow the hug to happen.
If it weren’t for my circumstances, I’d never have returned to the AME Fellowship Church with the handsy reverend, his ignorant wife, and its basement orphanage. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For seeing me.”
“How could you think I wouldn’t want to see you?” His arms flap in my direction. Good Lord. He’s coming at me for another hug. I move fast, a quick sidestep and a spin, and I successfully evade a second attempt. I plop down onto the chair across from his desk.
“I need your help. I might have hurt a man—after he hurt me.”
“A dangerous man, I assume.”
“No more dangerous than other men I’ve known.” I can’t conceal the accusation in my voice.
The reverend’s eyes flash. He knows who I’m referring to but shows no sign of shame on his black face. “So, you’re here only for money?”
“I need cash for a fresh start in a new city,” I say, expecting a quick okay, yes, dear, of course, baby girl, whatever you need, precious. But instead, my request lingers in the air like a bad penny as the reverend shifts around like ants crawling in his pants.
“Oh dear. I’d love to help you, Othella, but I can’t give you any money until Miss Lucille returns. You know how she keeps an eye on every nickel and dime, and she won’t be back until morning.”
“I need the money now. My train leaves at midnight, and I’ve got to be on it,” I exclaim. “Since when do you obey your wife’s wishes and whims? You were never that considerate when I was around.”
His eyes darken. “But you haven’t been around for three years, sugar. And things change, but I might reconsider if you’d give me the pleasure of having a meal with me before you get on that train.”
“So you ain’t gonna give me no money unless I hang around with you for a spell. Like in the old days?”
He shrugs, his bald head shiny with sweat. “Then you’ll have to wait until Miss Lucille comes home, first thing in the morning.”
I jump to my feet, kicking the chair and sending it tumbling to the ground. “I can’t wait until morning. I need to catch the midnight train! And I don’t need to have a meal with you.”
“I’m sure there are plenty of men in town who’ll give you what you want.” The reverend rises. “Sorry I can’t help you.”
“So, just like that, you’re gonna say no?”
“You heard what I said. If you wanted to stay for a meal, I might scrounge up some change for you.”
“You ain’t nothin’ but an old bastard.” I think about the Smokador ashtray and wish to give Reverend Nathan some of the same medicine I gave to Perry.
Standing in the doorway and glaring at the old man, I feel the heat of hatred in my blood. I spot a lamp on a table by the door. I grab it and hurl it across the room. I don’t know if it struck him or not. Doesn’t matter—I don’t plan on seeing him again anyways.
On the street again, all I can think about is how much I want a cigarette.
But that was a week ago. Not today. Not now.