Chapter 47
ZINZI
The Cockpit Jungle, St. Elizabeth Parish
I grip the vine, clinging to the strangler fig as I push through the crumbling mud. It feels sturdy and supports my weight. All I need is the strength to hold on. The sounds frighten me. The sinkhole is opening, and an echo rises up the walls. It is deep and getting deeper.
Othella has freed Vivian Jean and pulled her from the sinkhole. I hear their cries of joy, but I am weakening. Who is strong enough to save me? It isn’t Vivian Jean—her frail body will crumple. So, who can lift me from the swirling mud and water creeping up from the caverns and lakes below?
I am bone-tired, my limbs weary from holding on. If this is my end, I only wish to finish what I started. I dream of Byron and me sitting at the edge of a stage in front of thousands, looking out at the crowd of union employees while Allan delivers one of his brilliant speeches.
Jamaica will never forget that day. The promise of the island’s future is near. The labor union will triumph. It’s no longer a dream or a goal, but a reality that requires more work, persistence, and leadership.
I believe in that dream. I will write that speech. I will stand side by side with Allan and Byron. If I have a child, I will raise him to be a man like the ones I have known and loved.
My thoughts are like a boat drifting on a river, moving from shore to shore. Now, I yearn to hear my mother’s voice more than ever.
“Momma, what do you think I should do? Should I stay here and hide from the world because I’m having a baby?”
“No, Zinzi. Don’t give up. With all the pain you’ve survived in your life, I can’t imagine you letting go. Hold on to that vine and bring me that grandchild. If it’s in your body, I want to meet her.”
“What about Byron’s family? What if they find out about this baby and try to take him away from me?”
“Why would they? What old man Tynesdale cares about is sugar. You will teach him a lesson by raising a child as smart, savvy, and resilient as their mother. And I mean you.
“Stop worrying, Zinzi. Your life will be filled with love and purpose, and Byron, if he is who you want,” her mother says. “You’re strong enough to face any obstacles that come your way. Just remember that you can love deeply more than once.”
Is this a fever dream, a hallucination, or a premonition?
“You need to fight for your child, Zinzi.” River Mumma is suddenly in my thoughts.
“You’re right,” I reply. “I must fight to survive with every ounce of my strength. I have so much to live for.”
“Zinzi, Zinzi, hold on. We’re coming for you.”
I hear their voices and try to follow their guidance, but I’m losing my grip. The tree roots and the cluster of limestone stuck in the mud can’t support me. I am sinking.
They will have to save me again.
They do, and when I get out, it’s because of Othella. She climbs down into the sinkhole until she’s beneath me and pushes me up while Vivian Jean pulls and pulls.
But the sinkhole’s walls are collapsing beneath my fingers.
Finally, they give way as Othella falls out of our reach, tumbling deeper and deeper.
Vivian Jean stares into the sinkhole, her eyes filled with dread and determination. “Hurry, Zinzi! We have to get her out.”
“Yes. I have an idea.”
I’ve never realized how much I remember from the countless trips I took with my father along that path. He spoke of trees, orchids, silk cotton, pimento, hardwood, bamboo, and the strength of the vines.
Vivian Jean’s eyes shine. “It will work.”
“We just have to try.”