Free The Heart Does Not Bend by Makeda Silvera Page B

him move in him clothes. Him live here.”
    Mama knew Mikey was right. She knew she had fallen back on a promise, but she didn’t let up.
    “Him nuh own de house, so him can’t come and gwaan wid nutten.”
    “Mama, ah just think moving de party is de best thing right now.”
    Her last words were biting. “Well, what is to be must be, then.”
    She got up, went into the bedroom, changed into a street dress and left the house. Uncle Mikey went into his room and closed the door. I was sure I heard him crying. I sat on the couch and felt weighed down and helpless. I had nothing to offer.
    Punsie’s loud banging at the gate was a welcome distraction. “Ah have things to tell yuh!” she said.
    “Like what?” I asked.
    “Ah cyaan tell yuh here, come let we go round de fowl coop.”
    She handed me a folded-up piece of paper. “Here, is from Junior.”
    I read the letter and suddenly I felt light.
    “Ah feel love in the air,” Punsie teased. “Read it out loud nuh. What yuh think mi is, just a messenger?”
    “‘Dear Molly,’” I obliged. “‘I like you for a long time. I been watching you come up and down this street. I like the way you walk and I like your eyes. I want you to be my woman. With all my heart and soul your one and only man Junior.’”
    I shook with excitement. Things weren’t so bad, after all. “What mi going to do, Punsie, how mi going to answer?”
    “Girl, come, let we go over to mi house.”
    I went off with Punsie, still feeling free and light. There was no one to stop me, since Mama wasn’t home. We went into the bedroom Punsie shared with her sisters and closed the door. She pulled out a bunch of magazines from under her bed. I’d seen them before in the Chinese ice cream parlour, hanging on a fish line in a section with a large sign saying A DULTS O NLY. Punsie handed me three
True Confessions:
I’M CARRYING MY HUSBAND’S BEST FRIEND’S BABY. HOW I LEARNT 101 WAYS TO KISS MY MAN. I WAS A LOVE CHILD .
    “Here, carry dem home and read dem.”
    I rolled them up in an old newspaper and hurried home. Mama hadn’t returned yet, and Uncle Mikey’s doorwas still shut. I climbed into my cot, read Junior’s note again and slipped it in my panties. I covered myself up with a light cotton sheet and read the magazines. Late that night I heard Mama and my grandfather come in.
    The good times ended as unexpectedly as they began. One Saturday evening we waited and waited for Grandfather Oliver, but he never came home. Sunday morning he arrived in time for breakfast. I didn’t hear what Mama said to him—I was on my way to church. After that, he rarely came home for supper. Instead, he’d come in late at night, drunk. Soon there was talk on the street that he was seeing a barmaid and visiting a policeman’s wife a few streets over. My grandmother paid no attention to the rumours, but I didn’t like them, because Junior lived on the same street as the policeman. Mama and I started going back to Grand-aunt Ruth’s on Saturday nights. She didn’t say anything about my grandfather’s goings-on. Instead, the conversations centred on Aunt Joyce, who was into her third job in America and dissatisfied with her new home, on my mother and her new husband, on my uncles and on Mammy.
    One Saturday morning the policeman paid Mama a visit. “Miss Maria, ah don’t want to show yuh any disrespect,” he said, “but yuh husband running wid mi wife.”
    Mama didn’t seem surprised. “Hold on, sah.” She turned and shouted, “Gatty come here!”
    Miss Gatty hurried to the verandah, drying her hands.
    “Gwan, sah, talk,” Mama said.
    “As ah was saying, ah don’t mean no disrespect, but if ah catch yuh husband inna mi yard again, ah gwine to kill him.Ah come warn yuh, because ah know yuh long time, and mi know all yuh children dem and mi respect yuh.”
    Mama was calm. She lit a cigarette and invited the policeman to have a seat.
    “Mr. Sergeant, ah thank yuh fi come all dis way to tell me