Free The Polished Hoe by Austin Clarke Page A

there I was . . . not really knowing what destiny God had in mind to put my hoe to.
    “And sometimes, as I sit in my kitchen with Gertrude and my hoe, Wilberforce would come in, and pour himself a drink, or take up a slice of sweetbread or steal a pork chop outta Gertrude’s frying pan, and start telling us, Gertrude and me, of his travels.
    “And not once , did it enter his head to ask me why I was polishing a old hoe? And sharpening the blade?
    “And I would stop polishing and sharpening, and let Wilberforce words carry me on those journeys he describe. Wilberforce hadtravel all over Europe, after the War; and once, coming back from Italy, north of a lil town name Vincentia, and seeing the Dollarmites, near the Alps, caused him years later, to make the comment, about how he found the place so desolate; and at the same time, so pretty and appealing. The sharp points of the hills and the mountains, the steepness of the sides of hills forming themselves into gorges, down, down into the valleys, and the sides of those valleys, and how those valleys was so dramatic and frightening, harsh and lovely, painted in the strange colour of the Eyetalian light. Those wonderful colours, Wilberforce say, are to be found only in Italy. And Wilberforce conclude that this part of the world, the valleys of the Dollarmites— I think this is how you pronounce the word—the Dollarmites seemed to be a place where history ordain that a lot of killing and fighting had to take place. As if it was destiny. He told me it was the geography of the place that gave it that ironical meaning, and that history. A history of killing and fighting amongst those European tribes and clans.
    “Once, to show me the meaning of words that Winston Churchill used, during the War, namely, ‘Give we the tools, and we will do the rest,’ Wilberforce said those words were really a code.
    “The women in my field gang, ordinary women, ascribed to weeding the North Field, I witnessed how some of them never took care of their hoes, the instruments they use daily, to make a living with—such as it was. So, their job and their labour was always more harduous. They had the tools, but not the sharpness in those tools to do the job.Well. And whenever their hoe hit a rock, their labour ended; and the rest of us women would bend over and laugh and laugh at that poor woman’s expense. At her misfortune. Yes.
    “When a hoe hits that rock-stone, it send zings of pain climbing right up your two arms. And it dullens the blade of your hope; and the hoe itself. Yes.
    “But the history of a hoe hitting rocks and old roots, stumps of pigeon-pea trees and other trees planted generations ago, before this very Plantation was cut out of the land, trees such as the same tamarind tree which Clotelle used; the clammy-cherry tree whose berry is used for sticking paper to kite frames; or the cordear tree, the loveliest tree in the Island, with the sweetest flowers, according to smell and fragrance, but a flower, my God, with the shortest lifespan of existence, this accident of a woman’s hoe hitting gainst a obstruction like the root of a tree hidden in the soil, was an everyday occurrence. Yes. Cause, from in the olden days, in the times of my great-gran, before Ma’s time, this Plantation was nothing but virgin land. Yes.
    “I must ask Wilberforce if the Plantation planted these trees after cutting up the land.
    “But, going back to Churchill’s code, ‘give we the tools ,’my hoe was always ready. No rust. Always sharp. Sharp as the long knife Manny use for slaughtering animals. Sharp as a iron cane bill for cutting canes. Yes. And always shining. From the linseed oil and the Hawes Lemon Oil. And the sharpening-stone.
    “But going back to Wilberforce and his memories of flying over the Dollarmites and the Alps, and how it reminded him of Churchill’s code . . . that boy applies Churchill’s codes to every part of life, even to his own practice in Tropical Medicines . . . by