It was Me Jones all right. Six years older than the last time they met. Taller, wider, with breastsand no hair and slippers1 just visible underneath2 a long duffle coat. And it was Hortense Bowden.
Six years older, shorter, wider, with breasts on her belly4 and no hair (though she took the peculiarstep of putting her wig6 in curlers) and slippers just visible underneath a long, padded baby-pinkhousecoat. But the real difference was Hortense was eighty-four. Not a littleoldwoman by anymeans; she was a round robust7 one, her fat so taut8 against her skin the epidermis9 was having a hardtime wrinkling. Still, eighty-four is not seventy seven or sixty-three; at eighty-four there is nothingbut death ahead, tedious in its insistence10. It was there in her face as Me had never seen it before.
The waiting and the fear and the blessed relief.
Yet though there were differences, walking down the steps and into Hortense's basement flat,Me was struck by the shock of sameness. Way-back-when, she had been a fairly regular visitor ather grandmother's: sneaky visits with Archie while her mother was at college, and always leavingwith something unusual, a pickled fish head, chilli dumplings, the lyrics13 of a stray but persistentpsalm. Then at Darcus's funeral in 1985, ten-year-old Irie had let slip about these social calls andClara had put a stop to them altogether. They still called each other on the phone, on occasion. Andto this day Irie received short letters on exercise paper with a copy of the Watchtower slipped inside.
Sometimes Irie looked at her mother's face and saw her grandmother: those majestic15 cheekbones,those feline16 eyes. But they had not been face to face for six years.
As far as the house was concerned, six seconds seemed to have passed. Still dark, still dank,still underground. Still decorated with hundreds of secular17 figurines ("Cinderella on her way to theBall', "Mrs. Tiddlytum shows the little squirrels the way to the picnic'), all balanced on theirseparate doilies and laughing gaily19 amongst themselves, amused that anyone would pay a hundredand fifty pounds in fifteen instalments for such inferior pieces of china and glass as they. A hugetripartite tapestry20, which Irie remembered the sewing of, now hung on the wall above the fireplace,depicting, in its first strip, the Anointed sitting in judgement with Jesus in heaven. The Anointedwere all blond and blue-eyed and appeared as serene21 as Hortense's cheap wool would allow, andwere looking down at the Great Crowd who were happy-looking, but not as happy as the Anointedfrolicking in eternal paradise on earth. The Great Crowd were in turn looking piteously at theheathens (by far the largest group), dead in their graves, and packed on top of each other like sardines22.
The only thing missing was Darcus (whom Irie only faintly remembered as a mixture of smelland texture23; naphthalene and damp wool); there was his huge empty chair, rstill fetid, and there washis television, still on.
The, look at you! Pickney nah even got a gansey on child must be freezin'! Shiverin' like aMexico bean. Let me feel you. Fever! You bringin' fever into my house?"It was important, in Hortense's presence, never to admit to illness. The cure, as in mostJamaican households, was always more painful than the symptoms.
"I'm fine. There's nothing wrong with'
"Oh, really?" Hortense put Irie's hand on her own forehead. "That's fever as sure as fever isfever. Feel it?"Irie felt it. She was hot as hell.
"Come 'ere." Hortense grabbed a rug from Darcus's chair and wrapped it around Irie's shoulders,"Now come into the kitchen an' cease an' sekkle. Runnin' roun' on a night like dis, wearin'
flimsy nonsense! You're having a hot drink of cer ace11 and den3 gone a bed quicker den you everdid in your life."Irie accepted the smelly wrap and followed Hortense into the tiny kitchen, where they both sat down.
"Let me look at you."Hortense leant against the oven with hands on hips25. "You look like Mr. Death, your new lover.
How you get here?"Once again, one had to be careful in answering. Hortense's contempt for London Transport wasa great comfort to her in her old age. She could take one word like train and draw a melody out of it(Northern Line), which expanded into an aria26 (The Underground) and blossomed into a theme (TheOverground) and then grew exponentially into an operetta (The Evils and Inequities of British Rail).
"Er .. . Bus. ni/. It was cold on the top deck. Maybe I caught a chill.""I don' tink dere's any maybes about it, young lady. An' I'm sure I don' know why you come'pon de bus, when it take tree hours to arrive an' leave you waitin' in de col' an' den' when you getpon it de windows are open anyway an' you freeze half to death."Hortense poured a colourless liquid from a small plastic container into her hand. "Come 'ere.""Why?" demanded Irie, immediately suspicious. "What's that?""Nuttin', come 'ere. Take off your spectacles."Hortense approached with a cupped hand.
"Not in my eye! There's nothing wrong with my eye!" "Stop fussin'. I'm not puttin' nuttin' inyour eye.""Just tell me what it is," pleaded Irie, trying to work out for which orifice it was intended andscreaming as the cupped hand reached her face, spreading the liquid from forehead to chin.
"Aaagh! It burns!""Bay rum," said Hortense matter-of-factly. "Burns de fever away. No, don' wash it off. Jus'
leave it to do its biznezz."Irie gritted27 her teeth as the torture of a thousand pinpricks faded to five hundred, thentwenty-five, until finally it was just a warm flush of the kind delivered by a slap.
"So!" said Hortense, entirely28 awake now and somewhat triumphant29. "You finally dash from thatgodless woman, I see. An' caught a flu while you doin' it! Well .. . there are those who wouldn'tblame you, no, not at all... No one knows better clan30 me what dat woman be like. Never at home,learnin' all her isms and skis ms in the university, leavin' husband and pickney at home, hungry andmaga. Lord, naturally you flee! Well.. ." She sighed and put a copper31 kettle on the stove. "It iswritten. You will flee by my mountain valley, for it will extend to Azel. You will flee as you fledfrom the earthquake in the days ofUzziah king of judah Then the LORD my God will come, and allthe holy ones with him. Zechariah 14:5. In the end the good ones will flee from the evil. Oh, IrieAmbrosia ... I knew you come in de end. All God's children return in de end.""Gran, I haven't come to find God. I just want to do some -quiet study here and get my headtogether. I need to stay a few months at least till the New Year. Oh .. . ugh ... I feel a bit woozy. CanI have an orange?""Yes, dey all return to de Lord Jesus in de end," continued Hortense to herself, placing the bitterroot of cer ace into a kettle. "Dat's not a real orange, dear. All de fruit is plasticated. De flowers areplasticated also. I don't believe de Lord meant me to spend de little housekeeping money I possesson perishable34 goods. Have some dates."Irie grimaced35 at the shrivelled fruit plonked in front of her.
"So you lef Archibald wid dat woman.. . poor ting. Me always like Archibald," said Hortensesadly, scrubbing the brown scum from a teacup with two soapy fingers. "Him was never myobjection as such. He always been a level-headed sort a fellow. Blessed are de peacekeepers. Healways strike me as a peacekeeper. But it more de principle of de ting, you know? Black andwhite never come to no good. De Lord Jesus never meant us to mix it up. Dat's why he made ahoi' heap a fuss about de children of men building de tower of Babel. "Im want everybody to keeptings separate. And the Lord did confound the language of all the earth and from thence did theLord scatter37 them abroad upon the face of all the earth. Genesis 11:9. When you mix it up, nuttin'
good can come. It wasn't intended. Except you," she added as an afterthought. "You're about deonly good ting to come out of dat.. . Bwoy, sometime it like lookin' in a mirror-glass," she said,lifting Irie's chin with her wrinkled digits38. "You built like me, big, you know! Hip24 and tie and rhas,and titties. My mudder was de same way. You even named after my mudder.""Irie?" asked Me, trying hard to listen, but feeling the damp smog of her fever pulling her under.
"No, dear, Ambrosia32. De stuff dat make you live for ever. Now," she said, clapping her handstogether, catching39 Irie's next question between them, 'you sleepin' in de living room. I'll get ablanket and pillows and den we talk in de marnin'. I'm up at six, 'cos I got Witness biznezz, so don'
tink you sleeping none after eight. Pickney, you hear me?""Mmm. But what about Mum's old room? Can't I just sleep in there?"Hortense took Irie's weight half on her shoulder and led her into the living room. "No, dat's notpossible. Dere is a certain situation," said Hortense mysteriously. "Dat can wait till de sun is up tobe hexplained. Fear them not therefore: for there is nothing covered that shall not be revealed," sheintoned quietly, turning to go. "And nothing hid, that shall not be known. Dat is Mat-chew, 10:26."An autumn morning was the only time worth spending in that basement flat. Between 6 and 7a.m. when the sun was still low, light shot through the front window, bathed the lounge in yellow,dappled the long thin allotment (7 it x 30 it) and gave a healthy veneer40 to the tomatoes. Youcould almost convince yourself, at 6 a.m." that you were downstairs in some Continental41 cabana, orat least street level in Torquay, rather than below ground in Lambeth. The glare was such that youcouldn't make out the railway sidings where the strip of green ended, or the busy everyday feet thatpassed by the lounge window, kicking dust through the grating at the glass. It was all white lightand clever shade at six in the morning. Hugging a cup of tea at the kitchen table, squinting42 at thegrass, Me saw vineyards out there; she saw Florentine scenes instead of the unevenhiggledy-piggledy of Lambeth rooftops; she saw a muscular shadowy Italian plucking full berriesand crushing them underfoot. Then the mirage43, sun reliant as it was, disappeared, the whole sceneswallowed by a devouring44 cloud. Leaving only some crumbling45 Edwardian housing. Railwaysidings named after a careless child. A long, narrow strip of allotment where next to nothing wouldgrow. And a bleached-out bandy-legged red-headed man with terrible posture48 and Wellington boots,stamping away in the mulch, trying to shake the remnants of a squashed tomato from his heel.
"Dat is Mr. Topps," said Hortense, hurrying across the kitchen in a dark maroon49 dress, the eyesand hooks undone50, and a hat in her hand with plastic flowers askew51. "He has been such a help to mesince Darcus died. He soothes52 away my vexation and calms my mind."She waved to him and he straightened up and waved back. Me watched him pick up two plasticbags filled with tomatoes and walk in his strange pigeon-footed manner up the garden towards theback kitchen door.
"An' he de only man who made a solitary53 ting grow out dere. Such a crop of tomatoes as younever did see! Me Ambrosia, stop starin' and come an' do up dis dress. Quickbefore yourgoggle-eye fall out.""Does he live here?" whispered Me in amazement54, strugglingto join the two sides of Hortense's dress over her substantial flank. "I mean, with you?""Not in de sense you meaning," sniffed55 Hortense. "He is jus' a great help to me in my of' age.
He bin36 wid me deez six years, God bless 'im and keep 'is soul. Now, pass me dat pin."Me passed her the long hat pin which was sitting on top of a butter dish. Hortense set the plasticcarnations straight on her hat and stabbed them fiercely, then brought the pin back up through thefelt, leaving two inches of exposed silver sticking up from the hat like a German pickelhaube.
"Well, don' look so shock. It a very satisfactory arrangement. Women need a man 'bout14 de house,udder wise ting an' ting get messy. Mr. Topps and I, we of' soldiers fightin' the battle of de Lord.
Some time ago he converted to the Witness church, an' his rise has been quick an' sure. I've waitedfifty years to do so meting57 else in de Kingdom Hall except clean," said Hortense sadly, 'but deydon' wan33' women interfering58 with real church biz ness Got Mr. Topps do a great deal, and 'im let mehelp on occasion. He's a very good man. Butim family are nasty-nasty," she murmuredconfidentially. The farder is a terrible man, gambler an' whoremonger ... so after a while, I arks himto come and live with me, seem' how de room empty and Darcus gone. "Im a very civilized59 bwoy.
Never married, though. Married to de church, yes, suh! An' 'im call me Mrs. Bowden deez six years,never any ting else." Hortense sighed ever so slightly. "Don' know de meaning of being' improper60.
De only ting he wan' in life is to become one of de Anointed. I have de greatest hadmiration for him.
He him proved so much. He talk so posh now, you know! And 'im very good wid de pipin' an' plumming also. How's your fever?""Not great. Last hook .. . there that's done."Hortense fairly bounced away from her and walked into the hall to open the back door to Ryan.
"But Gran, why does he live '
Me 1990, 1907"Well, you're going to have to eat up dis marnin' feed a fever, starve a col'. Deez tomatoes friedwid plantain and some of las' night's fish. I'll fry it up and den pop it in de microwave.""I thought it was starve a fe '
"Good marnin', Mr. Topps.""Good mornin', Missus Bowden," said Mr. Topps, closing the door behind him and peeling off aprotective cagoule to reveal a cheap blue suit, with a tiny gold cross pendant on the collar. "I trustyou is almost of a readiness? We've got to be at the hall on the dot of seven."As yet, Ryan had not spotted61 Me. He was bent62 over shaking the mud from his boots. And he didit formidably slowly, just as he spoke63, and with his translucent64 eyelids65 fluttering like a man in acoma. Me could only see half of him from where she stood: a red fringe, a bent knee and the shirtcuff of one hand.
But the voice was a visual in itself: cockney yet refined, a voice that had had much work doneupon it missing key consonants67 and adding others where they were never meant to be, and alldelivered through the nose with only the slightest help from the mouth.
"Fine mornin', Mrs. B." fine mornin'. Somefing to fankthe Lord for."Hortense seemed terribly nervous about the imminent68 likelihood that he should raise his headand spot the girl standing69 by the stove. She kept beckoning70 Me forward and then shooing her back,uncertain whether they should meet at all.
"Oh yes, Mr. Topps, it is, an' I am ready as ready can be. My hat give me a little trouble, youknow, but I just got a pin an '
"But the Lord ain't interested in the vanities of the flesh, now, is he Mrs. B.?" said Ryan, slowlyand painfully enunciating each word while crouching72 awkwardly and removing his left boot.
"Jehovah is in need of your soul.""Oh yes, surely dat is de holy troot," said Hortense anxiously, fingering her plasticatedcarnations. "But at de same time, surelya Witness lady don' wan' look like a, well, a buguyaga in de house of de Lord."Ryan frowned. "My point is, you must avoid interpretin' scripture73 by yourself, Mrs. Bowden. Infuture, discuss it wiv myself and my colleagues. Ask us: is pleasant clothing a concern of the Lord's?
And myself and my colleagues amongst the Anointed, will look up the necessary chapter and verse ..."Ryan's sentence faded into a general Erhummmm, a sound he was prone74 to making. It began inhis arched nostrils75 and reverberated76 through his slight, elongated77, misshapen limbs like the finalshiver of a hanged man.
"I don' know why I do it, Mr. Topps," said Hortense shaking her head. "Sometime I tink I couldbe one of dem dat teach, you know? Even though I am a woman ... I feel like the Lord talk to me ina special way ... It jus' a bad habit.. . but so much in de church change recently, sometimes me kyankeep up wid all de rules and regulations."Ryan looked out through the double glazing78. His face was pained. "Nuffin' changes about theword of God, Mrs. B. Only people are mistaken. The best thing you can do for the Truth, is justpray that the Brooklyn Hall will soon deliver us with the final date. Erhummmm.""Oh yes, Mr. Topps. I do it day and night."Ryan clapped his hands together in a pale imitation of enthusiasm. "Now, did I 'ear you sayplantain for breakfast, Mrs. B.?""Oh yes, Mr. Topps, and dem tomatoes if you will be kind enough to ban' dem over to de chef."As Hortense had hoped, the passing of the tomatoes coincided with the spotting of Irie.
"Now, dis is my grand darter Me Ambrosia Jones. And dis is Mr. Ryan Topps. Say hello, Irie, dear."Irie did so, stepping forward nervously79 and reaching out her hand to shake his. But there was noresponse from Ryan Topps, and the inequality was only increased when on the sudden heMe 1990, 1907seemed to recognize her; there was a pulse of familiarity as his eyes moved over her, whereasMe saw nothing, not even a type, not even a genre81 of face in his; the monstrosity of him was quiteunique, redder than any red-head, more freckled82 than the freckled, more blue-veined than a lobster83.
"She's she's Clara's darter said Hortense tentatively. "Mr. Topps knew your mudder, long time.
But it all right, Mr. Topps, she come to live wid us now.""Only for a little time Me corrected hurriedly, noting the look of vague horror on Mr. Topps'sface. "Just for a few months maybe, through the winter while I study. I've got exams in June/Mr. Topps did not move. Moreover nothing on him moved. Like one of China's terra cotta army,he seemed poised84 for battle yet unable to move.
"Clara's darter repeated Hortense in a tearful whisper. "She might have been yours."Nothing surprised Me about this final, whispered aside; she just added it to the list: AmbrosiaBowden gave birth in an earthquake .. . Captain Charlie Durham was a no-good djam fool bwoy.. .
false teeth in a glass .. . she might have been yours .. .
Half-heartedly, with no expectation of an answer, Me asked, "What?""Oh, nuttin', Me, dear. Nuttin', nuttin'. Let me start fryin'. I can hear bellies85 rumblin'. Youremember Clara, don't you Mr. Topps? You and she were quite good .. . friends. Mr. Topps?"For two minutes now Ryan had been fixing Me with an unwavering stare, his body heldabsolutely straight, his mouth slightly open. At the question, he seemed to compose himself, closedhis mouth and took his seat at the un laid table.
"Clara's daughter, is it? Erhummmm .. ." He removed what looked like a small policeman's padfrom his breast pocket and poised a pen upon it as if this would kick start his memory.
"You see, many of the episodes, people and events from my earlier life have been, as it were,severed from myself by thealmighty sword that cut me from my past when the Lord Jehovah saw fit to enlighten me withthe Truth, and as he has chosen me for a new role I must, as Paul so wisely recommended in hisepistle to the Corinfians, put away childish things, allowing earlier incarnations of myself to beenveloped into a great smog in which said Ryan Topps, taking only the smallest breath and hiscutlery from Hortense, 'it appears that your mother, and any memory I might 'ave of her, 'avedisappeared. Erhummmm.""She never mentioned you either," said Me.
"Well, it was all a long time ago now," said Hortense with forced joviality88. "But you did tryyour best wider Mr. Topps. She was my miracle child, Clara. I was forty-eight! I taut she was God'schild. But Clara was bound for evil .. . she never was a godly girl an' in de end dere was nuttin' tobe done.""He will send down His vengeance89, Mrs. B.," said Ryan, with more cheerful animation90 than Mehad yet seen him display. "He will send terrible torture to those who 'ave earned it. Three plantainfor me, if you please."Hortense set all three plates down and Me, realizing she hadn't eaten since the previousmorning, scraped a mountain of plantain on to her plate.
"Ah! It's hot!""Better hot clan lukewarm," said Hortense grimly, with a meaningful shudder91. "Ever so, ha men"Amen," echoed Ryan, braving the red-hot plantain. "Amen. So. What exactly is it that you arestudy inT he asked, looking so intently past Me that it took a moment before she realized he wasaddressing her.
"Chemistry, biology and religious studies." Me blew on a hot piece of plantain. "I want to be adentist."Ryan perked92 up. "Religious studies? And do they acquaint you with the only true church?"Me shifted in her seat. "Er .. . I guess it's more the big three. Jews, Christians93, Muslims. We dida month on Catholicism."Ryan grimaced. "And do you have any uwer inter-rests?"Irie considered. "Music. I like music. Concerts, clubs, that kind of thing.""Yes, erhummmm. I used to go in for all that myself at one time. Until the Good News wasdelivered unto me. Large gatherings94 of yoof, of the kind that frequent popular conceits95, arecommonly breeding grounds for devil worship. A girl of your physical .. . assets might find herselflured into the lascivious96 arms of a sexualist," said Ryan, standing up from the table and looking athis watch. "Now that I fink about it, in a certain light you look a lot like your mother. Similar .. .
cheekbones."Ryan wiped a pearly line of sweat from his forehead. There was a silence in which Hortensestood motionless, clinging nervously to a dishcloth, and Irie had to physically97 cross the room for aglass of water to remove herself from Mr. Topps's stare.
"Well. That's twenty minutes and counting, Mrs. B. I'll get the gear, shall I?""Oh yes, Mr. Topps," said Hortense beaming. But the moment Ryan left the room the beamturned to a scowl98.
"Why must you go an' say tings like dat, hmm? You wan' 'im to tink you some devilish heathengal? Why kyan you say stamp-collecting or some ting? Come on, I gat to clean deez plates finish up."Irie looked at the pile of food left on her plate and guiltily tapped her stomach.
"Cho! Just as I sus peck Your eyes see more clan your belly can hoi'! Give it 'ere."Hortense leant against the sink and began popping bits of plantain into her mouth. "Now, youdon' back chat Mr. Topps while you here. You gat study to do an' he gat study too," said Hortense,lowering her voice. "He's in consultation99 with the Brooklyn gentlemen at de moment .. . fixing definal date; no mistakes dis time. You jus' 'ave to look at de trouble goin' on in de world to know weThat far from de appointed day."Chalfenism versus100 Bovcdenism"I won't be any trouble," said Me, approaching the washing-up as a gesture of goodwill101. "Hejust seems a little .. . weird102.""De ones who are chosen by the Lord always seem peculiar5 to de heathen. Mr. Topps is jus'
misunderstood. "Im mean a lot to me. Me never have nobody before. Your mudder don' like to tellyou since she got all hitey-titey, but de Bowden family have had it hard long time. I was barnduring an cart-quake. Almost kill fore12 I was barn. An' den when me a fully71 grown woman, my owndarter run from me. Me never see my only grandpickney. I only have de Lord, all dem years. Mr.
Topps de first human man who look pon me and take pity an' care. Your mudder was a fool to letimgo, true sir!"Irie gave it one last try. "What? What does that mean?""Oh, nuttin, nuttin, dear Lord... I and I talking all over de place dis marnin .. . Oh Mr. Topps,dere you are. We not going to be late now, are we?"Mr. Topps, who had just re-entered the room, was fully adorned103 in leather from head to toe, ahuge motorcycle helmet on his head, a small red light attached to his left ankle and a small whitelight strapped104 to his right. He flipped105 up the visor.
"No, we're all right, by the grace of God. Where's your helmet, Mrs. B.?""Oh, I've started keepin' it in the oven. Keeps it warm and toasty on de col' marnins. IrieAmbrosia, fetch it for me please."Sure enough, on the middle shelf preheated to gas mark 2 sat Hortense's helmet. Irie scooped106 itout and carefully fitted it over her grandmother's plasticated carnations56.
"You ride a motorbike," said Irie, by way of conversation.
But Mr. Topps seemed defensive107. "A G S Vespa. Nuffink fancy. I did fink about givin' it away atone108 point. It represented a life I'd raaver forget, if you get my meaning. A motorbike is a sexualmagnet, an' God forgive me, but I misused109 it in that fashion. I was all set on getting' rid of it. Butthen Mrs. B. convinced me that what wiv all my public speaking, I need somefing quick to getMe 1990, 1907around on. An' Mrs. B. don't want to be messin' about with buses and trains at her age, do youMrs. B.?""No, indeed. He got me dis little buggy '
"Sidecar," corrected Ryan tetchily. "It's called a sidecar. Minetto Motorcycle-combination, 1973model.""Yes, of course, a sidecar, an' it is comfortable as a bed. We go everywhere in it, Mr. Topps an'
I."Hortense took down her overcoat from a hook on the door, and reached in the pockets for twoVelcro reflector bands which she strapped round each arm.
"Now, Me, I've got a great deal of biz ness to be getting' on with today, so you're going to haveto cook for yourself, because I kyan tell what time we'll be home. But don' worry. Me soon come.""No problem."Hortense sucked her teeth. "No problem. Dat's what her name mean in patois110: Irie, no problem.
Now, what kind of a name is dat to .. . ?"Mr. Topps didn't answer. He was already out on the pavement, revving111 up the Vespa.
"First I have to keep her from those Chalfens," growls112 Clara over the phone, her voice aresonant tremolando of anger and fear. "And now you people again."On the other end, her mother takes the washing out of the machine and listens silently throughthe cordless that is tucked between ear and weary shoulder, biding113 her time.
"Hortense, I don't want you filling her head with a whole load of nonsense. You hear me? Yourmother was fool to it, and then you were fool to it, but the buck114 stopped with me and it ain't goingno further. If Irie comes home spouting115 any of that claptrap, you can forget about the SecondComin' 'cos you'll be dead by the time it arrives."Big words. But how fragile is Clara's atheism116! Like one of those tiny glass doves Hortensekeeps in the lounge cabinet a breath would knock it over. Talking of which, Clara still holds herswhen passing churches the same way adolescent vegetarians118 scurry119 by butchers; she avoids Kilburnon a Saturday for fear of streetside preachers on their upturned apple crates120. Hortense senses Clara'sterror. Coolly cramming121 in another load of whites and measuring out the liquid with a thriftywoman's eye, she is short and decided122: "Don' you worry about Me Ambrosia. She in a good placenow. She'll tell you herself As if she had ascended123 with the heavenly host rather than entombedherself below ground in the borough124 of Lambeth with Ryan Topps.
Clara hears her daughter getting on the extension; an initial crackle and then a voice as clear asa carillon. "Look, I'm not coming home, all right, so don't bother. I'll be back when I'm back, justdon't worry about me." And there should be nothing to worry about and there is nothing to worryabout, except maybe that outside in the streets it is cold packed on cold, even the dogshit hascrystallized, there is the first suggestion of ice on the windscreens and Clara has been in that housethrough the winters. She knows what it means. Oh, wonderfully bright at 6 a.m., yes, wonderfullyclear for an hour. But the shorter the days, the longer the nights, the darker the house, the easier it is,the easier it is, the easier it is, to mistake a shadow for the writing on the wall, the sound ofoverland footsteps for the distant crack of thunder, and the midnight chime of a New Year clock forthe bell that tolls125 the end of the world.
But Clara needn't have feared. Irie's atheism was robust. It was Chalfenist in its confidence, andshe approached her stay with Hortense with detached amusement. She was intrigued126 by theBowden household. It was a place of end games and after times full stops and finales; where tocount on the arrival of tomorrowwas an indulgence, and every service in the house, from the milkman to the electricity, was paidfor on a strictly127 daily basis so as not to spend money on utilities or goods that would be wastedshould God turn up in all his holy vengeance the very next day. Bowdenism gave a whole newmeaning to the phrase 'hand-to-mouth'. This was living in the eternal instant, ceaselessly teeteringon the precipice128 of total annihilation; there are people who take a great deal of drugs simply toexperience something comparable to 84-year-old Hortense Bowden's day-to-day existence. Soyou've seen dwarfs129 rip open their bellies and show you their insides, you've been a televisionswitched off without warning, you've experienced the whole world as one Krishna consciousness,free of individual ego130, floating through the infinite cosmos131 of the soul? Big fucking deal. That's allbullshit next to St. John's trip when Christ laid the twenty-two chapters of Revelation on him. Itmust have been a hell of a shock for the apostle (after that thorough spin-job, the New Testament132,all those sweet words and sublime133 sentiments) to discover Old Testament vengeance lurking134 roundthe corner after all. As many as I love, I rebuke135 and chasten. That must have been some eye-opener.
Revelation is where all crazy people end up. It's the last stop on the nut so express. AndBowdenism, which was the Witnesses plus Revelation and then some, was as left field as theycome. Par18 exemple: Hortense Bowden interpreted Revelation 3:15 - / know thy works, that thou anneither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou an lukewarm, and neithercold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth as a literal mandate136. She understood 'lukewarm' to bean evil property in and of itself. She kept a microwave on hand at all times (her sole concession137 tomodern technology for a long time it was a toss-up between pleasing the Lord and laying oneselfopen to the United States mind-ray control programme as operated through high-frequency radiowaves in order to heat every meal to an impossible temperature; she kept whole buckets of ice tochill every glass of water 'colder than cold'. She wore two pairs of knickers at all times like a warypotential traffic-victim; when Me asked why, she sheepishly revealed that upon hearing the firstsigns of the Lord (approaching thunder, bellowing138 voice, Wagner's Ring Cycle), she intended towhip off the one closest to her and replace it with the outer pair, so that Jesus would find her freshand odour less and ready for heaven. She kept a tub of black paint in the hallway so when the timecame she might daub the neighbours' doors with the sign of the Beast, saving the Lord all thattrouble of weeding out the baddies, separating sheep from goats. And you couldn't form anysentence in that house which included the words 'end', 'finished', 'done', etc." for these were like somany triggers setting off both Hortense and Ryan with the usual ghoulish relish139:
Irie: I finished the washing-up.
Ryan Topps (shaking his head solemnly at the truth of it): As one day we all shall be finished,Irie, my dear; be zealous140 therefore, and repent141. OrIrie: It was a such a good film. The end was great! Hortense Bowden (tearfully): And dem datex peck such an end to dis world will be sorely disappointed, for He will come trailin' terror and Lode142 generation dat witness de events of 1914 shall now witness de turd part of de trees burn, and theturd part of de sea become as blood, and de turd part of de .. .
And then there was Hortense's horror of weather reports. Whoever it was, however benign,honey-voiced and inoffensively dressed, she cursed them bitterly for the five minutes they stoodthere, and then, out of what appeared to be sheer perversity143, proceeded to take the opposite ofwhatever advice had been proffered144 (light jacket and no umbrella for rain, full cagoule arain hat for sun). It was several weeks before Me understood that weathermen were the secularantithesis of Hortense's life work, which was, essentially145, a kind of supercosrnic attempt to secondguess the Lord with one almighty86 biblical exegesis146 of a weather report. Next to that weathermenwere nothing but upstarts .. . And tomorrow, coming in from the east, we can expect a great furnaceto rise up and envelop87 the area with flames that give no light, but rather darkness visible .. . whileI'm afraid the northern regions are advised to wrap up warm against thick-ribbed ice, and there's afair likelihood that the coast will be beaten with perpetual storms of whirlwind and dire147 hail whichon firm land thaws148 not... Michael Fish and his ilk were stabbers-in-the-dark, trusting to thetomfoolery of the Met Office, making a mockery of that precise science, eschatology, that Hortensehad spent over fifty years in the study of.
"Any news, Mr. Topps?" (This question almost invariably asked over breakfast; and girlishly,breathlessly, like a child asking after Santa.)"No, Mrs. B. We are still completing our studies. You must let my colleagues and myselfdeliberate thoroughly149. In this life there are them that are teachers and then there are them that arepupils. There are eight million Witnesses of Jehovah waiting for our decision, waiting for theJudgement Day. But you must learn to leave such tings to them that 'ave the direct line, Mrs. B." thedirect line."After bunking150 for a few weeks, Me returned to school. But it seemed so distant; even thejourney from South to North each morning felt like an almighty polar trek152, and worse, one thatstopped short of its goal and ended up instead in the tepid153 regions, a non-event compared with theboiling maelstrom154 of the Bowden home. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold norhot, I will spue thee out of my mouth. You become so used to extremity155, suddenly nothing else willdo.
She saw Millat regularly, but their conversations were brief. He was green-tied now andotherwise engaged. She still did Marcus's filing twice a week, but avoided the rest of the family.
She saw Josh fleetingly156. He seemed to be avoiding the Chalfens as assiduously as she. Her parentsshe saw on weekends, icy occasions when everybody called everybody by their first names (Irie,can you pass the salt to Archie? Clara, Archie wants to know where the scissors are), and all partiesfelt deserted157. She sensed that she was being whispered about in the way North Londoners willwhen they suspect someone of coming down with religion, that nasty disease. So she hurried backto No. 28 Lindaker Road, Lambeth, relieved to be back in the darkness, for it was like hibernatingor being cocooned158, and she was as curious as everyone else to see what kind of Irie would emerge.
It wasn't any kind of prison. That house was an adventure. In cupboards and neglected drawers andin grimy frames were the secrets that had been hoarded159 for so long, as if secrets were going out offashion. She found pictures of her great-grandmother Ambrosia, a bony, beautiful thing, with hugealmond eyes, and one of Charlie "Whitey' Durham standing in a pile of rubble160 with a sepia-printsea behind him. She found a bible with one line torn from it. She found photo-booth snaps of Clarain school uniform, grinning maniacally161, the true horror of the teeth revealed. She read alternatelyfrom Dental Anatomy162 by Gerald M. Cathey and The Good News Bible, and raced voraciouslythrough Hortense's small and eclectic library, blowing the red dust of a Jamaican schoolhouse offthe covers and often using a pen knife to cut never-before-read pages. February's list was asfollows:
An Account of a West Indian Sanatorium, by Geo. J. H. Sutton Moxly. London: Sampson, Low,Marston & Co." 1886. (There was an inverse163 correlation164 between the length of the author's nameand the poor quality of his book.)Tom Cringle's Log, by Michael Scott. Edinburgh: 1875.
In Sugar Cane165 Land, by Eden Phillpotts. London: McClure &Co." 1893. Dominica: Hints and Notes to Intending Settlers, by His HonourH. Hesketh Bell, CMC. London: A. & C. Black, 1906.
The more she read, the more that picture of dashing Capt. Durham aroused her natural curiosity:
handsome and melancholy166, surveying the bricks of half a church, looking worldly-wise despite hisyouth, looking every inch the Englishman, looking like he could tell someone or another a thing ortwo about something. Maybe Me herself. Just in case, she kept him under her pillow. And in themornings it wasn't Italian ate vineyards out there any more, it was sugar, sugar, sugar, and next doorwas nothing but tobacco and she presumptuously167 fancied that the smell of plantain sent her back tosomewhere, somewhere quite fictional168, for she'd never been there. Somewhere Columbus called St.
Jago but the arawaks stubbornly re-named Xaymaca, the name lasting169 longer than they did.
Well-wooded and Watered. Not that Me had heard of those little sweet-tempered potbellied victimsof their own sweet-tempers. Those were some other Jamaicans, fallen short of the attention-span ofhistory. She laid claim to the past her version of the past aggressively, as if retrieving170 misdirectedmail. So this was where she came from. This all belonged to her, her birthright, like a pair of pearlearrings or a post office bond. X marks the spot, and Me put an X on everything she found,collecting bits and bobs (birth certificates, maps, army reports, news articles) and storing themunder the sofa, so that as if by osmosis the richness of them would pass through the fabric171 while shewas sleeping and seep172 right into her.
As the buds came with the spring, so like any anchoress she was visited. First, by voices.
Coming crackling over Hortense's neolithic173 radio, Joyce Chalfen on Gardeners' Question Time:
Foreman: Another question from the audience, I think. Mrs. Sally Whitaker from Bournemouthhas a question for the panel, I believe. Mrs.
Whitaker?
Mrs. Whitaker: Thank you, Brian. Well, I'm a new gardener and this is my first frost and in twoshort months my garden's gone from being a real colour explosion to a very bare thing indeed .. .
Friends have advised flowers with a compact habit but that leaves me with lots of tiny auricula anddouble daisies, which look silly because the garden's really quite large. Now, I'd really like to plantsomething a little more striking, around the height of a delphinium, but then the wind gets it andpeople look over their fences thinking: Dear oh dear (sympathetic laughter from the studioaudience). So, my question to the panel is, how do you keep up appearances in the bleakmidwinter?
Foreman: Thank you, Mrs. Whitaker. Well, it's a common problem .. . and it doesn't necessarilyget any easier for the seasoned gardener. Personally, I never get it quite right. Well, let's hand thequestion over to the panel, shall we? Joyce Chalfen, any answers or suggestions for the bleakmidwinter?
Joyce Chalfen: Well, first I must say your neighbours sound very nosy175. I'd tell them to mindtheir own beeswax if I were you (laughter from audience). But to be serious, I think this wholetrend for round-the-clock bloom is actually very unhealthy for the garden and the gardener andparticularly the soil, I really do ... I think the winter should be a time of rest, subdued176 colours, youknow and then when the late spring does finally arrive the neighbours get a hell of a shock! Boom!
There it is, this wonderful explosion of growth. I think the deep winter is really a time for nurturingthe soil, turning it over, allowing it a rest and plotting its future all the better to surprise the nosypeople next door. I always think of agarden's soil like a woman's body moving in cycles, you know, fertile at some times and notothers, and that's really quite natural. But if you really are determined177, then Lenten rosesHelleborus corsicus do remarkably178 well in cold, calcareous soil, even if they're quite in theIrie switched Joyce off. It was quite therapeutic179 switching Joyce off. This was not entirelypersonal. It just seemed tiring and unnecessary all of a sudden, that struggle to force something outof the recalcitrant180 English soil. Why bother when there was now this other place? (For Jamaicaappeared to Irie as if it were newly made. Like Columbus himself, just by discovering it she hadbrought it into existence.) This well-wooded and watered place. Where things sprang from the soilriotously and without supervision181, and a young white captain could meet a young black girl with nocomplications, both of them fresh and untainted and without past or dictated182 future a place wherethings simply were. No fictions, no myths, no lies, no tangled184 webs this is how Irie imagined herhomeland. Because homeland is one of the magical fantasy words like unicorn185 and soul and infinitythat have now passed into the language. And the particular magic of homeland, its particular spellover Irie, was that it sounded like a beginning. The beginning est of beginnings. Like the firstmorning of Eden and the day after apocalypse. A blank page.
But every time Irie felt herself closer to it, to the perfect blankness of the past, something of thepresent would ring the Bowden doorbell and intrude186. Mothering Sunday brought a surprise visitfrom Joshua, angry on the doorstep, at least a stone and a half lighter187, and much scruffier188 than usual.
Before Irie had a chance to express either concern or shock, he had flounced into the lounge andslammed the door. Tm sick of it! Sick to the back fucking teeth with it!"The vibration189 of the door knocked Capt. Durham from his perch190 on Irie's windowsill, and shecarefully re-erected him.
"Yeah, nice to see you too, man. Why don't you sit down and slow down. Sick of what?""Them. They sicken me. They go on about rights and freedoms, and then they eat fifty chickensevery fucking week! Hypocrites!"Me couldn't immediately see the connection. She took out a fag in preparation for a long story.
To her surprise Joshua took one too, and they went to kneel on the window seat, blowing smokethrough the grate up into the street.
"Do you know how battery chickens live?"Me didn't. Joshua explained. Cooped up for most of their poor chicken lives in total chickendarkness, packed together like chicken sardines in their chicken shit and fed the worst type ofchicken grain. And this, according to Joshua, was apparently191 nothing on how pigs and cows andsheep spent their time. "It's a fucking crime. But try telling Marcus that. Try getting him to give uphis Sunday hog-fest. He's so fucking ill informed. Have you ever noticed that? He knows thisenormous amount about one thing, but there's this whole other world that.. . Oh, before I forget youshould take a leaflet."Me never thought she would see the day when Joshua Chalfen handed her a leaflet. But here itwas in her palm. It was called: Meat is Murder: The Facts and the Fiction, a publication from theFATE organization.
"It stands for Fighting Animal Torture and Exploitation. They're like the hardcore end ofGreenpeace or whatever. Read it they're not just hippy freaks, they're coming from a solid scientificand academic background and they're working from an anarchist192 perspective. I feel like I've reallyfound my niche193, you know? It's a really incredible group. Dedicated194 to direct action. The deputy'san ex-Oxford fellow.""Mmmm. How's Millat?"Joshua shook off the question. "Oh, I don't know. Barmy. Going barmy. And Joyce is stillpandering to his every whim195. Justdon't ask me. They all sicken me. Everything's changed." Josh ran his fingers anxiously throughhis hair, which just reached his shoulders now in what Willesdeners affectionately call a Jew-froMullet. "I just can't tell you how everything's changed. I'm having these real.. . moments of clarity."Irie nodded. She was sympathetic to moments of clarity. Her seventeenth year was provingchock-a-block with them. And she wasn't surprised by Joshua's metamorphosis. Four months in thelife of a seventeen-year-old is the stuff of swings and roundabouts; Stones fans into Beatles fans,Tories into Liberal Democrats196 and back again, vinyl junkies to C D freaks. Never again in your lifedo you possess the capacity for such total personality overhaul197.
"I knew you'd understand. I wish I'd talked to you before, but I just can't bear to be in the housethese days and when I do see you Millat always seems to be in the way. It's really good to see you.""You too. You look different."Josh gestured dismissively at his clothes, which were distinctly less nerdy than they had been.
"I guess you can't wear your father's old corduroy for ever.""I guess not."Joshua clapped his hands together. "Well, I've booked my ticket for Glastonbury and I might notcome back. I met these people from FATE and I'm going with them.""It's March. Not till the summer, surely.""Joely and Crispin that's these people I met say we might go up there early. You know, camp outfor a bit.""And school?""If you can bunk151, I can bunk .. . it's not as if I'm going to fall behind. I've still got a Chalfenhead on my shoulders, I'll just come back for the exams and then fuck off again. Irie, you've just gotto meet these people. They're just.. . incredible. He's a Dadaist. And she's an anarchist. A real one.
Not like Marcus. Itold her about Marcus and his bloody198 Future Mouse She thinks he's a dangerous individual.
Quite possibly psychopathic."Me thought about this. "Mmm. I'd be surprised."Without stubbing out his fag, he threw it up on to the pavement. "And I'm giving up all meat.
I'm a pescatarian at the moment, but that's just half measures. I'm becoming a fucking vegetarian117."Me shrugged199, not certain what the right response should be.
"There's a lot to be said for the old motto, you know?""Old motto?""Fight fire with fire. It's only by really fucking extreme behaviour that you can get through tosomebody like Marcus. He doesn't even know how out there he is. There's no point beingreasonable with him because he thinks he owns reasonableness. How do you deal with people likethat? Oh, and I'm giving up leather wearing it and all other animal by-products. Gelatin and stuff."After a while of watching the feet go by leathers, sneakers, heels Me said, "That'll show 'em."On April Fool's Day, Samad turned up. He was all in white, on his way to the restaurant,crumpled and creased80 like a disappointed saint. He looked to be on the brink200 of tears. Me let him in.
"Hello, Miss Jones," said Samad, bowing ever so slightly. "And how is your father?"Me smiled with recognition. "You see him more than we do. How's God?""Perfectly201 fine, thank you. Have you seen my good-for-nothing son recently?"Before Me had a chance to give her next line, Samad broke down in front of her and had to beled into the living room, sat in Darcus's chair and brought a cup of tea before he could speak.
"Mr. Iqbal, what's wrong?""What is right?""Has something happened to Dad?""Oh no, no... Archibald is fine. He is like the washing-machine advert202. He carries on and on asever."Then what?""Millat. He has been missing these three weeks.""God. Well, have you tried the Chalfens?""He is not with them. I know where he is. Out of the trying pan and into the fire. He is on someretreat with these lunatic green-tie people. In a sports centre in Chester.""Bloody hell."Me sat down cross-legged and took out a fag. "I hadn't seen him in school, but I didn't realizehow long it had been. But if you know where he is .. ." "I didn't come here to find him, I came toask your advice, Me. What can I do? You know him how does one get through?"Me bit her lip, her mother's old habit. "I mean, I don't know . we're not as close as we were .. .
but I've always thought that maybe it's the Magid thing .. . missing him ... I mean he'd never admitit ... but Magid's his twin and maybe if he saw him"No, no. No, no, no. I wish that were the solution. Allah knows how I pinned all my hopes onMagid. And now he says he is coming back to study the English law paid for by these Chalfenpeople. He wants to enforce the laws of man rather than the laws of God. He has learnt none of thelessons of Muhammad peace be upon Him! Of course, his mother is delighted. But he is nothingbut a disappointment to me. More English than the English. Believe me, Magid will do Millat nogood and Millat will do Magid no good. They have both lost their way. Strayed so far from the lifeI had intended for them. No doubt they will both marry white women called Sheila and put me inan early grave. All I wanted was two good Muslim boys. Oh, Me ..." Samad took her free hand andpatted it with sad affection. "I just don't understand where I have gone wrong. You teach them buttheydo not listen because they have the "Public Enemy" music on at full blast. You show them theroad and they take the bloody path to the Inns of Court. You guide them and they run from yourgrasp to a Chester sports centre. You try to plan everything and nothing happens in the way that youexpected .. ."But if you could begin again, thought Irie, if you could take them back to the source of the river,to the start of the story, to the homeland .. . But she didn't say that, because he felt it as she felt itand both knew it was as useless as chasing your own shadow. Instead she took her hand fromunderneath his and placed it on top, returning the stroke. "Oh, Mr. Iqbal. I don't know what to say"There are no words. The one I send home comes out a pukka Englishman, white suited, sillywig lawyer. The one I keep here is fully paid-up green bow-tie-wearing fundamentalist terrorist. Isometimes wonder why I bother," said Samad bitterly, betraying the English inflections of twentyyears in the country, "I really do. These days, it feels to me like you make a devil's pact174 when youwalk into this country. You hand over your passport at the check-in, you get stamped, you want tomake a little money, get yourself started .. . but you mean to go back! Who would want to stay?
Cold, wet, miserable203; terrible food, dreadful newspapers who would want to stay? In a place whereyou are never welcomed, only tolerated. Just tolerated. Like you are an animal finally house-trained.
Who would want to stay? But you have made a devil's pact ... it drags you in and suddenly you areunsuitable to return, your children are unrecognizable, you belong nowhere.""Oh, that's not true, surely.""And then you begin to give up the very idea of belonging. Suddenly this thing, this belonging,it seems like some long, dirty lie ... and I begin to believe that birthplaces are accidents, thateverything is an accident. But if you believe that, where do you go? What do you do? What doesanything matter?"As Samad described this dystopia with a look of horror, Me was ashamed to find that the landof accidents sounded like paradise to her. Sounded like freedom.
"Do you understand, child? I know you understand."And what he really meant was: do we speak the same language? Are we from the same place?
Are we the same?
Irie squeezed his hand and nodded vigorously, trying to ward47 off his tears. What else could shetell him but what he wanted to hear?
"Yes," she said. "Yes, yes, yes."When Hortense and Ryan came home that evening after a late-night prayer meeting, both werein a state of high excitement. Tonight was the night. After giving Hortense a flurry of instructions asto the typesetting and layout of his latest Watchtower article, Ryan went into the hallway to makehis telephone call to Brooklyn to get the news.
"But I thought he was in consultation with them.""Yes, yes, he is ... but de final confirmation204, you understand, must come from Mr. CharlesWintry himself in Brooklyn," said Hortense breathlessly. "What a day dis is! What a day! Help mewid liftin' dis typewriter now ... I need it on de table."Irie did as she was told, carrying the enormous old Remington to the kitchen and laying it downin front of Hortense. Hortense passed Irie a bundle of white paper covered in Ryan's tiny script.
"Now you read dat to me, Irie Ambrosia, slowly now .. . an' I'll get it down in type."Irie read for half an hour or so, wincing205 at Ryan's horrible corkscrew prose, passing the whitingfluid when it was required, and gritting206 her teeth at the author's interruptions as every ten minuteshe popped back into the room to adjust his syntax or rephrase a paragraph.
"Mr. Topps, did you get trew yet?""Not yet, Mrs. B." not yet. Very busy, Mr. Charles Wintry. I'm going to try again now."A sentence, Samad's sentence, was passing through Irie's tired brain. Sometimes I wonder why Ibother. And now that Ryan was out of the way, Irie saw her opportunity to ask it, though she framedit carefully.
Hortense leant back in her chair and placed her hands on her lap. "I bin doin' dis a very longtime, Irie Ambrosia. I bin' waitin' ever since I was a pickney in long socks.""But that's no reason '
"What d'you know fe reasons? Nuttin' at all. The Witness church is where my roots are. It bingood to me when nobody else has. It was de good ting my mudder gave me, an' I That going to letit go now we so close to de end.""But Gran, it's not.. . you won't ever .. .""Lemme tell you so meting I'm not like dem Witnesses jus' scared of dyin'. Jus' scared. Demwan' everybody to die excep' dem. Dat's not a reason to dedicate your life to Jesus Christ. I gat verydifferent aims. I still hope to be one of de Anointed evan if I am a woman. I want it all my life. Iwant to be dere wid de Lord making de laws and de decisions." Hortense sucked her teeth long andloud. "I gat so tired wid de church always tellin' me I'm a woman or I'm That heducated enough.
Everybody always tryin' to heducate you; heducate you about dis, heducate you about dat .. . Dat'salways bin de problem wid de women in dis family. Somebody always tryin' to heducate themabout so meting pretendin' it all about learnin' when it all about a battle of de wills. But if I wereone of de hundred an' forty-four, no one gwan try to heducate me. Dat would be my job! I'd makemy own laws an' I wouldn't be wanting anybody else's opinions. My mudder was strong-willeddeep down, and I'm de same. Lord knows, your mudder was de same. And you de same.""Tell me about Ambrosia," said Irie, spotting a chink in Hor tense's armour207 that one mightsqueeze through. "Please."But Hortense remained solid. "You know enough already. De past is done wid. Nobody learnnuttin' from it. Top of page five please I tink dat's where we were."At that moment Ryan returned to the room, face redder than ever.
"What, Mr. Topps? Is it? Do you know?""God help the heathen, Mrs. B." for the day is indeed at hand! It is as the Lord laid out clearlyin his book of Revelation. He never intended a third millennium208. Now I'll need that article typed up,and then another one that I'll dictate183 to you off the cuff66 you'll need to telephone all the Lambethmembers, and leaflet the-'
"Oh, yes, Mr. Topps but jus' let me tyake it in jus' a minute It couldn't be any udder date, couldit, Mr. Topps? I tol' you I felt it in my bones.""I'm not sure as to how much your bones had to do wiv it, Mrs. B. Surely more credit is due tothe thorough scriptural study done by myself and my colleagues '
"And God, presumably," said Irie, cutting him a sharp glare, going over to hold Hortense, whowas shaking with sobs209. Hortense kissed Irie on both cheeks and Irie smiled at the hot wetness.
"Oh, Irie Ambrosia. I'm so glad you're here to share dis. I live dis century I came into dis worldin an cart-quake at de very beginning and I shall see the hevil and sinful pollution be hera sed in amighty rumbling46 cart-quake once more. Praise de Lord! It is as he promised after all. I knew I'dmake it. I got jus' seven years to wait. Ninety-two!" Hortense sucked her teeth contemptuously.
"Cho! My grandmudder live to see one hundered-and-tree an de woman could skip rope till de dayshe keel over and drop col'. Me gwan make it. I make it dis far. My mudder suffer to get me herebut she knew de true church and she make heffort to push me out in de mos' difficult circumstancesso I could live to see that glory day.""Amen!""Oh, ha men Mr. Topps. Put on de complete suit of armour of God! Now, Irie Ambrosia,witness me as I say it: I'm gwan be dere. An' I'm gwan to be in Jamaica to see it. I'm going homethat year of our Lord. An' you can come dere too if you learn from me and listen. You wan comeJamaica in de year two thousand?"Irie let out a little scream and rushed to give her grandmother another hug.
Hortense wiped her tears with her apron210. "Lord Jesus, I live dis century! Well and truly I livedis terrible century wid all its troubles and vexations. And tanks to you, Lord, I'm gwan a feel arumble at both ends."
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slippers
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underneath
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belly
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peculiar
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insistence
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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13
lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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14
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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15
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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feline
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| adj.猫科的 | |
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secular
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| n.牧师，凡人；adj.世俗的，现世的，不朽的 | |
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18
par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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19
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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20
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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21
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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22
sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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23
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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24
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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25
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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26
aria
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| n.独唱曲，咏叹调 | |
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27
gritted
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| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的过去式和过去分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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28
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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29
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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30
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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31
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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32
ambrosia
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| n.神的食物；蜂食 | |
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33
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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34
perishable
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| adj.（尤指食物）易腐的，易坏的 | |
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35
grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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37
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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38
digits
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| n.数字( digit的名词复数 )；手指，足趾 | |
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39
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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40
veneer
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| n.(墙上的)饰面，虚饰 | |
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41
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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42
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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43
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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44
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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45
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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46
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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47
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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48
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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49
maroon
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| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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50
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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51
askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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52
soothes
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| v.安慰( soothe的第三人称单数 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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53
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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54
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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55
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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56
carnations
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| n.麝香石竹，康乃馨( carnation的名词复数 ) | |
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57
meting
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的现在分词 ) | |
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58
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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59
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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60
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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61
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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62
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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63
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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64
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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65
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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66
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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67
consonants
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| n.辅音，子音( consonant的名词复数 )；辅音字母 | |
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68
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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69
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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70
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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71
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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72
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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73
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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74
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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75
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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76
reverberated
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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77
elongated
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
glazing
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| n.玻璃装配业；玻璃窗；上釉；上光v.装玻璃( glaze的现在分词 )；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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79
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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80
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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81
genre
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| n.(文学、艺术等的)类型，体裁，风格 | |
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82
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
lobster
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| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
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84
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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85
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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86
almighty
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|
| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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87
envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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88
joviality
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| n.快活 | |
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89
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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90
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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91
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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92
perked
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| （使）活跃( perk的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）增值； 使更有趣 | |
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93
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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94
gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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95
conceits
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| 高傲( conceit的名词复数 )； 自以为； 巧妙的词语； 别出心裁的比喻 | |
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96
lascivious
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| adj.淫荡的，好色的 | |
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97
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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98
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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99
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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100
versus
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| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
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101
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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102
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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103
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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104
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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105
flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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106
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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107
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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108
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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109
misused
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| v.使用…不当( misuse的过去式和过去分词 )；把…派作不正当的用途；虐待；滥用 | |
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110
patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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111
revving
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| v.（使）加速( rev的现在分词 )；（数量、活动等）激增；（使发动机）快速旋转；（使）活跃起来 | |
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112
growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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113
biding
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| v.等待，停留( bide的现在分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待；面临 | |
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114
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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115
spouting
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| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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116
atheism
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| n.无神论，不信神 | |
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117
vegetarian
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| n.素食者；adj.素食的 | |
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118
vegetarians
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| n.吃素的人( vegetarian的名词复数 )；素食者；素食主义者；食草动物 | |
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119
scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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120
crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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121
cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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122
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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123
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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125
tolls
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| （缓慢而有规律的）钟声( toll的名词复数 )； 通行费； 损耗； （战争、灾难等造成的）毁坏 | |
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126
intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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127
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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128
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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129
dwarfs
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| n.侏儒，矮子（dwarf的复数形式）vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的第三人称单数形式） | |
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130
ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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131
cosmos
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| n.宇宙；秩序，和谐 | |
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132
testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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133
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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134
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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135
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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136
mandate
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| n.托管地；命令，指示 | |
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137
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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138
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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139
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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140
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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141
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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142
lode
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| n.矿脉 | |
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143
perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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144
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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146
exegesis
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| n.注释，解释 | |
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147
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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148
thaws
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| n.（足以解冻的）暖和天气( thaw的名词复数 )；（敌对国家之间）关系缓和v.（气候）解冻( thaw的第三人称单数 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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149
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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150
bunking
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| v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的现在分词 )；空话，废话 | |
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151
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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152
trek
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| vi.作长途艰辛的旅行；n.长途艰苦的旅行 | |
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153
tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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154
maelstrom
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| n.大乱动；大漩涡 | |
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155
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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156
fleetingly
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| adv.飞快地，疾驰地 | |
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157
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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158
cocooned
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| v.茧，蚕茧( cocoon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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160
rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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161
maniacally
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162
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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163
inverse
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| adj.相反的，倒转的，反转的；n.相反之物；v.倒转 | |
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164
correlation
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| n.相互关系，相关，关连 | |
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165
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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166
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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167
presumptuously
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| adv.自以为是地，专横地，冒失地 | |
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168
fictional
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| adj.小说的，虚构的 | |
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169
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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170
retrieving
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| n.检索（过程），取还v.取回( retrieve的现在分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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171
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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172
seep
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| v.渗出，渗漏；n.渗漏，小泉，水（油）坑 | |
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173
neolithic
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| adj.新石器时代的 | |
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174
pact
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| n.合同，条约，公约，协定 | |
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175
nosy
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| adj.鼻子大的，好管闲事的，爱追问的；n.大鼻者 | |
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176
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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177
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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178
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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179
therapeutic
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| adj.治疗的，起治疗作用的；对身心健康有益的 | |
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180
recalcitrant
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| adj.倔强的 | |
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181
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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182
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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183
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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184
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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185
unicorn
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| n.(传说中的)独角兽 | |
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186
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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187
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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188
scruffier
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| adj.肮脏的，不整洁的( scruffy的比较级 ) | |
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189
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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190
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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191
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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192
anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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193
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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194
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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195
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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196
democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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197
overhaul
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| v./n.大修，仔细检查 | |
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198
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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199
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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200
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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201
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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202
advert
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| vi.注意，留意，言及；n.广告 | |
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203
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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204
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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205
wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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206
gritting
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| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的现在分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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207
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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208
millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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209
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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210
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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