The Heart Does Not Bend by Makeda Silvera Read Free Book Online Page A

“Molly, wake up, is school morning, get ready.” Her pastries were already in the oven, and she had a steaming bowl of banana porridge and slices of hard-dough bread waiting for me. I wanted to ask her about the night before but thought better of it. After school let out, we went to deliver the baked goods. The box of pastries was perfectly balanced on my grandmother’s head and her hips swung under her cotton dress as we walked up our street to Maxfield Avenue.

    Christmas was always a busy time for Mama and she thrived on the season’s demands. There were cakes to bake—the ones she sent abroad to my mother and uncles, cakes for the grand-aunts, cousins and Mammy, special cakes she made for Paul and Helen, Uncle Mikey’s friends, and others for our house and for paying customers. That Christmas season was special. My mother had written that she was getting married a week before Christmas, and though she said it was to be a very small no-fuss wedding, my grandmother insisted that she should have no less than a three-tiered cake. Also, Aunt Joyce would be leaving the island the day after Christmas.
    We were on the piazza in front of Grand-aunt Ruth’s restaurant when Aunt Joyce burst out with the news.
    “Dem fire mi, dem dutty shit, after mi work wid dem fi so long. Dem seh mi tief shoes.”
    “But Joyce, how dem can accuse yuh of dat if nutten nuh go so?” Grand-aunt Ruth asked.
    “How yuh mean, yuh doubting mi?” Aunt Joyce said angrily.
    “Is not dat she doubt you, but dem nuh seh dem find de shoes in yuh bag?” Mama offered.
    “Smaddy plant dem in mi purse. Why mi would a tief dem?”
    Mama and Grand-aunt Ruth exchanged looks.
    “Even when mi seh to dem, call de police, call de police if yuh think is me put de shoes in mi bag, dem never budge. Dem did want to get rid of mi, because mi start talk ’bout union.”
    “But why yuh gone talk ’bout union? Mi nuh tell yuh from long time, fi lef dem injustice up to God,” Grand-aunt Ruth said.
    “Listen, Ruth, when mi haffi work dem long hours mi nuh see no God.”
    “Yuh must have faith,” Grand-aunt said, ignoring Aunt Joyce’s irritation.
    Aunt Joyce sucked her teeth, and then she surprised us all.
    “Remember Ken? De mechanic who use to eat dinner here every evening? Well him in America, in Brooklyn, New York, and him sending mi a ticket.”
    “Dem say ‘nuff opportunity in America,” Mama encouraged, “and yuh nuh have no pickney to hold yuh back. Gwaan, gal, go see life, an’ nuh think ’bout dem dutty fart you deh work wid. Nuh future nuh deh deh.”
    “Ah going, but ah worried to death ’bout Mammy. What if anything happen and ah can’t find de passage back?”
    “Lawd, Joyce,” Mama said, “Grab de opportunity, don’t let it fly in yuh face. Mi and Ruth will look after Mammy. For yuh branded as a tief now anyway.”
    Joyce cut her eyes but said nothing. Mama always spoke her mind, even if what she had to say hurt the other person. To ease the wound, Grand-aunt Ruth added, “Joyce, everything will work out. Go, nutten nuh deh here, and sooner or later dem would find something to fire yuh for.”
    “Joyce, is de best thing to do,” Mama agreed. “Yuh and Ken can mek life together, have a family and who knows, maybe in time, come back and buy a big house in Red Hills!”
    My aunt Joyce smiled for the first time. “Yes, Maria, yuh right. So mek we have de best Christmas ever.”
    The talk that evening was celebratory. All about my mother’s wedding, Aunt Joyce’s departure and Mammy coming down to Kingston for the holidays.
    I helped Mama a bit with her baking, mixing the sugar and butter, but I got bored. I much preferred my hands in dirt and water, sticking seeds into the earth. So mostly I sat and watched her. She never used a recipe book to bake from; every detail was kept in her head.
    A few days before Christmas, Mama picked up a big brown parcel from the post office. It was from my mother, and packed with shoes and