Chapter 8 Seven Hertens

Churches need three weeks to print upcoming wedding announcements.We have just enough time.Just allow one day out of the three weeks before the ship sails to the UK.The pastor asked us to sit on the pews in the small church in the diocese, and began to remind us with the solemn words of the sermon on Sunday that the sanctity of marriage is witnessed by God and should not be concluded lightly. Gilbert nodded like an imbecile as the pastor preached.When the pastor asked this question, he looked up at the church roof.How long have you known your future wife?He tapped his cheek with his fingers and murmured: Up to now, I saw that he dawdled for a long time calmly and calmly. The pastor continued to preach without waiting for an answer for a long time.When the pastor said he was truly delighted to see two young men walking hand in hand into a precious life after unprecedented turmoil, Gilbert, pleased with the trick, looked at me furtively and winked at me.

marry!cried Mrs. Anderson, but how long have you two known each other? Oh, by now, I'm looking at five days.Gilbert said. It will be three weeks and five days until we get married.I explain. It was three weeks and six days before I sailed to England to secure a place for my new wife's arrival.Gilbert added. There was silence at the dining table, and even the old lady stopped gnawing on the chicken bones and stared at us.Suddenly, Mrs. Anderson pushed back her chair, jumped up from the seat, put her arms around me, and continued to hug Gilbert so tightly that she almost buried his head in her chest.

So do you like jazz, Gilbert?Mr. Anderson just wanted to know that. It wasn't just Gilbert who returned to England.Joseph's ambition, but a mission, a calling, and even a duty.The man couldn't sit still, nor could he sit still.He was always on the move, excited, impatient, like a wayward boy waiting for his turn to play cricket.He told me that in England there are as many opportunities for ripeness as there are fruits on the tree in Jamaica, and he was to be the one to pick them. is your brother still therehe asks. my brother? That Michael you asked, your brother, is he still in England?

Maybe still.I told him. Well, then you must give me his address so that I can find him for you. But this guy with a great idea has no money.He confessed to me that he spent all his money on bees. Flowers on bees?I asked. He had a wild notion about making money off honey.His cousin, who lived in St. Mary's, convinced him that there was nothing wrong with beekeeping.All he had to do was give the cousin the money to buy honeycombs, pots, and labels, and soon the money from the honey would send Gilbert to England. However, my cousin lost the bees. I asked: How did the bees lose their lives?

What about his answer?It's not easy, but it's doable. This little setback didn't bother him.He has another way of making money.postcard.He told me that the tourists now flocking to the island for the sun and the rum needed postcards, pictures of Jamaica's many wonders, to send home to their families.The money he earned would send him to England in no time.He sold two.All sold to Jamaicans.The two looked at the place on the photo, with tears in their eyes, thinking of their youth.His earned money jingled in his pocket.But he is not depressed, he said, he has other plans. In the Gleaner, just as he was adverting his services in the Veterans section under the head Helpers of Helpers, for a job as warehouse clerk or chauffeur or clerk or patrolman or dairyman or postman, he saw a ship asking Notice to the United Kingdom.Imperial Gale, set sail on May 28th.The fare for the ex-service ship was only twenty-eight pounds ten shillings.

He said: Of course, twenty-eight pounds ten shillings which I don't have. At that moment, for the first time, Gilbert's strained face looked depressed.I have reason to thank Mr. Philip and Ms. Ma for teaching me for a long time, and that is judging.I always put a small amount of money out of my weekly pay into a building society deposit for emergencies.The days before Gilbert left England were the rainiest times on the island.I told him: I can lend you money. He was speechless, his eyes gaping like an idiot, and then a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth.Didn't your mother tell you not to lend or borrow money from others?

You can pay me back. Oh, I know, Miss Dirtyfoot.But I don't know why you lend me the money. Then you can go to England.He was silent again, so I continued: I will lend you the money, we will get married first, and you can take me to England when there is a place for me to live. Oh, what a pity!He yelled, say it again, because I think there is something wrong with my ears. You can pick me up to England after you settle down. Not that part.I know that part.I heard.I mean the part about getting married. Otherwise, how would I get there?It is disgraceful that a single woman cannot travel far by herself.But married women can roam around as they please.

It only took Gilbert two hours to decide to ask me if I would marry him.I said yes, and he shook my hand, as if we had made a deal. Just as I breathed out the word willing, England became my destiny.In the dining room there was a dining table with four chairs.The starched tablecloth was embroidered with ribbons.The armchairs in the living room circled the small fire place.The house is very simple, neither fancy nor ostentatious; the kitchen is small, but it has all the utensils for preparing three meals.On Sundays it's rice and beans with chicken and corn, and in my British kitchen it's roast meat and two kinds of greens, and even fish and chips bubbling on the stove.My husband fixes the jammed windows and the creaking boards on the front porch while I sip hot tea by the open window and watch the neighbors who live next door and across the street.When I walked to the store, others greeted me politely, politely said that the weather is fine today, and politely said that you are in good health.Red buses, chilly mornings and daffodils bloom in every color of the rainbow.

Gilbert looked unusually dashing at the wedding.We were both surprised to see each other so presentable.He wore a gray double-breasted suit, baggy trousers with clean cuffs, a white shirt and tie fastened with a delicate knot, and hair beautifully oiled and wavy.And I, in a white dress with a trim skirt, white high-heeled shoes, and a mesh-trimmed hat held on top of my head at a fashionable angle.Gilbert took my hand in front of the altar and said softly: You look so beautiful. On Gilbert's side were his cousin Elwood (who was also his best man) and Elwood's elderly mother.Elwood was the cousin who threw away the bees, tall and wobbly, and the whole ceremony was spent vigorously swiping away the flies in front of him.His movements were so regular that I mistakenly thought he was waving at me.His mother, an old woman with a stinky face like tamarind, sat and poked her son, asking almost the entire wedding: who was he marrying?

The Andersons and their two sons were the guests at my wedding.But after the ceremony, all they wanted to say to me was: Where's Celia?No congratulations, no comment on my dress, just saying that it's a pity that Celia can't come, she is such a good friend of mine.They told me they liked Celia and had always wanted to see her.Can I tell them one more time why Celia wasn't at my wedding?I don't say a word.What does it matter to my former friends who now choose to ignore me?When they had exhausted me with these questions, they turned to Gilbert.Gilbert told them: I haven't seen Celia for a long time.Hertens told me her mother was ill.It is a pity that she cannot come.I want to see her one more time before I leave.

Back at Anderson's house, the whole family insisted on throwing a dance for Gilbert and me despite my objections.Mr. Anderson looked at his records carefully and asked: Gilbert, do you like Count Basie? Count Basie is the best. Mrs. Anderson took a pile of chicken from the kitchen and placed it in front of Rosa.Before she wolfed it down, she asked, "Where's Xilia?"Such a lovely girl.Ma Tao, where's Celia? You must ask Hortens.She is a friend of Hortens. Fortunately, the old lady was not interested in asking me anything, she was more eager to start eating and chewing.For the first time, I didn't care about the unbearable situation, knowing that I would soon be living in England, able to turn away from these people and fly high beyond the reach of any contempt.The wedding present from Elwood and his mother was a half-filled jar of honey, and that didn't matter to me.I thank them, tell them it was a pleasure getting to know them, and wish them a great day as they leave. What does it matter to me if music without a tune is so loud it makes my head throb?So what if the guy I just married is strutting around the room screaming, and two little Anderson boys are standing at his feet, each holding a leg, and telling everyone to look at them?I don't care that I have to find excuses eight times why I don't dance with other people, or that Mrs. Anderson and Mrs. Anderson press their plump buttocks on me after complicated steps and spins. Gilbert, do you like Ellington? Ellington is the best. Mr. Anderson leaned against Gilbert, both drunk on rum, giggling like schoolgirls; I just smiled.Mr. Anderson finally said: Gilbert, you don't know jazz at all, do you? Oh, you caught me.right.Then, they toast each other.Now Gilbert, leaning on Mr. Anderson, said: Then let me tell you one more thing: I can't dance.But, hush, don't tell Hortens, how much does this woman like balls?She would regret marrying a man with two left legs. So when I said Gilbert, you should get your stuff ready for the road tomorrow, and everyone was looking at me, and I wasn't too embarrassed. Mr. Anderson winked at Gilbert, slapped him on the back with a big hand, and said to me: Of course, Hortens, you want to monopolize your husband on your wedding night.Mrs. Anderson clapped her hands and squealed with delight. The two boys were still holding Gilbert's leg when he entered the room.Children, you must go.I must play with my wife now. Gilbert tried to peel them back, but they held on tighter, giggling childishly.Must call Mrs. Anderson.She walked into the room, grabbed the boy, and stuffed one under each arm.bring it on.We have to go.She looked at me with a smile and said, "Hortens must show Gilbert something.Then, he left the room with the two screaming boys. Gilbert said: "So it's just us. He only has a small bag.Such a small bag for a man who is going as far away as England to start a new life.Is that all you have? He looked at his little luggage, and said: Of course I still have you, Hortens. I took a breath and asked: Will you ask me to go?You won't go to England and just forget about me and leave me here alone? He came to me from across the room and put his hand on my shoulder: of course not we agreed.You are my wife. There may be women in England who will make you go and never look back. Hortens, we've agreed.I promise you, I will come to pick you up.He said, holding me tighter. Then, he kissed my lips lightly for the first time, his breath smelled like rum, but his lips covered mine softly and warmly.I close my eyes.Opening his eyes again, he kissed me again, this time slipping his slippery tongue into my mouth.I choked and found myself sucking on the wriggling organ, unable to breathe.I backed away, gasping for breath. I turned and took off my hat and carefully put it in the closet.It was less than five seconds, but when I turned around, Gilbert was standing in front of me naked like Adam.Something was growing between his legs.Rising unaided like a cursed snake, expanding before me unaided, hard as a tree trunk, expanding in the air.I can only stare. The man held out his arms to me and said: Come here, Hortens. I don't want to go near that thing.what is that? What's this?Showing it to me like something to be proud of is my manliness, he said. I said: Keep that thing away from me! He smiled: But, Hortens, I am your husband.Then he realized I wasn't joking.The bag of flesh hanging between his legs dangled like a rotting achae fruit.If physical beauty is the work of God, then this ugly predicament in his crotch is undoubtedly the work of the devil. I screamed: Don't get close to me with that thing. Gilbert strode across the room and put his hand over my mouth.Shh, do you want everyone to hear? I bit his hand, and when he jumped back and screamed in pain, I ran towards the door trembling. Hortens, Hortens, wait a minute, wait a minute, okay?He leaped to the door and slammed it shut.He stood in front of me panting, and I could feel the thing tap me like a finger in shock. But Gilbert threw up his hands in the air in surrender, and the hideously ugly monstrosity began to recede, sag, droop, and finally hang limp like a dead bird in a tree.His palms up: OK, OK, I won't touch you, you see.Then glanced down and cupped his disgusting thing in his hands.No more, no more. He struggled into his pants, jumping around the room like an idiot, saying: Listen to me, listen to me.He buttoned up his pants and tried to meet my eyes.Look at me, Hortens, look at me, okay?When I finally looked over to him, he breathed a sigh of relief.After calming down, he began to say: OK, now listen to me.are you listening to meI turned my face away and he gently cupped my chin and turned to him.You sleep on the bed, I sleep on the floor here.I won't touch you, I promise.You see I salute you RAF style.He stepped back, raised his hand to his forehead in salute, and smiled showing his golden teeth.Well, this is the gentleman's promise.I'll just sleep on the floor, and tomorrow I'll get up early to get on a boat, sailing to the motherland for the two of us.Because, oh boy, Miss Dirtyfoot, England is getting ready for you too.He slowly shook his head back and forth.