By Love Possessed

Abstract

Sometimes, she used to wake up and just look at him lying asleep beside her; she would prop herself up on one elbow and study his face. He slept like a child, knees drawn up to his stomach, both hands tucked between his thighs. His mouth was always slightly open when he slept, and his mouth water always left a damp patch on the pillowcase; no matter how many days after, it seems the patch would always be damp and every time she washed it, she would run her finger over the stain and her mind would pick up the signal and move back to the image of him lying asleep. When the radio next door began to play the first of the morning church services, she would know that it was time to begin to get ready to go to work. From Monday to Saturday, every day, her days began like this. She would go to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast, then she would leave it covered up on top of the stove over a bowl of hot water. Then she would go to the bathroom, bathe in the cold early morning water and then get dressed. Just before she left, she always placed some money on the top of the bureau for his rum and cigarettes, then she would say to his sleeping form, "Frenchie, ah gone, take care till I come back." Dottie sometimes wondered how she was so lucky to be actually living with Frenchie. He was easily the best looking man in Jones Town, maybe in the whole of Jamaica and she, ten years older than him, tall and skinny and 'dry up'. She had never had luck with men and she had resigned herself to being an old maid a long time ago. She was childless, 'a mule' as really unkind people would say. She worked hard and saved her money, and she kept a good house. Her two rooms in the big yard were spotless. She had a big trunk bed, that was always made up with pretty chenile spreads, a lovely mahogany bureau, a big wardrobe with good quality glass (mirrors) and in the front room, in pride of place, her China Cabinet. Nobody in the yard, maybe in Jones Town, maybe in the whole of Jamaica, had a China Cabinet so full of beautiful things. Dottie had carefully collected them over the years and she never used them. Once a year when she was fixing up her house at Christmas, she would carefully take them out, the ware plates, cups and saucers, tureens, glasses, lemonade sets, serving dishes and teapots, and she would carefully wash them. This took her nearly a whole morning. She washed them in a pan of soapy warm water, rinsed them in cold water, then dried them with a clean towel. Then she would rearrange them artistically in the Cabinet. On that night, she would sometimes treat herself to a little drink of Porto Pruno wine, sitting by herself in her little living room and would gaze on her China Cabinet enjoying the richness within, the pretty colours and the lights bouncing off the glasses. Her sister always said that she worshipped her possessions; maybe she did, but what else did she have? Till she met Frenchie.