Jean Goulbourne

'Rock of ages, cleft for me. Let me hide myself in thee.'

'Puncie, don't I tell you not to sing that there song in my house? Don't I tell you to watch you mout'?'

'Is just a song a' singing, ma'am. A Christian song.'

'Don't I tell you watch you mout?'

'Every day the same thing, watch you mout'. Is a free country, I suppose to sing and talk. Is not indecent language. Is a Christian hymn!'

Puncie mumbled under her breath. She dare not let Mrs. Jackson hear her. Mrs. Jackson was a touchy woman, and although Puncie had worked for her for five years, she was afraid of losing her job. Puncie set the tea table; Mrs. Jackson had taught her how. Mrs. Jackson was a big time entertainer and a member of one of those big clubs that do things for people, like help poor people when them in need. Puncie didn't want to cross such a woman. But Puncie didn't approve of many things that Mrs. Jackson did. Like how she cheat on her husband sometimes, and how she demanded things from the poor man who was just an accountant in a firm. Puncie opened the hundred- thousand-dollar fridge and took out the ham. Ham sandwiches. Ham, and is not even Christmas yet. Puncie roll her eyes at the things in the fridge. When would she, a simple helper, have anything like that? Them a' fight 'gainst her, Puncie was certain of that, although she couldn't exactly say who. The world was full of enemies, though she couldn't name one exactly. But, she knew them was fighting 'gainst her. That was why she couldn't have everything she wanted. Like the nice house like this one on Beverly Hills and the mahogany furniture and the hundred-thousand-dollar fridge with the ham for sandwiches on a Saturday afternoon for the teas that she, Puncie, had to serve to the visitors them.

Puncie flounced into the kitchen still muttering under her breath. 'Jesus, take up mi case, please. I can't even sing in this here prison. Every day is work, work, work and more work. The little weekends off and all I can do is go down Coronation market to visit mi mother. All her life she is higgler. Climbing market truck on Thursday night come in with the goods. Her life hard. Mine easier still, but when me going to have a house of mi own like this one? Take mi case, Lord, take mi case and solve it like the great powerful lawyer that you is.'

Puncie cut the sandwiches and then took the cake out of the oven. Lemon cake. Nice one. She feel proud. Now she had to do some more little things for the table, like put out some jam tarts, and she have to open the tin of butter cookies. Nice.

It was not long after she finished in the kitchen that the guests began to arrive. They were well dressed. Puncie wore her black dress with the white cuffs and collar.

She knew most of them already, but there was a strange man that really interested her. He seemed different from the rest. Not standoffish and full of officialdom.

'Cool,' she muttered under her breath. 'I wonder is who him? Me never see him yet.'

The guests stood chatting for a while before they came to the tea table. Puncie stood and watched. The new man glanced over at her now and again. Puncie felt a blush growing on her skin. She was a little confused. 'Is why him looking at me? But see yah.' But she felt pleased. The guests sat, still chatting.

'Puncie,' Mrs. Jackson beckoned to her, 'you better bring the tea now.' She turned to her guests. 'Anyone prefer something cold? There are all sorts of fruit juices, even June plum juice. Anyone like it as I do?'

'Orange juice, please,' said a staid, matronly looking lady.

'What about that nice garden cherry drink. Is it available?' asked a young lady with plaits in her hair.

'Why, yes! Of course. Puncie, see about it please.'

Although she was still a bit confused, feeling the man's eyes on her as she moved from kitchen to dining room and back, Puncie kept her cool and behaved like a professional. She could see that Mrs. Jackson was pleased.

The talk continued while the company ate and drank.

'This cake is so nice,' said the strange man. 'Who made it?'

'The helper, Puncie, of course. I taught her everything she knows,' answered Mrs. Jackson.

'Good. Nice. And made from scratch.'

'Puncie, I like you cake, man,' said the stranger.

Puncie could hardly stand. Her legs felt weak. It was with great effort that she was able to say, 'Thanks, sir. I try mi best, sir,' and escape to the kitchen for more cherry juice.

After eating, the company moved to the living room to play cards and scrabble and other games. Puncie removed the dishes from the table. While she was doing this the strange man approached from the living room.

'Could you show me the bathroom, please?' he asked.

'Sure, sir,' said Puncie and she led the way to the guest bathroom on the bottom floor where they were. The other bathrooms were upstairs with the five bedrooms that the house boasted.

'Could you wait outside while I use it?' the man asked. 'I might just get lost somewhere. This house is so huge.'

'Yes, sir,' said Puncie, and she waited till she heard the tap water running, and he emerged smiling.

'Puncie, I would love to see you again. Do you have a cellphone? Could I call you?' he asked.

'Yes-s, s-s-sir,' she stammered, hiding her face with its blush. She gave him her number and he wrote it down on a card that he took from his wallet, replaced the wallet in his pocket, and they both went back to the living room.

'Come, Leonard!' Mrs. Jackson called, 'Come, try a hand at this,' and the stranger went towards the card table, and, pulling out a seat, sat down.

'So that is his name, Leonard!' Puncie said to herself as she went back to the kitchen to try and wash the dishes. She walked on air almost, and her head was reeling with the encounter. What did this man want of her, the helper? Could it be that her ship had come in and she too could one day have a house like this one? Where did he come from? He had a slight accent, like a Jamerican accent. What did he do? Did he have a good job? Or did he have his own business? He didn't seem to be the sort of man who would take orders from anybody. No, sir.

She didn't see him again that evening. The people left slowly, leaving Mrs. Jackson and her husband, who had just come in from work, to sit and watch television while Puncie finished the clearing up. At about seven o'clock, she finished and went to tell Mrs. Jackson goodnight, did she want anything else tonight? She didn't; Mr. Jackson had eaten at the workplace where he had had a late meeting.

'Thank you, Puncie, you did well today. See you tomorrow. And you are off this weekend, aren't you?'

'Yes, ma'am,' said Puncie, and she escaped to her room at the back of the house to bathe in her own bathroom and think about what had happened to her that day.

The telephone call came when she least expected it, while she was in the shower. She ran out of the bathroom naked, grabbed the phone from the dresser and said, 'hello.'

'Hello, Puncie. Leonard here. Are you alone?'

'Yes, sir,' answered Puncie breathlessly, 'yes, I was bathing when the phone ring.'

'Oh Lord, sorry I not there, man. Are you off this weekend?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Want to spend some time with me in my hotel?'

Puncie's heart beat fast. 'Where, sir?'

'Out on the north coast. You could come here on Friday evening and we drive down together.'

'Meet you where, sir?' asked Puncie.

'In New Kingston, at the Pegasus. Just ask for Leonard in Room 27. Then we can both travel down to the north coast. I will take you back on Sunday evening, all right?'

And so it was that Puncie went to the north coast with Leonard. She was so excited she could hardly sit still as the car wound its way down through Fern Gully and down, down into Ocho Rios. Puncie had never been to Ocho Rios before, but she knew people who had gone there and spent time in the fancy hotels that framed the beach. Leonard was nice, so nice. They ate together in the restaurant and bathed together in the pool. They shared a room, and themselves. For the first time in her 25 years, Puncie felt that she had a real boyfriend. The others were just on and off friends who came to her mother's house to see her, and left after she told them no, it wouldn't work. They had been poor young men; Puncie wanted the rich and the outward-looking, those who had travelled and who could do things for her. Leonard could. She could see that.

On the last night that they were together, Puncie wanted to find out more about this man. Where did he live? Did he have children? Most importantly, was this the beginning of something real? Try as she could, she could not get a proper answer. She lay beside him and mumbled slowly, 'Leonard, Leonard,' till she too was asleep.

Next day, Sunday, they had breakfast, went to the beach again and checked out at midday. They drove back into Kingston. Puncie was happy, but there was a little doubt in her mind. Did this mean that she would one day own a fridge like Mrs. Jackson's, and have a house like hers as well?

Leonard pressed an envelope into her hands and she took a taxi from the Pegasus to Beverly Hills. It was while she was in the taxi that she realized that she did not even know his last name. She sighed and waited for the taxi to arrive at her destination. She paid the taxi-man and stepped out. Back to the old days of scrubbing, and cleaning, and washing, and cooking. Back to Mrs. Jackson, who could not stand her singing. She walked up the short incline and into the house.

'Oh, there you are Puncie, back again?' called Mrs. Jackson from the kitchen. 'I wonder if you could wash these dishes for me?'

'Yes, ma'am,' said Puncie, going into her room and putting down her duffel bag. She checked the money. It was ten thousand dollars.

'Lord Jesus!' She said to herself. 'Is pay him pay me? An' me did think him was me husband come at last.' Puncie hid the money, distaste growing in her mouth like bile. She realised now she had sold herself. She wiped tears and then went to the kitchen where she washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen - anything; anything to take away the pain she felt in her heart.

- Jean Goulbourne