Earl McKenzie

After spending time as a farm-worker in the United States, Mass Boysie returns to the village and is asked the usual question:

'When you going back?'

'As soon as my bossman sends for me,' he keeps replying. 'He said he is going to send one letter to me, and another to the Government so that nothing can hold me up.'

So having confirmed the traveller's status the villagers expect from any sane man who has been overseas, he sets about acting the part. He wears only woollen shirts, blue jeans and leather boots with thick 'tractor' rubber soles. He is never seen anywhere without his leather cap with the turned up ear flaps. These flaps are useless in the warm Jamaican climate, but he thinks they look boasy with the bow tied at the top of his head, and he pulls them down when the temperature drops below 80 and when it rains. When he wants to impress his listeners, he abandons his native creole language and speaks his own version of American. He spends hours sitting in the shops and on culverts discoursing on the superiority of life in America. As the days pass, the streets of America get wider and wider; the speed of the traffic increases; the buildings get higher and higher, and the great flat open spaces begin to stretch the credibility even of his willing audiences. 'You have to go see for yourself how those white people wittify.'

But Ms. Dora, his wife, a calm church-going woman, does not like this role her husband is playing. She is sitting on a mortar in front of their small, bamboo kitchen, and shelling gungo peas into the chipped enamel bowl she has in her lap. She is thinking of the rough time her Boysie had getting that chance to go to America in the first place. The first time he went for the test he failed. The examiner said he had too many bad teeth. So he sold one of his goats, went to a dentist and had his bad teeth taken out; then he put in a set of dentures which took the hollow out of his cheeks and made him look fresh and young again. The second time he went, the examiner told him to keep his knees stiff and touch his toes with his fingers, and when he could not do it, the examiner said, 'Sorry, pal, but you not supple enough.' But instead of giving up, he started taking iron tablets and eating the few eggs faster than the fowls could lay them; and instead of drinking rum he turned to milk and stout and tonic wine. The third time the examiner squeezed his hands and said, 'These hands too soft to do the white people's work.'

Ms. Dora is stirring the peas soup, which is being cooked with yellow yam, dumplings and salt-pork. As she stirs, the smoke rises past her face, escaping through the wattles and scraps of zinc that form the walls or ascending to help form the stalactites of soot which hang from the roof. And she is thinking how lucky Boysie was to pass the test on his fourth try. She remembers how happy he was when he came home from the test; he was so happy, he kept saying over and over again that he was really going to America, as if he could not believe it. 'You better pack my things because the call can come anytime now,' he had said. And she had washed his best clothes and had packed them. And true enough, the telegram came just two days later; and Boysie, dressed in the church clothes she had bought for him, but which he seldom wore, set off for America.

The soup is ready, and Ms. Dora pours portions of it into bowls of varying sizes; and as she fills each bowl, she calls out the name of a child, going from the youngest to the eldest; and on hearing his or her name each child appears, takes the bowl on the plate with the spoon, says 'thanks, ma'am,' and goes into the house to eat, or sits in the shade of one of the trees. Ms. Dora leaves Boysie's soup on the fire to keep it warm, and she is wishing he would come home early more often so they can eat together.

She is sitting on a stool on the verandah of the old wooden house which once belonged to Boysie's parents and eating while keeping an eye on the children. And she is thinking that Boysie had brought back enough money for them to start building a house of their own beside the old one. She had put half of every dollar he had sent home in the bank which the government operated through the post office. And she is thinking how nice it would be for Boysie to get another chance to make it easier, for things were getting rougher and rougher in the country. But she doesn't see how Boysie could get another chance. She knows his body better than anyone else and knows that he isn't the man he used to be. His body is flabbier and he is beginning to show a paunch. Even before he went to America, all those years of battering on the hillsides had started taking their toll on his body. And on top of that he had hurt his back lifting a sack in the States, and he had spent quite a bit of time in the hospital there.

But he keeps saying how the people were nice to him. 'I was a hard worker,' he keeps saying, 'and they liked me for that. Sometimes, the bossman would call me away from the work just to talk to me. He said he liked to hear me talk because I am a real jokify fellow.' And thinking of how his body is, and the pain he still has in his back sometimes, she is wondering if much of their kindness wasn't just caution. No, she isn't happy with this role Boysie is playing. While he talks about America, their few animals are 'reading newspapers' over the closely cropped grass, and his fields need the hands of a man. While he wanders around telling stories, the children - elevated with the novelty of wearing foreign clothes and being the children of a man who has travelled - now only want to eat food bought in the shop, and are becoming unruly show-offs.

A few months have passed and there is still no letter.

'It not going to come so soon, you know,' Mass Boysie explains. 'He is going to wait for the next crop to start. It take time for the crop to grow and be ready. And is reap they going to want me help them reap. They do most of their planting with machines. They not like us who still using our hands. And if the crop not so big he might not need as much help. That is how farming is: a big crop this year, a small one next year. But is only a matter of time. That call could be in the mail tomorrow.'

At Ms. Dora's insistence, the building of the house begins. They make a digging and invite the men of the village. It is a moonlit night and the men sing digging songs while they prepare the level. When the level is ready, they employ some carpenters to build the house. The carpenters make building blocks with a mould. Then they begin mapping out the foundations. Mass Boysie wants a big house but Ms. Dora persuades him to build a smaller one. They dig the foundations and begin raising the walls.

'It is a good thing we start,' says Mass Boysie to his wife one night while they are in bed. 'If the call comes before it finish, you can finish it yourself.'

But there is still no sign of the airmail envelope. The postmistress says she is getting fed up with the Reynolds children. She says she is getting a cricked neck shaking her head at them. They've developed a kind of code so the children don't have to go all the way into the post office: as soon as she sees one of them approaching, she shakes her head or waves her hand and the child turns and leaves. She tells people she is hoping the infernal letter will arrive and give her some peace, and each evening she finds herself sorting the air mail envelopes first. But the months go by and the letter does not arrive. She tells the children to stop coming, that if the letter arrives she will send it along. The children tell their father what the postmistress said and it makes him angry. 'What right has she to tell me when or when not to send for letters? Is her job to answer when she is asked. Is our taxpayers' money paying her. What a piece of facetiness! Pickney, unoo go ask for letter when I send unoo. And I hope she don't hold that letter when it come. She just the one to do it too. I know her. She don't come from anywhere, and those are the hardest people in the world.' But the children avoid going to the post office, and lie when their father asks them.

The house is completed and they have an official opening. Mass Boysie delivers the main speech in his imitation American accent. He says that his first trip to the States was to build the house, the second would be to furnish it.

In the meantime, other men in the village have got letters or tickets and have gone to the States. A few have returned. A little clique of ex-farm workers is beginning to form in the village. They meet and compare their experiences. The younger men have newer and more exciting stories. They say that Mass Boysie had only scratched the surface. Gradually, Mass Boysie is speaking less and less. The young men see him as a respected old-timer.

People notice he is beginning to wear some of his old clothes they had almost forgotten. The steep rocky hillsides have destroyed his 'tractor' boots; the heavy basket he carries so regularly on his head has joined the sun and rain in destroying his cap with the ear flaps. Most of his jeans have been destroyed by the rough life of the bushes, and the few remaining ones are patched with pieces of his old clothes. One of the younger farm-workers has brought him a pair of blue jeans and a cap with the words 'Miami Dolphins' on it. He is very grateful and he wears them to the square on Saturday and Sunday evenings.

'It don't look as if that call coming, you know,' he says to his wife one night. 'I going to try to get a ticket.'

His wife starts to say something but stops. She knows there is no use trying to dissuade him. So she just mentions that they prefer to give tickets to the younger men who have not yet had a chance.

'Young men?' exclaims Mass Boysie. 'You mean these idle good for nothing young hooligans around the place? Six of them don't worth one of my hand. Any man who would choose one of them over me is a fool. This old horse not finished yet. I can work most of these young fellahs to a frazzle. I going to get a ticket. If the call come afterwards, that will be my bossman's bad luck. He can't say I didn't wait for him long enough. I am a patient and faithful man, but even a man like me have a limit.'

A few months later he announces to his wife that he has got a ticket. 'I had to oil his palm with a few dollars,' he says, 'but it going to pay off. I going to put some brand new furniture in this house for the enjoyment of you and the kids. I going to get a nice easy chair for you to rest your tired body in. I going to build a shed between the kitchen and house so you don't have to walk through the rain to bring food into the house. So help me, baby, I going to give you and the kids the life you really deserve.'

The day before the test he asks his wife to pack his trunk. 'Nowadays they don't give you much extra time like in the old days. As soon as you pass the test so, bam, they putting you on the plane the same evening.'

Later in the day, he goes to the village barber and gets a haircut, sitting under a star apple tree beside the house. After dinner, he has a bath. Then he goes to bed so early it makes his children nervous; they walk around the house whispering, afraid to shout or play.

The following morning he gets up early. His wife opens her eyes and sees him shadow-boxing before the mirror. He stops, then oils and brushes his hair.

'Mind the examiner think you are a sweetboy and send you back!' his wife laughs from the bed.

'I going to face that examiner bright as morning sunshine,' he says,

doing a quick step. 'And I going to talk to him about America so that he will know that I know that country. No point sending young fellas who don't know anything and have to learn from scratch. They should send men who know the place and the language. Men like me.' And he flexes his biceps and throws back his head.

Ms. Dora goes through the day quietly. She sends the children off to school and washes the clothes. Then she works in her vegetable garden and collects firewood. At

mid-day she moves the goats and waters the cow. In the early afternoon she sews and rests a bit. By mid-afternoon she begins to prepare the evening meal. She is thinking about Boysie and the test. She doesn't know what to think. She didn't expect him to get through the time he did and he had surprised her. Much as she doubts that he will get through, she finds it difficult not to hope that he will. But she wants to remain open to all possibilities, so she decides to prepare his favourite meal: mackerel and bananas and boiled St. Vincent yams.

The children return from school and ask about their father. She says she hasn't heard anything yet. They eat their dinner and go about their chores. Each time she hears the sound of a vehicle she prepares herself for the news. But he does not show up. She recalls that sometimes after the test, men return to the village in taxis at night with just enough time to get their trunks and rush back to Kingston to catch the plane. It is getting close to twilight. She puts his dinner on the table and waits.

It gets dark and she lights the lamp. A little boy, the child of a neighbour, comes to the house to borrow salt for his mother. As he turns to leave Miss Dora calls after him:

'You been out to the square, Byron?'

'Yes ma'am.'

Ms. Dora pauses. 'You know if the men come back from the test yet?'

'Yes ma'am. They out at the shop.'

She pauses again. 'Mass Boysie out there?'

'Yes ma'am. He didn't pass, ma'am. Only two of them pass, ma'am. Robert and Quincey.'

The boy runs off and she turns to go into the house.

'Papa don't pass!' she hears one of their daughters shouting to the others. 'Papa fail! Papa fail!'

'Stop your shouting and do your homework!' she shouts at them.

The house is quiet as the children gather round the lamp with their books. Only Mass Boysie's dinner is still on the table. It is wrapped in a white towel, and a well-polished fork rests on top of it.

The night advances but he does not show up. She puts the children to bed. She sits up in bed and waits, and while she waits she reads a magazine she bought from a Jehovah's Witness travelling salesman. Mass Boysie does not come and she gets tired. She drifts off to sleep.

She wakes up when he enters the yard, and she can tell from his footsteps that he is drunk. She listens as he fumbles with the lock, opens the door and staggers inside. He pulls the chair from under the table, and the dishes rattle as he eats. Then there is a long silence. She feels herself drifting off to sleep again. When the silence continues she gets up and walks towards the dining room.

She stops at the door and peeps through the curtain. The plates are empty and he is no longer at the table. He is slumped in the old rocking chair, his head bowed, and from his dejected expression she can tell he is more drunk than asleep. She walks over, puts her hand at the back of his neck and shakes him gently. He lifts his head and stares, bleary-eyed. 'Come to your bed,' she says as she holds him under his arms and tries to lift him. He moans questioningly. She continues trying to lift him but he is very heavy. Finally, he manages to struggle to his feet, and allows her to guide him along the wall towards the bedroom.