Mary did not tell either her sister or son about the results of the tests or the diagnosis and prognosis of her illness. She was her cheerful self. On the day before she returned to Tenaboo, after a final visit with the doctor the day before, she remarked, “Everything is fine. Just a hard chest cold I got that get chronic. Just like what John said, standing up in front of that damn mud oven, day in and day out, is really proving to be too much”.
Mary returned to Tenaboo, to John, and the daily routine of kneading and baking bread. She fed John the same false story she had told before, going about her business as if she did not have a care in the world.
*****
“Jason! You’re sleeping all night in the Berbice chair and leaving your pillow and cover tossed all over the place like you back in Tenaboo. You’re almost a man. Just now is your seventeenth birthday, and you’re behaving like you come from off the streets. Another thing, I notice these days you’re slacking up and coming home later and later in the afternoon,” Cleo bellowed as her nephew packed his lunch and books into the old haversack before leaving for school.
“I am late, lady. Stop the preaching. I’m off.” With barely a glance at his auntie, he hastened through the doorway and onto James Street for the short walk to the public road, to catch a minivan taxi on its way to Charles Secondary School in Georgetown.
Cleo was dumbfounded by her nephew’s attitude. She noticed a slow but rising tide of resentment toward her, the occasional excuse for missing Sunday church, and on weekends, instead of helping her to sell custard blocks, he left early in the morning, came home late in the afternoon, and when asked, he answered, “I’m going to the library.” But he never had books with him, not even a pen or pencil.
“Lady, the library got everything I need. Where else do you think I’m going? I need my space.”
She attributed the changes in Jason to his adolescence and perhaps to a country-boy-come-to-town syndrome. Had she been wrong all along? Cleo wondered whether her lack of experience in child-rearing was at the root of the problem. Had she been too harsh? Too soft? Too indulgent? The thought of Jason going astray under her watch weighed heavily on her. It was unthinkable to disappoint her sister, who relied on her and trusted her. On her knees, on the hard linoleum floor, she poured out her soul to her maker:
“Lord God, your humble servant comes before thee in great distress. I have no one to turn to, for you are all I know. I thank you for allowing my sister’s son to come and stay with me, to bring some joy and happiness in the evening of my life. Now I don’t know what is becoming of this young man. He is slipping away from your loving arms. Help him make it back to you. You are the only one who can do it, Lord. Let him find the peace that passeth all understanding and a refuge in the eye of a storm. Praise be to your holy name. Amen.”
Cleo kept a close watch on Jason. She questioned him at every turn. He reciprocated with brief answers and, at times, sulking and sucking his teeth, always in a hurry to go somewhere. He stopped addressing her as auntie, just lady.
*****
A month after his seventeenth birthday, Jason left home hurriedly in the morning for school. His auntie was preoccupied in the kitchen, pouring the custard mix into the trays before placement in the refrigerator. Jason left without a word.
“This boy getting beside himself,” she muttered. “I will teach him a lesson in manners this afternoon. He’s becoming too big for his shoes.”
It was late in the afternoon. Jason had not returned. She wondered, “He must be held up somewhere, or maybe an accident. Oh God! I hope nothing bad happened.”
She sat on the Berbice chair and waited until darkness. A fear of the unknown crept into her consciousness.
“Where could this boy be at this hour?” She sat up, paced the floor, and all the while, prayed for her nephew’s safe return.
It came like a bolt out of the blue.
“Let me check under the bed.” To her absolute horror, Jason’s small duffel bag of clothes was gone, and in its place stood a stack of schoolbooks in two small piles. “He took his clothes. He scampered out when my back was turned in the kitchen.”
Cleo went out to the portico that looked onto James Street. It allowed for a clear view of the roadway as far as the public road. She stood there hoping she might perchance see Jason and his duffel bag making the turn onto James Street. Her heart skipped a beat every time she observed movement from the public road. Several hours passed, and there was no sign of Jason. Neighbor Gloria, coming in from a late-night movie at the Regal, was surprised to see Cleo outside at this time of night.
“Mother Cleo, what are you doing out here at this time. It’s past midnight.… is something the matter?”
Cleo, adrift in her thoughts, retorted after some time. “Is Jason. He ain’t come home after school. It look like he plans to go off on his own. He took his clothes. I don’t know what’s come over this boy lately.”
Neighbor Gloria entered the gate leading to her house, all the while petting her dog that jumped up at her excitingly.
“This rice eater I got here is one lovey-dovey. I don’t know what to tell you, Mother Cleo. Boy children, when they grow up, can be a real problem if they follow bad company. He was nice when he first came. Lately I notice he gets broody. You try your best with the boy. God knows you look after his every need. Don’t fret yourself. When he sees the world outside, he must run right back.”
Cleo was lost for words. Her throat felt parched, and she could barely speak.
“I hear you. I’m going in.” And with a slight wave of the hand, she retreated into the house.
After four long days of hoping and praying, Cleo decided to visit the schoolmaster at Charles Secondary School. She thought of going first to the police but changed her mind.
“Ain’t no use making a scene about Jason. If he wants to play a man, let him go right ahead,” she mused when neighbor Gloria made the suggestion.
The news at the school was not good.
“Jason has not been in class for the entire week. We all thought he was ill,” Schoolmaster Benn informed her.
That night, Cleo, with a heavy heart, sat down at the breakfast table and wrote a letter to her sister, one which she dreaded to write:
Dearest little sister,
It is with tearful eyes that I write you about Jason. He left for school on Monday, and he did not come home. Today is Friday. Not a glimpse of him since. Schoolmaster says he’s been absent all week, and besides, he walked off with his clothes.
Recently, I noticed a change in the boy, with his late arrivals home and talking back. I thought it was the usual rebellion that many growing up boys have, and he would catch himself. I try my best with him, I do everything I know to keep him in line, but to no avail. I am sorry to disappoint you. I took him to church, give him anything he ask for. I am so sorry. I got to leave it in God’s hand. I am praying for him and also praying that God will comfort you and John at this time. Anything further, I will let you know.
Lovingly,
Your big sister, Cleo
John and Mary received the news about Jason with much consternation. Their first inclination was to leave Tenaboo and search for him. But where to begin? Then they toyed for a while, with the idea of placing an ad in the Georgetown daily paper, the Guyana Observer, that Jason might see or hear about. Eventually, they did neither.
“If Jason cares for us, he knows where his auntie is and where we are,” John remarked. However, they continued to hold out hope that sooner rather than later, he would turn up. It was difficult for them to accept that he would just walk out on his family and their lives without looking back or stopping at some point to reconsider his actions. For the present, life had to go on. Their love for him dictated a resilience in their ability to cope without knowing the whereabouts of their prodigal son.