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and he will — you know who will have to drag it? You . And don’t you tell me “the Lord’s will be done,” because you don’t know a damn thing about man’s will, so forget about the Lord’s. And please don’t quote me any scripture. Six years ago, you left my house, and I got frightened that you would finish on some trash heap, so I sent Mercy to bring you back home. I don’t think you ever had sex, and I know it’s that more than anything else that’s itching you. I was young myself. You’re thinking that it’s something everybody is getting except you.’ Jay, I begged her to not have any children right away. ‘Wait till you get to know Caleb before you conceive. Find out first if you can count on him. It’s easy to leave when you don’t have children. There’s no load to carry; nothing to hold you back. Even when the man looks trustworthy, it’s not a good idea to have more than one child, because men, after they’ve stripped the bloom off us — after they’ve turned lovely Rosy into Rosehips and pumped her soul-case dry, they drop her for firm, fresh flesh. You all fundamentalists don’t believe in birth control. I’m begging you, Anna — don’t let that man turn you into a brood sow and praise God for it. Rapture!’” — Grama sucked her teeth, paused and turned her head away briefly. “‘You love to say that Christ’s yoke easy; you better not let Caleb put bit in your mouth and saddle your back.’”
    â€œâ€˜Mama, you’re snarling.’
    â€œâ€˜I am! Don’t worry about my claws. Start sharpening yours.’”
    Grama stared out at the dusk now covering the Caribbean Sea, and was silent for about ten seconds. “Maybe you’re too young to be hearing all of this. But I’m telling you just the same. Everything has a cost. Most times it’s hidden. Soon you and Paul will be in Canada, away from me.” She paused. “I’m worried. I don’t want you and Paul to go there and throw away your lives.” She brushed a gnat from her face.
    â€œBack to your mother. Jay, let’s face it. I knew I had one daughter; sometimes I wish I had a son too.” She took a loud breath. “I married your mother in style. She was marrying a pauper. I swallowed my pride and put out the outlays for the wedding, bought furniture for the empty manse, and gave her half of all the linen, dishes, pots, and pans I had.
    â€œI’d thought your father received a stipend from the missionaries, so I was shocked when, unannounced, I visited your mother eight months later, already pregnant with you, and found nothing worth eating in the house. In Georgetown, I knew everyone over 30. I ferreted out your parents’ business. The weekly collection was dimes and quarters. Never added up to more than a few dollars. Could barely cover the electricity bill. And no stipend from the States. Nothing. Your father was following some sort of course at home, which he had to pass, and only after that would he get a stipend. I sometimes met him with the papers spread out on his desk and a pencil behind his ear. ‘Mr. Jackson,’ I told him — I had vowed never to get on familiar terms with him — ‘You haven’t the means to support children.’ To Anna, I said: ‘Child, if you continue to starve like this, your baby will have congenital defects.’ I went out and bought her vitamins and protein supplements, and I met her in town every Saturday to put $40 in her hand — ‘Not for you,’ I insisted. ‘You don’t deserve it. For my unborn grandchild.’ And, Jay, when you came due and she had to be hospitalized, and Caleb put her in the pauper’s ward, I was livid. I had her transferred to a private ward forthwith. ‘Not for you,’ I told her: ‘You’re too hard-headed. For the sake of my