throat, the dogs began to gather.
‘Pupatee, you and Carl go bath, den go tell de people you big bredda Joe deh home from England, and one big whole dinner get together ah ran fe him. And me, and you Mama, ah invite everyone. Also tell dem on sale is fresh beef. Tell dem me kill de best bull and plenty good food is here.’
‘OK, Pops.’
‘And son, go tell de whole ah you cousins and dem friends fe come help Mama,’ said Mama. ‘And hurry, Pupatee.’
That night, when darkness fell, they had a great feast of beef from the slaughtered bull. They built a big fire and roasted nuts and all kinds of other goodies, like breadfruits, sweet potatoes, fish, birds, yam and sweet corn. There was rice and peas, boiled pumpkin and plates of fried green bananas. Everybody joined in the fun of lighting fire crackers and big loud bangers and rockets which flew up and exploded with a wonderful brightness in the pitch dark. And all the time people were playing music and dancing and singing. Pupatee’s disagreement with Carl, and even his beating from Joe, was soon forgotten, and it was the biggest and best Christmas ever.
A few days later it was time for Joe to go back to England. The whole family were sitting together, Pupatee between Mama and Pops. Then Mama said, ‘Joe, me ah beg you. One last favour for Mama, do son.’
‘What is it?’ asked Joe.
‘By de time Pupatee and Carl done looking after dem fadda’s cows, dem always late fe school and Pupatee no even badda go sometimes. Lord have mercy pon me, Joe, me wash-belly pickney no even know two letter out de ABCDEFGH, so me would ah glad if him could ah come ah England wid you, to go school, where him would ah learn fe spell and write him name.’
‘Oh no, Mama,’ Pupatee stuttered. He was happy at home with Mama and Pops and Carl. But to his horror, Joe agreed.
‘I suppose he could wash my car on Sundays,’ he said. ‘You can send him over in a few weeks.’
And that was that. There was nothing Pupatee could do. Mama had made up her mind and he was going to England. After all, Joe was there and so was another brother and several of his sisters. Pupatee would be looked after fine.
When the day finally came for Pupatee to leave for England, his father was not his normal self. Pops barely looked at him or said goodbye. He didn’t want his youngest son to go, but he hadn’t been able to persuade his wife. She was a determined woman. Mama, Carl and Pupatee left Pops behind and set out for town, where they stayed overnight, and the next day they made their way to the airport.
At last the moment came when they all stood by the escalator that would take Pupatee to the plane and away from everything familiar.
‘Bye Mama, bye Carl,’ he said quietly, turning to start up the escalator.
‘Wait!’ Mama cried. ‘You not going to kiss Mama before you go to England?’
Pupatee ran back and threw himself at his mother, hugging and kissing her. Then she gently sent him on his way. As he was carried along on the escalator, tears dripped on to his shoes. It was the first escalator he had ever seen.
The world was white and when Pupatee bent down and picked up some of it, it was cold, like the ice he knew from drinks called skyjuice or snowballs back in Jamaica. He shivered and stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and walked out on to the slippery pavement of Selborne Road, Camberwell. The snow was on cars, on rooftops, on the branches of trees. It seemed to have taken the place of leaves. He wondered why there were no leaves on the trees.
Pupatee watched a group of children across the street playing with the snow, scooping it up and throwing it at each other. A skinny white boy with yellow hair slipped some down the back of a girl and made her scream. A moment later the children were all ducking and sliding and laughing, having the time of their lives. In the distance Pupatee heard a train rattle by.
He walked on alone, marvelling at the sights of this new world. The people were various colours, black and white and yellow. The streets were filled with cars and lined with huge buildings. It was all so tall and enclosed. Pupatee stepped gingerly along, his feet unsure beneath him in his tightly laced new shoes. Cars slid down the roads, where the white snow had turned to a grey slush. People in thick coats walked hurriedly along. He passed the Odeon picture house and a huge walled building that was King’s College Hospital. A little further along, white people in long coats were queuing up at a window, buying food wrapped in newspaper. The smell of frying oil made him realise he was hungry, so he turned the corner and headed back in the direction of his brother’s house.
As he approached Selborne Road, he saw the kids had stopped playing with the snow. Some of the faces had changed, but he recognised the skinny boy with blond hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in blue jeans and black boots, and he had a blue and red anorak with a fur-lined hood hanging down behind. A white scarf was wrapped twice round his neck with its ends dangling below his waist. Pupatee felt very underdressed. The boy’s shoulders were hunched and he was hugging himself against the cold. As Pupatee walked by, the boy looked at him and shouted out, ‘Ha, I think I seen you somewhere before, mate. Was it Africa?’ At this, all the other children burst out laughing. Pupatee stood there puzzled. He barely understood the words and he certainly didn’t get the joke. He was so cold his blood seemed to be turning to ice in his veins.
‘What’s your name, mate?’ the skinny boy asked, his voice softening as if he felt bad for making fun of him. Pupatee understood this question. ‘Pupatee,’ he replied.
This set the whole gang laughing again. When they had calmed down, the only black boy among them said, ‘That’s an old man’s name. How old are you, Pupatee? About seventy-five?’ They were all in stitches now, while Pupatee stood there, frozen with misery and shock. ‘Pupatee,’ the black boy said. ‘Pupatee, bet you are the good-looking one in your family.’
Pupatee understood enough of this to feel the shame begin to burn inside him. While they carried on laughing, he turned down his face. When he found the door, he ran inside and washed his face so Miss Utel, Joe’s wife, would not know Pupatee had been crying.
Miss Utel was in the kitchen. She was short and had shiny dark skin, and when she flashed her smile her single gold tooth would twinkle. Her black hair was bunched on top of her head, streaked with a single block of grey. She wore a thick white woolly pullover and a black knee-length skirt with a big button at the waist. She always wore blue slippers in the house. Pupatee liked her.
‘You hungry, Pupatee?’ she called out.
‘Yes,’ he answered, when he had finished washing. Strange smells were wafting up from the stove where Miss Utel was cooking. They certainly didn’t smell like ackee and saltfish and Mama’s hot chocolate, and when Miss Utel put the plate down in front of him Pupatee couldn’t identify what was on it. The only thing Pupatee recognised was the egg. The rest were like strangers to him: sausages, fish fingers and baked beans. But he was famished, and he loved eating. He would get used to bland English food, but he would never stop thinking about fried fish and plantain and allspice, and mangoes that tasted like sunshine.
Brother Joe had gone to work early. Joe and Miss Utel had five children, Johnny, Terry, Tracy, Lena and a baby girl still in arms named Jasmine. The older kids had gone off to school.
‘Me
