Foreign Soil

Nathanial Robinson looks down at his reflection in the water. He’s wearing jeans and work boots; he’s a big man, but he’s gentle. He decides that Kingston Port hasn’t changed one bit. The water, breeze, and flat horizon are all the same. And even though there are more cargo ships out now, he can still smell “dat same crazy-fresh islan air[.]”

In other ways, though, things are very different: “Since J fe Jamaica, de ocean bin callin’, nyah calmin’, de young man.” The sun used to calm Nathanial, but now it just annoys him, and he feels a perpetual sense of “unease deep deep down in im own self skin.” One year ago, Nathanial’s wife Clarise made him promise to learn one letter per week, starting with “A fe ackee.”  Nathanial remembers how Clarise watched him trace the letter A as she cooked food. But Nathanial’s hands are awkward, and he’s struggled to write the letters. Clarise tells him he needs to take his time to learn the alphabet and learn everything right. If he does this, Clarise insists, then he'll eventually be able to read any book in the city library.

Learning the alphabet was Clarise’s idea, though—not Nathanial’s. She wants him to be more educated so he can make more money. It’s hard for Nathanial to relate this person to the little girl she was 20 years ago—the person he met before his father died and he had to work to support his family.

Nathanial would return home once a year. In the time that elapsed between those visits, Clarise got more and more beautiful, and eventually Nathanial married her. After that, she announced that she wanted to move to the city. 

After Clarise teaches Nathanial “A is fe ackee,” she makes Nathanial point out all the As on packages at the grocery store. Sometimes he can, sometimes he can’t; Clarise enjoys herself, but Nathanial feels humiliated. Clarise praises Nathanial’s efforts and tells him they’ll work on B next week. But to Nathanial, the “praise like an open-palm slap on de back ov [his] head.” He never felt like hitting a woman before he was married, but now, he does. Nathanial can understand her behavior a little bit—she’s probably bitter that he concealed his illiteracy from her when they were married. But Clarise also kept secrets from Nathanial—for instance, she swore that Nathanial was the first man she had sex with. But just before the wedding, Nathanial’s cousin found out that this wasn’t true. Even so, Nathanial still married Clarise, and he never told anyone about her sexual history.

Back in the present, Nathanial closes his eyes. He knows he’s dirty from working all day, and he knows that Clarise will want him to clean up when he gets home—she prefers “uncalloused” men, like the men who work at the bank. A wind blows through, distracting him; it “whisper roun im ear, like a chilehood sweetheart.” It’s been a year since Clarise taught Nathanial “J fe Jamaica.” Now, Nathanial can read and understand sentences. After they learned J, Claris brought down a small globe and pointed out the West Indian island. She asked him to locate the Js. Nathanial was shocked at how small Jamaica was on the globe. “Dis a small, small island we livin’ on, mi husband,” she told him before leaving him sitting there with the globe.

It’s Friday now, and Nathanial is done unloading at the dock for the week. He and his coworkers make sure that the loading and unloading process goes smoothly—that boats carrying bananas and coconuts reach London in time for the fruit to be at its ripest. Clarise has been telling Nathanial to get a new job. He's been with the Port Authority for years now and hasn’t gotten a promotion. Clarise knows why—it’s because he’s a grown man and can’t read. But she also knows that Nathanial is working on it so that he can get a promotion. But until that day comes, this is Nathanial’s life. He’s told Clarise that he won’t resign. He loves working at the port, watching things approach and leave the island. Sometimes, he feels “like [his] own self is part ov de globality ov it all.” When Nathanial told Clarise this, she snapped that “globality” isn’t even a word.

Now, on Friday afternoon, most of the ships have already departed for the day. But the big ones are still waiting around in the port. One of the ships, Windrush Three, is the biggest that Nathanial has ever seen. The ship’s name tells Nathanial it’s from England. Nathanial bets that some of his fellow Jamaicans—Clarise included—would board the ship if they got the chance, genuinely believing that England’s streets “jus a-pave up wid gold.” They think that they’ll have a chance at a better life in England. “E is fe Inglan,” and “O is fe opportunity,” thinks Nathanial. But he doesn’t believe this. When he looked up England on the globe, he was shocked that a country that is always “rapin’ an pillagin’” everywhere else is so small.

Nathanial’s older brother Curtis left on a ship like the Windrush Three six years ago—in fact, it was the first one: the Windrush. It used to be a banana boat. But in Nathanial’s mind, that ship’s function didn’t much change: “de cargo’s still a-gobble up abroad by foreigner.” Curtis left Jamaica dressed in his nicest clothes, hopeful about the new life he’d have abroad. Nathanial hasn’t seen him since he left. He thinks, “B is fe bon voyage. P is fe possibility. D is fe dreams.”

Nathanial returns his thoughts to the water. “Oh, dis island,” he murmurs to himself. Anyone would be crazy to overlook its beauty and go looking “fe bettah ting.” Unlike his brother, Nathanial vows never to leave the island. He gets up then, walks down the pier, and heads home; Clarise will be making dinner about now. He thinks that even if he leaves this place, the letter H “always gwan stand fe home.”

Sometime later, Nathanial sits at his small wooden table and finishes the yams Clarise has prepared for dinner. Clarise, meanwhile, folds clean clothes and places them in the laundry basket. She seems distracted. When Nathanial teases her about it, she jokes that she’s swooning over the entire West Indies cricket team. Nathanial laughs. Then he gets up and moves to the lounge room, sinking into an old armchair. Clarise follows Nathanial into the lounge room. She hands him the newspaper and asks him if he wants to practice reading. Nathanial told Clarise to stop reading aloud from the newspaper weeks ago. He doesn’t want to hear about all the politicians debating about independence from the British. Ever since slavery, Jamaicans have done exactly as their British rulers demanded, anyway.

Nathanial looks at the front page of the paper and sees a photo of the cricket team. He asks Clarise why they’re on the front page. She explains that they’re getting a lot of coverage for playing in “Owstrayleah,” a place at the bottom of the earth that is so large it could fit all of the Caribbean inside it and still have plenty of space left over. Nathanial tells Clarise that A is not just for ackee now—now it’s for Owstrayleah, too. Clarise shakes her head as she walks away.

Nathanial leans back into his chair and regards the newspaper some more. The cricket team on the front page looks so happy, “like dem in paradise[.]” It makes Nathan feel uneasy. “E is fe envy,” he thinks to himself. When he closes his eyes, he momentarily hears the sound of crashing waves—and the sound of “de people ov Owstrayleah cheerin’ im on an smilin’.” But Nathanial will never be a part of that. “Big, big island,” he thinks to himself.

A few months ago, the South African cricket team toured England, which resulted in protests in response to “dat dreadful partheid business.” But in Owstrayleah (at least, according to this photo in the paper), it doesn’t look like anyone cares what color your skin is. Clarise, from the other room, calls out that the West Indies team has been playing in Owstrayleah a few days now, and everyone there loves them. They’re calling this season “Calypso Summer.”  Clarise hums the Linstead Market song as she walks back into the lounge to join Nathanial.

That night, Clarise goes to bed early. Nathanial stays awake. Though he’s never much cared for cricket, he “labor one sentence at a time tru de sport section ov de paper.”

The next morning, Nathanial wakes to sun streaming in through the bedroom window and the smells of Clarise cooking breakfast drifting in from the kitchen. The newspaper is folded up on Nathanial’s bedside table. Nathanial walks over to the window, the image of the cricket team lingering in his mind. Outside, Kingston has already come to life; shop doors are open, and people are wandering the streets. It’s a typical Saturday morning. But this morning is different for Nathanial. Today, “Kingston feel insignificant small.” He thinks to himself, “R. R is fe restlessness.”