Story

The Future-Telling Lady

by

JAMES BERRY

“Neil, we almost there now,” his mother said. She sat up front beside his father, who was driving the car.

“Really great country drive, Mamma!”

“Cahn believe we never take you this way’s far as this before,” his father said.

“Never, and the road signs say me leave MoBay a hundred miles behind us. As you did say the distance was.”

“Yes. Our town Montego Bay isa bit behind us now.”

“What yo going to tell Mother Eesha, Neil?”

“Me, Mamma?”

“Yeahs—you.”

Neil’s face too on its fierce, fighting look. 

“Me wohn have anything to say to her. You and Dad brought me here.”

His dad stopped the car at the side of the village road. They were beside a neatly kept hibiscus hedge wit harbours of slender, flowering branches inside the yard. All the windows of the car were completely down in the warm, bright Saturday morning.

“Mother Eesha may want to question you a little. Jus’ to talk to yo ua little. Jus’ for you to say something.”

Neil did not want t come for this appointment. He didn’t want any going on about his “problem.” 

He folded his arms and looked down. “I’ll say ‘Good morning, Mother Eesha.’ and that will be all.” 

His father chuckled. “Neil, you know we’re only trying our best to help you.”

“Help me with what, Dad? A bit of swi-swi magic business? Beats me how you really seem to go for this sorta thing.”

“Why d’you have this attitude, Neil?” His mother asked in a worried but kind voice.

Neil shifted about. His face went taut. All huffy, he spat out, “I’ll tell you why. A boy at school seen Mother Eesha. Since then he’s gone really stupid!”

“How has he gone stupid?”

“Brian Rowe used to come out good with math and some history. Since he seen Mother Eesha, he’s nothing but a nitwit!”

“Tell us why him seeing her affects you badly.”

“Mamma, ‘cos it looks too much like swi-swi man Obeah business.”

“no, no, no, Neil. Mother Kesha’s nothing to do with witchcraft. Mother Kesha’s a healer. Big, big difference.”

“Cahn say I like any of it.”

“What did Brian Rowe tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me. I jus’ hear him carrying on.”

“Saying what, Neil?”

“All about how Mother Eesha tells him about his future. All the rubbish about every name having what she calls a ‘Name-Story.’ Kind of message she sees in a name. Coming in a poem. And all about his future, Mamma. I dohn wahn to know about my future.”

“I’d be intrigued. All ears to know my future. Was his future bad, then? Wasn’t it good?”

“From what Brian Rowe said, she didn’ talk straight.”

“Can you remember any of what she seen in his name?”

“Lots a nonsense about how his name gets him pestered ‘cos he’s become famous. And his name also gets him exposed, ‘cos he’s become scandalous.”

“Sounds as if he grew up and became a baddy. And gets himself in the newspaper.”

“No, ma’am. No. Not necessarily a baddy. It could mean jus’ ‘cos he’s famous, whatever he does makes news in the papers.”

“What was the matter with Brian?” Neil’s dad asked. “What did he see Mother Eesha for?”

Neil shook his head. “Dohn know, Dad. Never asked.”

“I think we better go in ow.”

“Dad—can we wait a minute?”

“What for?”

“Might as well tell you the rest of what Brian Rowe said.”

After all his resistance, Neil was ready to talk properly. No wonder his parents looked at each other in disbelief. Without looking at his watch, his dad said, “Yeh. Okay. We have some time.”

“Well—Brian tells us that—without anybody telling—Mother Eesha was right on with what he likes doing best. He said she knew. She jus’ come out with it. And she read him something from Brian’s own grown-up diary. His own grown-up diary! Ma’am, did you know she could do that?”

“Neil, we’re taking you because Mother Eesha helps children.”

“Yes, Neil,” his dad said. “She’s known for that.”

“I’ll tell you. You see, Brian’s crazy—crazy about bridges. The only other thing he does is draw airplanes. But tha’s jus’ a sideline. Always, always he’s drawing bridges. And reading about bridges. And—gets his parents to take him to see a bridge anywhere, everywhere. 

“So what did she see in Brian’s future diary?” 

Neil wanted to remember as correctly as he could. His parents didn’t take their eyes off him. Right away there, in the back of the car, his face took on the look of really hard concentration. He started slowly: 

“All about—writings, abut going to see bridges. Going to see—one-arch bridges to bridges wit well over twenty arches. Some writing about—how at first he merely liked bridges. Then it was their structure in the air, over water or over a valley, that got him. And that was when he became a builder of bridges. And—some writing about—about excitement seeing a wonderful hidden-away little old bridge. Writing about—how and why a mossy one-arch wood-and-stone country bridge lasted three hundred years. Also some writing about—standing, looking to see how a bridge fits in the landscape under the sky. And writing about—a great sensation, feeling the wood, the stone, the iron, that made a bridge. Writing about—scrambling down slopes to see underbelly of a bridge. Seeing how a bridge stands comfortably in water, while some of it is in the air and some of it resting on the land.”

Neil looked at his parents. 

“That was good!” Neil’s dad said. “Really very good to remember all that.”

Air he was confused and unsure of his feelings, Neil kept a straight face and did not smile.

“Oh, Neil!” his mother said. “I’ve never heard you do anything like that so, so well! To think of remembering all that! Very, very good!”

Neil’s story made his mother want to tell him something. But she wasn’t sure it would help anything, so she decided to stay quiet. She and Neil’s dad had never told him about the unusual stories they knew about the work of Mother Eesha’s mother. That lady was famous for her use of herbs, her special bark and herbal baths, use of oils, and of course her healing touch.

Neil’s dad and mom knew man stories people who are to see Mother Eesha’s mother for healing and they’d been cured when doctors had given them up as incurable. They knew stories about the dumb boy who made no sounds at all except when Grandmother Shana touched him and talked to him. With her hand resting on him, the dumb boy would start singing, making the strangest of sounds. And from nowhere, dogs would arrive, gather around and howl with him as he sang. They knew stories about how a. Donkey would start braying when she asked it to say something. But they never tried to convince Neil of anything concerning these stories.

Mother Eesha had inherited a caring for the sick from her mother, and she had come along finding her own sympathy and skills. The community depended on her for her particular gifts and help.

“We better go in now.” Neil’s dad insisted.

The car turned in and drove along the driveway. Mother Kesha’s relatives lived in freshly painted bungalows on both sides of the driveway. He land really rolled on into twenty acres. The land kept animals. And it was planted out with coconuts and bananas, with mango and other fruit trees and plots of vegetables. Usually it wasn’t only people in cars who came to see Mother Eesha. People also came on bicycles, on the backs of horses, mules and donkeys, and on foot. Today was quiet.

Neil stood in the sunlight, fascinated, looking at Mother Eesha’s unusual house. A neat-looking bungalow, circular, thatched, with a veranda all around, it gave Neil a pleasure just to see it. While Neil was all taken up with looking, two young women came up to his parents and—dressed in purple gowns and purple headbands—the young women took the family inside, into the reception room. 

Mother Eesha came in. 

She greeted the family, then said to Neil, “I noticed you were looking at the painting.”

Neil’s voice came out faintly, “yes, ma’am.”

Everybody looked at the pinging now as Mother Eesha herself looked at it and explained, “Well, it’s my idea of the seven days of the week. White for Sunday, red for Monday, orange for Tuesday, yellow for Wednesday, green for Thursday, blue for Friday, and purple for today, Saturday. Every day, for my work, I wear my Day-Color. As you see, today, Saturday, I wear my purple.”

Neil stood wide eyed, looking at this impressive lady in her wide-sleeved purple gown and purple head wrap. Neither tall nor short, neither black nor white, neither yellow nor red, Mother Eesha with her brown skin and her soft voice seemed like a union with everybody. Soon, swiftly, they are at the other side of the house, in a spacious open-windowed room with wickerwork furniture. The family sat with Mother Eesha around a low glass-top circular table.

“Why the worry about Neil?” Mother Eesha asked.

“Ah, Mother Eesha” Neil’s mother said, sighing. “Our beautiful son here steals things. He takes other children’s things. And sometimes he brings them home. A watch, books, pens, money, a Swiss pocketknife, a calculator—things like that! Things that he often already has! And also, he doesn’t always tells the truth. Fortunately—so far—we managed to quieten things with other parents. We keep in touch with his headmaster. But Mother Eesha, you never know, do you, when a parent is going to be totally not approachable?”

“And punishing him doesn’t seem to do much at all,” Neil’s father said.

“Mother Eesha, punishing makes him worse!”

“And out doctor doesn’t have a clue as to what to do to help.”

“Goodness knows why he steals…” Neil’s mother said helplessly. “We are both honest people. We not rich. But we not poor either. We can afford to buy Neil things. And we do. And he’s not short of pocket money.”

“Of course, this means we have to keep a sharp eye on Neil. We get him to take back everything he pinches.”

“With a letter of apology from himself and one from us.”

“Mother, you can understan’, when things get to this stage, you do worry and wonder. Is he telling the truth? Is he hiding anything?”

“Which is so awful!” Neil’s mother sighed again. “All the same, mother, I have to say, Neil and his dad do have their arguments.”

“The arguments only started when I tried to get him to take an ordinary bit of interest in sports. And I come to see he was never going to budge.”

“Ah! But is it really an ordinary bit of interest?” Mother Eesha wanted to know.

“Mother Eesha, the boy’s by far too small for his age. He’s too twiggy. Look at him! He looks underfed. And he’s not. And trying to get him to take part in anything that’s help him to put on a bit of a body is like trying to get a cat to have a swim.”

“His father thinks Neil’s too small for his age, but I dohn think so. I dohn think so at all. Neil’s not buddy, that is so. But he’s alright. Neil’s a good average for size. He’s jus’ not a cricket-loving, sport-loving West Indian boy! That is what he’s not.”

“Does Neil do anything he himself likes doing?” Mother Eesha asked.

“That boy’ll sit alone for hours and hours playing games with his computer,” his dad answered. “He needs no company, no companion. And you’ll find him awake at night, reading science fiction. The answer is, Mother Eeshan¡, Neil’s very good at playing games, indoors, alone, playing with his computer.”

Mother Eesha now kept her eyes on Neil’s dad. She talked to him alone for a bit. It turned out that he’d always been a big boy for his age. Also, he was a passionate cricketer and played for a club. And he kept up with rugby and soccer playing around the world.

“So Neil is different?” Mother Eesha asked him.

“I wouldn’ say it was worrying how different he was, but I’d say it makes a parent concerned.”

“So there may be a way in Neil’s nature that wants to bring something different into the family. Would you say?”

“Could be. Could be.”

“You hadn’t thought of that?”

“No. No.”

Mother Elsa turned to Neil himself.

“Neil?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How d’you feel causing your parents all this worry?”

“Very bad.”

“In what way, ‘bad’?”

“Makes me feel I wish my parents were like some other parents, ma’am.”

”D’you know why you cause them worry?”

“I’m too small for Dad’s liking. And like a spite I wohn get bigger.”

“Why do you steal?”

Neil shuddered faintly. Then he suddenly smiled, but stayed silent.

“Why did you smile? What was the feeling that made you smile?”

“I shocked me, ma’am—that—that I suddenly know why-why I swipe things.”

“Why, then, d’you swipe things?”

Neil sighed. “I—I wahn to have more, ma’am.”

“More of what?”

“Jus’ more. More of anything to make me bigger.”

“You will get bigger! Your father here was once your size. And one day you’ll be as big as he is.”

Neil shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

“What d’you mean, ‘No’?”

“My dad was never my size, and I’ll never be his size.” Everybody laughed at this. 

“In your own way them, you’ll get bigger at some point.” Mother Eesha said.

Mother Eesha then explained to Neil how she believed every name had a secret, personal Name-Story; and would he like to hear his personal Name-Story?

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

She told him she had to wait till it came into her head, in the form of a poem. She closed her eyes. And Mother Eesha was obviously thinking hard. Her lips began to move.

“Here’s a Name-Story to be heard

about this special-special one word—-

about a finder of what will fit,

who takes a problem and works at it, 

who is warm or cool or hard like steel,

who carries the sound-sign that says NEIL!”

Neil was very thrilled. He grinned as if he couldn’t stop. He looked as if he would ask Mother Eesha to say his Name-Story again. But Mother Eesha said, “I cahn say it again. I don’t remember it. But if you think, you’ll remember it. And then you can write it down if you like.”

Then Mother Eesha told Neil about the other secret and mysterious thing she found she could do for children. It was being able to read something that was written in their grown-up diary. Neil wanted a Grown-Up Diary Reading. So again Mother Eesha closed her eyes. That look of deep, deep thinking came over her face. 

And Mother Eesha said: 

My Biggest Moneymaking Day

Hurray! Today I did it. Today I broke my best moneymaking record. For the first time, in one day I made one hundred thousand pounds buying and selling houses. Bit and beautiful old houses!

People don’t seem t know anybody can make lots of money. People don’t know there are only a few rules to follow. But the, it was as I went along that I myself found my own six simple rules. And what are those rules for my moneymaking?

1. To make a profit, you must really want to sell something.

2. You must like a line of business that supplies a demand.

3. Deep down, know you are going to succeed, come what may.

4. Be totally dedicated to your business.

5. Keep a sharp eye for the opportunity to expand.

6. Get your staff to like and enjoy working for you.

Neil’s eyes shone like stars, with an amazing, faraway look in them. “What a wonderful, wonderful secret!” he barely whispered. He looked at this parents, wishing they’d never tell this secret to anyone. Yet he said nothing to anybody—nothing at all.

When the family left Mother Kesha’s place, the parents were well on their way to thinking up ways they could be different to Neil—particularly his dad.

On their way back home, they thought they saw the car of a neighbor, and his daughter inside. But they were not sure, so nobody said anything about it and pretty soon they had forgotten about it. 

√ √ √ √ 

Next, Wendy and her dad sat with Mother Eesha at the low, glass-top table.

Wendy’s dad said, “Mother Eesha, Wendy won’t eat. You see how flat and thin the poor child is. She’s like two sticks walking. My lovely, lovely Wendy! She forces herself to eat. And jus’, jus’ brings it all up. I take her to see a specialist. But so far no change. None.”

“How she gets on at school?” Mother Eesha asked.

“Perfect,” her father said. “Wendy’s usually tops in her year.”

“And in her spare time? What she does?”

“Reads, reads, and reads adult books. Plays the piano. Or spends her time petting or overacting for her cat Humpy. Slightest excuse and the poor animal has to put up with having a paw bandaged. Or taking medicine. For my part, she doesn’t talk enough. Though she’s good at it when she wants. And sometimes she amazes me how knowledgeable she is. Yet with her music, her scholarly ways, her helpfulness, Wendy is great company. But I have to say, I do wish there was more of the child about her.”

“Wendy?” Mother Eesha said gently.

Wendy flutters her eyelids and opened hr eyes wide. “Yes.”

“Why you wohn eat?”

Wendy scratched her head lightly, delicately. “I—I—I dohn know.” 

“No idea?”

“No.”

“What does the empty, hungry feeling say?”

“It knows it’s not a friend.”

“Then how d’you put up with it?”

“I—I dohn know.”

“You’re very intelligent. You’re a thinker. What reason you see for keeping a condition that’s like an unwelcome friend?”

“Perhaps—somewhere—somewhere I feel there’s too, too much cruelty in the world to grow up to.”

“So?”

“So—I’d rather not grow up.”

“Have you always understood it like that?”

“No.”

“When did you understand it like that?”

“Jus’ now.”

“So your father didn’t know?”

Two teardrops slowly swelled up and fell from Wendy’s eyes. “No. I didn’t know. He couldn’t know.”

Mother Eesha looked Wendy with a deep sympathy. She waited, allowing Wendy to dry her eyes.

“Okay now, Wendy?” she finally asked.

 “Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell me, don’t you like reading stories for children?”

“Only when I mus’ for school.”

“What’s it about grown-up books that makes you prefer to read them?” Mother Eesha asked gently.

“I started when I was nine years old and never stopped.”

“Why you dohn jus’ read children’s books?”

“It’s grown-up books draw me to them, ma’am.”

“What in them draws you to them, Wendy?”

“West Indies history. And people stories. All bad and cruel and awful and terrible and sad. And ma’am, they kind of haunt and compel me to find and read more and more of them.”

“And the feelings you described are the only feelings you find in the grown-up stories?”

“And the feelings you described are the only feelings you find in the grown-up stories?”

“Yes, ma’am. Feelings—cruel and bad. Hurtful—and horrible. Like a sucking-down swampland that holds you in darkness to drown you.”

“How, d’you think, a lot of grown-ups manage to live till they are old?”

Wendy was surprised. She glanced at Mother Eesha and gave her a little smile. 

“I dohn know, ma’am. I really dohn know how they happen to manage that.” Wendy laughed.

“It’s your father who brings you. Why didn’ your mother come too?”

“Mamma and Dad divorced. Mamma lives in Canada.”

  “You see her sometimes?”

“Yes, ma’am. But I donh wahn to much.”

“So you and Dad and the cat and the piano live alone?”

“We have a housekeeper with us—Miss Pimm. Miss Pimm is good to me. She teaches me to make a cake and iron properly.”

“So you know now why you wohn eat?”

“I—I—I— know no. I dohn wahn to die because of Dad.”

“So what you going to do?”

“I think—I think I’ll know when I talk to Dad.”

“And—you think—he’ll understand?”

Wendy nodded. “Yes. Yes. I think so now.”

Mother Eesha explained to Wendy how she believed every name had a secret, personal Name-Story. Wendy was keen to hear hers.

Mother Eesha then closed her yes and concentrated hard. Wendy’s Name-Story came like this:

“Here’s a Name-Story to be heard

about this special-special one word——

called in bad temper and in soft whispers, 

called for a joke and to work,

called for a dance and to silence,

called for robbing and to prize giving——

that WENDY! WENDY!

a real friend of the speechless many.”

Wendy smiled a smile of someone who never expected to be surprised pleasantly. Her dad smiled too. He’d not seen such a happy look on Wendy’s face for a long time.

Wendy wanted a Grown-Up Diary Reading as well. When Mother Eesha closed her eyes, this was what she said: 

The Sick Donkey I Treated 

Practically Talked to Me

Today I felt both sad and happy at the same time. Nothing makes 

a vet feel better than seeing a sick animal recover. Janey the donkey was taken home today. Half dead when she came, today she looked oh so much better. So much more rounded up, with a strong, steady walk! But she didn’t want to go. 

Time to go and Janey looked at me with pleading eyes. Her look at me said, “Oh please, please, keep me here in your backyard, with its green grass and little houses. Don’t let my owner take me away with him again. Don’t let him take me. I’ll die this time! Away from here, each day brings a heavy load on my back, in hot sun, seeming only up and up stony, hilly ground, on and on and on. I’ll die under my burden of heavy load. I’ll die this time!”

Sorry, Janey. A vet’s job is to help animals, treat them, and get them well for themselves and their owners. But when an owner is poor and keeps on animal overworked, even when tired and ill, it is very, very sad.

Tonight, Janey, I’ll support your rebellion. When I play the piano for myself tonight, I’ll play my favorite rebel song for you on your behalf. 

Wendy cried. Her dad comforted her. She couldn’t stop crying for poor Janey, who had to carry such a heavy load on her back. 

When Wendy and her dad got into their car, he said, “Wendy, it’s a long time since I’ve seen you cry. It’s good to cry. It’s very good to cry like this. We understand this so much better now. Don’t you feel so?”

√ √ √ √ 

Day after day the Future-Telling Lady went on helping children and their parents. Her particular gifts helped them to see and understand their problems for themselves and face their future in a different way.