MAA TIN TIN Pt 1

MAA TINTIN  

By Nzinga Nzinga

Part 1

This Short Story is written in Jamaican patois (patwa).

When I heard, my belly trembled; my lips quivered at the voice: rottenness entered into my bones, and I trembled in myself, that I might rest in the day of trouble…

Habakkuk 3 v 16.

“Maa Tintin, Maa Tintin, Ranny ded!”

“What yu sey Cudjoe? Yu doan hear mi sey yu to call im Maas Ran? Juss a raw up raw up di chile name. What yu sey happen to Maas Ran? Wey im is?What happen to im?”

“Maa Tintin, Ranny ded!”

“Sey Maas Ran ded? Sey Maas Ran ded? Yu joking. How Maas Ran fi ded? Maas Ran too trang an helty an full a life fi ded. Yu come offa dat.”

“Maa Tintin, yu haffi believe mi. Ranny ded, ded, ded!”

“Yu no hear mi sey yu to call im Maas Ran? Because im play wid yu no mean sey yu an im is equal. Wey yu a sey now bout Maas Ran ded? How yu luv mek joke so, Cudjoe? Mi too ole fi dat kine a game. Wey Ranny deh bwoy? Is im tell yu fi come pull mi leg, no true? Im hidin behine yu as usual. Im playin hide-an-seek wid im ole granny cause ar sight not so good dese days.”

“Maa Tintin, Ranny ded!”

“Yu really mean it, Cudjoe? Yu cryin so it muss be true. Is not lie yu a tell? My Maas Ran ded? All di same, tell mi sey is lie, Cudjoe. Tell mi sey is tumble dung im tumble dung. Tell mi sey is faint im faint wey an soon get up back. Tell mi sey is talk yu talkin in mi sleep. Tell mi sey is nightmare. Sey Maas Ran ded? Come closer, Cudjoe. Come closer, bwoy, mek mi si if im hidin roun yu. Maybe im hidin in dat big clump a bush. Maybe im deh behine dat big breadfruit tree, or dat ackee tree, or im clime up to di top a di big robin mango tree, or im could well be back a dat big rockstone ovah deh so.”

She whimpers, eyes wild, wringing her hands, “Cudjoe, Cudjoe bwoy, Ranny ded fi true?”

Cudjoe still crying, “Yes, Maa Tintin, im ded. Yu doan waan fi noa how im ded?”

“Of course. No, wait. Doan tell mi yet. Dat too final. Mek mi guess an draw it out. Maybe by dat time mi wi si im come up faas like breeze or buss tru di bush like wen fire get wey eena canepiece or hear his sweet likkle vice callin, ’Maa Tintin, where are you? I am coming with the speed of lightning! Woah, woah!”

“Maa Tintin, is Bredda Buck an Pasta Miller sen mi fi tell yu before yu reach a yard.”

“Hush, chile, doan sey anadda wud. Ah noa it. Ah believe yu now for ah feel it wey dung eena mi belly bottam. Di likkle man ded or im wudda come up an calm mi fears aready…oh Gawd. Oh Gawd. Oh Gawd. Oh Gawd Almightay, have mercy!”

She is gesticulating and pointing an accusing finger heavenwards. “My Gawd in heaven, yu notice how ah nebber call pon yu all dis time dat Cudjoe bin tellin mi dis terrible ting? Massa Jesus, yu notice how ah nebber call to yu all dis time? But Lawd Gaad, Massa Jesus, oh my Gawd, oh my Saviour Gawd, is time fi yu to come to mi rescue in dis dreadful tribulation!"

Spinning round and round as if searching for someone, she cries, "Jesus Gawd, where is yu? Don’t yu si ah is in trouble? Ah in worsa trouble dan wen mi fuss baan Gawdy loss fi tree days an tree nite an wi nebber fine im til di baddy swell up an naw up naw up an float out to Macca Pen wey it hitch up eena seaweed. Why my Maas Ran? Why? Why? Why?"

"Come, Maa Tin Tin", Cudjoe pleads.

"Cudjoe bwoy, Ah doan hab time fi yu now. Is only Jesus can help mi now."

Turning her back on him, she turns to Jesus, "Jesus, mi Lawd, why yu neber tek ole Jabez who caan si, caan talk, caan move eben im likkle finger, caan eat an caan hear eben if yu blow trumpet clear up eena im earsole an im lie dung deh like ded eena coma fi months? Lawd, why yu didden tek Miss Dorcas mad bwoy who no do nutten but bring dung shame an disgrace pon dat family?"

She pauses to blow her nose and wipe her eyes before admonishing the Almighty again. Going down on her knees and casting her eyes up to Heaven, she asks, "What a goin to do now, Lawd? Yu tell mi, Lawd, for Maa Tintin doan noa. How yu to tek away Maas Ran? An yet, maybe is not too late an yu can still blow back life in mi bwoy. Im is jus a likkle bit a pickney bwoy. Im is not even two hanful ole an im is all I have to comfort mi in mi ole age. Oh Gawd, oh Gawd!"

She is weeping too much to continue pleading. However, as if infused with new pain, she stretches her hands unto God hollering, "Member Lawd, it mek two years now yu tek mi husban, Alvin, an mi nebber fuss for im was well advance in years an was gettin tired a life for im nebber have no sweetness lef eena im. But Ranny no eben tap wet im bed yet. Why him, Lawd? Why him, Puppa Jesus? Please Gawd, if yu not goin to give mi back Maas Ran, at leese give mi di strent to bear disya trouble. Ah need it, Lawd. Have mercy pon poor me, Albertina Mabel Johnson. Help me, Lawd from whence cometh my help. Help me to bear this pain."  

In great distress, she gets up from her knees and wringing her hands and hugging herself tight, she looks in the direction of home and turns to Cudjoe, “Cudjoe, Cudjoe, yu come an mek wi go look fi Maas Ran eben if im ded. Wey im is? Mi figet fi ask yu? Wey dem put im? Doan tell mi how it happen. Jus tek mi dere. No, tell mi, tell mi. Mi may as well hear it now.”

“Im in di house, Maa Tintin. Dem carry im dere from school.”

“So is at school im ded?”

“Is dere an is nat dere, Maa Tintin.”

“Bwoy, tap yu nonsense. How im to ded in more dan wan place? Nebber mine. Mi no mean to be so ruff wid yu an yu cryin so much but mi not misself an dese are ruff times. Come now, wey im ded? At school or at the house?”

“Im drop dung a school an dem carry im home. Is in di house im ded. Dactah Callender come an sey im ded.”

“Ah! Di bwoy do well fi die eena im own house. Too much ded in mi house. The house come een like ded house now. Fuss, Gawdy, den Alvin, an now Ranny in di space a two years! Lawd, have mercy pon mi. Come on, bwoy, hurry up.”

She turns to Cudjoe, “Yu si, Cudjoe, Gaad well an noa dat is Maas Ran mi invess ebriting in. Is im was to bi di wan to put us back wey wi really belong. So much promise! Ranny could be teacher, lawyer or eben dactah. Yu no si dat if Maas Ran ded now ebriting crash? Dat all mi effut gone dung a sinkhole? How Maas Ran die, Cudjoe? Wait. Doan tell mi.”

She hops about agitatedly, listening intently.

“Lissen, ah hear a vice like Maas Ran. Lissen. Lissen good.” 

‘Tintin’ is faintly heard in the distance.

“Cudjoe, lissen. Is Maas Ran. Laad a Gaad is Mass Ran fi true.”

An expression of joy lights up her face.

“Maa Tintin, mi sey Ranny ded. Mi si im lay dung deh ded in yu bed wid mi owna eye.”

Ignoring Cudjoe, she cocks her head and with a finger on her lips, pleads silence.

“Lissen. Den is wat dat mi hearing. Lissen if yu doan hear im good-good.”

She cups her hands about her mouth, shouting, “Maas Ran, wey yu is? Maas Ran, hurry up an come. Yu granny heartstring gwuine pop if yu doan come an show yuself quick, quick. Run come, Maas Ran mi luv, before yu granny heartstring buss!”

‘Tintin, Tintin’. The sound is audible again, barely audible.

Gesticulating wildly, “Maas Ran is dat you? Hush, Cudjoe, doan bawl so loud.”

The tiny figure keeps jumping about, her head cocked in this and that and every direction. She calls softly, ever so softly, ever so gently, “Maas Ran, Maas Ran.”

Desperately, ’Maas Ranne-e-e, Ranny! My Maas Ran!”

The sound ‘tintin, tintin’ is louder now. She calls pleadingly, “Is dat you, chile, calling ‘Tintin’? Where is you? Come home to Granny. Come fi cake, Maas Ran! Is di kine yu like.”

The sound is closer. It’s a little black bird. She sees it. She hears it. Cudjoe has no need to point to it as he is doing. She sees it in flight chirping ‘Tintin’. Away from her.

A great sob bursts out of her like a shot from a cannon, “Ranny, Maas Ran. Lawd mi Gawd, Jesus Christ in heaven have mercy pon poh ole Maa Tintin.”

She weeps. A poor old woman weeps for her child and cannot be comforted. She bawls disconsolately. She falls to her knees on the ground. She makes awful noises. She uses her head to beat the ground. Cudjoe tries to lift her up. Dreadful sounds of grief, pain and hopelessness are issuing from them both. 

Finally she stumbles up weeping and muttering, “Maas Ran tun bird! Im always wanted was to fly. Said im was goin to tun airplane pilot. But not yet, oh Lawd, not yet. Im is too young. Im is just a likkle baby bird. Im is just a likkle saplin, a likkle seedlin. Im not ready to fly yet. Im too young to die. At leese, eben if im ready, mi no ready for im to die yet. Betta mi dan im.”

She is about to throw herself down again. Cudjoe keeps her afloat and drags her along with the greatest difficulty. He cajoles her, “Come on, Maa Tintin. Come mek wi go a yard. Everybody is dere waitin fi yu.”

She shakes her head often or holds it tight between her hands, still bawling loudly and unashamedly. She is beside herself with grief. 

To be continued

 All the images were taken from the Internet and I claim no copyright.