Fruit of the Lemon by Andrea Levy

Author:Andrea Levy [Levy, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-312-42664-4
Publisher: Picador
Published: 1999-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

I came out of the airport terminal clutching the bit of paper from the lost luggage. I had not understood everything the woman behind the desk had told me to do. But after I had asked her once to repeat herself I began to hear tuts and teeth being sucked behind me in the queue. I took the paper hoping that soon everything in Jamaica would be clearer to me.

There were lots of people waiting outside the airport. Waiting behind a barrier like a football crowd. Every time the doors opened, necks stretched and heads waggled trying to get a better view of the person walking out. Every face keen with anticipation — Jamaicans wondering whether you belonged to them.

I walked along the gangway having to exhibit myself like a piece of luggage. I looked into the crowd for someone that might be familiar — the young woman in a hat with a Bible. As I neared the end of the ramp I began to wonder what would happen if I was not claimed. If no one whistled to me, no one rushed through the crowds to hug me, no little child came running to me shouting ‘Auntie, Auntie.’ Would I have to walk the gangway again? Parading myself but this time from a different angle — ‘This is Faith Columbine Jackson, from England. Parents left in 1948. Come to visit relations. Please step up if she’s yours.’

Any Jamaican family could have claimed me and taken me home to talk about my mum and dad and what had happened to them in the ‘Mother Country’. And my hosts would know it as a familiar story. It could be days before we realised that although familiar our photographs did not match up, our dates of births and deaths did not tally, our mix of genes was not quite the same. Until we finally had to admit that we were not, after all, kin.

Then I saw someone jumping and waving in my direction. I looked behind me. I expected to see someone waving and jumping there but there was no one. I walked slowly forward, staring at the commotion and then heard a faint, ‘Faith,’ being called. I began to wave. As I got closer I could see a man in a beige shirt smiling and crossing his outstretched arms in the air like he was directing a plane to land. ‘Faith,’ heard again as I wondered who this man was going to be. I got closer and the man ran through the crowd and crushed me into his chest before I had time to see his face and work out if he was anyone from the photo album. Everything went black as I was held against him smelling lavender and sweat and listening to, ‘It’s good to meet you, Faith, after all this time,’ coming in vibrations through his chest. When he finally let me out of his embrace I looked into his face, smiling my broadest, most excited, most welcoming grin as I tried to work out who he could be.

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