Dulciemiena from Jamaica

By Laxleyval Sagasta

Dulciemiena had been a hard luck child from her conception. Her mother who was raped and cocieved her, lost her mind, and died giving birth to her. For the first six years or her life she was seriously ill at the orphanage. She recovered from her illness, but because of her sick past no one would adopt her until she was ten, when her identity was exchanged to that of a healthy child. Her adoptive family treated her as Cinderella, and worst; to the point of abuse; physical and sexual. She developed a tight bond with the female helper who tutored her in the do's and don'ts of life. In the meantime she had grown into a body that won the local teen-aged girl beauty contest. That exposure gave her bit parts into movies. She did some stints in modelling ladies dresses for her designer mother when the contracted models reniged, and surprised everyone how well she did on the catwalk just by watching the professionals.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491834459

Laxleyval Sagasta

Laxleyval Sagasta was born and raised in the Jamaican countryside, in an era that secondary education was primarily for the very wealthy, so he not being one; set out to develop and expand his elementary school achievement by studying through correspondence courses. He had travelled extensively in the Caribbean, USA, Canada, Europe and North Africa, and is now retired from vocational teaching. Much of what he writes are stories related to him of real people in real time. His most fond hobbies are international travelling, and listening to ordinary people's extra ordinary stories. Mr Sagasta loves folklures. One of his books: The ORIGINAL JAMAICAN Patois; Words Phrases and Short Stories is a testament to his efforts to pass on some of the lesser known stories of the Jamaican people.

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© 2013 Laxleyval Sagasta. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/10/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3446-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3445-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013920390

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Credits

Other books by Laxleyval Sagasta:

News Flash

Colorado to Woodstock and Back

Breaking News

The ORIGINAL JAMAICAN Patois; Words, Phrases and Short Stories

Gloria Gant—Published by Bookbaby (Ebook only)

Available from the publishers, and at leading book retailers

And at: Caribbean Sunshine Restaurant and Bakery

Orlando, Florida. USA

Caribbean Sunrise Restaurant and Bakery

Jacksonville, Florida. USA

D’Flava Restaurants

London and Liverpool, England

Aerostar Restaurant

Accra Airport, Ghana

Coming soon; Warriors and Duds of the Bible

PREFACE

The following is the likely story of a girl who was plagued with unfortunate circumstances and events from her conception up to the time she told her story to a free-lance writer. In her young adult years, she was only able to endure the hardships encountered by reminding herself of a quote from a philosopher that says: ‘Looking back may make you sad, but looking ahead should make you glad, because hope is in life.’

Ren’e was the product (for lack of a better word) of her mother being raped by a family friend. Her father died of a heart attack when he confronted the rapist. That caused Ren’e pregnant mother to lose her mind, and wandered away from her family. Their brief search for her was futile, because they assumed that she sunk herself into a Bauxite ore caustic pond. But instead, her wanderings had taken her to the city where she gave birth to Ren’e, and died in the process. The only information that the hospital had was that Ren’e’s mother’s name was Irene. Ren’e was given as an infant; only days old to an orphanage with that information. From Irene the orphanage adopted the name Ren’e.

For the first six years of her life, Ren’e was very sickly, and for that reason no one would adopt her, but then the years that followed she became healthy and happy. The orphanage changed her identity, and thereby her sick history. Her name was then recorded as Dulciemiena. She was subsequently adopted at the age of ten by a well-to-do family. The mother loved her, although she was not treated as their other daughter who was biological.

For four years; from she was twelve, her father abused her; verbally and sexually. On the advice of the household helper, she prepared herself, not only for defense, but to get revenge. Which she did to some extent, and to the financial gain of the helper, who herself had plans to make her the future wife of her eldest son.

Ren’e was very pretty. She was chosen the winner of national beauty contest. That crown launched her into bit parts in major films. Her adopted mother was a high fashion ladies dress designer, and not only did she used Dulciemiena as her manikin, she also used her to fill in at fashion shows. Her beauty and her style caught the eyes of fashion gurus from all over the world, and the job offers poured in.

On one of her assignments she met a young man from Africa. For her it was love at first sight. He told that he was a medical student in America. They had a whirlwind relationship in the fast and exciting lifestyle he introduced her to. She did not suspect that he was involved in money laundering, the smuggling of diamonds, credit card fraud and worst of all; the Caucasian infant trade. She was kidnapped by his associates, and under duress made into a courier of young children. The worst came when she was taken to an African country in a remote area where the goons operated a factory that produced Caucasian babies.

With her ingenuity and the help of a grocery delivery man she escaped and was rescued by missionaries in another remote area of the country. The area had warring factions of villagers who viewed Ren’e; some as an angel and others as a bad omen. Tragedy struck in the form of a mammoth storm within days after her arrival, and with that catastrophe she was able to unify the populace to the building of a town; naming it after her, and making her their first mayor. There is much more; so read the book.

CHAPTER ONE

Albert Haynes was a freelance writer for tabloid magazines in the early nineties. He had moved to Philadelphia from Los Angeles to live with his parents, because; as he said LA was too expensive. The truth was that he had not submitted any stories in months. The competition to write about current issues was too fierce for him out there. He could not run with the Paparazzi and he was broke. Day after day he got dressed and went down-town Philly to make his mother think that he was job hunting.

‘Go get a sensible job so that you can get paid on a regular basis‘, she would tell him. ‘That way some woman will love you and you can marry her and give me some grandchildren. Good golly, you are 36 years old and you can’t even get a girl to tell a lie on you so that I can have a child to spoil.’

In LA he used to hang around in liquor bars and eavesdrop for name dropping that he expounded into believable stories. He tried that in Philly, but the pickings were slim. His usual mode of operation was to distract the patrons to the bar and start a conversation about whatever were the news headlines that day. Most of the times, all he got were a drink or two.

On a snowy Thursday afternoon, business was slow at that bar that Albert visited regularly. The bar-tender, a slim Indian looking girl—not American Indian—more like Indian from India, in her late twenties; noticed that Albert was moping and offered him a drink. He gladly accepted, and she obliged him with another. That’s when he spilt his guts to her—about everything in his life, from the time he was a toddler and fell down the stairs; which caused him to walk with a limp, because his broken hip bone was not properly set, up to that very day. She felt sorry for him.

I bet I can tell you a story that your paper would gobble up in a minute, she said to him.

I only write about stars, so if you’ve heard of or seen one lately; I’m all ears, he replied.

Well, I was not featured in any movies, but I’ve been in a couple as extra, and although I did not get the screen credits, I certainly got paid, she told him.

Tell me about your movie career after you serve me another drink—on credit, said Albert.

I’ll pay for your drink, and not only will I tell you about my movie career; I’ll tell you about my whole life. After all you have told me yours, but I must warn you that although my life is not yet very long; my story is long. Your paper might have to run it in a serial, or you may even consider it as a book. She said this while pouring drinks for them both. Have you seen the James Bond movie, Dr. No? A part of it was filmed in Jamaica?

"I have seen that movie twice’, replied Albert.

I was the girl with the thatch fan in one of the scenes; keeping the villain cool, and another movie also filmed in Jamaica, starring Jimmy Cliff; I was also an extra, she said as she whirled the liquor in her glass, making the ice hit on the inside of the glass that sounded like a small bell.

Interesting, exclaimed Albert. Parking a bicycle in a garage does not make it a car, but go on.

You will have to promise me that you will sit and listen without interrupting me so that I do not break my train of thought, she said. I will tell you things that I had never told anyone else.

If you promise that you will replenish my liquor; then its’ a deal, bargained Albert.

"Very well, my name was Dulcie, Dulciemiena McKenzie from Jamaica. Actually, my birth given name is Ren’e Tennant, but I’ll tell you about that later. My friends and family used to call me Dulcie. I do have other names that I used for work and for travel. I am twenty-nine years old and like I said, I am from Jamaica. I’ve lived in this country on and off for the last ten years. McKenzie is the last name of Mr. Martin McKenzie and his wife, Mrs. May McKenzie. They are the people who adopted me from the orphanage. They were both in their mid to upper thirties at the time of my adoption. I was ten years old then. At least that is what I was told. To me at the time; they were a loving couple. When I went to live with them they had one daughter; Lillie-Mae who was two years my senior. I love that girl. She taught me to read and write and was always happy to give me her hand-me-downs. I learned later that every time she gave me one old dress; she got two new ones.

My first day at the McKenzie’s, Mrs. May gave me an old pillow case and said Cut this into four equal parts. If you won’t need it this year, you will need it next year and certainly the year after. It was Lillie-Mae who told me what the pieces of cloth were for and gave me a box of her Tampax to use when the time came. During weekdays Lillie-Mae would be gone off to boarding school and be home Friday nights. Mrs. May who worked at home, was a fashion designer of high society ladies dresses, and Mr. Martin was a teacher at the college. Two girls, in their late teens; Kelly and Gladys; each worked part-time as Mrs. May’s helpers in her dress designing business and also assisted with her domestic chores.

I was always very lonely when Lillie-Mae was away, except for Wednesdays when a woman by the name of Maud spent the day washing clothes, and on Fridays I went to the market with Mrs. May. Cooking meals were done alternately, Monday through Thursday by Kelly and Gladys. On Fridays we ate out; right after we picked up Lillie-Mae from the bus station. Saturdays were always Mr. Martin’s turn, and on Sundays Mrs. May tended the kitchen. My duties were regulated to sweeping and vacuuming the floors, and dusting the furniture.

Maud, I think was in her lower late thirties, but she had a figure that made her look ten years younger. She was very fond of me and told me many times that she wished that I was her daughter. She had children, but they were all boys, four of them—except her first child whom she was forced to give up for adoption, because she was raped by a stranger when she was fifteen. The first day that she saw me, she told me; out the ear-shot of Mrs. May that one of her sons is three years older than I was and that we should get together when we grow up. When Maud and I talked, we were like two teen-age girls. She taught me how to steal Mr. Martin’s liquor, and his money from his wallet without him missing any, and then she would tell me that the money was to send Jharred, her eldest son and my future husband to school.

My twelfth birthday happened to have been a Wednesday—Maud’s work day. She brought her son Jharred over. He was fourteen, going on fifteen. We met for the first time. Mrs. May scolded Maud, and warned her not to bring anyone for any reason to her house ever again. Near the end of Maud’s workday, she locked me, Jharred and herself into the laundry room. ‘Jharred’, she said. ‘This is Dulcie’s birthday. Give her a kiss and tell her that you love her.’

There was no response from Jharred. He seemed as frightened as I was. Maud then had Jharred to stand in front of me and put both his hands on my shoulders before she flipped the light switch to the off position. When she turned the lights back on; Jharred was holding me tight and his tongue was half way down my throat.

I savored that kiss for weeks—three weeks that is. That was when Mrs. May went to the hospital to have her second child. It was a Monday. I remembered clearly what Maud had told me to expect. She said to me that as pretty as I was; only an angel could stay away from me. She also told me to sleep with two knives under my mattress—one on each side, and also to lock the door and put a chair behind it. I always locked the door when I go to sleep, but I taught nothing about the knives or the chair behind the door.

Mr. Martin had a key and he used it to unlock the door while I was asleep. I was half awake when I felt someone on top of me, and in my mind I was hoping that that someone was Jharred.

The next day I stayed in the room until nightfall. I barely gathered enough strength to turn the mattress over and changed the bloody linen, stuffing the blood soaked ones under the bed. Only the air I breathe passed my throat. I contemplated whether to run away and report the