Dear Reader, I Didn’t Marry Him

by Kathleen Williams Renk

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

While I sat sketching, I told Antoinette about my love of birds: the wrens, the crafty magpies, the cuckoos, the nightingales, and the mute swans.

Antoinette replied that she had seen no British birds during her imprisonment so could not attest to their beauty but, now that we were in paradise, we must see the island birds, not just the ordinary parrots, but the most minuscule blue hummingbirds, the jaco parrots, the mountain warblers, all wearing their colourful garb meant to tantalize their mates.

“I shall take you into the jungle, Jane, to see the most exquisite birds. I will show you the red parrot, the most beautiful bird in paradise.”

“Where shall we go?” I asked.

“To the pool at Emerald Falls. But first,” she said, “taste more of this Callaloo. You like the crab and okra, don’t you? Christophine made this for us. It was my favourite dish as a child and it gave me the strength to live, even when everyone tried to kill us.”

“Someone tried to kill you and your family?” I cringed, barely able to hide my shock.

“Yes, for we owned slaves and, after the enslaved were free, the Black people wished to exterminate us white cockroaches.”

“That’s what they called you?”

“To be sure, but that was long ago. I have tried to make amends with them,” she said as she ladled the stew into the bowl and then handed me a piece of mango, which I had begun to love. The sweet smooth fruit slid easily down my throat, and I tried not to think about Antoinette’s troubled past.

As we ate, we talked about the ways in which we were much alike despite our origins. Both of us were from islands, both had lost our mothers and had been raised by aunts. My Aunt Reed had been far less amiable than her Aunt Cora, who protected her. Both of us had been sent away to religious school, although neither of us became religious; both of us experienced dreams that foretold our futures.

“I thrice dreamed about the future where I was incarcerated and about the man who hated me who brought me to my prison. And I dreamt about how I would escape, how I would fly away, except you weren’t in the dream but only arrived to fulfill it and my destiny.”

“And I dreamt of a child, a baby falling, and a tree splitting in a storm. The dreams were true forebodings of what would come. We both have prescience,” I replied.

“It’s like we were twins separated at birth, no?” Antoinette asked. “But I was born in this paradise somewhat laced with hell because of its history and its location at World’s End, and you were born in what all English people assumed was heaven, the center of the world around which everything revolved. That was just a dream though; England’s dream was a nightmare for me and the rest of us who lived at the world’s end.”

“Yes, even so, we are very much alike, but now that I’ve returned you to your home, your spirit has calmed and your great beauty is fully restored,” I said blushing. “Truly, we are both birds who escaped our cages and no net ensnares us.”

That night my dreams were rather torturous. I dreamt of Rochester, who kept asking me why I left him and Miss Brontë’s novel.

“You know that she created you and me, Jane.”

“I’m well aware that I wouldn’t exist without her,” I replied.

“Then what right did you have to leave?”

“Once I was shaped into a full character, I had a mind of my own. I didn’t want to marry you and I didn’t like the way you treated your wife: you imprisoned her.”

“I kept her safe,” he said, “and others safe from her wrath.”

“She was angry because of her imprisonment,” I said, “and the way you treated her, as if she were mad. She wasn’t. You never really knew her.”

“And you do?”

I was about to answer in the affirmative when Miss Brontë entered my dreamscape.

“I’m disappointed with you, Jane, and so is Rochester. I made him less threatening so he would be amenable to you.”

“It wasn’t enough, and I didn’t wish to marry anyone. And now I’m with Antoinette.”

“You mean Bertha,” Rochester insisted.

“No, her real name is Antoinette.”

“Not in my book,” Charlotte said.

“Well, then in someone else’s. Perhaps your novel has been usurped and rewritten by another?”

“Is that possible? Why would anyone wish to do that?”

“To recognize the mad woman who resembles me,” I replied.

Then I woke up and walked out onto the veranda. Antoinette was sleeping peacefully in the moonlight. Even though it’s thought that sleeping in the moonlight causes madness, I decided to let her be and hoped that my dreams were not hers.

The forest floor and the dense trees were thick with vines, and Antoinette used a machete to cut through them. “How did you learn to do that?” I asked.

“I watched as people worked the cane fields and then asked if I could swing the machete. Do you want to try?” she replied.

“May I?”

“Of course,” she said as she handed me the blade and I handed her my parcel, which contained my sketchbook.

“Swing it freely,” she said, “but be careful. It is quite sharp.”

The blade felt heavy in my hand, but I swung it fiercely and watched as creeping vines fell easily. Overhead, I heard birds cawing, but the density of the jungle prevented me from seeing them. I looked up and Antoinette noticed my interest.

“When we get to the Falls, you shall see the bird that I promised. It is waiting for you, Jane.”

As I continued to swing the machete, I needed to stop to wipe my brow. Antoinette gently laughed at me and said, “You aren’t accustomed to physical labour, are you?”

“Of course not,” I said, a bit exasperated. “I was a governess and, even as a child, we were forbidden from climbing trees or running, for proper English girls must not act the tomboy.”

“Even if you aren’t accustomed to work, if you wish to venture into this jungle, it is wise to know how to defend yourself, for you never know what you might meet here on your way to the waterfall.”

“What are the dangers besides the snakes you mentioned?” I asked as I continued to mop my brow and face, for it was exceedingly hot and humid and the dense forest blocked the wind.

“Sometimes you see a ghost or even the undead. You have to know how to fight them.”

I thought of my night in the Red Room, when I believed that my dead uncle Reed slept next to me in the dark room. “You don’t truly believe in ghosts and the undead, do you?”

“Of course, I do. This place is not England. People who look alive might be dead and those who appear dead might be alive.”

“Where did you learn such rubbish?”

“Christophine taught me all that I needed to know to survive. She taught me how to deal with zombies,” she assuredly said, dismissing my remark that her beliefs were nonsense.

“We must continue on before it gets dark. Here, let me use the machete so we can proceed faster,” she said as she lifted her red dress and tucked its hem into her underclothing.

I walked closely behind Antoinette who continued to confidently swing the blade. She did not stop; even though she had been incarcerated for years, she showed no evidence of fatigue. She seemed to be in her natural world and knew her way through the jungle without hesitation.

“You know, Jane, Rochester got lost in this jungle once. He had traveled to see a man who claimed he was my cousin, a man who told many lies about me. After Edward left that man’s house, he walked into the jungle alone, which was unwise. He claimed that he saw a zombie and that the jungle was enchanted, full of magic that he wished to possess. Baptiste had to find him, and Rochester seemed a bit mad afterwards.”

I tried to imagine Edward in this world and could not. Antoinette was right. He didn’t fit here, just as she never fit in England.

Antoinette turned toward me and softly said, “Step back quietly, Jane.”

I felt my heart skip a beat and did as I was instructed. Then, Antoinette swung her blade, and I watched as she cleaved a large snake in two.

“Are you never afraid?” I asked as my heart beat violently.

“I used to be afraid all of the time. When I was a child, I slept with a big stick next to me in case anyone attacked us. I’m still frightened, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t defend myself. Or you.”

The decapitated snake lay in the weeds. It was no longer a threat. I calmed myself with that knowledge, and we continued our trek to what Antoinette said was the most beautiful falls in all of the Windward Islands.

I heard water rushing and Antoinette said that we were close. “I should tell you,” she said, “that I brought Rochester here, too, and we swam in these waters. I warned him about the snakes and told him to avoid the crabs. Sometimes he listened and sometimes not. Other times I was here with the man I genuinely loved.”

I had heard Antoinette speak of this man before but had not asked about him.

“Who was this man?”

“A boy really. He defended me from those who tried to harm me. He was my cousin Sandi.”

“Why didn’t you marry him?”

“My stepfather arranged for me to marry Rochester and then gave him all of my inheritance.”

She paused and then said, “Jane, look up.” She pointed, “I see a blue-headed hummingbird. It flies so fast it’s barely visible. Did you see it?”

Just then, we heard a rustling in the jungle and a figure stepped out of the foliage. Shadows fell across the figure, but I recognized the features. Not a handsome man, a bit ugly, perhaps. His face was disfigured. It was Rochester. He had left my dream and had entered our jungle.

He said, “I told you that you need to return to the novel. Besides, no one can have my mad girl and the magic of the place. She and it are mine.”

Antoinette stood tall and held the machete in front of her. “We’re not returning to England and the book, the cardboard world that we lived in. And I’m not your mad girl,” she said. “You’re not welcome here. This is my place. You hated it here. Go back to your beloved grave that is England.”

“I’m not dead,” he said.

“Are you sure?” she replied.

He didn’t speak further but then reached for me, and I stepped back and said, “Go away, Edward. I’m sorry about what happened to you, but Antoinette is right, you don’t belong here.”

Then he faded away as if he had never stood before us.

“Was that real?” I asked.

“I told you that those who seem alive might be dead. Edward tried to make me his zombie, but he failed. Now, he walks in the liminal world, between worlds. He cannot hurt us.”

We continued to walk and began to think that we had indeed entered a magical world that sometimes contains the malicious past and the dream world. I wondered what is real and alive and what is unreal and dead.

Antoinette and I did not discuss what I thought was an apparition or a dream. If a dream, I thought that I would soon wake up. We kept walking and, at last, we drew near the Emerald pool that glistened in the sunlight under the enormous waterfall that cascaded down the mountainside.

The sound was deafening, and Antoinette pointed out a rock a bit farther away so that we could observe the Falls while looking for the birds that she had promised, but none were to be found. Antoinette said that we should wait until dusk, for the birds enjoy the cooler temperatures. We must be patient.

“Did you come here frequently?”

“Yes, this is where I met Sandi after Rochester betrayed me.”

“How did you know when and where to meet?” I asked.

“We communicated through Christophine, who told me that I should flee with Sandi. I nearly did, but Rochester caught us in the act of lovemaking, right here in this pool. He followed me here and threatened Sandi, but Sandi was never afraid of anyone or anything.”

Then, Antoinette said, “Look, Jane,” and pointed to the top of the Falls. “It’s the most exquisite bird of the Caribbean.” I was astonished, for I saw what I thought was the red macaw standing at the top of the Falls, looking as if it were about to dive into the pool. I squinted my eyes and realized that it was not a bird, but it was Antoinette herself. How could that be? Antoinette sat beside me on the rock.

Then we heard someone call from below, and I saw a man in the water. His skin was a light brown and his hair ginger-coloured. He called up to the figure at the top of the Falls, “You afraid?”

The figure called back, “No!”

“Then come to me,” the man called. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I’m coming, my love.”

Then the figure dove gracefully down the waterfall, barely splashing the water as she fell into her lover’s arms.

I looked at Antoinette on the rock, but she was no longer there.

I pulled out my sketchbook and began to sketch the bird that had leapt from the Falls, and then I wrote the title page: “Jane Eyre, a new autobiography” and the first line: “Dear Reader, I didn’t marry him.”