The wake had been wild. It was as though they had been celebrating a death rather than mourning one. Lena drank far too much rum punch. The singing and the dancing had also intoxicated her, and now she sat in the large armchair by the window, fast asleep. She forgot that she was not in her own home, that she had two miles to go to get home and sleep in order to attend the funeral the next day. Miss Joan realised what had happened and wanted to do something about it. Lena was drunk. That was not unusual on occasions like this for other people, but Lena was a role model in the district, a choir member and a teacher at the local school. Many of the children who were outside playing on the verandah were students at the school. It was not good, not good at all. How would she get home without anyone realising what had happened?

Miss Joan summoned Pastor Tingling. He had a car. He would take her home. He lifted the drowsy Lena and discreetly put her in the car. Then he drove away.

The singing continued. The drumming was loud and insistent and the children still played and ate jerk pork and chicken and drank lemonade. The older folks hardly saw him go, there were so many people and cars at the wake. Pastor left the scene and headed east. Lena sat by his side, hardly conscious of what was going on. The pastor smiled to himself.

Lena woke that morning in her own bed. She was still groggy. What had happened to her last night? She felt like throwing up. She got up and rushed to the bathroom. She was sick, and as the liquid gushed from her throat she wondered what had happened to make her so ill. Had she been that crazy to drink all that liquor last night? Then she remembered the funeral. She glanced at the clock on the wall in her room. It was nine o'clock. The funeral was at two that afternoon and she was in the choir. It was a good thing she didn't have a lead role in the service today. She had to be well enough to go to that funeral and sing. The dead man had been a church member.

Three months passed.

Lena realised that something was dreadfully wrong with her. Her mother took her to the doctor. She was pregnant, the doctor said. Lena was devastated and bewildered. Her parents were angry beyond belief. How did such a thing happen to their beloved daughter? Who did it? and why?

The rumours began. Lena felt she was going mad. She knew it might have happened at the wake. But by who? Who could have done such a thing to her while she was drunk? She knew she had got home and that the pastor had taken her home, but the pastor was regarded as a saint in the district. He was never known to fool around with the women in the church. He was a loyal husband to his wife and father to his children. Then, who? Had she gone outside to use the toilet? She had been raped, but who had done it?

Abortion was out of the question. She had her principles. It was against the law of the country, and it was against God's law. Her parents would never see her abort what would become their grandchild, no matter how she had got it. To them, abortion was murder - not something to even contemplate.

Lena's family was one of the most prosperous in the district. Lena had been seen as a gem by some and a target by others. The following conversation could attest to that.

Mass Sidney and Mass Silas were in the rum shop as usual:

'So the saint get fall,' said Mass Sidney

Mass Silas grinned; the rum on his breath stank. 'Yeah, man, she never want me or you or any of the young man them in the district, she was too good.'

'I hear say she nuh know the father,' said Mass Sidney.

'You mean a so much a them?' Asked Mass Silas.

'She was proud. Pride goes before a fall. And this is a real fall,' said Mass Sidney, satisfaction lacing every timbre in his voice.

'Now them going to read her out of church and then she might have to teach somewhere else,' said Mass Silas as he downed another rum. He fingered the glass and reflected. 'I wonder how it happen, though? Who was so wise as to touch her?'

'When the baby born we will know. I hear she leaving. Going to foreign. Is a big disgrace. The village angel fall.' Mass Sidney was now tottering on his feet. 'We will see what we will see,' he added as he headed down the steps of the bar towards the road. He was going home. It was late and he had to face an angry wife that night. The money he had gained from the sale of the two goats had almost gone and the barmaid was licking her fingers.

In the midst of the confusion, Lena fled. Her parents sent her to England and the furor died down a little. She joined her uncle and aunt in Birmingham and had her child. But she was bitter. She had been read out of church before she left and the headmaster had advised her to seek a job elsewhere if she wanted to stay in the island. So widespread had the rumours been, so full of malice.

When the baby was born she was proud of him, a little boy. She found a job as a clerk in a store and worked there for four years. The little boy grew strong and healthy and she sent him to the kindergarten. As he grew she realised that there was something familiar about his face, his mannerisms; even his baby voice had a familiar ring.

It was not long before she knew. Then anger took hold of her, and hate consumed her. Not hate for her child but for the man that did it.

'I am going home for a holiday,' she told her uncle.

' You sure you want to go?' He asked her kindly.

' Yes, Uncle, I want to go. I have to face something. I want to go home for a while.'

Lena's return was greeted mainly with nonchalance in the district. So much had happened in the island since she left, and babies were born all the time to mothers who were not married. Only the older folk viewed the affair with interest now. They remembered the village queen.

Lena's parents greeted their daughter and grandson with mixed feelings. Lena had written so much about the child that they had longed to get to know him. They had not forgotten the rape, but they loved the child.

'I want to take the baby to church,' said Lena, the week after she arrived. 'I want to take communion again.'

'Lena, you know what you asking? You know what the people will say? What Pastor Tingling will say if you turn up to take communion in him church? You know how him strict already! You have to ask him forgiveness first.'

' Forgiveness?' Asked Lena. 'Forgiveness? I want him to see the child him read me out of church for, and for other reasons, too.' Lena was adamant. She was going to church and she was taking the child. Nobody could dissuade her.

On Sunday morning she dressed carefully, dressed the child, and walked, holding his hand, to the church on the hill. Her parents were too nervous to go. Her father refused to drive her, so she walked. On the way up she met many of her former students and friends.

'Miss Lena, how you doing? How the baby?' They asked as they ran to greet her and lift the child into their arms.

Lena made her way up to the church and walked to the front pew. There was some consternation. Had she asked to be received again? Had she met with the pastor? Pastor Tingling was confused, the whole congregation could see that; his sermon was muddled with errors and there was a flush all over his face. He stumbled through communion, which Lena took, and then said the final words.

Then Lena made her move. She took the child and stood on the platform facing the congregation. Pastor Tingling seemed ready to run and hide.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' she began, 'I stand before you to present my child. For many years I didn't know his last name as I was raped while under the influence of alcohol. But now I know. His last name is really Tingling. Pastor, thank you for giving me this child, even though it was under such circumstances. You read me out of church because I was pregnant with your child. Ladies and gentlemen, look at him. Can't you see who he looks like? Our pastor, Pastor Tingling.'

Lena left the stage and walked down the aisle amidst the confusion and the shouts.

It was Miss Joan who saved the day. She stood and said: 'Yes, that night of the wake you took her home. I asked you to. I long suspected it but I couldn't believe it, Pastor Tingling.'

The pastor dropped his head on his hands and wept.

END

- Jean Goulbourne