CHAPTER VIII
THE WOMEN OF WILD MAN STREET
Wild Man Street is the central place of Jamaican gaiety. In the day-time it seems an ordinary street, white in the roadway and green in its walls of painted houses. The evening shadows blacken the place into an abode of infamy.
We drove there through the wild scents of a tropic night. The bejewelled skies sparkled no brighter than the flashing insects; the fresh sea breeze struggled in vain to kill the half Eastern scents of the garden flowers and aromatic woods. The singing of the insects made music which the soft air translated into a sweet lullaby. As you drive to the town of Kingston, the noises and the scents become more and more suggestive of the East. The place might be Ceylon, Yokohama, or Hong Kong. We were to see a bungalow which might be found with equal ease in the byways of any of these places; the difference existing only in the skins and tongues of the women. The place was larger than an ordinary house of the working people; the gaining of fugitive wealth is the only compensation looked for by the Jamaican dancing women.
The reception room was fitted with cheap muslins and common bamboo furniture. The stained wood floor was relieved in patches by tiny squares of matting or cheap imitations of the carpets of Turkey. Several of the rickety tables supported brass ash trays in which cheap and evil-smelling pastils smouldered unhealthily, half drowning the odour of the scents the women used. With finger rings made of silver, flashing with lack lustre glass or paste; arms and necks encircled with coral or cheap pearl bands, the women, gowned in flowing robes of white or yellow, listlessly sustained a difficult part. It is difficult for a gay woman to appear gay without the aid of strong liquors. This place is one of the houses where the women dance only at the bidding of white men, the black man is not a welcome guest. The women call themselves white; really they are brown or yellow or nearly black. They use powder freely, and cheap rouge also. The effect is awful; a black man in war streaks of white or vermilion is not more hideous; they speak the pigeon English of an affected Eurasian, with a tincture of the sing-song drawl of an educated negro. To these women all the other natives of Jamaica are coloured. They speak of the England they have never seen as home. White men are “chaps” or “felhers”; whisky is their drink, and they suggest with proud frankness that they are the daughters of great white men. But coloured people, especially coloured people of this class, are not infallible. We gave them money, which they received with the grace of a dissatisfied four-wheel cab driver,
but they produced liquor and became animated. White teeth flashed and the accent became more coloured and so more natural. It was not pretty talk, and it was lacking in the elements of refinement. The gaiety of the women of this class always seems forced. As they talked and gesticulated the paint and powder flaked off their cheeks as whitewash scales off a crumpled ceiling. They lost their reserve and found abandon. One, of uncertain age but decided embonpoint, took up a mandoline, which was well varnished and hung with ribbons, but badly tuned, and sang a song. The words were indistinct; the title of the song I never knew; the tune I am glad to have forgotten.