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THE ARTIST GEORGE ALPHONSO WALKER
Myrtle Ioni Hurst was 33 years old when she found out that she was pregnant. The revelation sent a flurry of excitement throughout the family. The matriarch Terrice Ivy Gruber, her mother, was bursting with joy as she heard the news that she was about to become a grandmother. The jubilation was short lived however, tragedy struck. Myrtle had accidentally fallen down a flight of stairs in her fourth trimester of her pregnancy. She was rush to the hospital Emergency room and everyone feared the worst, the dreaded miscarriage. In the Emergency room, she learned that she was caring twins. One child had died while the other child lived. Her condition was critical, and under doctors order she was confine to total bed rest.
On February 19, 1962, she gave birth to baby boy weighing in at 12 lbs, 10 ounces. He was born with copper toned skin, blue eyes, accompanied with flaming reddish/blond hair. Terrice Gruber fell in love with the child on sight. That baby boy was I. At six months, I weighed twenty-five ponds, with blue eyes and red/blond hair. My mother was overwhelmed by the oddity that she had created and declined to breast freed me. Grandma was repulse by my mother’s action, and I demanded that I be delivered over to her for my safekeeping. My grandmother suckled me. She had definitely had no milk, but that was no concern of mine as long as I had something to pacify me. I would suckle myself to sleep in her arms. My grandparents and my aunt Esmie loved me implicitly since my birth. They thought that the sun and the moon set within my countenance. I was adored and worshipped with their love and affections. I cared nothing about my parents, at lease I do not remember, all I could sense was that I was a happy child, being at the center of my grandparent and Aunts life, and I love it this way. That is what grandma had she said.
At six months, I had the strength of a man. I was sweet, temperamental, sensitive, impulsive, demanding, charming and delightful, even at six months old she said. I had developed the habit of pulling my grandfather about on his bed, like an old ragged doll as we played. He was very ill, and yet he demanded that I would be with him every day. One day before my sixth month anniversary, I had whipped my grandfather into frenzy, leaving him breathless, flushed, and exhausted. He refused to have me taken from him, even though I had this giant of a man in some headlock that he could not escape. He loved me very, very much, even until his last breath, and that was the next day. Precisely six months! Six months after my birth, he died. That is what grandma said.
My Grandmother was a woman no bigger than 5feet 2inches at best. She was an exotic beauty. Her complexion of velvet black, and was the descendants from Back, East Indian, and German decent. She was a perfect example of the Jamaican Motto “Out of Many one People.” She grew up in a middle class family, and reached maturity in era of the Great Gatsby. She fell in love with my Grandfather. Ivan Hurst. He was a young handsome, 6 feet 5 inches German, with Blond hair and blazing sky blue eyes. Their love resulted in the Birth oftheir three daughters. Each daughter had a coloring ranging from white, high yellow and medium brown, along with the hallmark stamp of exotic beauties like their mother. They were out cast from their families for their love of each other. The scandal that resulted from this, forced them to leave the rural area, and moved to the big city life of the Island life, Kingston.
The prejudice that had plagued their love had persisted in Island’s capitol. The unsolicited advances of male admire for my Grandmother, and the punishing scorns from the female, were a constant source of discontentment. Mr. Hurst my grandfather was feared, because of his gigantean size and color. Also for the ferocity to which he unleashed his might upon any man who disrespected my grandmother. He was notorious for slugging a man with his right fist and nocks him out cold, with a single blow from his hand.
My Grandfather provided well for his family. Grandma never told of what their financial portfolio. She would only give clues, unceremoniously about her shopping sprees and the way in which her children were cared for. Her talk of her servant she had in her employment and the contents of their home. This was a life style of obvious means. She spoke of those day so a matter-of-factly that it was understood as truth. She would sometime refer to her past as “when I was somebody.” She never once said, “I had money.” She never once said how she lost her money. She only said, “God has been good to me, and I had led a life like Job from the Bible.” I supposed it was due to my grandfather illness, but by the time I was born, the family has regained some of it former self. She never spoke of what disease that killed my grandfather, or what disease ravished his body, I suspected that it might have been cancer. His demised was a lengthy one. She cared for him, she provided for him, as she watched him deteriorate before her eyes. She stood by his side until his dying day. That is what grandma had said.
By the time I had any recollections of event in my life, the one that stands out most, was when I was five years old. I was a precocious child, full of energy, flexing my powers and seducing the world around me. However, the world around me however held a morbid fascination to me, one that embrace me and pushes me out at the same time. This was a paradox to me really. I was never sure where I fit in the greater scheme of things. The vial of the three dimensional and other realms seems blended together as one to me. This phenomenon was very alarming, as I could accurately describe grandfather to my grandmother. He was dead for five years. There were no photographs of him. Yet, I could describe his skin color, his eyes, and the suit in which he was buried. My abilities were not restricted to only ghost but also of the angelic realms. This ability to see “things” had made my grandmother very worried, as she herself had the same disposition. Her primary concern was that I would be able to see good and evil. The good she welcomed, but the evil was something she could not allow, as she feared it would harm my psyche. She ordered that a stature of the Virgin Mary to be welded over my bed, along with the King James Version of the Bible to be placed under my pillow. One day, I was minding my own business, as I lay upon my bed. I saw the image of the statue projected itself unto the ceiling over my bed, and it spoke to me. I did not like what she had said.
I proceed to rip the statue from the headboard over my bed. Enraged and furious, I threw it out of the window and it has never seen again. I know for sure that I did not like what she had said.I knew not what grandma had meant when I told her of what the Mary statue had said. Grandma would later proclaim that I had “the spirit.” I knew what a spirit meant even then. It was a ghost, and I did not like what all this could have truly meant. The veil stayed open until about my seventh birthday, it was then that I saw and felt my touch of evil. I had never seen anything so hideous, full of hate. It was ugly, vile, disgusting and it looked at me with such malicious contempt. This thing slowly passed by the window out side of the house, making sure that I saw it without any shadow of doubt. It was mid-day and grandma was not about. I was mortified, horrified, and speechless, I felt the hairs on my head, and my body stood straight up on their ends.
I was so petrified and frighten that I could not even scream. I knew I felt danger but I could even move. Time stood still as this faceless, Loveless, creature disappeared from the my view. Once it was gone, I was able to move. I ran to find grandma and told her what I had just seen. She listened carefully to me and then my grandma said, “My son, that thing that hates you, and has no face at all. It fears you, because of who you are.” “The next time you see it, just laugh in it face. You have God within you, and God has a face.” “Remember these word my son, who God has blessed, no man will curse.
” Then she held me in her arms until I went to sleep.
Shortly after that traumatic episode, the veil of other dimensions started to close. I thought that the veil was closed forever, and that was fine by me, but to my surprise the veil would be reopening and this time, it was to enlighten me. I was afraid and I felt the look and the hate for a long time. My inner fears and my reality were on a collision course that crashed the very first day I entered school.
The first grade was the living hell for me. I was bullied and I was tease mercilessly. They called me, cat eyes, Puss eyes, half breed, mongrel, red head, mutt, uppity, a foreigner, a show off, ugly, a dog of no nation and a puss of salvation, a freak of nature, and a sissy. All this greeted me and I did not understand why these vicious, aspersions, were being cast upon my character. They did not know me, I hated school and I hate all of them that tormented me. I had stated to believe them and I guess they must have been right. I did not look like any of them. I saw every shades of color and every other full breeds and half breeds that there were, but none of them had looked like me. I was alone, and inwardly I imploded. This was only the first grade. My sorrow was so much but I tried to hide it from Grandma. She knew something was wrong, but she watched as I withdrew into my self, and then she noticed that I was not learning.
One day she held me close and she asked me what was wrong, and I broke my silent and told all that had gone on. She said that she knew, then that grandma declared,” You will not be bullied, and you must learn your lesson in school, because I will be damn, if you think I will be raising a bloody fool.” She decided to teach me how to defend myself in school. “Yeah! Like a girl”.
She then demonstrated and then handed me only one simple rule. She said, “You are never to draw first blood, or any blood of any kind.” “OK grandma “I said. At this time, that my father had learned his son was being a punching bag in school. He decided to show me how to fight them bullyboys. I had already etched grandma’s girly ways into my memory. My father George Alfonso Walker-here is irony at it very best. He was another halfbreed and his father was from Israel, and his mother was from India. He grew up very Uppity. He had a very, very bad temper and everyone was afraid of him, except my grandma. - Anyway...My father said to me, “hold you hands in a fist, like so.” I said, No! Grandma said,” We argued, he yelled, and I would just do it like grandma said. I was only seven. He knew he could not change my mind. He knew that he had lost all power of fatherhood over me. He feared grandma, and I never knew what their animosity was really about, but they kept their respectful distance from each other. It was quite clear, upon my reflection that he loved me but also feared me. In his utter frustration, he abandons the struggle, and withdrew from any parental allegiance to me from that day. I was never spanked by him, and he made it clear to grandma that He will never interfere in my upbringing ever again.
The next term, I was very prepared for them bullies. Power in the hands of a child as I was, is a very dangerous thing. I was determined to win the battle, forgetting the last thing that grandma had said. Off to school I went and I began to stabbing bullies left, right, and center, with my pencil. Forgetting the most important thing, that grandma had said. One day in my rage, I had my pencil and I use it with all it might on this poor bastard head. I saw nothing but the color red. This was not just a color in my head. This is the color of blood, which was spewing from the bully head. Oh, he was not dead. That was when; I remembered what my grandma had said.
Shit! I knew I would be dead, because that is what grandma had said. The teacher who also saw red, as she must have overheard heard what grandma had said, flogged me. Grandma was summoned to school, and she beat me there and then, until I was half-dead. She sprouted a language I never ever heard her said. It was German….but right there and then, this too went right over my head. All I know is that I should have listened to what my grandma had said.
Grandma was mortified to learn that the lamb she raised was not a lamb, but she was raising a tiger instead. She immediately took my in hands, and before the weeks end, I had learning how to read, write, and spell my name. “If you can shed another person blood, you should learn this,” she said.” You must learn to be as wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove.” Do unto others as you would like them to do unto you” “I will not have you killing other people’s children for a name that may have called you.” “The temper of your father and grandfather is evident in you, and I will not you grow up to be such a fool”. “I will, so help me God, I will be beat the shit out of you.” Therefore, she did.
I was so remorseful of my action that I could not covey how my actions had caused everyone enormous pain. Grandma was the only person I did not want to hurt ever in my life. She had no time for my pitiful plight. She accelerated my lessons even before I could think twice. I was reading, writing, spelling and it seemed to me as if it over night. She introduced me to Reason, History, Philosophy, Poetry, Ethics, Morals, Religions, and Spirituality. I was beaten severely if had fall short of one notch below my potential. I would sometimes think this to my self,” My God what the Hell! All this shit for an ounce of blood that I shed?” I had begun to learn, and my grades reflected this. I moved to the head of the class and she was proud. She knew she had to tame the dark side of me, and she knew just how. I knew I had to listen to what grandma had said.
She was remarkable. She did not spare the rod and spoil the child, in fact, it was very much the opposite she used the Rod to curb the child. My grandmother was elegant, beautiful, sophisticated, creative, and a Spiritual woman. Her skills as a gifted clairvoyant, and a healer were a well respected. She was strict but fair, she hated all forms of human injustice. Her words her lectures, and of Proverbs still rings tones of clarity in my head today. Grand had said, “My son, Do all the good you can, to all the people that you can, for as long you can.” “Do unto others as you would like them to do unto you.” “Good, better, best, never let it rest…Until your good is better and your better Best.” She must have said these statement once them she had then she had said over a million times. I knew I had to listen, and this was her expectation of my self, as she told me I was to take her place when she was gone. My soul was vexed, and I could not explain how mortified I was to know that she wanted me to be as good as she was. No way was I cut out for this goody too shoes shit. I wanted to have fun and sinning suited best, but I had no clue what sinning was about, I thought it was sex, I knew that without a doubt. I did not want to listen then, but I hated the words that my grandma had said.
I should have been an only child; of this, I am most certain. Somewhere along the way when Grandma had me under “Heavy Manners,” and “In rotation to do dictation” as she said. I was suddenly aware of three other children. This includes my sister, Denise, and my two cousins, Raymond and the youngest Michelle. This did not bode will with me. I was at my Machiavellian best. I made their life a living hell, as I told granny every little infraction they made, just to see them flogged. I would be satisfied to see them in pain, the same pain they afforded me, just by being in way. I thought I got over…but she had already knew, I was up to no good, and sometimes she would blame me for being such a damn fool. She cured my of my jealousy in such a Socratic way, by making me responsible for their actions. By the age of ten, I could not give a shit what they did; I had learned my lesson even then.
In Junior high, the teasing had started all over again, all seventh graders were small fries to the older boys, but not I. I had grown to almost six feet by then, a massive load of testosterone on my side. I would defeat, and beat any older boy who even looked at me strangely. I would never draw blood, but I was a forced to be dealt with. I had brains and sheer will power; those big senior bullies were my friends by years end. Grandma never knew her grandson was a Alpha Male and just how well he learned to defend himself. One she saw me in action on day she caught my act. I was beating this bully of the neighborhood, and he was a man, twenty-four. She watched in horror as I my unfolded my wrath, but the more she learned of the start of the incident, the more at rest she was. I had a supporting cast of twelve to defend me if I were to in any danger. I did beat him up, and he was battered and bruised, and that is when she came over to me and said “Come on my son, you have fought well. It is time to come home, and leave him in his shame. I would have beaten you severely if you were the blamed.” That was all that my grandma had said.
Puberty took hold of me to an unusual extent. I was in rapture as I remember the first day that I saw a single black hair on my blond forearm. Then my eyes began to change color from blue to Hazel green. I danced and sang with glee. One day I saw my Mom coloring her hair, Black. I begged her to use her hair dye. Naturally, she did not deny me request. I dyed my hair black of over twenty years. I was happy with my appearance as I felt normal, and at last, I would fit in. “Oh God what a laugh!” Grandma saw this and called me for a face to face, with tears in her eyes, and then she said.” MY son, it is not what is on the outside that counts; it is what is on the inside. "If you know, yourself and you follow God laws, what does it matter what mortal thinks of you, you are much better than them?" "Never hide the gift or the talent that God has given you.” I said, OK Grandma. I thought to myself….what the hell do you know grandma. You are not the one who is called a freak. You look normal, and you fit in. I am the one who is feeling it and I am the one who Know it. I should have listen to what my grandma had said.
My grandmother passed away on January 24, 1997 she had lungs caner, and had taken ill during the summer of 1996. I was living in California for six years. I was finishing a degree in Metaphysic. I wanted so much to be at grandma’s side when I heard the news. My sister, Denise who lived in New York took care of Grandma. She was the one who saw her slow demise. My heart was torn to pieces and I could not even bark. My sister and I spoke daily of grandma’s infirmity. We were wondering how could this happen she was so healthy. I never saw it coming, when I was with that summer. She had not slowed down, she was very active and in good cheer. She was Ninety-two at years end.
Finish your degree in your spirituial quest, because you know that is what grandma would have said.” This is what my dear sister said. I was in a state of perpetual incontinence. In September that year after the many tears that I shed. I had a dream with my Grandmother, and this is what she said, “I will not die until she see your Face. You have the key. I am waiting for you to send me home.” It was a very perplexing dream. This is something grandma would have said. It took three months before I was able to leave San Diego, after graduation. On that same day, I flew to New York. It was December 14, 1996 and the next day I was at her bedside. My eyes behold her. My Love embraced her, and she looked frail. I was told that she could not conscious of many things, and not to be alarmed if she did not know me. I walked in her room and she recognized me immediately. She was very much conscious, and could she speak of the dream that only my sister and I knew about. She repeated the dream as if she were there .She spoke of things I have never shared. She spoke of the future as if she were in it .She spoke of my grandfather, her and her daughters. She saw things that made me think twice. I tuned her out as only I could. I knew she was right, but I was afraid of the things I might hear, so held back my tears once again. I knew that she was right again, but still, I did not want to know what my grandma had said.
Two week later, she appeared to me like an apparition, just four hours before she died. I said to her, in a stern and fatherly way” Grandma what do you think you are doing?” She said “You must let me go, you are the key, and there are so many things that you still have to….” and I cried, and she said, “I told you, you are the key.” At 2:24 am on January 24th the hospital called.
My grandma was dead.
Then I said...
Good bye my Grandma, I said myself. “You were the one to have bore me, but you could not, so you rose instead.” “You were the one to teach me and you showed me my soul.” How can I ever forget someone who has given me so much for so long?” “Grandma, I will be longing to see you. I will cherish every moment as sweet as this. Is this your intention, Please don’t leave me now, and could we start again please.” “I think you have made your point now. You may have even gone too far to get your message home. I was far too sensitive, and I just did not know how…but could we start again
All love you have given me, so deep inside of you, there was no charge.
For the nights you have stayed up with me, you have doctored me, and you prayed for me, there was no charge.
You gave me shelter, food and clothes… and for wiping my nose…. There was not charge.
Your advice, and your knowledge, and the cost for my college, there was no charge.
When I had added it all up, the real cost of true love….
There is no charge.
It was then… and only then, that I wanted to hear every word that my Grandma had ever said. |
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