a Stage
and every man and woman a player upon it
story- we've
all got them!
by Big Red
I had flown to Boston with fifty pounds. I arrived but the fifty pounds didn't. Somehow someone stole it from the airport between Fort Lauderdale and Boston. They got themselves a freebee. It set us back a little.
Scott's uncle was a big timer in the game, and was playing with the big boys. He had bought himself a forty-some-foot boat and gotten himself tied up with the wrong people. I am sure he thought it was all fine but then he disappeared from his hotel in Tampa. It was in all the papers at the time. His boat was found, but he had vanished. The didn't find him until years later in a shallow grave down south in the everglades.
Well, Scott's uncle's pal Mike showed up at our door one fine day. This guy looked like he was right out of the Godfather movies. Scary as hell. A no nonsense kind of guy.
He wanted to know if we were up for a challenge. We were young and stupid so we had more balls than brains. We agreed to take on his "assignment." We were to rent a big truck and drive it to a particular all-night truck stop in Florida. After parking it in a certain area, we were to g in for a cup of java, leaving the keys in the ignition.
Before the first cup of brew was poured, the truck was gone, but we hadn't seen anyone. Lucky for us, probably. The less you know . . .
After a few cups had been downed and we were wired on caffeine, the truck was back. must have been a ghost doing the driving. I drove the truck home and backed it into the driveway. We had no idea what, or should I say how much, we'd find in the back. We soon found out - 1000 pounds of Columbia's finest. We'd hit the jackpot, but we only had two weeks to get rid of it. The cash had to be on the spot, not a day late. Now, how do we do that? I guess we hadn't thought the plan all the way through. But we made some calls to friends up North and had it sold in minutes. The next hurdle would be getting it there.
Our destination - Ohio and michigan. Too much weed and not enough time to do it by car. A motor home then came to mind. We looked in the paper and found one listed in the classifieds. We rented it for two weeks and paid cash, of course. The people were very happy. What they did not know would not hurt them.
We had to rip out all the shelves inside the motor home, and anything else removable, to fit all the weed inside. That they would not be happy about when they got it back. But we'd compensate them generously. It's just the kind of guy I am.
I was going to be a solo driver on this one. Problem: the smell was overpowering. One stop by the police and it would all be over. But like I said, more balls than brains.
I drove the speed limit for a change, the whole way. I stopped at RV camps when I was tired and sleepy. Bit I reached my first destination without problems, Columbus, Ohio. I sold fully half my stock there. Two days later I reached Lansing Michigan and I have to admit I was having a BLAST. I was seeing parts of America I had never seen before. And doing it this way was adding a special thrill.
The people in Lansing were so glad to see me when I arrived! I spent a few days in Lansing until they could cash me out. They treated me like a king. But then I had to face the drive home. I decided to take the scenic route.
A few hours from Lansing I was driving through a small town, whose name I cannot remember, but it was still in Michigan. It looked like a million other small towns and they had a Harley Davidson shop there I noticed. I was at a red light when I spotted the motorcycle of my dreams in the window of that Harley shop. It was a 1978 Low Rider, steel gray. I pulled the RV over and put four thousand dollars into the pockets of my flannel shirt and went inside. This was, of course, well before the days when a new Harley cost about as much as a small house.
It was a busy little shop.Lots of locals were there chatting and ordering parts and discussing bikes. No one paid any attention to me, so I had to make the first move. "How much for the Low Rider in the window?" I asked. I'd asked the wrong person though, of course.
The Owner came out and I asked again. Forty four hundred dollars, he'd said, was the asking price. I emptied my pockets right there on the counters, to the amazement of the onlookers, and he counted the money. It's only 44, he remarked.
Yhat's all I got, was my answer, but he put his hand and we shook on it. "Take awhile to get her ready." he added. I told him I was in no hurry and then I went across the street for a much-deserved cold one. I was a happy camper but when we tried to get the bike into the camper we had no such luck. I had to leave one behind and guess what? It was the camper. They locked it up in the yard for me out back. I drove back to Lansing on my new bike, planning to organizer someone to bring the camper to Florida for me. The next day we retrieved the RV and I was ready to head South. What a gas riding on that bike!
But I got a call in Lansing. I had to fly home, they wanted their money RIGHT NOW. If I hadn't stopped for that bike I'd have never known there was a problem. These weren't the kind of guys you wanted to keep waiting. But I wasn't sure how I would get home safely with over $300,000 cash on me.
I stacked it all up in an airline bag and it was FULL. My friends lived on a farm so the RV was not a problem, nor the bike, keeping it for me a while. I left the keys for both and they took me to the airport. I couldn't leave fast enough, if you know what I mean.
I bought a ticket home, changing planes in Detroit, the crime capitol of the U.S. at that time. It changes every year but for a long time it was Miami. I don't think they give them a plaque for that.
After buying my ticket and checking a small bag, I had a hold on the flight bag so tight my fingers were going numb. I had a few drinks in the lounge to relax and calm my nerves for the secity check in.
I eventually felt a little better and walked over and put the bag on the x-ray conveyor belt. This did not work well, it showed a big block of something. It was the cash, of course. A little old lady was in charge and asked me to open the bag. SHe freaked when she saw the money, but I expected this and I was ready. I told her the tale I'd had made up in my mind and out it came, how I had just sold a farm there and was moving to Florida. I had an honest face I guess, because it worked. She scolded me that I should have called ahead for a security escort. Isn't that funny?
I was pleased more than words can say. The next stop was Detroit, and everything went about the same way, I was batting 1000. She wanted to come with me as an escort, and I said Sure. I boarded the flight to Fort aLauderdale with no problems and then I relaxed in my seat, with the bag in my lap. A couple more hours and I am home free. Then I spotted him in the seat a few rows ahead of me. A guy from Lauderdale I'd seen a few months before. We had done a little business with this crazy Russian guy who hardly spoke English. We'd sold him a few hundred pounds of weed. He was one scary cat! He lived in a warehouse and slept on a mattress on the floor. I'd remembered seeing a machine gun next to his bed and he was the type to use it.
I didn't know for sure but I was thinking a rip-off was planned, and would I survive? I got very nervous, but for nothing. It didn't happen that way. I made it home without a hitch. Turned out the Russian had family in Detroit.
After a few days of relaxation, I headed back up to Lansing where I bought a trailer for my bike and I hooked it up to the RV and had a long scenic ride home.
Love and Irie Vibes . . . Big Red
from Children's Bedtime Treasury, Paragon, c 1998
contributed by BritAja
"Do you know," Granny would say, "that I'm really a witch?"
Susie always laughed when Granny said that because she didn't look like a witch at all. She had a smiling face and kind eyes and she never wore black. Not ever. When Granny wasn't looking, Susie would take a look inside her wardrobe just in case she might find a broomstick or a witch's hat. But she never found so much as a book of spells.
"I don't believe you're a witch." said Susie.
"I am." replied Granny, "and I'll cast a spell one day. You'll know when that day comes, for my needles will start to knit by themselves."
After that, Susie kept a careful watch over Granny's needles, but they always lay quite still in the basket of knitting. One day, Susie was playing in her garden when she heard the sound of weeping. The sound seemed to be coming from under the old tree in the corner.
She walked toward the tree and as she did the crying noise got louder, but she could not see anyone there. Then she looked down at her feet and there, sitting on a mossy stone, was a tiny little man. He was neatly dressed in a yellow velvet waistcoat and knickerbockers. On his feet were beautiful, shiny, buckled shoes, and a three-cornered hat with a wren's feather in it trembled on his shaking head. When the little man saw Susie, he stopped crying and started to dab his eyes with a fine lace handkerchief.
"Whatever can the matter be?" asked Susie, crouching down.
"Oh dear, oh dear!' sobbed the little man, "I'm a fairy princess' tailor and she has asked me to make her a lovely gown to wear to the May Ball tonight but a wicked elf has played a trick on me and turned all my fine gossamer fabric into bats' wings. Now I shall never be able to make the princess' gown and she will be very angry with me." He started to cry again.
"Don't cry," said Susie, "I am sure I can help. Granny has a sewing basket full of odds and ends. I'll see if she's got anything nice for a party dress. I'm sure she won't mind sparing some. After all, you won't need much." At that, the little man looked more cheerful. "wait here," said Susie, "while I run indoors and see." She ran up the garden path and in through the back door.
"Granny! Granny!" she called, She ran into the sitting room expecting to see Granny sitting by the fire knitting. But Granny had her eyes closed and she was whispering to herself. On her lap was her knitting, and the needles were moving all by themselves! The yarn danced up and down on the old lady's knees.
For a moment, Susie was too astounded to move. Then she thought, 'I hope Granny is not casting a bad spell. I'd better make sure the little tailor is alright.' She ran back down the garden path and there under the tree sat the tailor, surrounded by a great pile of gorgeous gossamer, shining in the sunlight.
"I've never seen such fine material, ever!" he exclaimed. "But where did it come from? I just closed my eyes to dab them with my hanky and when I opened them again, there it was!"
"I don't know." said Susie, "but I think my Granny might have something to do with it."
"Well I'd never be able to thank her enough." said the tailor. "For now I shall be able to make the finest gown in the whole of fairyland. The princess will dance the night away in the prettiest fdress there ever was." He paused and then went on, "I am also indebted to you, for it was you that helped me in the first place. I would like it very much if you came to the May Ball too."
"Why thank you so much." Susie replied. "I should like to very much." She did not want to hurt the tailor's feelings but she knew she couldn't go, she was far too big to go to a fairy ball.
"Well, I must get on with the dress now," said the little man, reaching for a pair of scissors. "See you tonight!" he said. And with that he vanished.
Susie went indoors again. Granny was sitting by the fire knitting as usual. Susie wondered if she had dreamed the whole thing. Everything seemed so normal. Really! How could she have imagined she'd seen a fairy tailor in the garden? And as for Granny casting a spell...!
That night, Susie lay in bed and wondered if the fairies really were having a Ball. How she longed to be there! Once she thought she'd heard a tapping at the window. Was that the fairy tailor she saw through the glass or was she imagining it? In the middle of the night she awoke with a start. There was a click, clicking noise at the end of her bed.
"Granny, is that you?" Susie called.
"Yes, dear. I couldn't sleep so I decided to do some knitting." Granny replied. "All at once the needles started twitching so I knew it was time to cast a spell. What is your wish, Susie?"
"I, I, uh..." Susie stammered. "I want to go to the May Ball." she blurted out.
"Then you shall my dear," said Granny. In an instant, Susie felt herself shrinking and when she looked down she saw she was wearing a beautiful gown and tiny satin slippers. Then she floated on gossamer wings out the window and away to the ball.
The next morning, Susie woke up in her bed. Had it all been a dream; the revelry, the fairy food, the frog band, the dance with a fairy prince? Then she saw something peeping out from under her pillow. And what do you think it was? It was the tiniest tiny shred of the finest gossamer fabric.
Negril was country back then, in the mid-70's. The beach was country - on the whole seven miles the only places were T-Water, The Sands and the Sundowner. The Sundowner people didn't like all of us, The Sands people loved most of us! The Sands was located up from where the Tree House is now, and actually had a real treehouse.
There were also other places, like Perseverance and Gloria's - Cosmo's was there then too.
Right up from where T-Water is now is where the many fisherman came in daily in their dugout canoes, and all up the beach. There would be gigantic piles of huge conch shells here and there too.
Going to Sav (which you had to go to for grocery shopping) was a trip. No nice air conditioned vans or cars back then -- more like a VW bus with planks stuck across concrete blocks, you squished in. I can't remember how many people!
Lots of places to stay in those times up in Redground, right with families and Redground had so many bananna trees growing all over the place. This was way before the shopping center was built, all Jamaican families lived there.
Goats just ran around throughout the whole of Negril in herds, like ten-twenty and pigs (who always had babies) lived here and there but stayed mostly put. But it wasn't unusual for them to be walking around the road.
Rutland Point was where Hedonism is now and was a nice place to go and swim out to Booby Key- with fins, because it was a long way!
Bloody Bay was always totally deserted except for on Sundays alot of Jamaican families would come there. "The" place to watch the sunset back in those times was "Sunset Point" owned by a German man ?Norman? and it was about a half mile past the Lighthouse, and as Patti said, Rick's Cafe was a private residence where a Doctor and his wife lived. The bar area was a swimming pool. When they weren't there one time the caretaker let us swim there and it was so private and beautiful!
Rockhouse was a residence of one of the first Americans to buy up property there.
John Baymiller, and millionaire Elvira Revson owned what became Our Pastime and it was just a house then. I can still picture her in her real diamond studded horn-rimmed glasses. Like how now most of us go for a week or two or three, everyone came in those times for like a month or two or three or six! ending up with little or no money towards the end too I might add.
I don't think I even knew how to cook rice when I got there, well I had to learn quickly, by hit or miss we figured out what we could cook -- even the grocery store in Sav had not too much.
The police seemed to be a little more aggressive too back then. "Hippies" were like "Rastas" and could kind of be harassed. We all used Home Sweet Home lanterns. Oh yeah and there were a ton more ants on the beach back then, and I can't even remember one power boat other than the one that David Platt had.
You would order french fries at T-Water and two hours later you would get them if you were lucky! Sometimes you had to wait for the dread Errol to come around in his little burgundy truck to sell them potatoes, then wait for the lady to wash them & cut them all up, fry them.
You would go into the Wharf Club for conch soup or fried fish and the place was dark as night in there! They had an old fashioned juke box with old time reggae on it and I thought every single song sounded the same.
There was a place called ? was it Golden Swan around the corner that was a Jamaican bar, and pretty much no other Jamaicans came around "Nay"gril except for people from Green Island, Sheffield or Grange Hill, Orange Hill. That's how they pronounced it then "NAY"gril no Negril.
Prices for rooms was like $5 a night if you stayed by the night and then the price went down the longer you stayed. Oh and you could hitchhike all around the island in those days too. But if you wanted to get anywhere around Negril you pretty much had to walk EVERY place, or hitch a ride on the ice truck by hanging onto the back of it. Since there was mostly no electricity anyplace everyone had ice delivered.
I still love Negril though, but will never get over them building the Rui place, because they (JA gov) should have kept it as a national park or something, an unspoiled gem of a pristine beach with nothing to compare in the whole of the Caribbean.
Perseverance:
I got to be friends with a woman Suzanne in 1973 or 1974? that stayed at Perseverance. Those were the days though! My first long-term accomodations were in 1973 up in Redground $150 for six months (double occupancy so $300 cash).
Then my boyfriend and now ex-husband got arrested for lighting up a spliff on our porch! The Immigration Officer who was escorting him back to Mobay had actually worked in our home town, felt sorry for him and took him back to Negril. We then moved up past the Lighthouse in a three bedroom house for $100 a month on a yearly lease (something like $3.50 per night). We had all our friends come down and charged them $8 a night!
Food was a problem - only places to eat were the Wharf Club, Yacht Club (too expensive for us, though David would sometimes give us dinner on him) - also T-Water had food. Wow! We learned to make lime-aid from trees in our yard, chicken stuffed with rice and almonds (the almonds in our yard... getting them out with the hammer), grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches, homefries... walking walking walking miles miles, hitchhiking because there were no taxi's back them, getting fresh fish six days a week from right next to T-Water.
Redground was full of banana trees back then and some of those families took care of us like we were their own children. Those were the days!!!!!
Jumping ahead-
When my kids were very young (like in 1986 thru 89) I didn't work and had gotten a sizeable pension payoff type of thing. I cashed 1/2 of it and spent it nicely during the summers of 86 87 88 89 with spending from the third week of June through September Labor Day Monday in sweet Jamaica.
In 1986 Erin was three, Justine was seven, etc up through the years. In retrospect, I wonder about the 'culture shock' of in Jamaica one day, a couple of days later in school. During those same years I would also take them out of school the week before the 3rd week of February one week off and a week, bringing their school work with us.
Back in those times Kaisers was HOT bringing in the best entertainers from Kingson on an almost nightly basis. In those times some of Bobby Ash's daughters were about 15 and 16 and would come and sit with my daughters from about midnight until 2:30 or so. I always stayed in the west end way out there by the Lighthouse, but when my kids were so small I didn't want them around the cliffs as far as a place to stay. So I would stay in places like Moonrise (across from Charela... it was nice and quiet in the 80's) sometimes for the first couple of weeks the Tree House, also another place we stayed long term that I can't remember the name of. Most of you know I am a music lover so I had my routine down - I had it all figured out so that I would walk in the place just when the main act would come on (usually 12:30a.m.-1:00a.m.) and be out of there immediately after.
Bobby Ash's daughters would get to my place, I would go out onto the highway at that time of the night and the first car that went by would always stop. Was I ever nervous getting into a taxi in the middle of the night?? yes, but always nice vibes each and every time - usually a Green Island taxi-man music lover & I could get a ride back from the same one.
So MANY of the creme of the crop artists I saw at Kaisers during those times !!! Both of my girls knew Bobby Ash's daughters, I made sure they met them in case they woke up at night, but never even one time did they wake up when I was out. That place (Kaisers) had everyone, each and every one of the stars, even during the summertime!
During that time frame, Negril for sure was the one place on earth that had more reggae superstars appearing on a nightly basis than any place in the world. The next morning after I was out I would still get up early with the two of them - sometimes with an unreal headache too! And during the four week winter stays (when I brought their schoolwork) the first three weeks we would ignore it and then the last week... we would have to get it all done.
The school teachers (some of them, not all of them) would be a little aggravated that I took them out of school. I wonder though, in retrospect, what it was like for very small children to go from one culture to another in the blink of an eye.
by Denise Martin
His love of music (while still listening to the "c"rap music most teens do today-he's almost 19 now) still drives me nuts, but he is a huge fan of reggae music. Pirate (being the concert fan) would take Kyle right up to the stage, slip around into the artist areas, and during a Yellow Man concert (Kyle's first) after the shock wore off of seeing such an odd-looking fellow jumping around wearing striped kneesocks, and lederhosen, Kyle would inch closer up the stage steps till he ended up on stage with the King.
Kyle sings and speaks in a patois that even I can barely understand, it's so fast. He was soon recognised at the concerts by many of the artists year after year. He met Judy Mowatt's daughters backstage one night, although it was just as puberty was kicking in, and his shyness really did battle with the urge to speak to these beautiful young ladies.
He was always safe, and his many uncles and friends always kept an eye out as he moved around the venues. The year of the KIDS tour, as Pirate mentioned, was a howl, as we made our way thru MoBay airport with 5 kids, 6 bikes, 9 newbies, 18 returning crew members, and a mountain of luggage.
For three weeks, RootsWoman, Cowboy, Pirate, and I hearded the kids from one concert to the next, mountain top and back. Schoolwork benifitted each year, as they came back prepared to do some pretty interesting projects on traveling to Jamaica. He got to also see what drugs (coke/crack) can do to a person, and struggled in later years with the dilemma of realizing that ganga was indeed the dreadful marijuana that the schools were telling him was a drug that made you crazy and sick. At that time, I brought in my favourite soapbox on wrong laws, and the ability to make a choice in life based on your own observations and experiences.
Bring your kids to Jamaica with you. Yes its a different trip, and you end up being forced to relax in the evenings, unless there's a really good show on that your prepared to bring them out to.
But being able to parasail, learn to scuba, swim in the oceans, ride shotgun with Honey and Shorty on the boats, ride bikes with Uncle Eskimo as they search out the best morning deals, come back smiling as bright as the sunshine they've played in, and with a heartfelt love of a country and its people like Jamaica is a priceless gift that they should experience.
Just know that they will jump off Pirates Cove and Ricks when your'e not looking!
Thanks Pirate for giving Kyle the opportunity to have been to Jamaica even more times than myself! I expect he will return this year, with his own crew in tow! The jerk barrel chicken vendors should be in their glory!
The first, a lovely lady now passed on, named Catharine. The lady was married to one of Pirate's East Coast friends, and it was her first time to JA. Her and her hubby landed in Lucia. The place they were staying was right on the road, close enough that when you opened the walled door to the outside, you were smack on what was supposed to be a sidewalk, but the cars came within inches of you (or so it seemed to this shell shocked lady).
They ended up coming up to Tigress to celebrate Pirate's EdBeForty party, and it helped her relax a bit. But she would get very emotional when she would go out and see such a difference in the lifestyles, homes, at how hard and for so little the Jamaican folks worked, and how aware it made her of how much we take for granted, our own ways of life. I learned to look a bit closer, tip a bit better, be a bit more generous from my short time with Catharine.
The second one was a fellow I won't name, (so will call him SPIKE). He was on his first trip to Negril, and um, sorta there as a bodyguard (nuff said on that subject). He was dressed from head to toe in black, boots, jeans, t-shirt and vest.)
He was super-nervous, expecting someone to give him a hard time, suspicious and very quiet. Within days, his black boots disappeared, and sandals replaced them, then followed by losing the jeans for some funky wild orange tie dye shorts and a yellow and red and green tie dye shirt.
Soon, he was spotted, chillin on the beach, barefoot and happy. He said that once he took off the clothes he always wore, it was as is he was taking off the pressures that went with them. I often wonder what his buddies thought of him returning to XXX sayin "ya mon" and "one Love" etc... Hope he returned for more!
The last, but not least, was just a quick sighting. Being a people watcher, I tend to sit quietly on the sidelines and enjoy watching the folks on holidays. It was a young fellow, perhaps about 21, walking down the beach, in long, long baggy-style denim shorts, black socks and Doc Martin boots, a ring thru his nose, shaved head, and skinhead tattoos.
He was trucking along the beach, talking on a cel phone, eyes wide, as I am sure he was describing the paradise that lay before him to an unbelieving party on the other end back home somewhere.
I heard him say as he talked into the phone, "Yes, there's black folks here, but no one's bugging me!! I can't believe this, this is great, they're GREAT! Really, I mean really great!" And he waved his arms as if to demonstrate it to the unseeing eyes. I grinned, and thought of the fellow mentioned previously, and wondered how long it would take for the young man to grow white locks and start listening to music that emphasises love, versus hate.
I vote we make traveling to Jamaica mandatory for mental health and social development awareness. Ok, now if I can just convince the airlines to give me a discount!
by Lacy B
But they are also feared and even ridiculed by people all over the island of Jamaica. 'Dirty Rasta', I've heard said. I do know that they are singled out by law enforcement, wealthy residents, and business owners as a potential threat, but I'm not sure exactly what that is supposed to mean. Perhaps someone else does... and they can enlighten me.
Several weeks ago, I met a group of Rastafarians from St. Ann's, who were in our village. They were building a house for one of my neighbors. With only a few other Rasta brethren in this area, my Rasta invited them to our yard for some rum and a chat. As with true Rasta I have met before, these men were intelligent, interesting and candid about their lives.
What follows is a FICTIONAL story. I picked these men as the main characters because of their trade and their unity through diversity (you'll see what I mean), and one man in particular... they called 'Teacher'.
For you true Rastafari, I apologize in advance, for altering or omitting facts or ideals. I may have taken liberty in some areas, but the message remains the same... that's why they call it fiction. Enjoy!
THE MEETING
A route taxi pulled up to the gate and four Rasta piled out of the Lada, grips in hand. Miss Maggy stepped out onto her verandah, just as they entered her gate, then glanced down the road and kissed teeth. Strangers to the village! She was sure the Rasta's appearance was fueling gossip, among the regulars at the shop next door.
'Wah Miss Maggy tink im do, carry Rasta inna community?' Brighton Jones complained to his companions, who were peering out the window of his shop at the taxi stopped in front of Miss Maggy's yard.
'Look lek dem ago stay.' added Brighton's brother, Chad. 'Dem carry a whole heap a grips jus fi visit. Wah yuh tink Miss Maggy ago do wid so much Rasta?'
Brighton Jones did not want Rasta staying next to his yard, nor did he want them in his neighborhood. 'Rasta carry chobble, my yout.' he replied, turning away from the window to pop open another hot Guinness.
Miss Maggy waited on the verandah, as the Rasta made their way up her yard. Back in her youth, she would have hurried to don her best frock for such a handsome group.
But at 64 years young and a widow for over 20 years, she no longer troubled with such finery, except pon the Lord's day, Sunday Church services. Besides, her yard frock and slippers were more appropriate for the business she planned on conducting with the Rasta. Shielding her wise, aging eyes from the glare of the sun, she studied each man, in turn, as they approached her. The two youths leading the group were full of energy, bounding up the steps, two at a time, still singing along to the last song, they heard on the taxi's radio.
Miss Maggy smiled to herself, pleased. Both were tall, sturdy young men, with broad shoulders and strong backs... she would get a good day's work from them. The other two in the group silently strolled up the yard with practiced ease. Little effort was used, though they carried with them heavy bags containing the tools of their trade. An old, almost-worn-thru 'carpet bag' caught Miss Maggy's attention and her eyes drew up to those of the man who carried it.
From this distance, it was impossible to determine his age. His suit of clothes were hand-made and neatly pressed. His face lined, weather-worn, with a look of 'Country' and bush life. On his head, he wore a large knit cap, the top of which was weighted down, resting on his shoulders, from a whole heap a dreadlocks, piled inside. Around his neck, he wore a hand-made leather amulet. Miss Maggy quinted her eyes to get a better look at the piece. She had met lots of Rasta over the years, but had never seen such an strange adornment before. Ahh... time enough later to discuss it's meaning with the owner.
In all her years of observing people, Miss Maggy quickly concluded that the carpetbag Rasta with the strange bag, was the leader, and waited for him to join his brethren on the verandah before she addressed the group.
'Good day, Rasta.' Miss Maggy nodded to each, then directed her attention to the carpetbag Rasta.
'Mi nephew Jenkins sey yuh do good wuk. Mi tank yuh fi come alla dis way fi help a ole ooman.'
He nodded his head, but remained silent, holding Miss Maggy's eyes with his own. Then abruptly, he moved closer to take up her hand. Reaching into the leather bag around his neck, he withdrew a small object and placed it in her open palm, quickly closing her fingers around it, holding his hands over hers.
It was cold and hard. Miss Maggy, already intrigued with his strange bag, was dying to see what he kept in it... undoubtfully something of great value. But with the Rasta's hands closed tight around her own, sneaking a peak, was out of the question... and just as she finished that thought, he released her hands and the object they held, before stepping back again.
Miss Maggy could contain herself no longer and quickly uncupped her hands to first look at the piece that would carry her through these next days. It was made of solid white stone. No bigger than a clothes pin, it's delicately carved features, clearly portrayed... a mother with child. Miss Maggy gazed on the Mother's adoring face, bent towards her child, and tears began to blur her already worn eyes.
The Rasta remained quiet, as she pulled a kerchief from her pocket, resisting the urge to wipe her eyes, instead wrapped the stone carving tightly inside it and placed it back in her pocket. Clearing her throat, she looked up at the carpetbag Rasta and nodded before adding, 'Yuh do good wuk fi tru, Rasta. Come offa di verandah, mek mi show oonu weh fi put yuh ting dem.'
She did not look again at the other men, just turned around, opened the door and walked into the house... expecting them to follow. Their travel was long and it was already past mid-day, so it was decided that work would begin the following day, after some hot food and a good night's sleep.
Miss Maggy walked into her kitchen a little while later and found one of the two Rasta youths at the sink, cleaning vegetables, a piece of saltfish in a pot on the stove, another pot of water boiling for dumplings.
'Yuh find everting yuh need, Chef?' The question may have come out a little harsher than she had intended, but it had been many years since she had a man cook in her kitchen. The youth standing at the sink, peeling Irish, reminded Miss Maggy of when her grandson would visit. But the chef inferred nothing in her tone, or if he did, he ignored it... looking up from his task, he smiled.
'Eeh, eeh everting cris Mizz Maggy. Mi have some food hot up fi yuh soon.'
'Pleasant boy,' Miss Maggy thought to herself. He seemed to have an agreeable nature, though a little unruly. The older Rasta in the group would need patience with him, he had a lot to learn. But, if he was a chef, then it would be nice to have someone else cook for a change. Until Miss Maggy glanced over at the pot on the stove and chuckled.
'Doan boil away di saltfish soh and mek mi dumplin done chroo, yuh hear, Chef?'
The chef smiled again and Miss Maggy turned heel, with a wave of her frock tail, and went back through the hall and out onto the verandah. The other Rasta were also gathered there, each in their own meditation, spliff in hand. Ganja smoke was filling up the verandah and floating out into the yard, like rolling clouds.
Miss Maggy inhaled the sweet smell of high grade blend and knew immediately they had carried it with them, most likely from their own crops. She hadn't passed this particular scent coming from any of the shops or yards in this area. In fact, Miss Maggy quickly found herself in need of a chair away from the group, as she was getting somewhat light headed....
'Yuh smell dat, Brighton?' Chad Jones called to his brother from the front of his shop. Brighton followed him outside, just as another cloud of ganja smoke blew past them, from Miss Maggy's yard.
Brighton shook his head and kissed teeth.
'Chobble jus a start, brotha. Miss Maggy know whappen lass time. Shi have nuff tings fi bex. Dis a go gi more den she can carry, fi tru. Mi ago lock up di shop, Chad. Go home fi yuh fambly. Mi wi si wah gwaan wid dis ting inna marning.'
They looked at each other for a moment longer, then Chad hopped on his bike to do as his brother suggested. Brighton looked after him as he disappeared down the road, then turned back toward Miss Maggy's yard. Music could faintly be heard, coming from over the fence. Ummmm... Rasta turned on the radio, he thought. But as Brighton began locking up the shop, the words of the song started floating into his ears... ummmm.. not reggae...
...an old American classic...
(singing) 'When a m-an, loves a wo-man, he can't do her no harm...'
Brighton found himself humming along, as he walked up the path, behind the shop, that led to his house. At least they like good music, he said, to no one in particular, before closing his door and locking it tight.
SATURDAY MORNING BREAKFASTS
Rattling pots, filling with water from the kitchen, brought Miss Maggy from dreams of the first year they moved to this yard. For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming and forgot there was anyone else in her house. After so many years living alone, this change in her solitary routine was going to be tiring, fe true.
Her head felt heavy, full up. Her memory of the time after eating dinner last night, was dim. Donning her yard frock and slippers, Miss Maggy padded out to the kitchen and found the other Rasta youth busy preparing breakfast.
'Yuh up early, Rasta. Weh di chef?' she asked, turning down the pot of boiling water and taking up her cup and tea bag.
'I & I cook di marning and mid-day meals, Empress.'
His voice was smooth, surprisingly low in tone, for all his boyish youth. And when this genuinely handsome face turned to look at her so, OUCH! Miss Maggy blushed and truly felt like an Empress.
'Wah dem cawl yuh, Rasta?' she casually asked, pretending to pick something out of her tea.
Off hand, Miss Maggy knew of several village girls whose heads might be turned by such a look. She would have to keep an eye on this one alright.
'I & I is called Zee, Empress.' the Rasta youth replied, and this time, flashed a smile, that to someone much younger, might have been taken for an invitation. Over the years, Miss Maggy had many wicked grins flung her way.
This youth was good, but needed a few years of maturity, both in mind and face, to be truly dangerous.
'Mi like fried dumplin and plantain inna marning, Zee.' It was what her husband Jerome made for her every Saturday morning from the first day of their life together until he left, that morning, to pull up his fish traps and check his catch.
They had sat at this very table, discussing everyday mundane things. She reminded him not to forget the pipe fitting for the sink, when he went to town. He smiled and reached over to pat her hand. He had promised she would have running water in her kitchen by Sunday dinner, when the family arrived. He wouldn't forget or she would have him waking up the hardware store owner and not getting any sleep at all, until it was done.
When he didn't reach home by late afternoon, Miss Maggy went over to Brighton's shop (owned by his father Curtis, then) to have someone run down to the Fish Stop at the main road and ask for word of Jerome. Brighton and Chad, barely past pickneys then, jumped on their bicycles and headed off to the Fish Stop before their father could even think about stopping them.
They needn't have bothered. Shortly after they headed down the main road, a taxi pulled up in front of Miss Maggy's yard and one of Jerome's fisherman friends got out of the passenger's seat. Miss Maggy hurried over to him, though not wanting to hear his words.. she knew he carried the worst.
The sea was rough this morning. A swell may have pushed the boat into the buoy line of Jerome's traps. Somehow, he had become entangled in it, perhaps trying to free it. The trap, still full and heavy, dragged him below the surface. He hadn't carried his knife. They found it in the boat, where he last stowed it, stuck under one of the seats.
Almost 20 years later, Miss Maggy still had the knife. Tucked away in her dresser drawer, safe inside one of Jerome's old socks.
Zee called to Miss Maggy, several times, before she was brought back from thoughts of pipe fittings and fishing knives, to fried dumplings and plantain.
'Dis marning Jah provide ackee and pears fram yuh yard.' Out of the sink, he held up the fruit he had picked, then continued, 'But I & I do mi bess fi please yuh, Empress.' The Rasta youth went back to his task.
Miss Maggy watched quietly, drinking her tea, her thoughts replaying, the many happy Saturday morning breakfasts she had here with her husband.
THE FOUR TOPS
Miss Maggy and Zee had a quiet breakfast alone, talking about fruits and veggies, seasoning and spices, until Miss Maggy started yawning. Pleading a full belly and old age, she took to her bed in hopes of catching a few more hours of sleep before work started that morning.
It seemed that Miss Maggy just laid her head down, when noise from the back yard brought her wide awake.
(singing) 'Under the boardwalk, where the music is fine, under the boardwalk....'
'Whatta gwaan?' she pleaded from her bed, then slid into her slippers and hurried over to the window.
It was the Rasta... already up and working. A neat 10 x 10 hole had been dug 2 feet into the yard, Zee and the other young Rasta were in the middle of this hole, shovels at hand, their alto and tenor, in perfect pitch.
The carpetbag Rasta and his counterpart where stringing plumb lines, their baritone and bass, holding the beat. When they broke into their next selection, 'Just My Imagination', Miss Maggy knew she couldn't stay abed any longer.
Miss Maggy may have slept thru the first session of the Rasta 4, which began shortly after breakfast and continued thru, until the foundation square was cut, but the patrons at Brighton's shop next door, didn't miss a minute of the entertainment.
Brighton was in his shop, restocking the shelves for the day's business, when he caught a glimpse of the Rasta carrying their tools into Miss Maggy's back yard. The tall bamboo fence separating the two yards marked the lot line for 30', before posts and barb wire continued back thru the bush. So Brighton had a clear view of the Rasta when they reached the area where work was to begin.
Almost as they laid down their tools, the carpetbag Rasta began in his clear baritone voice...
(singing) 'boom.. boom.. boom.. boom.., here we are with the man, working on the chain gang-g-g-g....'
The rest of the Rasta brethen joined him on the second chorus.. and so it went that morning. Brighton and his customers were treated to a free concert courteous of the Rasta quartet and their selections from the 50's and 60's.
Business was good and Brighton was glad to have stocked his shelves that morning. By the time Miss Maggy emerged from her house, the shop had already brought in over J$3,000 from the crowd gathered in front of their yards.
But Brighton wouldn't have been so craven for the business had he known that somewhere in that crowd, his sister Henny was coveting the tall muscular Rasta youth with the soft tenor pitch. In fact, he would have boxed her a good lick, if he had been privy to the conversation she was having, at that moment, with that oh-so-bright and facety gyal, Ocra from the 'Little Miss Pee' club at the crossroads.
'Henny honey, nuh use bawling fi dat... weh yuh know im ago tek one look pon mi and gi yuh di breeze!'
Over the years, Ocra had tiefed several men from Henny, so when Ocra set her sights pon di tall handsome Zee, Henny knew this was gonna be war. She quinted her yeyes and looked Ocra in the face before saying; 'Doan cawl mi Henny Honey, yuh hear! Yuh know mi cyaan tan it!'
Ocra looked at Henny like she was gonna get licked, then started to laugh.
'A joke mi a mek, Henny Honey!'
But Henny wasn't gonna leave it at that. 'Mi name is Henrietta Honeybear Jones. And doan yuh figet dat mi know alla bout dat ting wah happen fi yuh in Cave Valley. '
Henny cut eye and Ocra kissed teeth, but that was the way it was since they were 6 years old. And the quarrel was quickly forgotten, when a commotion from the front of the crowd caused everyone to strain their necks to see whatta gwaan.....
...work had stopped. Show was over, at least for now. The Rasta had broke for the mid-day meal and soon the crowd too, went their own way to start their pots cookings.
Only a few people remained in front of the shop, when Brighton finally emerged, his pockets full of the morning receipts. He shook his head, when he spied Henny chatting with Ocra.
'Henny, come mine di shop, mi soon come.' he shouted over his shoulders, as he climbed the path that led to his house. He expected Henny to do as he said... and Henny only did so cuz it gave her a better view of the Rasta, especially the tall handsome one that also appeared to be the chef.
'How lucky fi yuh, Henny.' she thought to herself, absent-mindedly grabbing a lollipop from the open bag and sticking it in her mouth.
AFTER LUNCH.... FINALLY
Lunch was a loooonnnnggg drawn out affair (it seemed to take WEEKS!! hehehe). Henny got bored waiting for Zee to return and when Brighton came back to the shop, she headed up to the house to change into her best frock. But Ocra was way ahead of her. After she left Henny at the shop, Ocra ran all the way home and dumped the contents of her closet onto the bed, then spent the next 2 hours trying on every battyrider and teeny-tiny blouse she had.
After deciding that the black and white checked short shorts with a flowing lace see-thru blouse flattered her best, she climbed into her 5" heeled black boots and walked back down to Miss Maggy's yard.
'Waddled' might be the more adapt word, as these boots WERE NOT made for walking and by the time she reached Miss Maggy's... she was limping something fierce. hehehe
The Rasta had not yet returned to their work, but Henny was already out front waiting in her floral cotton frock (2 sizes too small) with a square neckline that pushed up her breasts until they were overflowing from the top of her dress. But when Henny spotted Ocra walking down the road in her battyriders and boots, she was fuming!
How dare her... and in the middle of the afternoon! She couldn't possibly catch Zee's attention in her old 'granny frock' with Ocra dressed like a dancehall queen!
When Ocra arrived, she complimented Henny on her new frock, eyeing the way it displayed her ample chest. Cradled between those overly round peaks was a pendant that Ocra had never seen before. Reaching out to hold it in her hands, Ocra inspected it closely. It was made out of black onxy, a delicately carved figure of a woman holding a child.
'Weh dis ting come fram, Henny?' Ocra asked, still holding the necklace in her palm, carressing the smoothness of the stone. Henny looked down at the pendant and snatched it out of Ocra's hand, before adding, "Mi granny gi it teh mi before she passed.'
Of all the things she owned, this was the most precious to her. So when Ocra asked about it, with that devil-look in her eyes, Henny knew her craven friend well enough and quickly changed the subject.
Stepping back, she kissed teeth and stood with arms akimbo as she looked up and down at Ocra's mode of dress.
'Mek mi know wah yuh mean fi do, Ocra. Yuh come back wid yuh best dancehall battyriders and dem boots... wah mek yuh wear dem boots tideh, eeh? Yuh tink fi get dat Rasta teh look pon yuh and figet alla bout im wuk?'
Wearing her Miss Pee's outfit in the middle of the day, Ocra kinned teeth and twirled around so Henny could get a better look at her backside, hanging out from beneath her way-too-short shorts.
'Yuh tink im gwine notice mi did change?' she said slyly, batting her eyes and grinning at Henny's tight-lipped face.
'If yuh start fi wine pon di fence deh soh, mi ago box yuh fi tru, Ocra.' Henny replied and Ocra laughed, but secretly mused (Dat hexactly wah mi ago do!) and looked about the yard for a nice flat place to stand in those boots, so she could dance, in full view of Zee, when the concert resumed.
Anticipating another round of entertainment, several in the neighborhood also returned to the street out in front of Miss Maggy's yard and Brighton's shop, soon a crowd had formed once again....
Over the years, Miss Queeny had made the rounds of all the eligible (and some not so eligible) men in the community and found them woefully lacking in both form and character, (Her motto - 'So many men, so likkle time').
With her eye on the rather interesting Rasta called 'Teacher', Queeny was determined not to be outshined by a group of silly young girls, so she had also changed into a very pretty red frock and just for good measure, carry wid her famous 'B-Lime Pie'. (The 'B' stands for BOOZE, a generous helping of white rum!)
Chatting in front of Brighton's shop, looking over the crowd in attendance at the afternoon session of the Rasta 4, Miss Katie Lee and Miss Joy, the Hane brothers' wives, were discussing the suss about the new Rasta in town.
'Lawd have mercy, mi cyaan believe alla di ooman dem come fi look pon di breddren.' laughed Miss Joy, bringing KLH's attention to Ocra, balancing on her 5" heels, showing Henny her semi-exposed batty.
The Hane brothers were the only two Rasta left in town. Ever since the 'incident' several years ago at Miss Maggy's, Kay and Joy found that their social life had become nearly non-existent. How ironic, that the love they had for their Rasta, once almost shunned, now didn't seem like such nonsense to the town's single women.
'Oh coodeh' giggled Miss Kay, pointing to a group of school girls, racing down the street toward them... not wanting to miss a thing...
At age eight, Blaze Blume was a lovely child, the sweetest, quietest thing to ever live in this close-knit community. Now 17, she had somehow become the town gossip. Nothing got by Blaze, she was the first to chat every bit of suss she could dig up (or make up, whatever happened to fit her mood) and always had some outrageous comment of her own to pass on. Her acid-tongue had burned quite a few in this community, mostly her rivals and those who thought about giving back even half as much as she put out.
A year younger then Blaze, Goldie and Treasure immediately became her best friends, the day they helped her escape Yardin Lakeland, and an inevitable beating, for some gossip Blaze had passed on that wasn't entirely true.
The town now assembled, all heads suddenly turned as, almost on cue, Zee and his brethren filed out of Miss Maggy's back door, (their lunch FINALLY over!!), picking up their tools, they began the afternoon's work.
(singing)... lit-tle an-gel, lit-tle one...
THE INTRODUCTIONS
Miss Maggy stepped out onto her verandah and smiled as she looked out at the whole town that had assembled in front of her gate. There hadn't been this much excitement in the community since last fall, when the parish police raided the Miss Pee Club looking for drugs and weapons (neither where found, but a whole heap a married men had a lot of explaining to do... hehehe).
Miss Maggy knew the Rasta's arrival was cause for tongues to wag, but she did not anticipate having the whole drama played out in front of her yard. Who knew there were so many women in this town so intestested in these Rasta? Scanning the group, she shook her head when she spotted young Henny, glancing sheepishly at the handsome Zee. Brighton would not be pleased if he knew his daughter had her eye set on a Rasta. Maggy made a note to have a chat with the young girl before Brighton found out what was going on.
Standing next to Henny was her co-hort Ocra. Maggy kissed teeth at the outlandish outfit Ocra had donned in the middle of the afternoon and hoped she wouldn't fall off those silly boots and break her neck. Then Maggy's eyes shone surprise as she spotted the matronly Miss Queeny in her pink frock. How long had it been since she had worn that outfit? 10, 15 years?
Undoubtably, Miss Q had found another man, in this group of Rasta, with which to ply her well-versused siren's song. And if that didn't work, it looks like she had brought along her liquored-up pie to soften his resistance.
Glancing over at Brighton's shop, Maggy hailed up Miss Kay and Miss Joy, motioning them to join her on the verandah. It was odd that they would be part of this crowd, she had seen little of them since last spring and was anxious to hear the news since their absence from the town social scene.
Miss Maggy wasn't the only one taking note of the town's women in attendance.... 'Look pon dat fine ooman inna battyriders an see-thru blouse,' whistled Matt (the OTHER young Rasta) to Zee, not paying attention to what he was doing and shoveling dirt in Teacher's direction. Drawing his eyes away from Henny's exposed chest, Zee gave a cursory look, to that of her companion.
'I & I did si har fram marning, but mi tink shi mussi change dem clothes fi yuh, Matt. Jus di kinda ooman wah gi yuh di rise, nuh?' he replied, smiling at the way Matt's greedy eyes took in Ocra, from head to toe.
'Look pon wah oonu do deh soh, zeen?' grumbled Teacher, shaking his dreadlocks and wiping away the dirt Matt flung his way.
' Im look fi a gyal teh kip im warm tonite, Teacher, and im have a mind fi dat ting inna boots.' laughed Zee, 'Im cyaan look pon wah im do, wid im yeye dem fulla titty and batty.'
Zee laughed even harder as Matt's face flushed red with his teasing remarks. 'Kip di ting in yuh trousers, my yute.' smiled Teacher, joining in on the fun.
'Mi know di ongle man di ooman dem come fi si?' remarked Matt, noticing how Miss Queeny was staring boldly at Teacher, as if willing him to look up at her. 'Look lek di ooman inna pink frock carry sintin fi yuh, Teacher.'
Teacher glanced over in Miss Queeny's direction and was held fast by the depths reflected in her dark eyes. 'Dis ah ooman knows hexactly wah har waan.' thought Teacher, smiling as Miss Q raised her eye brows, ever so slightly, in invitation.
'And di school gyals ova deh look lek dem ago rush wi!' laughed Charles, the fourth Rasta in the group.
Indeed, at that moment, Treasure and Goldie, trailing behind the bold Blaze, were making their way up the hill behind Brighton's shop, looking for the best vantange point to spy on the Rasta. Blaze had intended to do so with minimal attention, but Goldie, slipping on the long grass, grabbed for Treasure to balance herself and they both dropped to the ground, howling.
'Oonu tap di cow-bawling and come yah!' Blaze shot back at the two still lying on the ground. 'Yuh waan dem tink wi jus sum pickney dem?'
The girls struggled to their feet and hurried to catch up to Blaze, who had already reached the fence separating the two yards. When she looked back, the Rasta were staring in their direction and she flashed them a wide smile, pulling down on the hem of her school uniform to emphasize her perky young breasts.
'Cho, wah Blaze tink dem Rasta ago do wid a likkle pickney lek har?" Ocra hissed to Henny, seeing Blaze, Treasure and Goldie leaning up against the fence, not ten feet away of where the Rasta were working.
"Come on Henny, wi dideh too!' Ocra grabbed Henny's hand a started to haul her up the yard, holding onto the fence with the other hand and carefully walking, with toes pointed outward, so she won't fall off her boots.
'But si yuh gyal, Matt.' smirked Zee, watching Ocra duck-waddle up the slight incline of Brighton's yard, dragging Henny behind her.
But when Ocra finally gained the more level ground near the fence, she glanced up, ignoring Matt's inviting expression, and kinned teeth directly at Zee, whose own smile suddenly fell away from his face.
Charles and Teacher, noticing the exchange, were dead with laugh. But Ocra paid them no attention, her eyes never leaving Zee's, she proceded to introduce herself.
'Good afternoon, Rasta.' she began, 'Dem cawl mi Ocra and mi welcome oonu fi town.'
Charles and Teacher merely nodded at her words, for opening their mouths would have surely been followed by a fit of laughter. But Matt immediately dropped his shovel and quickly gained the fence.
Smiling into Ocra's face he proclaimed, 'Wah a fine welcome committee yuh be, Mizz Ocra.'
Matt was now blocking her view of Zee and she was forced to look in his direction. Acknowledging his presence, she turned a quick smile and pronounced her thanks, all the while attempting to peer over Matt's shoulder, at her real quarry.
Zee bowed his head slightly to Ocra, 'I & I bid yuh good day, Empress.'
But before Ocra could engage Zee any further, Blaze bolted over to where she was standing and pushing Henny aside, put on her best 'cat's smile' and purred, 'An mi name is Blaze. Wah dem cawl yuh, brethren?'
Matt, more interested in the exotic, sexual Ocra than this school girl's fancy, gave Blaze a brotherly smile, none the less, and bowing low at the waist replied, 'Glad fi meet yuh, Mizz Blaze. Dem cawl mi Matt and dis here is Zee', pointing to the other young Rasta, leaning on his shovel. 'Ova deh, Teacher and Charles.'
Both Goldie and Treasure crowded in next to Blaze, waiting for their turn to be introduced.... and Ocra was fuming.
She wished they would all just leave!!! They were in the way of her chatting with Zee!!
'A who yuh fren dideh?' Zee asked the group, walking over to the fence, interrupting the name exchange. 'Wah?' Ocra replied. She had forgotten all about Henny standing behind her.
'Yuh fren inna pretty yellow frock, Empress.' Zee asked again, smiling down on Henny, who blushed four shades of red before stepping between Ocra and Blaze, waiting to be introduced.
Ocra stared at Henny, as if she had never seen her before this day. Blaze and her co-horts kinned teeth at the look on Ocra's face, but remained silent. After a brief, but uncomfortable silience, Henny finally extended her hand in Zee's direction and said, 'Henrietta Honeybear Jones is mi name. Mi fadda own di shop dung deh soh. Onnu welcome fi come cawl anytime, wi have di bess fish in town.'
'Cho, Henny!' she thought to herself. ' Wah mek yuh add di lass pawt bout fish?'
But Zee just smiled broadly, shook her hand, and replied, 'I & I be delighted fi si yuh fish stock, Miss Jones. Mi chef fi mi brethren and wi nyam fish everyday. It good fi have a supply soh close by nuh?'
Ocra could hardly contain herself and 'accidently' bumped into Henny, forcing her to pull away her hand from Zee's to steady herself on the fence post. Trying to draw Zee's attention away from Henny, Ocra asked, 'Yuh a chef? Mi fadda di chef in mi yard. Mi granny did pass weh mi madda jus a chile an har fadda cook fi di fambily. Weh mi madda and fadda get married, mi madda seh im haffi cook cuz har doan know how.'
All turned to stare at Ocra. This was the most information she had ever provided about her family. It also explained why her mother spent all her time down at Romie's Bar... she didn't do anything at home. Seeing the Rasta break from work and the crowd of women forming around them, Miss Queeny hurried up the yard, followed by most the rest of the town. She reached the group just as Ocra was confessing the fact that her mother was no cook.
'Mek mi know wah night yuh lek mi fi cook, Rasta' Queeny exclaimed. Turning to Teacher, she held out her pie and continued, 'Alla di town aks mi fi di recipe fi mi famous B-Lime pie.'
Ocra and Blaze rolled their eyes at Miss Q's intrusion, but noticing her attention on the elder Rasta Teacher, they paid her no mind. Teacher accepted Miss Queeny's gift with a nod and his thanks, while Charles and Zee exchanged an amused look, knowing he would never get a chance to taste it, before the craven Matt had consumed the entire thing.
'And wah yuh name, mistress?' Teacher asked, lost again in her knowing eyes. 'Yuh can cawl mi Queeny, Rasta. And mi mean wah mi seh bout dat dinner. Any time yuh waan a break fram di yute's cooking, yuh jus haffi cawl mi up.'
She followed this invitation with a smile that reached all the way to her eyes, letting the Rasta know, that dinner could be followed by a more tasty kind of dessert than her famous pie.
Noticing the town's exodus from the front of her yard, Miss Maggy hurried over to the side of her verandah, peering around the corner to see what had happened. She shook her head and kissed teeth at the interruption of the day's work.
'Come on gyals' she sighed, 'mek wi break up dis party. Dem oomen ago kip Rasta fram dem wuk fi di whole day.' Miss Joy and Miss Kay followed Maggy down the stairs and made their way to the back yard.
'Hole on deh oonu!' Miss Maggy shouted as she reached the group. 'Dis nuh bashment! Time fi wuk, so leff di Rasta alone. Galang teh yuh own yards and come back tonite afta dinner if yuh waan.'
The crowd uttered a collective sigh, but the promise of a bashment that evening soothed their curiousity. It had been quite some time since Miss Maggy had a party in her yard, so they reluctantly moved back down to the road, chatting among themselves, anticipating the night's events.
Ocra and Henny were the last to leave, chasing away an embarassed Blaze and her friends with a sly comment about school work needing to be done.
'Mi si oonu at di bashment tonite, eeh?' Ocra asked, directing her question to Zee.
'I & I stay in dis yard Empress, soh yuh will si wi soon.' Zee pronounced, then turning to Henny he asked, 'And yuh Miss Jones? Yuh ago come fi di bashment?'
Henny couldn't believe her luck. Here was Ocra fawning all over this Rasta and he was asking HER to come back. 'If mi fadda seh mi can have di night off fram wuk di shop, mi be glad fi come.'
Zee smiled and nodded at her reply. 'I & I look forward fi si yuh again....' and so as not to appear too anxious, he turned to Ocra and added, '.... and yuh as well, Empress.' before leaving them both and returning to his work.
Seeing how Ocra's eyes followed Zee, Matt cleared his throat and proclaimed loudly, 'Mi gwine wait fi yuh come, Mizz Ocra. Mi a chef too, maybe wi can have a chat bout dis cooking ting.'
Ocra had no intention of getting caught up in a chat with the rather dull Rasta Matt tonight, but she flashed him a smile and said she would be delighted to talk about seasonings and sauces with him later. Finding nothing else to say, she grabbed Henny by the hand, waved her goodbyes and headed over to Brighton's shop.
Henny wasn't even aware they had left Miss Maggy's yard. She was day-dreaming about the handsome Zee and their next meeting tonight. 'Mi gwine haffi find sintin nice fi wear.' she thought, mentally going through her closet of clothes and deciding nothing there would be appropriate. Maybe Ocra would borrow her something.....
If Henny thought Ocra was going to help her impress Zee, she would be alarmed at the thoughts going through her head at that moment. For Ocra was also day-dreaming.... about a large hole opening up, right then and there, in front of them and Henny tumbling head first into it.......
Lacy
