child. She could not tell her father. He might make such a scene with Reverend Turnbull that it might mushroom into a raging scandal or push him to inflict bodily harm on the pastor. She thought, There is only one thing I can do. I will tell daddy I have changed my mind and would marry the forty-year-old Reverend Turnbull of the Church of Salvation of the New Testament.
*****
“He that knoweth his master’s will and doeth it not shall be beaten with many stripes!” Law And Order thundered in his usual refrain to the several hundreds of curious villagers who periodically were visited by this one-man road show of prophecy and folklore bundled together in a comical setting with props and all. Occasional laughter, whistles, and shouts would emit from the adoring throng as the old man would reach for one his mannequins and begin, as the villagers would say, “inflicting a serious licking.” Sometimes he would place one on his makeshift gallows to give effect to the final consequence of his admonition.
The first day of March was no different from the umpteenth time. Law and Order had set up shop by the Sparendaam railway line. He was his usual half-comic, half-preacher self. He had a scruffy beard and unkempt hair, with large piercing eyes that some villagers attributed to a not-so-sound mind. Others would say Law And Order just fine, a sound message delivered in jest.
*****
The smell of freshly brewed ginger beer adulterated the air, giving a strange, exhilarating feeling that excited him. Perhaps his neighbor Mrs. Bancroft was getting her brew of this popular drink ready for the harvest sale that her church had planned the week after tomorrow.
Never too early to make ginger beer: older, the better, he thought. A slight drizzle hurried him on as he entered the short mud path between his twin beds of tomato plants that led to his two-room apartment, just in time as the proverbial heavens opened up. He quickly opened the door.
“Boy, what a rain. Thank God, I made it.”
He entered the apartment darkened by the absence of sunlight and blackening clouds and reached for the light switch; of course, it was blackout time. Opening the closed window on the far side of the room was not an option; it was really coming down now. He stood still for a minute to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark. He took his damp clothes off and hurriedly donned his pajamas, jumped on the small bed, and soon was captive to the monotony of raindrops on an exposed galvanized roof. He stared into the darkness and recalled the first time he set eyes on this peaceful town.
*****
He sat on a bench that adjoined the East Coast Taxi Park. The midday sun of this sleepy capital of Guyana was out in all its glory. Jason’s shirt was wet with perspiration, and he fidgeted on his seat to avoid the scorching feeling under him. He dozed for a while.
“Hey! Hey!” The voice sounded far away. Jason opened his eyes.
“I’m just taking a break before catching a taxi,” Jason responded.
“Where you going? My taxi on the Plaisance-Sparendaam run,” the bearded middle-aged East Indian gentleman spoke loudly as a taxi with its horn blasting drove past.
“Yes, I’m going there,” Jason replied, thinking it best to be going somewhere. He had never been to Plaisance or Sparendaam before. Great idea! This might help provide some distance from Auntie Cleo if perchance she was pursuing him.
On arriving at the Taxi Park in Sparendaam, Jason exited the vehicle, thanked the driver, and slowly walked down Victoria Road—the main thoroughfare that divided the two sister towns. He passed Ali’s General Store, Chin’s Grocery, and a newly painted Church of God building before turning onto DeAbreu Street. He saw a cardboard sign nailed on the light post. Vacancy—Small Furnished Apartment. See Yellow House. Jason thought, Why not? This would be perfect. I have enough money to start off, then I can get a job and take care of things. I might be seventeen going on eighteen, but everybody does say I look old for my age.
Jason’s reminiscence was broken by the sound of heavy tapping on the door. It was very dark now. The rain had stopped. There was no puttering sound on the rooftop, only the constant drone of mosquitoes that occupied the night and every night in the town of Sparendaam.
He opened the door, and she entered. She strode across the darkened room with a quiet ease that indicated she knew the neighborhood. She settled in an old rocking chair that creaked on the wooden floor, and all the while, she did not speak. Jason lit his small kerosene lamp and placed it on the wall. The arriving light exposed a slightly built middle-aged woman with high cheekbones that maybe said there was some Amerindian blood somewhere in her lineage. She was, as the locals would attest, a sapodilla brown and a fine one at that. She still retained her youthful shape and beauty with a kind face that broke into a smile as Jason stirred.
“I am fine. I know you always worry about me coming here. No one saw me. You know I am always careful.”
“If you say so. I feel you’re taking a lot of chances.”
He held her hand and led her to the other room. They quickly undressed. He then laid her down on his bed and immediately began to kiss her, gently at first, almost boyishly, stroking her short black hair that was combed together and tied with a bow. She responded, hurriedly opening herself to his every move and gesture. With sweet caresses, gentle sobs, and barely audible moans, they journeyed as a rushing river moving inalterably over the mighty falls. They tumbled into the gorge, sometimes rising, sometimes sinking in the rise and fall of this enveloping flood and finally to rest on the peaceful bank of a raging river. The mosquitos circled and dived onto two naked bodies, easy pickings. He pulled a torn white sheet and covered their bodies to stave off the attacking horde, and for a while, it was all quiet.
Despite the sexual gratification and an ego satisfied, Jason had been thinking for some time now about breaking off his relationship with sister Joan. He was only twenty, and she was twice his age, and apart from the inappropriateness of it, he felt he had nothing more to get out of it. The relationship had run for a good six months. He was just waiting for an opportune moment to break the news to her.
He thought of the first time he had met her.
*****
While on a Sunday-morning stroll down Four Foot Road, he heard singing emanating from the Church of Salvation of the New Testament. Jason liked singing. He recalled his days with Auntie Cleo at her church in Georgetown. He hummed to himself as the congregation, with lifted voices, sang:
Come home, come home
Ye who are weary, come home
Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling
Calling O sinner, come home
The church soon emptied. The pastor’s wife came out to the street to have parting words with the congregants. She saw Jason standing at the side of the road.
“Young man, can I invite you to come to our service? I am Mrs. Joan Turnbull, the pastor’s wife. Call me sister Joan though.” She flashed a welcoming smile.
Jason was surprised at her assertiveness. He cleared his throat.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте
