Free Island Songs by Alex Wheatle Page B

huddled in groups of sixes and sevens, commenting on their neighbours’ dress sense, cleanliness of shoes and other matters they felt important to remark upon, they set off home, carrying their empty bankras and cuttacoos, the donkeys plodding along the path more happily and freely.
    When they all reached home, the women set about cooking the goats, spicing and jerking the pork, making fish fritters and fried dumplings, roasting varieties of fish, preparing the vegetables and fruits for the forthcoming feasts. The men drifted off to the liquor bars that dominated the market square where they bought the finest Appleton rum and the local homemade port while lipping bottles of Red Stripe beer; Mr Patterson was winning healthy tradeselling yards of tobacco, hemp and a herb that he called ‘lambs bread’. The young children, legs weary from the long walk and tired from rising early, took an afternoon siesta.
    Expressing exhaustion, Kwarhterleg was slumped on a stool outside an open bar next door to the post office, nursing a beer. He was flanked by Joseph and David. Across the road, a young woman was admiring the new crimpolene frock she had just purchased from Mrs Walters, the local seamstress. She held it tight against her chest before carefully placing it inside her bag. She then set off quickly for home, excited as Cinderella preparing for the ball. The bartender, who had been eyeing the woman, was arranging bottles on a warped shelf; the constant clink clink irritated Kwarhterleg. “Mon, wha’ ah serious tribulation!” Kwarhterleg gasped. “Believe me, dat might be de las’ time me hobble down to Preacher Mon church.”
    “Well me did ah tell yuh dat yuh should nuh boder,” rebuked Joseph. “An’ David tell yuh de same t’ing. Kwarhterleg, yuh stubborn like mad mule. Even Preacher mon affe understan’ dat yuh cyan’t mek long walk nuh more. Him don’t know dat Alligator ah nyam off ya leg?”
    “Of course Preacher Mon know! Me never miss ah church harvest fe fifty years,” Kwarhterleg stated proudly. “As long as me ably me will tek de walk.”
    “Den why yuh ah complain! David, try an’ talk some sense into dis mad fool. Nex’ year me don’t waan carry dis old peg-leg down ah hillside ’pon me shoulder.”
    David, looking at the southern hills pre-occupied about something, hadn’t been paying attention to what was being said.
    “David!” Joseph called, his tone deeper, louder. “Wha’ de matter wid yuh bwai? Yuh lost ya tongue today? Yuh been too quiet fe me liking an’ yuh look like yuh inna daydream.”
    The bottle of drink in David’s right hand was still full. He brought the lip of the bottle to his mouth but only to moisten his cracked lips, using his tongue to spread the beer. Joseph looked at him curiously. David gently placed his drink down on the wooden table, pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead and took asharp intake of breath. “Papa,” he said, his tone full of regret, “me affe leave dis place.”
    Swapping fretful glances with Kwarhterleg, Joseph’s shock denied him any quick response.
    “Papa, it’s ah long time me been feeling dis need. Yuh provide me wid ah good life. Me never hungry. Me go ah school, learn many t’ings. But me waan see de outside world, Papa. It’s like ah calling. Me affe go an’ rely ’pon me own hand. Stan’ up ’pon me own foot.”
    Joseph fished in his trouser pockets for his pipe. He soon stuffed it with tobacco and gave a leaf to Kwarhterleg for his own use. He took three tokes before saying another word. “David, yuh cyan’t jus’ leave widout nuh plan. When yuh plan to leave anyway?”
    Kwarhterleg wondered why Joseph was taking this startling news so casually.
    “Papa, me leaving tomorrow,” David announced. “Me plan to go to Kingston but before me go der me heading to ah place near Linstead. Dem ’ave ah aluminium bauxite place der so me could get ah liccle work. Dat’s wha’ me waan do, Papa. Travel, see place, work