Lewis As I manoeuvred my way through traffic, past a well-known hotel, I recalled the long, long, long wait endured by flustered females at the last wellness fair in order to qualify for a free yogurt facial. The service provider, on the contrary, had been extremely professional. She stood her ground among the teeming throng of 'conscious' women who had put their names on a long, long list from the previous, opening day of the exposition. She stood for hours without complaining, no frown, no quarrelling about her break, or lack of a break. She did not remind everyone that slavery was so long abolished that we were celebrating its anniversary. She was trained in Cuba.
My intention was to stop and compliment her at her regular workplace. While she worked on my face, she had mentioned the care that must and should be taken of the kidneys, and by extension the colon - or was it vice versa? But time did not permit, I lamented, and soon after put on the indicators to attempt my next turn on to a much-used road leading to a prominent school, though without the benefit of a street sign. The first gate I came to was not only closed, but had no helpful sign such as 'Closed until dismissal time' or 'Use other gate', or just a plain arrow. Taking your public for granted happens even in the best of circumstances, I thought. The guard at the second gate let me in, listened to my concern and explained evenly that the gate in question was opened for morning traffic and then remained closed until dismissal time. What was there to concern oneself about?
The school itself was stately and orderly. Two visitors, only, occupied the seats in the lounge. The gentleman visitor told the lady he had been waiting about two hours just to make contact with his grandson from the seventh grade. The lady visitor wanted to congratulate some colleagues from a past liaison on recent honours bestowed, and was happy to succeed, though only after getting up to seek help from the head boy, the receptionist, two girls from the junior school, and, finally, a member of the senior staff. The colleagues were steps away from the receptionist's chair, but due process deserves to be followed and proper procedure must not only adhere to appearance but to reality: the concept of highly defined campus security is not too far off from the normal schools' routines nowadays. In fact, while she was sharing long-awaited greetings, an announcement came that there had been a shooting downtown. The administration was visibly put at odds to find the least abrasive method to interrupt classes, send pupils home b routes, contain disruption, allay fear, and maintain a semblance of dignity.
That announcement also brought into question the wisdom of fulfilling my other obligations for that day. After all, any pocket of disturbance on the roads would have a major impact on general commuting. It would throw children into disarray, pushing them toward even greater risk. Even teachers who thought first of sending pupils home early were forgetting the dangers of them reaching home before their parents or guardians, some without entry keys, some without means of making contact, some watched by the unscrupulous. Cellphones are not allowed in some institutions.
I pushed on to the campus, thinking, with two tasks to complete, that at least my route did not involve me in taking the pathway where shots were being fired like peas. Taking a number and waiting to be called could have been avoided had there been a customer service agent available to find out the reasons for the client's visit. The bank clerk in question had to agree that since I was there only in response to a survey letter requesting TRN and address update, I could have been sent straight to her desk, there being no other customer waiting on her. She was gracious enough to facilitate a call across the campus to confirm my next appointment.
At it, I soon realised that the horror of publishing in the islands had not really diminished in the run-up to the 21st century. My host was both accommodating and well-meaning, walking me through some possibilities with the kind of sensitivity that comes through genuine concern and scholarly awareness.
Had I tried this route or that?
My work, I said, had not been deemed 'commercial' enough to suit the expectations of today's publishers, or of yesteryear's either.
There are options still left to try. How about re-reading with a view to re-assessing the work, the content, the layout, the target?
That was not really on my agenda, but now I thought I might have to face up to it.
"Don't give up. By the way, had you been able to park nearby and walk across since you'd been advised by phone that classes are not now in full session?"
No such luck.
Hiding out from afternoon traffic, I decided on a food court stop to treat myself to a good old roti, having not eaten since leaving home at 10:00 a.m. I knew of two places, but one would be difficult to reach in the four o'clock bells. The one I chose gave me the opportunity of finding out the virtues of the vegetarian kibby. I spent so much time trying to fathom how they managed to wrap deep-fried ripe plantain around assorted vegetables and come out with a well-defined shape that I decided to order that. Add to it a cup of red pea soup from a neighbouring spot and that was enough to fill all gaps.
Still killing time, I dropped in on your friendly art gallery that caters on occasion, and got involved in a discussion on certain themes in Macbeth with the proprietor, her son and his tutor. Brave youngsters, they were comparing and contrasting the main characters from this great drama and The Pearl - in short, traversing two immensely diverse cultures and circumstances only to re-discover that rich and poor, born to the manor or stable, leaders and followers, are all susceptible to destruction by the over-riding ambitions of one's time amd community. All this philosophy with me still seated in my vehicle, and with the toss-up between avoiding traffic and getting home after dark seeming so important! Commendable efforts concluded, I drove off into the melee, which had not accommodated them by subsiding
The boy climbed in beside me. He clutched his new purchases and a bag of bastard Bombay mangoes. I saw the whites of his eyes. We were headed out towards Ferry, towards Lady Nugent's old haunt, which is now an institution of higher learning. I wondered if the little green ones had been made aware of how much history had been cut down at the end of the 20th century, along with Tom Cringle's cotton tree which used to be across the road.
I sat up suddenly from the pillows, alarmed. There was darkness all around me, and there was the unmistakable staccato of shots. But it was only the repeat 'News at Ten', recapping the day's shooting near downtown that left two baby-fathers dead. No children were caught in the crossfire.
'Daylight, like scarlet poinsettia': George Campbell wrote that years ago, with more wholesome reverberations.
Ten o'clock this morning to ten o'clock tonight was a long, long journey. The thought jolted me into realising that the difference between dawn and dusk is awesome. Night is here. Noir, La Noche.
The day Thou gavest, Lord, is ended.
- Cordella Lewis
