Paul H. Williams, Contributor
In the village of Sweet Divine, Easter Sunday morning 1970 should not have been different from any other Sunday morning, but it was. Claris Wagerhood's church service was on in earnest, as usual, under the ackee tree, and she was the only one in attendance, as usual. Her neighbours, who had yet to get used to her noise - her loud singing and praying - ignored her, as usual, except Imogene. Her cup had run over.
She was tired of starring in Claris' prayers. And on that holy day, what Claris was telling the Lord about her was too much to bear. For when Claris looked over the fence and saw five big yellow-heart breadfruits roasting over a logwood fire in Imogene's yard, something in her own heart also ignited, and the diminutive virago sent up a special prayer to the Lord.
From a living room window Imogene watched and listened. Claris' harangue was going on for more than one hour now. In supplication, she asked the Lord to protect her from the vipers who surrounded her. Imogene herself wondered why the Lord caused Claris to be in their midst, and why he was taking so long to remove her. She went around the back of her house to give her children their chores, only to return to the living room window to see Claris at the fence staring at her breadfruits. And something inside Imogene's head caught fire. She left the window, and went to get some old newspapers.
gluttony
By then, Claris had returned to the ackee tree. She turned her back to Imogene's yard, lifted her head to the heavens and continued her supplication, saying, "As you look down from you sanctuary heavenly Father, remember me and those who envy, malice and hate me by day and by night. Those who in their gluttony forget to stretch their hands to their neighbours. For they sit around their tables well spread, and forget their blessings. Could they not choke on their greed? Could they not wallow in their own vomit for forgetting about the needy? Lord, Lord, my good shepherd, hear my cry, and deliver me from the heathen. Let me suffer not, for every day I give thee thanks, and they, the workers of iniquity flourish and praise thee not. Oh Lord, see, not one, not two, not three, not four, but ..."
"FIVE!!" Shouted Imogene, as she hurled one of the hot breadfruits at Claris Wagerhood. It hit her "boof!" at the centre of her back just below the neck.
"Fi ...! Eye! Eye! Eye!" Claris cried out as she fell to the ground.
There, when she looked up and saw Imogene at the fence she shouted, "Lord, Lord, Lord, the Philistine is upon me, save me from the infidel!"
Imogene stood akimbo silently, her ample bosom heaving, and her mouth in a long pout. Claris grabbed her Bible which had fallen from her hand. "Beelzebub shall torment you in Hell! O you Jezebel of Jezebels!" she admonished Imogene as she rose from the ground. "Infidel!" she shouted and dashed to the back of her one-bedroom house. From where she stood, Imogene heard a loud slam, as Claris imprisoned herself.
Imogene returned satisfied to her house. Neighbours who had heard Claris' cries of agony gathered to see what had happened, but Imogene had nothing to say.
amazing
Yet, her children wondered about the absence of the fifth breadfruit and why their mother shouted FIVE. From time to time, Imogene looked through the cracks of her curtains to see what was happening over by Claris'. For the rest of the day, nothing.
Monday morning, Imogene was watering her plants when she came upon a pile of roast breadfruit peels at the very spot where she stood as she flung the breadfruit at Claris. She was about to storm off to find out which one of her 10 children had put them there, when she saw a white piece of paper among them. She put down her watering pot, and removed the paper from the peels. She held it up in the bright Monday morning sun, and in amazement turned her head towards Claris' house. For the paper were scrawled the words, "Thank you Lord".
