Clarence Chance - Contributed

A Caucaian man was standing at the lecturn - a slim, lively man, with a trumpety voice and a natural application of pink rouge on his cheeks and on his chin. In a preacher's tone he was carrying on about electromagnetic waves.

'What these waves do is to interfere with the earth's natural magnetic field and diminish it. You should have seen for yourself how the Atlantic Ocean was driven to madness in 2005. Imagine: 26 named storms. And do you remember what happened in the Indian Ocean? As he spoke, he caused his eyes and his hands and his body to speak, too.

'The tsunami - we need not mention the unprecedented destruction. We need not speak of the untold suffering, electromagnetic waves, friends, electromagnetic waves! These waves, I tell you, can make the brain sick - mad, I tell you!'At times he raised his voice; at other times he lowered it in a manner calculated to enrapture and captivate. 'Imagine: in your own country, a mere 11,000 square kilometers, and so many towers rising into the air! Towers of Babel, to confuse, mad and sicken the body and the mind.'

'And the soul, too!' A voice came from beside the first speaker. 'Yes, they sicken the soul too, for devils and demons have been given licence to prey upon the un-praying.'

'Please, father,' the slim, lively man said. 'We want to restrict the discussion strictly to the scientific.'

'But you can't!' the priest shouted. 'Demons are given licence to traverse earth on the backs of those waves!'

The priest sat down and the man continued. 'These waves have the effect of causing certain cells to grow and others to die, thereby creating a disequilibrium in the body and in the brain. Your own country has become the wickedest place on planet Earth.'

At this point a tall, bearded man stood up and the lively slim man called to him: 'Yes?'

'Yu saying electromagnetic waves are responsible for crime in the country?'

The tall slim man went now to his low voice. 'Well, yes! You see, my friend, you need to understand the potency, the subtle and, yes, awesome destructive powers of those waves. You see, I know these things very well, sir.'

'Foolishness!' the bearded man shouted. 'Damn foolishness!' And he turned and made his way towards the exit.

The voice of the man at the lecturn trumpeted through the room, 'I didn't expect anything else from an unbeliever. You will believe one day, sir, when it is too late. One Christmas morning when you wake to find howling winds rummaging through your roof - a hurricane in December - an earthquake and a hurricane, striking simultaneously. You will believe me one day, my unbelieving friend, I promise you that!'

Sylvester came out on to Knutsford Boulevard. He was still angry. 'Damn foolishness,' he was saying in his mind. He had all along said that the violence had its genesis primarily in the politics of the land. Long ago, before the violence became so bad, before his brain started getting mixed up, he had written an essay entitled, 'The maelstrom of unrelenting violence: causes and effects'. And now to hear that man carrying on about electromagnetic waves made him sick. But there were things Sylvester James could not explain.

His mind walked back now to the day Christine had left him. Three months later they were saying it all around the community; he even heard his mother one day on the phone lamenting to someone: 'Sylvester mek woman mad him.'

Sylvester's mind reached back to the afternoon he saw Christine in Half-Way Tree. He was sitting under the bus stop, dirty and ragged, and when he saw her walked by he ran after her, calling her name. Christine pretended not to know him. He went and sat again under the bus stop, and the schoolchildren passed by and said, 'The madman a' bawl. Is who trouble the madman?'

Why had Christine left him like that? Why had she shamed him publicly in Half-Way Tree when she had promised to love him forever? Why did she not love him anymore?

At the time when his head was mixed up he had thought that there could have been some forces at work. Forces designed to destroy him and others. He had given up on that idea. But what if it were true? What if the white man were right? What if, he did not want to think it, but what if electromagnetic waves had affected her, caused her to lose reason? What if those very waves had played games with his mind?

He timidly pushed the door and went back into the room. He was going back in, not because he believed the man, but to listen some more.

Sylvester sat one chair away from a young woman. He started to steal a few looks at her and saw that she was doing the same. The young girl had gone to a man in St. Mary to try to stop the voices in her head and the man had said to her, 'Your problem, young lady, is not one of séance but one of science.' And the man had arranged for her to be here tonight. Sylvester James had come at the urging of his psychiatrist. Now the two sat there stealing looks at each other as the slim, lively man spoke at the lecturn.

'Man's basic needs are not food, clothing and shelter. No, my friends. Man's basic need is purpose. Purpose is what a man needs above all else, to remain sane and alive.'

The two men had a private audience with Sylvester and a few other persons, and when it was over he came down to the young woman, who was still sitting in her seat. He sat there looking at her for no less than five minutes. Then he asked her: 'Yu love mi?'

The young woman remained unmoved. It appeared to Sylvester that this was another rejection. He pushed open the door of the room, and he was half-way down Knutsford Boulevard when he saw her: a beautiful, petite, dark girl.

Sylvester-James had found purpose tonight. He had found out that electromagnetic waves were destroying the planet, and he was going to do his bit to stop them. Behind him, a beautiful female followed; she fell in with his purpose, too.

When Sylvester and Susan reached central Kingston it was almost 8:00 p.m.. His youngest sister had gone to the shop and had seen them as they made their way towards the yard. She had run to tell her mother that Sylvester was coming home with a woman.

Miss Cindy met them at the gate. 'Sylvester, is where you going with woman?'

'Mi is almost 35,' Sylvester said.

When a man says that he is almost 35 it means certain things. It means that, to his mind, he should already posses his place under the sun. It means that he should have had his 15 minutes of fame already. He should have his son by then; and, of course, it means that when he goes out and gets himself a woman nobody should ask where he is going with her. He pushed past his mother and went around to the one room she had built for him. She had built it, she said, for the times 'when him head go'. When Sylvester was all right he could sleep in his own room in the main house, but at times, even when he was all right, he chose to sleep in the room at the back of the yard.

He had settled in with Susan when his mother knocked at the door.

She had brought soup. She did not carry two bowls, because that could be read as giving license to the affair; instead she brought a very large bowl of soup for Sylvester and Susan.

Miss Cindy stood at the door with her eldest daughter and some cousins. They wanted to see Sylvester's woman. But Sylvester opened the door just wide enough for the bowl of soup, and then he locked it with the key. Twelve years had been wasted.

Now Sylvester came and massaged Susan's neck. Then he rubbed her upper arms gently. Then he bent before her and planted his hands firmly on her thighs and said, 'Baby, mi is almost thirty-five.' And for a second Sylvester looked into her eyes and was convinced that she was ready. But she suddenly threw his hands off her and said, 'Patience, man. Is what, yu can't have patience?'

Sylvester knew that all that meant was that his son would be born a bit later. That night he curled up in his bed, a happy man.

For the next three months Sylvester carried out his purpose well. His purpose was to interfere with the dangerous electromagnetic waves. To do that he had to climb towers. The white men had arranged for instructions to be given to him on how to effect his purpose. They had arranged, too, for a driver to carry him all over the island.

One night he went to climb a tower on a hill in St Mary. The driver had remained further down the hill while Sylvester and Susan climbed up the hill. As Susan walked ahead, Sylvester saw the sway of her hips in the moonlight and he was sure it had to be tonight. He held her hand and squeezed it gently, looked deep into her eyes and said, 'Babes, mi is almost thirty-five.'

The driver down below heard the sounds and came up to investigate. 'Is what that unno doing?' He shouted. 'Unno didn't come here for that!'

Sylvester turned his head and said: 'Mi planting mi seed, man.'

The driver grabbed Sylvester's shirt and tried to pull him up. Sylvester rose with a lion's fury and slapped him once, twice, three times in the face, saying, 'A man should be allowed to plant him seed in peace!'

The driver scampered like a crab down the hill. He thought that he was going to call his employers to tell them he was not going to work with that madman anymore; but, a little later, he heard an insane shriek coming from up the hill and he knew that the seed had been planted. And to tell the truth, the driver thought, a man should have the right to plant his seed in peace.

Suddenly the driver saw flashing blue lights racing towards the cell site. He rushed into the car and drove away.

Sylvester and Susan were taken into custody. When they arrived at the police station the news was on. Sylvester could see the man who had spoken at the podium that night speaking on television. The news said that he was the president of KKK Communications International. Beside him, Sylvester saw the man who had worn the priest's uniform. He, the news said, would head up the Jamaican operations. The news said that in light of the frequent disruptions in wireless telephone services government had considered it prudent to give another license to this provider.

When the camera turned to the persons who were at the dinner, Sylvester saw his psychiatrist beaming as if he had won the lottery.

Sylvester turned to the sergeant and said, 'Sarge, there is no way yu can send mi to prison.'

'A' wonder why not,' the sergeant said.

'Because, sarge, already mi is almost thirty five.'

-Clarence Chance