Di Taxi Ride and Other Stories Page 4

  I found myself backing towards the gate. The mother woman stood there, her piercing black eyes boring into my brain; it was as if she was looking into my thoughts.

  “Come,” she said, her thin lips twisted in a caricature of a smile.

  “I saw you coming from last week in a dream, your problems are very big ones.” She turned and entered the house, confident that I would follow.

  With a strong sense of misgiving, I followed her up the blood sprinkled steps into the dark, musty-smelling interior.

  She took a match and lit some red candles to illuminate the room, I almost ran out of the house in fright. This seemed like one of those macabre horror movies.

  On the walls of the wooden unpainted interior there were shelves with jars, containing insects and other weird things. There was what seemed to be a miniature baby in a jar but I did not want to look too closely.

  It was gaudily decorated with Rastafarian motifs. A king-sized Bible sat on a stool opened, an assortment of beads and crosses were draped in its middle; a curtain separated the room that we were in from the back of the house.

  Mother Mavis lit some incense and the smoke spiraled in lazy circles to the ceiling; she walked in the cramped space of the room and stopped in each corner, mumbling incomprehensible words. The pungent smell of the smoke made me dizzy and light headed and I looked longingly at the door.

  “Sit,” said Mother Mavis, gesturing to the chairs, as if she read my mind.

  I sat down and waited apprehensively for her to join me.

  “What brings you here?” She asked as she sat in the chair opposite mine.

  “My… my… boyfriend,” I stammered, as I watched the beads of perspiration on her upper lip.

  “Man problem,” she grinned and her gold teeth gleamed brightly in her mouth.

  “What yuh want fi du, tie ‘im or kill ‘im?”

  “Tie him,” I hesitantly said.

  “Hick!” She shouted and pounded the table with her blood caked hands, her rancid smelling breath fanning my face.

  “Di time is right,” her voice fell to a whisper. “Yer problem is a everyday problem. What yuh man name?”

  “Sam,” I whispered.

  I looked down in my lap, afraid to keep eye contact.

  She took down a vial from the shelf behind her and passed it over the flickering candle three times.

  “Man want fi lef gal but gal want man,” she chanted. Her voice sounded hoarse and ominous. The shadows from the shelves and her moving hand, created weird shapes on the wall, giving me goose bumps all over my skin. “Man want fi lef gal but gal want man,”

  “Man want fi lef gal but gal want man!!”

  She placed the vial on the table and spat in her left hand and wiped the spittle over her palm.

  “Aiyee, Aiyee!!!” She shouted in alarm. I held onto the rickety table in fright.

  “What is it?” I asked alarmed.

  “Yer Sam,” she said, her voice gravelly, “is a homosexual. Him naw cheat pon yuh wid woman, ‘im cheat wid man.”

  “What?!” I exclaimed weakly, feeling as if I could not take anymore, “but he was cheating with Danielle.”

  “It was just fi show,” the old lady said wisely, “Him gone to man.”

  “But I saw them going into a bridal shop together and choosing rings.” I wailed, my eyes pleaded with the old woman to tell me that what she was saying was not so.

  “Do you love Sam?” She asked, her eyes watery and encased in deep shadows from the candlelight.

  “Of course, we have been together since college. He can’t be gay.” I felt on the verge of tears and I blinked my eyes rapidly.

  “Okay, tell you what,” said Mother Mavis reaching behind for another vial. “This potion will mek him straight, but ongle for three months. Yuh haffi come back again and again till him get straighter and straighter.”

  “But...but…I live in Kingston, I can’t come back so often,” I protested.

  She hissed her teeth and moved to put the vial back on the shelf.

  “Okay, okay.” After all I was doing Sam a favor and I would benefit from his heterosexuality in the end.

  Mother Mavis passed the bottle over the fire and chanted once more. Then she placed the vial on the table beside the other one. She spat in her hand again and screamed

  “Aiyee! Aiyee!”

  “What is it this time?” I could feel a dull ache pounding at the back of my head.

  “Yer Sam,” she sighed and shook her head.

  “Tell me!” I almost yelled at the old woman.

  “Him impotent,” she said her lips pursed.

  “But…but I had a miscarriage two years ago!”

  “Aha! That’s because all Sam sperm dem dead. No baby coulda neva meck wid di two of unnu.”

  She reached behind her for another vial; this one she held up to the candle and peered into its contents.

  “If yuh give Sam dis, unnu will have plenty, plenty pickney.”

  I nodded dumbly. I was now numb and disheartened; I had no idea that Sam had so many problems.

  Mother Mavis grabbed something from under the table; I recognized it as a crystal ball. It was just a huge silver ball, with glitters in its transparent center. However, she was peering in it with intense concentration.

  “I see a office building,” she intoned softly, “Is there suh yuh wuk?”

  “Yes,” I said softly, feeling the intensity of the moment.

  “Yuh deh round a desk wid nuff papers.”

  “Oh yes, I am a financial controller.”

  I swore I heard Mother Mavis mumble, ‘thank God you are not a lawyer,’ but I was not sure.

  “That’s it for today,” said Mother Mavis as she slowly took her eyes off the ball.

  “But I haven’t heard anything about me and Sam.”

  “All in due time my child, all in due time.” She held up the vials and started dropping them into a paper bag.

  “Give him the straightener before ‘im go to bed in ‘im tea, okay.”

  I nodded mutely.

  “Memba seh is every three months yuh must come fi dis one,” she then held up the other vial, “dis one is oil a tie him. Rub him up wid it every day. Dis one is the baby maker, put it inna him food.”

  She then leaned back in her chair and paused for a second, “that will cost you $30,000.”

  I gasped; my mouth must have been hanging open because she cackled.

  “Dem don’t cheap. That’s why is pure high-class people mi accep’ as client. Mi accep’ visa and master card but mi woulda much prefer cash.”

  I stared at her stupefied.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, “give mi half and half. Half cash and pay fi di rest wid credit card.”

  I took the vials and gave Mother Mavis $15,000 cash and paid the rest by credit card. I left the dark room of the house with Mother Mavis shouting, “Hick to all sinners and whoremongers,” in my ears.

  On my way back to Kingston, I re-enacted the events of the day and doubts began to flit across my mind about Mother Mavis. I wondered how authentic could this woman be. By the time I reached Kingston, I was convinced that I was well and truly conned.

  To make matters worse, I found out that Sam was shopping with Danielle for an engagement ring for me; her fingers were similar in size to mine. He wanted me to have a perfectly sized ring.

  When I got home and took a closer look at the contents of the vials, my doubts began to resurface. It had a red hue and tasted like cherry syrup.

  I paid $30,000 for two vials of cherry syrup and one vial of ketchup. I can’t tell Sam of my exploits, he would laugh me to scorn. I have definitely learnt a thing or two about trust and communication in a relationship.

  Since that incident, we got married and we now have two healthy children, without the aid of Mother Mavis’ concoctions.

  As for Mother Mavis, I went back to the broken down house but she was nowhere to be found, the place looked abandoned; she must have hidden when she saw me coming.r />
  Moses and the Whale

  Fred sat under the mango tree in his back yard. The day was sweltering and under the mango tree was cool. He took off his shirt for comfort and rested his head on a tree root and stared up at the limbs while he contemplated what he was going to do with his life.

  He was twenty-five years old and still lived with his parents in the rural district called Flower Hill in Hanover. He wanted to marry his girlfriend Susan, but he had no money, no job and no skill. His last job was as an apprentice mechanic. He was so verbally abused in that job that he vowed never to go back.

  He sighed in frustration as he thought of Susan; she was the best woman that he had ever known. She was caring and beautiful; best of all, she loved him. He scratched his head as he thought of how Carl, the shopkeeper, had his eye on her.

  She was bound to fall for Carl.

  He looked up at the blue Caribbean sky and could feel his inadequacies like molten lead deep in his belly.

  What should he do? Go back to school?

  He scratched that idea quickly, as he thought of the lack of funds. His family were farmers, living exclusively off the land and the government’s recent trade agreement left few barriers to entry for foreign goods. Hence, his family was a teeny-bit above the poverty level.

  “He is under the mango tree,” Fred heard his mother say, to someone at the gate.

  He did not feel like talking, he just wanted to sit under his leafy prison and watch the day go by in self-pity.

  “Fred, Fred!” he heard George call from the side of the house. “Freddd,” he drew out the end of Fred’s name.

  Fred roused himself long enough to answer, “yesss, I thought Mama told you that I was under the mango tree.”

  “Oh yes,” Carl said grinning, “you are lazing away this beautiful God given day under a tree?”

  His tall frame was encased in Red and yellow. Red shirt, yellow pants and matching shoes.

  Fred closed his eyes and held up his hands to shield his face. “You are blindingly bright. Is there a carnival going on, that I don’t know about?”

  “Naw man,” George said, sitting gingerly on a root. “I am going to Westmoreland to stay with my aunt and start up a new business.”

  Fred widened his eyes and looked at his friend, “which business? You don’t have a skill.”

  “Of course man,” George laughed, “I am an entrepreneur at heart, my secondary school business teacher said so.”

  “So, is which business yuh going to start up?” Fred asked lazily.

  “Not me alone,” George said, as he picked his teeth.

  “Who and yuh?”

  “Mi and yuh,” George said, as he looked on Fred’s incredulous expression.

  “We are going to open a church.”

  “Church?!” Fred exclaimed, sitting up straighter.

  “Yes, the plan is simple, you are going to be the parson, and me the first elder.”

  “What! I have not gone to church since I was nine. How on earth could I be a pastor?” Fred laughed until tears ran down his face.

  George sat seriously, waiting for him to calm down.

  “The plan is this,” he said, frowning at Fred. “My aunty has a basic school, a biggish size one, but government lock it down.”

  “Why?” asked Fred, as he wiped his eyes.

  “Doesn’t matter,” George got up and started to pace. “We already have chairs and a building. All we really need to do is knock down the partitions and put up a pulpit, and abracadabra, we have church.”

  “But what about the parson?” Fred said sobering up.

  “You are the parson,” George said, looking Fred over. “You are absolutely perfect.”

  “How?” Fred asked swallowing, his eyes wide.60

  “Well…” George said, rubbing his chin, “yuh have English in CXC, right?”

  “But that’s all I have. I did not pass the other seven subjects.”

  “Oh that does not matter,” George said, “yuh can still speak English and gwaan pastorly.”

  “How yuh gwaan pastorly?” Fred asked wide-eyed.

  “Act confident man; act like yuh know tings. Oh, and yuh have to write sermon fi preach. And when yuh preach, shout like yuh have hot food inna yuh mout.”

  “That’s all?” Fred asked, warming up to the idea, “where mi mus get sermon from?”

  “The Bible!” George shouted exasperated, “yuh have to quote scripture, like ‘Jesus love me this I know’ and ‘Rock of Ages Cleft For Me’ and find out where the text come from.”

  Fred sighed.

  “Well dat soun good, but where di members dem a come from?”

  “Oh that’s easy,” said George “dem have nuff people in di district and only one church, the people dem who vex wid each other can come to our church.”

  “Oh, I don’t know…”

  “Stop the foolishness, yuh want fi married to Susan?”

  Fred nodded.

  “Then what more respectable a job than pastoring. You will handle di preaching and wi split di money inna three, me, yuh, and Aunt May.”

  “Okay,” Fred said, “but mi nuh have no jacket and pants."

  “All taken care of,” George said smiling; “mi aunty husband dead lef all him suits dem. He was a churchman yuh know. What can’t fit yuh, wi alternate.”

  “Yuh mean altercate.” Fred said standing.

  “Yes Pastor Frederick Brown.” George said saluting smartly, “get ready fast, is now mi a guh to Aunt May.”

  “But… but…”

  “But nothing!” George yelled. “Our business should be in operation by this Sunday.”

  A FEW DAYS LATER, Fred and George were seated at Aunt May’s kitchen table. Everything was in place and they were contemplating the name of the church.

  “Let’s name it Born Again,” said Aunt May, “after all, it is born again; it was a school now it’s a church.”

  “No, no,” said George. “I want my business to have a catchy sounding name; what about Christian enterprises?”

  Fred started to laugh, “yuh can’t name a church Christian Enterprises, it have to have a name that reflects something Christian, like Trinity.”

  “Oh,” said George, snapping his fingers. “Trinity enterprises, since is three of us in the business.”

  Aunt May and Fred sighed.

  “Okay, Okay, what about Trinity Born Again Church,” Fred said.

  Everybody nodded at this.

  “We have to have some rules,” said Aunt May.

  “Like what?” Asked Fred puzzled.

  “Like no rum, no short skirt, no pants wearing and dem tings deh.”

  “Oh, Okay,” George said, “if di other church have two rule we must have three.”

  “Yes, Yes” Fred and Aunt May said in unison.

  “Mi invite some of mi friend dem, and dem a carry dem family,” said Aunt May. “I am going to ask Trevor to write up di sign, TRINITY BORN AGAIN CHURCH.”

  “How much money yuh tink wi can meck?” Asked George.

  “Bout ten thousand dollars,” said Aunt May, “but it depends pon di preacher.”

  They both turned and looked at Fred.

  “Is only one day wi having service?” asked Fred.

  “No, wi can have it on Wednesday and Thursday night too,” said Aunt May “and wi can ask dem to bring an offering on those nights too.”

  The starting time agreed upon was 10:00 am. Fred the pastor, George the deacon and first elder, and Aunt May the organist were at church punctually.

  The church was a log building that sat on a large plot of land with two outside bathrooms.

  The people started to pour in at 10:15 a.m. They were all in their Sunday best. Aunt May was playing ‘We are marching to Zion’ softly, on her old organ.

  It seemed as if the whole district was there to hear the new pastor.

  In the meanwhile, Pastor Fred Brown was standing in the makeshift vestry; his linen suit one size too big.

  “Mi scared George,
” he whined.

  “The name is Bro. George,” George whispered, “you’re going to be fine, what is the sermon about again?”

  “Moses and the whale,” whispered Fred, trembling.

  George looked puzzled, “but I don’t remember ever hearing about that. Anyway, go up there and do your best Remember to shout and flail your hands, yuh hear. I will concentrate on getting di offering.”

  “Yes,” Fred whispered.

  The congregation was singing lustily to the organ, one man had his mouth organ. They were getting ready for a good day in Zion.

  Suddenly, Aunt May stopped playing and ran toward the vestry

  “Mi figat fi tell yuh Fred, if yuh pretend like yuh know dem business, dem we tink seh is a revelation from God…” she proceeded to tell Fred the history of the people in the congregation.

  “Thanks Aunt May,” Fred said, as he stepped onto the podium.

  George took the people through prayer and scripture reading and the congregation stood and sang the opening song. He then stepped forward to the pulpit. “Today, ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, we have in our midst a powerful preacher. A man who got the calling this week to come to this spot. He rejected all he was doing and he came. He is none other than Pastor Brown.”

  The congregation shouted ‘amen’.

  Then Fred stood nervously at the pulpit. “Brothers and Sisters, I have a dream.” His voice trembled with faked passion and he squeezed his eyes.

  Aunt May played a scale on the organ and everyone shouted Amen.

  The pastor is good, they whispered among themselves.

  “Amazing Grace Cleft for Me,” Fred shouted, “once I was lost, but now I am found, was blind but now I see.”

  Aunt May played a scale on the organ; and everyone shouted Amen.

  “He is better than Pastor Grey,” Miss Angie whispered to her seatmate Miss Cassandra.

  “True, True,” Miss Cassandra nodded.

  “Today’s sermon is, Moses and the Whale.”

  The congregation nodded.

  “Moses and the children of Israel were in a jam.” Fred abandoned his papers and started pacing the podium." They were to cross the red sea after they escaped the Canaanites.”

  He suddenly stopped pacing, “yuh know why they were escaping the Canaanites?”