The overdose of caffeine was wearing me down physically and I wanted to take a nap but decided instead to sit with Gus and Inga on the verandah with the hopes of learning a little more about Holland and how they managed to have so much time to spend here in Jamaica. I was impressed that Gus could even chat a bit of patwa. I was still having a hard time with it but wanted to learn.
From the time I sat down with them and for a few more hours, it seemed like everyone was stopping by on the road or walking through the yard and pointing my direction. Gus explained that I was now famous. People thought I was some kind of crowned champion in dominoes and that two local guys had beaten me the night before. I thought about it and felt that it was a good thing because it lifted the local men’s talent level in their eyes and gave me many opportunities to engage them in conversation. I basked in the pseudo-notoriety.
I bid my leave and joined my wife for a brief nap in the tent. She had borrowed a couple of travel books from Peter and was reading up on Jamaica and especially the areas where we would be traveling. I was very pleased at how she had embraced this journey. I gave her a big hug and closed my eyes to sleep.
It was just a brief nap, but it was nearing dusk when I awoke. I was getting hungry. I got up and walked by the kitchen door smelling some delicious odors. My wife was cooking something with Inga for supper. It was then I learned that Gus and Inga were vegetarians. The meal was a medley of sautéed vegetables over curry rice which was delicious. I was helping wash the pots and pans when Peter came to the doorway. “How about taking a walk with me?”, he asked. “Sure.” I finished up and joined him on a hike up the trail from the house.
We stopped at a large water tank on the side of the mountain with an incredible view of Kingston below. The normally padlocked opening to the ladder that went to the top was unlocked so Peter said to follow him to the top. The top was not solid but instead would go up and down depending on the water level in the tank. The tank was nearly full, so we were able to sit on the top rim with our feet dangling over the edge. Over the hour Peter and I reasoned with each other. We bonded in a way that provided a fast friendship that lasted decades until he moved to Australia.
We returned to the yard to find our two farmer friends sitting and talking with Gus and Inga and my wife who was sitting on the stoop listening. I sat down next to my wife and Peter stepped past into the kitchen. “Want a drink?”. “Okay”. “One dollar each”. We smiled in unison and said, “Sure”. James Dennis, one of the farmers, walked over and gave me a stalk of ganja. He told me it was very good. Why not, I thought. “Can I give you something for it?”, I asked. Later, if you want, he said. I clumsily rolled a spliff and lit it from the small campfire burning in the yard.
Two stiff drinks and one giant spliff later I had grown roots into the concrete stoop and unable to talk or move. James and his friend were smiling a knowing smile. Even with my wife sitting next to me, I was unable to communicate my growing desire to just lie down. Then, James Dennis said something very, very strange. “Ah, mon. Tonight, you are going to chase the rabbit.” What the hell does that mean, I thought. I just managed a nod. Eventually, I managed to whisper to my wife my need to lie down and asked her to stand up and let me put a steadying hand on her shoulders.
Somehow it worked and she guided me to the tent. She said she was going to stay up for awhile longer and asked me if I was going to be okay. Okay? Hell. At that time, I didn’t know if I would ever be okay again or, actually, what okay really meant.
“Sleep well, honey” as she kissed my forehead. To sleep, perchance to dream.
Originally Posted by Bnewb
