The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Chapter 5

The rain is a delight. It races down from Heaven above like shimmering crystals. Its glare blinds my eyes as the flourishing, green pastures cascade over one another in a...

Out of frustration, Lynnette scribbled over her writings before attempting to retry her hand at her craft, only, her hand all of the sudden saw fit to remain stationary.

She looked up and around at her environment, from the withering branches on an old bamboo tree that she was seated underneath, to the oversaturating rain that was causing her already deep depression to worsen by the day. By that point, writing something as simple and plain as the word "The" was about as prolific as jumping into a lake.

She watched lethargically as various people went in and out of The Kabal restaurant; a nice little dive located just a hundred yards from the shoreline.

Clothed in an orange and black, tie-dyed mini-skirt, matching blouse and headscarf, Lynnette listened to the thumping of music that was coming from the reggae-themed establishment. By then, however, the brand of music had all but worn thin on her. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy or like reggae, but so much of it back to back was starting to cause her to lose her own natural rhythm.

"Lynn!" A young, black woman from the backdoor of The Kabal called out waving.

Rolling her eyes, Lynnette took her notepad and pen, stuffed them into the backside of her skirt and proceeded to climb down from off the wooden fence she was sitting upon.

With only a newspaper covering her head, the young lady ran back across the sand and towards the restaurant until she approached the backdoor.

"You almost late, little girl," the woman scolded Lynnette as she held the door open for her.

Cleaning off the wetness, Lynnette dropped her newspaper onto the floor before saying, "Clea, I still had three minutes left on my break."

Making her way back over to a simmering stove where three other black men were steadily cooking, Clea responded, "It no matter, child, we just got de afternoon rush in. You should be used to dis by now."

The kitchen possessed the aromatic smells of both seafood and fruit. There was a tiny, steamed up cracked mirror that was perched upon the wall next to the backdoor. Lynnette checked her facial features and straitened her scarf before rushing by Clea on her way out into the dining area.

Bob Marley's, 'Three Little Birds' was playing on the stereo system as people either sat and waited to be served or were exiting the building. Lynnette whipped out her notepad and pen and approached the first table she laid eyes on where a white couple was already seated.

From one table to another the woman took orders, chatted with and at times laughed with patrons. Plates were brought in and out, tips were taken, and at most times, flirtatious actions from men were politely ignored until six p.m. crawled around. The restaurant remained open until 2 a.m., but Lynnette and a few others' shifts were complete for the day. She, along with Clea and the three cooks all began their nightly trek to their various homes. With umbrellas being their only shield against the rain, Lynnette and Clea carried on towards a nearby shantytown where cars, trucks and mopeds were careening through the streets, carelessly splashing water to and fro without a second thought to who they could have been offending.

"Did ya ever manage to get de pads dat ya needed, girl?" Clea asked.

Blushing, Lynnette whispered, "You don't ask that out in the open public, girl."

"And why not," Clea shrugged. "We all women need dem!"

"I know, but—

"Hail up!" A young, black man with a multi-colored beanie cap approached Lynnette to her side.

Startled, Lynnette inadvertently bumped against Clea. "Oh, where did you come from, Jose?" She laughed.

"I be around, here and dere." He smiled from ear to ear.

Clea playfully nudged Lynnette's shoulder in the attempt to get her to walk closer to Jose. Lynnette only grabbed the woman by the hand and squeezed as tight as she could.

"Weh yud deh pan?" Jose asked.

Appearing confused, Lynnette turned up her nose, "I didn't quite understand."

"I asked, what are you up to?"

"Ohh, why can't you just say that then," she giggled.

"I try to get you used to our language, since you be here for a while." Jose glowed.

Lynnette just pressed her lips together before releasing Clea's hand. "How are things down at the bay?"

"Ahh, quite well, quite well indeed." Jose remarked. "When will you be back again?"

"Probably the day after tomorrow," Lynnette said. "I gotta see how much money I can make due with until the end of the week."

"Ohh, look at de time!" Clea glanced at her watch. "I gotta get home to me kids and feed dem!" She whimsically parted ways with the two. "I see you tomorrow at work, little girl!"

Lynnette watched with hesitant eyes as the woman cut down an alley and out of sight. That in turn left both her and Jose all alone. It wasn't what she desired, but at least she could divert her attention to something else...for the time being.

"To be truthful, I am learning a few new words here and there." Lynnette said.

"Oh really," Jose perked up. "And what words dose be?"

"Well, I know that Irie means happy."

"Very good," Jose clapped his hands.

"Thank you, thank you." Lynnette proudly smiled.

"So tell me, how long ya plan on staying here?"

Twisting her lips in a playful fashion, Lynnette stated, "You always ask me that, and I always say the same thing. I...don't...know."

"But I have to know, Lynn!" Jose pleaded.

"Why is that?"

Jose then stood in front of Lynnette and stared her straight in her eyes. The woman stared right back at his brown eyes and partially bearded face with a sense of anxiety attached to her.

Jose then took Lynnette's free hand and held it within his own warm hands. "I really have been wanting to take you to de end of de mountains, where de waterfalls lie. And den after dat, I wanted to show you where dey shot de James Bond film back in '62." Jose said with such fervent zeal.

"James Bond?" Lynnette winced with a giggle. "To tell you the God's honest truth, I think I've only seen one 007 movie in my life. I never really was into those flicks."

"Dat's okay; no one down here cares for him either." Jose snickered back. "It's still a beautiful place, Lynn."

Lynnette just stood in the rain while her flat shoes grew increasingly wet by the second. She could sense the man's good intentions, and yet, it was the intention that caused her heart to race right then.

Nodding her head, Lynnette replied, "I'll think about it. As long as it's not raining when we end up going. It was raining when I left home."

"You shall be irie!" Jose skipped a beat before kissing Lynnette's hand. "I shall see you tomorrow den!"

"I thought you told Cusha that you would stop by for supper!"

Racing away in the rain, Jose yelled, "I must go and tell my mother! Besides, dis isn't even my garrison!"

Lynnette just shook her head in quirky disbelief before turning and realizing that she had been standing at her shelter all along. Passing by two old men playing dominoes underneath an umbrella at a small table, she ran up the corroded, metal steps until she made it to a rusted steel door. But before she opened the door, the young woman shook the rain from off her umbrella and took a long gander of her shantytown environment.

From the shacks that were seemingly piled on top of one another, to the laundry that was perched outside on various strings. The smell of marijuana hanging deftly in the warm, rainy air combined with cooking food and the raw stench of urine always seemed to cause Lynnette to remind herself just where she was; it wasn't home, but then again, home was never home either.

Lynnette turned back around and twisted the doorknob. Almost immediately she was bombarded by the aromas of jerk chicken boiling in a pot that was dangling over an open fire. On a mat that was lying next to the pot were cut up avocadoes and what looked like pigs feet right next to them.

The humidity inside the tiny shack was overbearing, as usual, but at least Lynnette was out of the soaking rain. Getting dry quickly never seemed to be too much of a chore. Lynnette placed her umbrella down next to the door before sneaking over to the stewing pot to grab a whiff.

"How ya stay, girl?" A large, older black lady, clothed in a brown cloth skirt came in through a blanket that was blocking one part of the shack off to the other.

Lynnette had to pause for a second or two while trying to comprehend what Cusha had just uttered.

"I...I'm fine today." She grinned.

"Good, good." Cusha breathed heavily while carrying a basket full of avocadoes into the room, only for her to drop them on the floor. "Why ya be so late today, child?" She asked while brushing aside her long, grey hair. Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

"I was talking with Jose outside." Lynnette answered before rushing over to aid Cusha. "What are all these for?" She began picking up the avocadoes from off the floor.

Huffing and puffing, Cusha wiped sweat from her face and said, "Dere be a big party for dear old Master Goodun. A big birthday bash, ya know!"

Rolling her eyes, Lynnette griped, "I hate it when you call that man master. He may be your employer, but he's not your master."

"De man pays me well, girl. Well enough not to need two jobs."

"Yeah, well you know why I need two jobs to begin with, lady." Lynnette snidely remarked before going back over to the boiling pot.

"Don't be crayven!" Cusha smacked her hand away. "Dere be more dan enough for you and I."

Lynnette just sat herself down at the little table for two and watched as Cusha sat Indian-style down on the floor and started cutting up avocadoes.

The young lady was beaten for the day, but not so much to the point where she wanted to go and lie down. There was something always startling to her about Cusha's laborious detail that seemed to seize Lynnette's attention to no end.

"So, how be work today?" Cusha asked without taking her eyes away from her duty.

"It was okay." Lynnette sighed. "This rain is really getting me down though."

"Oh, girl, dis rain is nuting compared to what we had to see way back in '51."

"You always bring that up, lady." She smirked.

"Because I know dey not have hurricanes where you from," Cusha remarked with a smirk of her own.

"That's true, but then again, you all never had to deal with blizzards either."

"Here, take de pot away from de fire, child."

At once, Lynnette got up, and with a towel that sat beside the sink, she lifted the searing hot pot from off the fire before placing it down onto the floor.

"Tomorrow before ya come home from work, get some sweet potatoes from de patch, please."

"But that's all the way down at the hatchery." Lynnette complained. "I don't plan on going down there again until the end of the week."

"But ya go to see Jose, no?"

Lynnette just blushed at that instant before carrying herself over to the blanket and pulling it back to look out at the miniature, metal balcony and the numerous shacks that surrounded.

"I don't know for sure!" She said out loud in a sort of melancholy way. "He's sweet, but he's just too persistent for my taste."

"A persistent man in dese parts is a man to keep, girl."

"It depends, I guess."

"Depends on what?"

"On...on whether I need it that bad or not," Lynnette vacillated to say.

"Need a man dat bad?" Cusha asked with an eccentric tone in her voice.

Lynnette's head spun around so quickly at that moment in utter amazement. She could hardly believe that such words had come out of the woman's mouth at all.

With her eyes still on her peeling, Cusha asked, "Ya tink mi born big?"

Lynnette thought and rummaged through her brain before she finally got it. "No, Cusha, I know you're not a fool." She twisted her lips.

"Jose good man," Cusha turned her head slightly. "I know him long since he was but an imp. He come from good family. He do ya good, child."

Lynnette just stood against the threshold while her eyes glanced from Cusha to back outside. Every so often she could hear children crying or playing out in the rain.

"Do you wanna play dominoes later on?" Lynnette's tongue dragged.

"No, no, girl, I got much cooking and stewing to do. Perhaps tomorrow after de party."

Coming back inside, Lynnette began to wander towards her so called room, but not before taking one last glance at Cusha and asking, "Have you heard anything more from—

"No, child, I hear nuting from de mountain boys." Cusha moaned.

Turning in abject defeat, Lynnette pushed open the curtain that led to her mattress on the floor. She then pulled off her skirt and panties before dropping her naked body down onto the mat.

"If ya go out again tonight, make sure ya stay away from de Lower End!" Cusha called out. "I hear dey do a lot of shootin' all day!"

Lynnette heard her, but her body and spirit was entirely too weary to conjure a response. To her right was her little black bible. She picked it up before aimlessly flicking through its ruffled pages.

Soon, however, her arms were beginning to grow increasingly tired. She dropped the bible to the floor while a tear began to fall down from her left eye.

Right then, Cusha began humming a tune. Ever since Lynnette began staying with the woman she heard her hum it all the time. It was the same tune always, and every time Lynnette could never get just what song it was, and she never bothered to ask. It just always seemed to grant her the serenity she so desired in an otherwise unwholesome situation. Nighttime was on its way. Lynnette clinched her body as tight as she possibly could in stifling anticipation for what it yielded.

Nighttime in Negril usually came quite quickly, and depending upon where in the city one resided, it arrived without much delight or mercy.