Island Songs Read Free

and said, “it’ll will nah effect me if me crops nuh ripe an’ sweet. Wha’ good is ah blasted vote!” The people who lived here preferred the devil they knew.
    Kwarhterleg employed a crutch hewn from a branch of a tree, its shoulder shaped by his left armpit due to constant use since he was seventeen. The left leg of his stained, torn khaki pants was tied up in a knot just below the knee. He hobbled up the goat’s path to Joseph’s small plot of land, holding a soiled plastic bag full of something that had a potent aroma. In his late sixties, Kwarhterleg didn’t have much hair, but made up for it with his untamed grey beard. He was a foot shorter than Joseph, and leaner, and his hooded eyes spoke of some distant betrayal.
    Stumping his way to Joseph’s patch of land, Kwarhterleg threw away his crutch and sat down. While he caught his breath, he seemed apprehensive, fearful of the news he had to deliver.
    “Yuh bring me de yard of tobacco me sen’ yuh to get?” Joseph asked casually, taking out a homemade pipe from his pocket. He had named his smoking pipe Panama. “Misser Patterson satisfied wid de pear, plum and strong-back leaf me give him?”
    “Yes, mon. Him well pleased wid de strong-back leaf. Him sonketch ah fever an’ has ah serious need fe it,” replied Kwarhterleg, his tone full of reverence. “It’s inna de bag.”
    “Well, bring it come den,” demanded Joseph impatiently.
    Kwarhterleg emptied the contents of the bag on the ground. Joseph, in his trouser pockets, found a pair of rusty scissors and proceeded to snip the tobacco leaves into a fine cut before generously stuffing his pipe; if he had had more patience he would have sweetened it with sugar water and left it out to dry. As Joseph lit himself what he thought was a well-earned smoke, Kwarhterleg watched his long-time friend with concern.
    “Moonshine,” he began with caution, “somet’ing serious happen ah church today. Me affe tell yuh. Serious t’ing. Long time yuh tell me to inform yuh if de Preacher Mon trouble any of ya family.”
    Exhaling his smoke, Joseph turned to look at his friend and scolded, “Kwarhterleg! Yuh love mek big bull outta young goat! Tell me wha’ happen, mon! Me don’t ’ave nuh time fe long journey around broad bush.”
    “Jenny get ah serious beating today, mon,” Kwarhterleg revealed. He went on to tell Joseph of what happened today at church. Jenny was playing tag with her sister during the singing of a hymn and had squealed when Hortense had pinched her. The preacher slammed his hymn book closed, looked upon his congregation in disbelief that a child had interrupted the singing and walked slowly over to Jenny. His eyes fixed upon the girl’s petrified expression, he struck her twice with an open palm, the sound echoing in the church hall. Jenny fell off her chair and banged her head upon the dusty wooden floor but she was determined not to cry. Still glaring at the child and looming over her, the preacher recognised Joseph’s defiance. He offered Jenny a dismissive glance before returning to the pulpit. Amy, Jenny’s mother, helped her daughter to her feet as fury rose within her. Amy was about to protest when she spotted her father, Neville, who was gesturing with his hands to calm down. She could read his lips. “Nuh cause bangarang inna God’s house.”
    Not betraying an emotion, Joseph toked twice on his pipe and peered into the mists. He said nothing for ten minutes, until he had finished smoking. Kwarhterleg was filling his own wonky woodenpipe when finally Joseph spoke. “Amy say anyt’ing?” he asked innocently.
    “Nuh, mon. Yuh know so she won’t say anyt’ing to de Preacher-Mon. Who would? Ah mon of God dat. Serious t’ing! If yuh cuss de Preacher-Mon den Old Screwface will set his mark ’pon yuh an’ yuh will surely ketch ah fire.”
    “Me nah ’fraid of nuh Preacher-Mon or de devil himself or Old Screwface as yuh like to call him,” said Joseph defiantly. He stood up