Russell Banks - Rule of the Bone

But just then here comes Evening Star, the white Rasta lady of the house in this flowing red and gold and green gown and her dreadlocks swinging and her bracelets clanging and I notice she’s holding a pretty-good-sized J like it’s a cigarette. Her skin was this professional sun-bather’s color almost like a wallet but she was pretty good-looking for her age like she worked out a lot and dieted and all because even though she was on the heavy side I could see she had a lot of muscle. Coming along beside her was a big old black Lab and trotting behind the Lab was one of those tiny blond Jamaican yard dogs who’re usually scrawny but this one’s fat like a taco and both the dogs look and act like they’re used to strangers and almost glad to see us which is not like any dogs I’ve ever known.

Evening Star smiles at I-Man and goes, Greetings, Rasta! Respect, mon. Everyt’ing irie, mon?

He just nods and turns to me like I’m supposed to say something but nothing comes. I don’t know why but suddenly it was like my tongue wouldn’t work. I even opened my mouth but no words, no sounds came out at all.

Finally I-Man said, De bwoy him be Baby Doc, an’ lookin’ fe him fodder, Papa Doc.

The reggae was blasting away outside by the pool and we could barely hear even normal words never mind I-Man’s Rasta-rap so she asked him to tell her again which he did until she seemed to get it and smiled at me real warm and almost motherly and drawled, Oh, y’all want to look at the paintings! The Haitian pictures. Are you an artist? she says to me like I’m in kindergarten which kind of pissed me off and I said no and very relieved to be talking again I said, I’m looking for somebody.

I see, she said real serious but I could see she didn’t see so I went ahead and told her I was looking for the man she’d been with at the marketplace in Mobay. I’m looking for Paul Dorset, I said.

Paul? You mean Doc!

Yeah, whatever.

You’re an American, aren’t you? Nobody from here calls him Paul, she said. Except me. She had this weird slow way of talking that put a lot of emphasis on certain words and when she spoke she kind of leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the word like she was kissing it which was distracting so you tended not to notice that she wasn’t saying anything very important or interesting. She sounded like she was from down South maybe, like Alabama or Georgia. Also due to her not wearing any bra when she leaned forward like that you could see her tits which I think she liked but that too made you forget what she was saying.

O— kay, she said. Y’all and the Rasta just sattar, everyt’ing be irie, mon, an’ mi bring Doc, she said and she whirled and split and took off up the wide curving stairs with the dogs following her like shadows leaving me and I-Man to look at each other like, What kind of crazy shit is this?

We wandered around in the livingroom looking at the birds and then the pictures which were from Haiti I guess and actually when you studied them they were basically peaceful and kind and made you feel relaxed even though they were definitely strange. The room was like a ballroom with high ceilings and windows from the floor to the ceiling almost that were open to the wide porch out front and a breeze blew through and it was shady and cool inside and with the reggae playing and now and then the sound of people laughing by the pool and the splashes when they dove in and suchlike I was thinking this is a pretty cool life my father’s got. Better than anything he had with my mom, that’s for sure.

I-Man was in back watching this huge painting of a lion lying in the jungle with all kinds of other animals that it would normally slay and I was standing there by the door looking out across the terraced gardens with all the white red-eyed animals and down the valley to the sea and for a while I watched a couple of John Crows slowly loop their way up the long slope rising and circling without even moving their wings as they rose into the sky until I almost forgot why I was here, when I heard footsteps behind me clicking on the polished floor and I turned and there he was, my real father!

He didn’t recognize me obviously, on account of me having changed physically so much since I was five and he looked slightly irritated like Evening Star’d interrupted his nap or something. He was incredibly tall, at least to me he was and skinny but with a good build just the same and he had a long brown-haired ponytail and a diamond stud in his left ear and he was wearing these loose tan shorts and sandals and a fancy white shortsleeved shirt that was silk or something. He was all tanned too like Evening Star only on him it looked like he’d gotten it naturally and not from sunbathing on purpose although I could tell in a second he was one of those guys who think about their looks a lot like ol’ Bruce did except my father was much more normal-looking than Bruce. Plus he obviously had major bucks, being a doctor and all.

He goes, What can I do y’ for? and then looking around the room he caught I-Man in back and he says, That I-Man? Yo, Rasta, wussup? Respect, mon. Everyt’ing irie? talking pseudo-Rasta like Evening Star which made me wince a little. But it was cool that my father knew how to do it.

Everyt’ing irie, I-Man said and went back to studying the picture of the lion like he was playing a video game.

Well, what about you? he says to me. Evening Star tells me you’re here to see me. Do I know you? he says looking down at me now and giving me the big once-over. Evening Star was lounging behind a ways leaning against the banister and taking occasional draws on her fatty and nodding her head to the beat of the music in the background and shuffling her feet in a little dancestep with her eyes closed and suchlike. Really into it.

What’s your name, kid? he asked me and he took out a pack of Craven A’s and lit one.

My name’s Bone, I said. But… but it used to be Chappie. Chapman.

Oh? he says and he lifts his eyebrows like he’s made the big connection but doesn’t believe it yet so mainly he’s suspicious. What’s your last name? Bone. Bone what?

Just Bone. But it used to be Dorset, I said. Same as you.

He held out the pack of cigarettes and I took one and he lit it for me and I saw that his hand was shaking which was a good sign, I thought.

Okay. Dorset, he says. Same as me. Well, does that mean we’re related?

By now Evening Star’d picked up the drift of our conversation and came over with her eyes glittering and the dogs were excited too like they could read her mind. I decided then just to say it straight out and let whatever happens happen, Jah’s will be done et cetera so I go, Yeah. We’re definitely related, man. I’m your son.

His mouth dropped and he goes, My son! Chappie? He says, You’re Chappie? like maybe he expected some six-foot All American dude instead of a short skinny scabby-kneed kid in a doo-rag and tee shirt and cutoff’s.

But he grinned, he actually looked happy to see me and he said, Lemme see you! Lemme see what you look like, for Christ’s sake! and he pulls off my doo-rag and studies my face for a second and keeps on grinning like he’s actually ecstatic to see me now which relieves me a lot.

Evening Star says, This is so cool! This is so wild! and the dogs are jumping around and grinning too and I-Man has come over and has his old amused pursed-lip smile back like he’d arranged the whole thing and is pleased it’s all working out so nice for everybody. There’s a heavy Bob Marley song booming from the poolside speakers, I Shot the Sheriff, and some guy is hollering, Cynthia, Cynthia watch this! and I can hear the diving board thump and a big splash.