Oonya Kempadoo - All Decent Animals

“ Ah wanna fall…” the others chorus, changing the lyrics one time:

“ Mama look a boo-boo…”

“Sparrow is boss, yuh know.”

“Dat ain’ Sparrow.”

“But Chalkie is de King’a political kaiso.”

“I know but don’ let we start on dat. I ain’ finish with this scamps and scampishness story.”

“ Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, sailed off in a wooden shoe…”

They hush up the singer so the man can continue.

“‘De Deaf, de Dumb and de Blind’—Eric Williams…”

“Who sing dat? Chalkdust?”

“Gypsy?”

Two set off quarreling while the man continue. Sammy listening good, though, to build up his theary. This is a sign today — that talk, on top of driving, will bring him back normal.

“Well, is ‘Eric de Ass,’ ‘Father of the Nation,’ so they call him, ‘Godfather of the Caribbean.’ Chookolingo used to call him donkey, and draw him in de papers with big ears so, and them rest’a Caribbean prime ministers riding him, so…” He break down with all’a them doing the antics in the rumshop.

“I know de name Chookolingo…,” Young Fool say.

Everybody know about the owner of the Bomb newspaper, the same paper popular for sexy-porny photos of bullipscious local girls.

Sam don’t approve of the papers himself, he like to leave that kind of staring deprivedness to them prisoners and unruly men.

“Was Seaga, Burnham, Gairy, and dem, in dem days, riding Eric de Ass, and he only giving out oil money, wild wild. Well, Eric Williams hold Chookolingo and throw him in jail for bad mouth. When Chooko release — two weeks later Williams name in de papers again. He say he exercising he freedom of rights and speech and t’ing.”

“Tha’s when them rest’a press say, that Eric say, ‘Let the jackass bray.’ Whoy!”

Table slamming, drinks downing, and the air in the rumshop roiling up good. Sammy like to see it so — in a racket. Who hooting, who braying, skinning up they lips like donkey smelling urine, and of course beating the donkey song percussion. Sammy not looking forward to this year Carnival at all. On top’a the usual madness, it go be one set’a foolishness. In the middle of the racket, he try to think of the Eric Williams Medical Complex, name after Trinidad’s first prime minister.

How come more wasn’t named after him? Sam can’t ask ’cause they busy arguing about if Williams was a good man or a scamp or what. Then he remembers the papers, after the hospital was named — his daughter vex at the time ’cause her father had said he didn’t want nothing name after him. Well, Sam reflect on the huge compound between the highway and Eastern Main Road — is a big hell of a thing, with the fanciest medical apparatus and “wings” of hospital spreading so and so. Was a big contract went down for it to get built. Something with some Canadian company and Moonan in the mix. A white elephant they call it now and is true, when you go in there, is big and foreign. Sam went once, and walk in the TV-style, cold waiting area. They even have a canteen nice like a restaurant, and coffee shop like in the malls, and plenty landscaping grounds. But when he peep at some of the wards with good-good signs pointing them out — no doctors or nurses or sick people about — chain and padlock on the doors. The image of Williams stamped in Sammy brain — the serious man in the dark glasses with a hearing-aid wire like a telephone cord dropping from one ear — is equally mysterious to him.

“Chambers! Chambers is a next one! Duncey Chambers.”

“You ain’ see how smart Gypsy sing dat? He say ‘Chambers don’ see’—duncey, yuh check it?”

“Gypsy didn’—”

“But allyou mixing up de order’a them. Wait nuh, I ain’ finish with Williams. Robinson, now, was training under Williams but Robinson want to take over de place and he plan to do dat soon as Williams step on a plane. He go and see Williams off at de airport, not knowing he own wife, Patricia, deceased Patricia Robinson, was there. She had decide that her husband plan would bring trouble — so she wait till Robinson leave the airport, then she run quick and tell Williams. Some people say she was having affairs with Williams, me ain’ know but anyway, is she that tell the man. So my boy Robinson, A.N.R. Robinson, Arthur Napoleon Raymond Robinson…”

“Napoleon?”

“Yes! Watch nuh, is so we used to laugh when we hear the name Napoleon, eh. Anyway, Robinson sit down in Williams office, well cock-up on de man desk, planning what he go do, now he can take over. When he look up, he see this bald-head man with dark glasses in the doorway — he almost faint!”

Big slamming and laughing, even though the ole boys know the story already.

“Williams say, ‘All right, you want to run t’ings — go Tobago!’ And he banish him to Tobago.”

“That’s right.”

* * *

Sammy glad for the ole-talk core of this place. The way how people love talking things they know over and over — is a surety for Sam. It might sound the same but each time you learn something different. That you can count on. Everybody should have they ole boys and ole talk to turn to. That is what he wish. And he mind turn to Fraser. That man’ kind’a company and they ole talk is a hard one to understand. Sammy tell himself he must go and check Fraser soon but he not in a rush to hear the sympathies and niceties and questions.

* * *

SC sits next to her old friend Fraser, realizing that she had never gotten anywhere near as close to him as Ata had, in all the long years she’d known him. Ata made her feel like she was strange, for not dropping everything to be there for him. That’s only because her friend could now afford to do so herself, now that she’s ensconced in the cushy life with Frenchie. Then she’s going around behaving like she didn’t ask for that life anyway. Idle bedside days biding strength has become the focus of Ata’s time. She sits here, telling stories, listening, or “obeying the silence.” Letting her mind go wandering in all directions, aimless as the minutes ticking by, searching under every philodendron leaf, like a lizard. She had grown distant, SC thought, preoccupied with Fraser and rapidly losing her sense of humor.

“Anyways, we have our differences and between you and me, I don’t know when we grew apart so much, but it’s not because of you, or anything to do with your sickness, sorry, illness.”

Fraser looks at her. Perfectly matched brown leather heels and a tan skirt, swishy top and leather handbag — all melded with her smooth skin and plum lipstick. She even set off the horrid dusky-pink carpet. He smiles at her and she grimaces, absentmindedly playing with her four rings. He doesn’t have the energy yet, to tease her out of her darkish mood, and wonders if he ever will again.

“It’s a shame, we were so close at one point.” She keeps twisting her rings.

“Yes. A shame,” he agrees.

“There’s so much shit going on here — I don’ mean you — distractions, people all up in yuh business, dramas. You could have a ton’a friends and none at the same time, really. Everybody so into theyself and all the stupidness, you could end up lonely and depress’ wondering what is all about. Oh Laus, now I depressing you? Sorry, I…”

They hear the car arrive, door shut, and Ata steps in.

“You’re back early.”

Neither bother to feign surprise or ask why. The Donkey business had already spread across the land by hot-mouth wireless and Maco Daily.

Steups.

“And steups again, girl. You go be steupsing the whole way through Carnival this year.” SC crosses a leg and stretches her neck. She never takes part in the messy, crowdy jump up and had already split up her holiday so she could take off, up the North Coast, when that time comes. Carnival had already come between the two of them. She could never understand how Ata could watch flabby, sweating, big-belly men and worse, women, with flesh hanging out everywhere, packing up on each other — and turn and say it’s beautiful. “Real people,” she called them and an “amazing range of bodies.”