championship tournament.
Nello sucked his teeth, drawing a patois 'cheups' sound of contempt. There was a low malevolence in his eyes as he stared down at the harbour. 'I get the obeahwomahn on you,' he said almost as a deep growl. 'She do you bad t'ing fo' brutalisin' me life.
She send the jumbie to be blammin' on your door.' He managed a grin, although it was far from pleasant. 'Me tantie is obeah-womahn, she do me fo' right.'
Nello had always lived in fear and awe of his aunt, and he was not the only one on the island to do so. She was a rake of a woman, who relished her own reputation as a witch and who never let one day pass without casting a spell or brewing a potion. At any time she could be found giving bush or herb baths against illness or bad luck, or taking an unborn and unwanted child from a young maiden who had 'swallowed the breadfruit', or putting a curse on an enemy of any eager and preferably affluent payer, or fulfilling traditional requirements such as keeping Mama Maladie, the evil spirit, away at Christmas time. Even to this day, as a grown man, he dreaded visiting his tantie without Mama and Papa and, if possible, with at least two of his brothers and three of his sisters along for the treat.
Yet last night after the domino match which he had so disgracefully lost, and charged with rum alternated with one or eight too many Caribs, he had taken the windy road up through the hills to her shack. Unfortunately, there was no way he could force himself to tap on that old corrugated iron door which, unlike most of the islanders, she always kept clammed tight. Instead he had sat in his minibus, wide eyes watching the small lighted window, quailing in fear. And Tantie had come to the window and stared right back. For a while he thought she might be putting the maljoe, the evil eye, on him; then she'd waved and he couldn't be sure if it was an invitation, or her way of telling him to get the hell out of her face. He had scooted, scratching the sides of the minibus on bushes and trees as he'd executed a tight seven-point turn on the narrow track. He was sure he heard her rollicking laughter all the way back to his village.
The rustling of a nearby fern, followed by a frantic scrambling, disturbed Nello from his thoughts. A wood slave, perhaps the same lizard he had roused earlier, broke free and darted up the hill and across the rutted road into the thick undergrowth on the other side. Nello clucked his tongue at the creature's 'chupidness' and returned his attention to the harbour. A sudden breeze that carried with it an unusual chill caused him to shiver.
'Jook monkey, jook monkey, monkey conkaray. You giving me fatigue, Jelroyd, an' me tantie be giving you the maljoe. She make me deal las' night only.' And Nello had just about convinced himself that this was so. Last night he had slept in his bus rather than wake his parents by lumbering through the house at such a late hour, and as he'd lain there in the darkness, the echo of the obeahwoman's laughter still in his head, Nello knew that she knew why he had gone to her shack, even though they had not spoken. That his woman was making a fool of him was 'old talk'-gossip-in the village, and Tantie would never turn a blind eye to that, she would never fail a member of the family. She would cast her spell, brew her potion, chant her bad-wish.
'You sick'fore too long, Jelroyd!' he shouted.
He jumped when a flock of bananaquits flapped low over his head, their see-ee-ee-swees-tee call strident and somehow shocking in the languor of late afternoon. He craned his neck to follow their flight and as he watched their black bodies become tiny in the distance, he became conscious of the chill breeze on the back of his neck, a chill that set his skin to prickling. He faced the ocean again and his brow furrowed into heavy ridges as he observed the approaching greyness.
At that precise moment, Nello
Nello sucked his teeth, drawing a patois 'cheups' sound of contempt. There was a low malevolence in his eyes as he stared down at the harbour. 'I get the obeahwomahn on you,' he said almost as a deep growl. 'She do you bad t'ing fo' brutalisin' me life.
She send the jumbie to be blammin' on your door.' He managed a grin, although it was far from pleasant. 'Me tantie is obeah-womahn, she do me fo' right.'
Nello had always lived in fear and awe of his aunt, and he was not the only one on the island to do so. She was a rake of a woman, who relished her own reputation as a witch and who never let one day pass without casting a spell or brewing a potion. At any time she could be found giving bush or herb baths against illness or bad luck, or taking an unborn and unwanted child from a young maiden who had 'swallowed the breadfruit', or putting a curse on an enemy of any eager and preferably affluent payer, or fulfilling traditional requirements such as keeping Mama Maladie, the evil spirit, away at Christmas time. Even to this day, as a grown man, he dreaded visiting his tantie without Mama and Papa and, if possible, with at least two of his brothers and three of his sisters along for the treat.
Yet last night after the domino match which he had so disgracefully lost, and charged with rum alternated with one or eight too many Caribs, he had taken the windy road up through the hills to her shack. Unfortunately, there was no way he could force himself to tap on that old corrugated iron door which, unlike most of the islanders, she always kept clammed tight. Instead he had sat in his minibus, wide eyes watching the small lighted window, quailing in fear. And Tantie had come to the window and stared right back. For a while he thought she might be putting the maljoe, the evil eye, on him; then she'd waved and he couldn't be sure if it was an invitation, or her way of telling him to get the hell out of her face. He had scooted, scratching the sides of the minibus on bushes and trees as he'd executed a tight seven-point turn on the narrow track. He was sure he heard her rollicking laughter all the way back to his village.
The rustling of a nearby fern, followed by a frantic scrambling, disturbed Nello from his thoughts. A wood slave, perhaps the same lizard he had roused earlier, broke free and darted up the hill and across the rutted road into the thick undergrowth on the other side. Nello clucked his tongue at the creature's 'chupidness' and returned his attention to the harbour. A sudden breeze that carried with it an unusual chill caused him to shiver.
'Jook monkey, jook monkey, monkey conkaray. You giving me fatigue, Jelroyd, an' me tantie be giving you the maljoe. She make me deal las' night only.' And Nello had just about convinced himself that this was so. Last night he had slept in his bus rather than wake his parents by lumbering through the house at such a late hour, and as he'd lain there in the darkness, the echo of the obeahwoman's laughter still in his head, Nello knew that she knew why he had gone to her shack, even though they had not spoken. That his woman was making a fool of him was 'old talk'-gossip-in the village, and Tantie would never turn a blind eye to that, she would never fail a member of the family. She would cast her spell, brew her potion, chant her bad-wish.
'You sick'fore too long, Jelroyd!' he shouted.
He jumped when a flock of bananaquits flapped low over his head, their see-ee-ee-swees-tee call strident and somehow shocking in the languor of late afternoon. He craned his neck to follow their flight and as he watched their black bodies become tiny in the distance, he became conscious of the chill breeze on the back of his neck, a chill that set his skin to prickling. He faced the ocean again and his brow furrowed into heavy ridges as he observed the approaching greyness.
At that precise moment, Nello
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