bombardment, claiming that it would only make the federal deficit worse. Not a single drop of a bomb fell.
The frantic Jamaican government, seeing that throngs and hordes at the beaches and picnic grounds would be crushed with disappointment, ordered the Jamaican Defence Force to overfly the crowds and blast them with all available stores of Public Works Department dynamite. Police were ordered to compensate for the lack of entertainment by shooting excursion riders and revellers on sight until ammunition was exhausted, and after that to run over as many as was practicable with their patrol cars. Throughout the island the dismay and disgust at the false alarm was so widespread that the temporary American ambassador was dragged out of his residence by rioters and hanged over and over again, much to his immense pleasure, causing him to telegraph Washington with the request that he be permanently posted to the island. Only the Seventh Day Adventists gloated, rebuking the population about reliance on fly-by-night bombing instead of looking to the biblical promise of flood.
After that day of national disappointment, the Gleaner ran stories about the subsequent stormy meetings of Parliament during which the government and opposition took turns blasting the Americans for their selfishness, with one member asking rhetorically, “Mr. Speaker, is this the act of a friend, an ally, to promise a bombing and then, for the sake of saving pennies, disappoint an entire nation?” at which the berobed speaker glowered and looked severe.
When I was done with my reading, I found that I was sweating with such excitement that I had to get some fresh air.
As I was walking out of the building, I stopped off at the reception desk and asked the bespectacled librarian if she had been in heaven during the episode of the bogus bombing, which made her scowl disagreeably and grumble, “Baps, if you please, I don’t want to talk about dat distressing day. I had a picnic lunch packed and me whole Sunday school class with me. De children were all excited ’bout de awaited bombing. Den come to tell, not even a firecracker fall, much less a bomb.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, what was was, and what is is, and what will be will be.
You getting plenty grind, Baps?”
“Oh, yes. Plenty.”
“We’re all good Jamaican Christians, and we must be charitable in our hearts and grind one another regularly. None should lack pum-pum in heaven. If de sisters neglecting you, even though I busy wid me grandchildren, I’ll come grind you tonight.”
“I grind enough already, ma’am.”
“Since Miss B gone back down, I don’t see you again in church. You backsliding?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I am seeking reform.”
“Seek de said reform, Baps. Come back to us! Don’t hang out with rude boy! And stop running around with God in de bush, bawling ‘Boo’ at idle old cow. If dis wasn’t heaven, de poor cow would already dead of heart failure.”
“Yes, ma’am. Good evening.”
“Good evening, Baps! Get grind regular. Uphold standards.
Being in heaven don’t mean dat slackness must triumph.”
“No, ma’am.”
With her kindly pieties still fresh in my ears, I ambled out into the village streets which were shimmering in the loveliness of another beautiful heavenly sunset.
Chapter 14
I am a curious man. I like to learn about the world and the people who inhabit it. Before I dropped dead, my hobby was studying geography books, especially memorizing names of mountains and rivers in the Temperate Zone.
So now that I was in heaven, I was eager to travel to other countries and was especially curious to visit the United States and find out why its people were so discontented with God.
One day as I was sitting behind the counter daydreaming about a trip abroad, I glimpsed Hopeton trudging up the hillside with another newly dead Jamaican in tow. I hurried into the back room and got out the official government register and reentered the shop just as the
The frantic Jamaican government, seeing that throngs and hordes at the beaches and picnic grounds would be crushed with disappointment, ordered the Jamaican Defence Force to overfly the crowds and blast them with all available stores of Public Works Department dynamite. Police were ordered to compensate for the lack of entertainment by shooting excursion riders and revellers on sight until ammunition was exhausted, and after that to run over as many as was practicable with their patrol cars. Throughout the island the dismay and disgust at the false alarm was so widespread that the temporary American ambassador was dragged out of his residence by rioters and hanged over and over again, much to his immense pleasure, causing him to telegraph Washington with the request that he be permanently posted to the island. Only the Seventh Day Adventists gloated, rebuking the population about reliance on fly-by-night bombing instead of looking to the biblical promise of flood.
After that day of national disappointment, the Gleaner ran stories about the subsequent stormy meetings of Parliament during which the government and opposition took turns blasting the Americans for their selfishness, with one member asking rhetorically, “Mr. Speaker, is this the act of a friend, an ally, to promise a bombing and then, for the sake of saving pennies, disappoint an entire nation?” at which the berobed speaker glowered and looked severe.
When I was done with my reading, I found that I was sweating with such excitement that I had to get some fresh air.
As I was walking out of the building, I stopped off at the reception desk and asked the bespectacled librarian if she had been in heaven during the episode of the bogus bombing, which made her scowl disagreeably and grumble, “Baps, if you please, I don’t want to talk about dat distressing day. I had a picnic lunch packed and me whole Sunday school class with me. De children were all excited ’bout de awaited bombing. Den come to tell, not even a firecracker fall, much less a bomb.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, what was was, and what is is, and what will be will be.
You getting plenty grind, Baps?”
“Oh, yes. Plenty.”
“We’re all good Jamaican Christians, and we must be charitable in our hearts and grind one another regularly. None should lack pum-pum in heaven. If de sisters neglecting you, even though I busy wid me grandchildren, I’ll come grind you tonight.”
“I grind enough already, ma’am.”
“Since Miss B gone back down, I don’t see you again in church. You backsliding?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I am seeking reform.”
“Seek de said reform, Baps. Come back to us! Don’t hang out with rude boy! And stop running around with God in de bush, bawling ‘Boo’ at idle old cow. If dis wasn’t heaven, de poor cow would already dead of heart failure.”
“Yes, ma’am. Good evening.”
“Good evening, Baps! Get grind regular. Uphold standards.
Being in heaven don’t mean dat slackness must triumph.”
“No, ma’am.”
With her kindly pieties still fresh in my ears, I ambled out into the village streets which were shimmering in the loveliness of another beautiful heavenly sunset.
Chapter 14
I am a curious man. I like to learn about the world and the people who inhabit it. Before I dropped dead, my hobby was studying geography books, especially memorizing names of mountains and rivers in the Temperate Zone.
So now that I was in heaven, I was eager to travel to other countries and was especially curious to visit the United States and find out why its people were so discontented with God.
One day as I was sitting behind the counter daydreaming about a trip abroad, I glimpsed Hopeton trudging up the hillside with another newly dead Jamaican in tow. I hurried into the back room and got out the official government register and reentered the shop just as the
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