Jerome suddenly found a voice rising up deep inside of him. ‘No! We have a right to be here. This is our country.’
‘Your country? I paid money, more money than you’ll ever see in your life to be here. This is my land. Now get off it!’
But Jerome held his ground. ‘You’ll never find it,’ he said.
‘Never find what?’ Mackey’s eyes narrowed.
‘The treasure. You’re looking in the wrong place.’ Before he could say another word, he was being hauled off the ground by the collar of his uniform shirt.
‘What did you say, boy?’
‘Let him go!’ James screamed and lunged at Mackey. Jerome fell to the ground as Mackey let go of him suddenly. Mackey towered over them like a red giant and pointed his finger. ‘If I ever see you or your brother anywhere near this site or any other place…’ He didn’t finish the sentence but the boys knew what he wanted to say from the flash of evil in his eyes. Could this really be Father Mackey’s brother?
‘Let’s go,’ Jerome said breathlessly and tugging at James who was staring at Mackey defiantly. ‘Let’s go, James!’
‘We haven’t found…!’
‘It’s not here,’ Jerome said, looking directly at Mackey. ‘It’s not here.’
Mackey smirked. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.’
Jerome pulled at James’s arm and they half-ran down the path back to the main road to the bus stop.
‘Get back to work!’ they could hear Mackey’s voice booming. Within thirty seconds the sound of pickaxes shattering dry earth invaded the quietness of the Carib Territory.
‘Let’s just go to the bus stop,’ Jerome said, sensing James’s urge to go back and fight.
‘What’d you mean it’s not there?You trying to bluff or what?’
‘No. It’s not there. I figured it out.’
‘Red Land of the Red Man,’ James said, waving as they saw the bus snaking down the narrow mountain road. ‘The Caribs are Indians, everybody knows that.’
‘Yes, but this is not their land.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘He go’n be so mad when he figure out that Indian chief tricked him. But it’s a good thing. It’s payback.’
‘What you talking about?’ James asked, confused. And Jerome told him the story he remembered from social studies class three years ago. Red Place. Red Land. Jerome never forgot the history lesson because, he remembered, Place Wouge was Granny’s village, where her mother and grandmother were born. That was the Red Land of the Red Man. Red for the colour of the kolba trees the Caribs planted in neat rows at their ancient burial sites. He knew exactly where to look for the next clue. Julius Mackey may be rich and powerful but he was wrong, dead wrong.
Chapter 13
The boys peered at the carving on the tree in deep concentration; it said one word: ABED. They’d left school right after detention. The punishment was relatively light for missing one day of summer school with no excuse note: one hour of detention with a warning letter to be delivered to Granny. Jerome felt bad about the fact that Granny would never see that letter. He didn’t want to be one of those boys, never wanted to be. But it seemed to him that he was slowly becoming a delinquent. And he liked it! It was thrilling and dangerous. He looked at his brother who seemed to be right at home – in his element. Was this what life felt like every day for James? The constant rush of feeling that you were getting away with so much wrong that you were invincible?
They’d taken another bus, for the bumpy hour-and-a-half drive all the way out to the coast. If Granny only knew where they were! James prayed that they would find what they were looking for and make it home before dark. At least they could tell Granny they’d stayed at the library all afternoon. She’d believe him; she’d have her doubts about James but she always had doubts about James.
‘Abed as in a bed? Like you sleep in?’
‘It’s one word.’ Jerome stared at the carving on the tree. There was no doubt that this was the clue. The driver had dropped them off at the entrance of Place Wouge. The village was very quiet; a few darkened shops with open doors, selling warm Coca-Cola, stale bread, and year-old sticky sweets. It was yet another of those villages that had long been abandoned by the young people who had gone to the capital to find jobs or to go to a better school. The only people left were the ones who were Granny’s age who wanted only to hear the ocean every night before they fell to sleep.
As the boys had walked along the road that afternoon, they’d noticed fishermen cleaning their boats on the gravelly beach. James stood to watch and Jerome let him. He knew what his brother was thinking.
‘Sometimes I think she’ll just rise up out of the water,’ James said, his eyes searching the jewelled surface of the sea.
‘She’s in heaven.’
‘Heaven can be the ocean too. It’s beautiful and mysterious; like she was.’
‘You’ll feel better when we go to America to live with Daddy.’
James shook his head and Jerome could see his brother swallowing tears. ‘I just wish she’d never left us.’
‘Me too.’
They started walking again in silence to the Carib Memory Garden. The garden was in fact two acres of native kolba trees, bougainvillea, anthuriums and other flowers that bloomed in red. The red was symbolic – for the skin colour of the Caribs and for the blood that was shed here and in all the other lands the Caribs had lived and were killed off by colonisers or other Indian tribes. The Memory Garden was not a tourist attraction; it was a sacred place.
‘Remember when Granny brought us here to pray when America went to war with Afghanistan?’
Jerome nodded though he was sure his brother meant Iraq. It was that memory that came to him when he saw Julius Mackey digging in the wrong place. Red Land of the Red Man. Granny had believed that World War III would soon break out; she’d brought the boys to the Memory Garden to pray for peace on earth and protection of people who were too poor or powerless to protect themselves. The two rows of tall red trees, the flaming blooms, and the sweet flowery smell.
But what did this word ‘Abed’ mean? Every other kolba tree along the first row was inscribed with the same carving at eye level: ABED.
‘Let’s go down the other row,’ Jerome suggested. The place was as still as the sanctuary on a Saturday afternoon and they could see or hear no one. They were not afraid because they knew that this was the last place Julius Mackey would come looking.
‘Same thing,’ Jerome yelled as he ran down the second row of trees, peering at the carvings. ‘Abed. Abed. Abed. Every other tree.’
Forty trees, facing one another, each other tree – or twenty – inscribed with the word ABED. There had to be some significance to all this Jerome thought. He just needed to find out what that word meant. Oh! He threw his backpack open and fished out his dictionary and flipped to the front. Abase, abash…able. No Abed. Could it possibly be Abel? As in Cain and Abel?
As if reading his mind James came running to him. ‘What if it’s not Abed but Abel? You know? Cain and Abel?’
‘It’s not an ‘L’. It’s Abed.’
‘But they coulda made a mistake.’
‘On forty trees? Every single time?’
‘They didn’t have good schools back then?’
Jerome shook his head. ‘I think it’s another language. There’s more to it.’
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of loud, foreign voices. They looked and their faces fell. How did he find them? Did he have them followed? Julius Mackey and another white man, who was speaking very loudly.
‘I can assure you Mr Mackey, there is nothing buried here. This land is owned by the Carib people and as a matter of fact we’re trying to get it designated a World Heritage Site. See, there’s no other such garden in the entire world where African
slaves and Amerindians collaborated to fight against slavery and succeeded, however briefly. As you can see, each other tree on here is inscribed with the name of the slave who led the rebellion of 1796. His name was Abed.’
The boys stared at each other with mouths wide open. That’s what Abed meant?
‘Can I help you boys?’ the man who was acting as tour guide called out to the boys.
‘We were just looking around. Our Granny used to bring us here when we were little,’ James said, affecting his most innocent voice.
The tour guide smiled generously. ‘Take your time. This is a peaceful place. All are welcome.’
Julius Mackey glared at the boys but said nothing.
‘Shouldn’t you boys be going on home?’ Mackey looked at his watch. ‘It’s going to be dark soon and you boys don’t want to be out at night.’ He sighed and Jerome thought he saw a hint of concern in Mackey’s eyes. ‘You boys really need to leave this alone – for your own good.’
James was staring at the red-headed man who was nearly twice his size but Jerome grabbed his brother’s arm. ‘Let’s go home.’
‘Come again anytime,’ the cheerful tour guide said.
The boys ran to the bus stop feeling exhilarated and confused. It was amazing how the answer to their question just miraculously fell into their lap. Or did it?
***
Granny was waiting on the steps with Uncle Peter as they walked up the lane to the house. They were sweaty from sprinting from the bus stop; Jerome was nearly out of breath.
‘Where you boys been?’ Granny demanded.
‘At the library,’ James said quickly.
‘The library?’ The doubt was clear in her voice. But Uncle Peter came to their rescue. ‘You boys better not lie to her. I told you what she used to do to me and your father when we lied,’ he said.
‘I don’t beat them,’ Granny said defensively.
‘Why not?’ Uncle Peter laughed. ‘You beat us all the time.’
Granny looked embarrassed. ‘That was before. I know better now.’
‘I was just joking, Mama,’ Uncle Peter laughed putting his arm around his mother. She shrugged his arm off. ‘Come inside, boys. I have to talk to you about some things.’
They exchanged looks. They were guilty of so many lies. They had to be in big trouble. They followed Granny and Uncle Peter into the house. Jerome told himself that he no longer liked living the dangerous life. It was time to go back to being his old boring self.
He followed Granny into the living room dejectedly. On the table was a large manila envelope; it looked official.
They sat on the sofa and Granny sat in her favourite armchair. Uncle Peter sat next to the boys on the creaky wooden chair Grandpa made the year before he died – before the boys were born.
Granny began to speak. ‘I have good news.’ But she didn’t look happy. ‘The American…immigration people approve your visas. Your father is finally making enough money to support the two of you in America.’
‘What?’ James asked. ‘What did he say?’
‘Your father? He call earlier this afternoon. He was happy. He say he’s excited for you to come to America.’ Granny’s tone was all finality and resignation, like she was giving up a long-fought battle.
‘But we haven’t seen him in so long,’ Jerome said slowly. He didn’t know why those were the first words that came out of his mouth. It seemed like forever since he’d dreamed of going to America to live with his father. But now the whole idea seemed implausible. He barely knew John-Boy, his father. One day he was there and then he wasn’t.
All he knew was that when Mama had drowned at sea, their father could not handle the grief of seeing her face in that of his twin sons. So he’d run off to America. He’d married an American woman and was now an American and an accountant. But that’s all Jerome knew about his father besides the polite letters and pocket change John-Boy sent monthly.
‘So you boys,’ Granny’s voice was shaky. ‘Will probably be going to live with him in the next. . .’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘In the next two months.’
‘Two months?’ James echoed Granny.
‘What about school?’ Jerome asked.
‘You will go to a better school up there,’ Uncle Peter said. ‘All the schools in America are very rich. You’ll have your own computer in your classroom with Internet and everything. Better books. Free lunch every day. Pizza and Coca-Cola.’
Uncle Peter had never been to America and Jerome knew he was probably stretching things a bit. But it sounded good. ‘Better books? And Internet access at school?’
Uncle Peter nodded enthusiastically as he read over the pages and pages of forms that were in the manila envelope. ‘This, boys, is your ticket out. You can go to America and make something big of yourselves. Your father is waiting for you. You will have a better life.’
Jerome looked at Granny. ‘You coming too, right, Granny?’
Granny snorted. ‘You crazy, boy? I’m an old woman. What I want with America?’
‘We can’t go without you, Granny,’ James said, standing.
‘You stop that, James. You will go and get yourself a good education. I already lived my life.’
James sat dejectedly. ‘Why he can’t just come back here?’
‘Is better this way,’ Uncle Peter said. ‘Too many bad memories here for him. But he want you boys with him. All-you his flesh and blood.’
‘But he never call us,’ Jerome said. When he’d raised this complaint in the past Granny had scolded him. ‘Your father is going through a hard time. He still mourning your mother. Give him time.’ But now she said nothing. Nothing.
‘I not sure if I wanna go,’ James said.
‘You going, James!’ Granny said.
Jerome sat quietly looking at Granny. He could see the tears in her eyes and his heart felt heavy too. His father was a blur to him; a distant memory, a far-off dream – like America. He couldn’t believe that this far-off dream now wanted to insert itself into his life – to be his reality. He felt like James. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to go. Especially not now.
***
Later in their rooms they whispered. They could hear Uncle Peter and Granny speaking softly in the living room. Granny was not happy about this; they could see the sadness in her eyes. If they left her and went to America who would take care of her? Uncle Peter? No. Uncle Peter had many lady friends who took up most of his time when he was not working. He’d probably visit Granny once a week at best. Granny needed them, James was saying. They certainly couldn’t leave her; America was too far away.
‘Maybe we can convince her to come with us,’ James said thoughtfully.
‘Persuade,’ Jerome said on reflex. ‘You persuade someone to do…’ He stopped when he realised what he was doing. ‘I wish she would come, too. I don’t want to go.’
‘How come he hardly wanna speak to us? I mean, he send us the same letter every month with pocket money.’
‘I don’t even remember him.’ Jerome said.
‘I can see his face in my mind sometimes but I don’t really feel anyway about him. He been gone so long.’
‘He was only trying to make a better for life for us.’
‘I thought he leave because he couldn’t be around the bad memories.’
‘That too. A lot of things.’
‘I might like to go to school in America.’ Jerome looked up at the ceiling. ‘But maybe when I’m older. Like for college. Like Charlie. You know?’
‘I wish Granny would come with us.’
They were silent, contemplating their uncertain futures for several minutes. Then there was a knock on the glass louvres. James looked up and he could see Charlie’s blond hair glinting in the moonlight. ‘Let me in,’ Charlie called out. James opened the side do
or.
‘So where’d you guys go yesterday? I heard you did time at detention hall,’ Charlie settled down on James’s bed.
Jerome told him about the encounter with Julius Mackey and the trip to Wouge Place. Charlie seemed to grow more and more intrigued. ‘So wait, there’s actually some guy paying people to dig up the ground looking for this treasure?’
‘Now you believe it?’ James mocked. Charlie shrugged. ‘It just didn’t seem real when that phlegmatic old priest was rasping it out.’
‘If we had Internet access we could find out what the Caribs and slave rebellion had to do with our treasure,’ Jerome said.
Jerome turned to look at Charlie. ‘You have Internet access at home.’
‘I do,’ Charlie said. ‘But if I’m gonna be helping do the research I wanna go next time you go looking for something at the reserve. I want in on the action.’
Jerome sighed. ‘OK. But try not to make any smart comments.’
James groaned. ‘And you still not getting none of the treasure.’
Charlie gave his usual shrug. ‘Whatever. I’m gonna go home and see what I can dig up.’
They watched him move silently out of their room and out the side door, careful not to disturb Granny and Uncle Peter in the living room. ‘You think we did the right thing by telling him?’ James asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Jerome said. ‘We’ll find out.’
James grinned wickedly and stuck his hand under his mattress. ‘I think it’s time for some bedtime stories.’ He pulled out the diary and opened it on the last page he’d stopped. Jerome shook his head. ‘I don’t want to hear…’
James howled. ‘Oh! Oh!’ He hooted and rolled around on the bed laughing. ‘She said…she said…’ he collapsed on the floor laughing hysterically.
‘OK,’ Jerome said trying to be calm amid his curiosity. ‘What she say?’
James held his belly and laughed dramatically. ‘She said she is so in love with me she cannot keep her thoughts straight. She said I am the most handsome boy in the whole world.’
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