East of Acre Lane

by Alex Wheatle

  ‘Why?’ Biscuit asked, leaning forward.

  ‘I used to ’ave ah uncle who lived in de hills. He was de first rasta me ever did see. He would come down from his place now an’ again to visit my family. An’ every time before ’im set off he would tell me fantastic stories.’

  ‘About wha’?’

  ‘Oh, first of all Anancy fairytales, an’ den when me get a liccle older he would tell me stories ’bout African Kings.’

  ‘Wha’s Anancy?’

  ‘You don’t know? Anancy is like a clever spider who can change into any shape he wants. He gets into all kinda adventures, but really Anancy stories are for children.’

  Biscuit nodded his head as he sucked his own ready-made spliff.

  ‘Anyway,’ Nelson resumed, ‘it was not de done t’ing back in dose days to wear locks. Me fader did not want anyt’ing to do wid me, so me ran away to ah place near Spanish Town, where de rasta dem find ah coch an’ coulda live somet’ing resembling life. At dis place not even de beggar man would go near it. An’ I ’ad to get used to people who t’ought we were de lowest of de low.’

  Michael Prophet’s ‘Hear I Prayer’ sounded from the suitcase. A herb seed cracked and emitted a sweet smell.

  ‘We moved to Kingston in de early sixties cos we were not wanted near Spanish Town,’ Nelson went on.

  ‘Where?’ Biscuit asked. ‘Trenchtown?’ He primed himself to sing the opening line of the Gong’s ‘Trench-town Rock’: ‘One good thing about music, when it hits, you feel no pain.’

  Nelson laughed loud, throwing back his head. ‘We did live in ah place called de Dungle in Kingston,’ he continued, regaining his composure. ‘It was more or less a rubbish dump but we made of it wha’ we could, living in small huts an’ t’ing. In 1966, ah liccle after de Emperor visit Jamaica, de government decreed dat de Dungle should be mosh up. Dey destroyed de area completely.’

  ‘Why?’ Biscuit asked again, thinking that it was not just the English police that were bad.

  ‘Basically, cos no one at dat time liked rasta. Anyway, after dat, me an’ some of me rasta bredrens moved to downtown Kingston, or more precisely ah place call Rema. Sufferation me ah tell you. But me hook up wid ah cabinet-making job an’ learn de trade from dis old rasta man, who taught me nuff ’bout life, religion, an’ all dem t’ing der.’

  Biscuit leaned further forward, snared by the dread’s tale. ‘Did you live near Trenchtown?’ he asked again, hoping for an eye-witness account of that legendary part of Kingston immortalised in song by the Gong.

  ‘Yeah, mon. Used to sight nuff artist round dem ways. It was ah desperate time, but talent seemed to be everywhere. Me smoke ’erb wid de Gong one time, an de Stepping Razor.’

  ‘Yeah, seriously? Ain’t lie your telling jus’ to impress? You smoke herb wid de Gong?’

  ‘Lie me nuh tell. It nuh jus’ me, y’understand. Nuff people der ’bout, an I was jus’ passing tru’.’

  ‘Raaar! Can’t believe I’m chatting to a man who’s smoked wid de Gong.’

  ‘An’ nuh nutten. De Gong jus’ ordinary dem time, jus’ like everybody else … Anyway, me was ah man who always wanted to travel. So me save an’ scrape up an’ t’ing, cos me wanted to reach Africa.’

  ‘Wha’ appened to your eye?’ Biscuit enquired.

  ‘Ah police gun butt where me use to live inna Rema. One morning everybody woke up to de sounds of gunfire. From me tenement yard me see de police dem moshing up people dem yard an’ arresting some bredrens of mine. Me start complain, an’ before me know it, rifle butt sent me spinning to de ground.’

  ‘Shit. So Jamaican police don’t joke.’

  ‘No, yout’. Dey used to brutalise you first, den ask question.’

  ‘Did you go hospital?’

  ‘Yes, some bredrens tek me der. But de doctor dem could nah do nutten wid de liccle facility day ’ad. I coulda gone ah Miami fe de operation me eye did need, but me wanted to use me money to go Africa.’

  Biscuit started to build another spliff. ‘So when did you reach Africa?’

  ‘In 1969. Me tek ship an’ land ah Sierra Leone on de west coast. Me found ah liccle work as a carpenter, an’ I did work all along de coast of West Africa, until me sight de place where de slavemaster tek de slave dem to de ships … It was ah moving experience.’

  Biscuit remembered seeing something similar on Roots. The scene of Kunte Kinte being manacled in the bottom of a ship was a vision he would never forget. And now he was sitting in front of a man who had been at that place. Biscuit felt that the reality of slavery had finally touched him in human form. The young Brixtonian looked serious and was eager for Nelson to continue. The dread obliged.

  ‘Den me decide to go east, working me way ’cross de continent. An’ I find dat de Muslim influence was everywhere. Until me reach ah country call Mali.’

  ‘Wha’ did you find der? Mud hut an’ t’ing?’

  ‘Me come ’cross a tribe who call demself de Dogon. Der was ah tribesman who could speak French, an’ as me mudder come from Haiti, an’ could speak French, me could speak wid de tribesman jus’ ’bout. Some of de words change up, but we understand each uder … Him tell me somet’ing dat changed me life.’

  ‘Wha’?’

  ‘Dat his people worshipped de stars an’ de ancient sun God, Attum-Ra. Dem tell me dat de pyramids were not burial place, an’ dat dey were built to represent de stars ’pon de very eart’. Dem tell me so de Sphinx is over twelve t’ousand years old. Dey exposed de lie dat de so called professor an’ powers dat be ’ave uttered, who say de Sphinx was built ’bout four t’ousand years ago. Ah lie dat only told cos dem cyan’t admit dat black people ’ad a civilisation when dem living inna raas cave. De mighty people who buil’ de pyramids t’ought de Sphinx was ancient.’

  Nelson paused and checked Biscuit’s eyes, to see if he was showing interest.

  ‘De Dogon tell me dat de Sphinx at one time ’ad ah lion ’ead which looks out to de east to catch de sight of de constellation of Leo as it rise, over ten t’ousand years ago.’

  ‘Hol’ on, dread. You’ve totally lost me.’ Biscuit shook his head. Nelson smiled, encouraged by Biscuit’s apparent enthusiasm.

  ‘Wha’ birt’ sign are you?’ the dread asked.

  ‘Capricorn, innit. I was born jus’ before Christmas.’

  ‘Well, Leo is round ’bout July an’ August. An’ de signs of de zodiac get dem name from groups of stars inna de sky. Y’understand?’

  Biscuit nodded.

  ‘Now,’ Nelson continued, ‘you mus’ ah ’ear ’bout dat de world will soon be inna de age of Aquarius?’

  ‘Yeah, der was some song ’bout it.’

  ‘Right, so now we are living inna de last years of de age of Pisces, cos in astrology we work backwards, seen … De sign of Pisces is de fish. An’ as you should know, de early Christians use de sign of de fish fe identity. De sign of de cross was not de first sign of de Christian dem. Dis was de start of de age of Pisces. Dat was ’bout two t’ousand years ago inna de time of Christ. So every sign ’ave ah period when it rise in de east fe ’bout two t’ousand years, y’understand?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘You will, my yout’, you will. Liccle bit more teaching.’

  ‘So wha’ does all dis mean?’ Biscuit asked, torching his joint.

  ‘Dat as a people, we are much more intelligent dan de so-called establishment gi’ us credit for. An’ from t’ousands of years before Christ we ’ad our own religion, civilisation, government, schools, an’ all dem t’ing der. You descend from de greatest civilisation in de world. Don’t you t’ink dat it kinda funny dat de establishment use de t’ree lion inna dem flag. You ever see lion inna England?’

  ‘Only inna zoo,’ replied Biscuit.

  ‘It’s a crucial symbol, which means dominance an’ power. An Haile Selassie’s title is the Conquering Lion Of The Tribe Of Judah. It nuh jus’ ah t’rowaway tide. It ’as some serious meaning. Der are Sphinx’s all over de upper Nile an’ Nubia, whic
h now dey call Et’iopia, wid lion ’ead.’

  ‘You’re losing me again, Nelson, man.’

  ‘Come to me yard regular an’ you will understand. You affe unlearn wha’ you ’ave learned, an’ den you will see dat our people ’ave been lied to by de so-called establishment an’ t’ing. Jah know! An’ den de education me can teach you will be your key.’

  Biscuit slowly nodded, but wondered what Nelson could teach him. Nelson smiled again, his eyes shining with a deep wisdom. ‘So you call yourself an African, den?’ the teenager enquired.

  ‘Yes, from birt’. As de bird fly over de ocean an’ get sick an’ drop inna de sea. It don’t turn into no fish. It still ah bird. An’ if you listen to the lyrics of Culture’s “Natty Never Get Weary”, it tells us how our people crossed the Atlantic in sufferation. Now, if you imagine dat de Nazis captured de British army at Dunkirk an’ took dem fe prisoner an’ dey was still der to dis day, even der children, do you t’ink de English prisoners would call demself German?’

  Biscuit shook his head and checked his watch. Jah Nelson is interesting, he thought, but he really wanted to see Carol. Don’t stay for too long, he told himself. ‘Er, no. Not dat I really give a damn … Nelson, man, you gonna deal wid me or what, dread?’ he laughed. ‘Can’t stay here an’ jus’ smoke off my herb. Pay me some dollars, dread. I’ve got someone to see.’

  Nelson chuckled, rising to his feet and shaking his locks, making them dance in the air and exposing his greying temples.

  ‘’Erb,’ Nelson stated. ‘Dat’s a story in itself … It was decreed by de very God dat India will be blessed wid nuff ’erbs an’ spices. An’ de land of India will be called The Healing of De Nations. De ancients say dat ’erb grow ’pon Solomon’s grave. Inna de last century, de Indian man bring it come to Jamaica.’

  ‘Indian man provide de collie?’

  ‘Yes, me yout’.’

  ‘So you believe in all dis Selassie t’ing?’

  ‘I’m still searching fe de trut’ to de matter, an’ I still ’ave learning fe do. But you affe believe dat you come from ah mighty people. Even de Greek writers admit dat during the siege of Troy, Memnon, who came from Nubia, an’ everybody say was de bes’ looking man ever born ’pon dis eart’, arrive wid his mighty army to lend ah ’and to de Trojans in dem war ’gainst de Greeks. Nuff scholar travelled from all over de known world to learn at de Alexandria library inna Nort’ Africa. Dis library ’ad all de books, maps an’ manuscript dat man needed – ah lot of dem supplied by de priests of Heliopolis. Until de so-called Christians come wid der badness an’ burn it. Uder races an’ peoples ’ave always tried to obliterate our history. Jah know!’

  ‘Yeah, but dat’s de past, dread. Won’t ’elp me now, will it.’

  ‘But as I show you de first time you come round, you affe know ah beginning to know where you going to end up. So many of you yout’ are ignorant an’ don’t know your roots. But if you did, your esteem would grow sturdy like Sycamore tree, an’ you will believe ant’ing is possible.’

  ‘So, when you reach England?’ Biscuit asked.

  ‘Early 1975. I was on me way to Shashamane Lan’, birt’place of Haile Selassie, when ah whole ’eap ah violence bruk out all over Et’iopia. It was a shame, cah my final intention was to sight de holy church in Axum where de Ark of the Covenant rests. I had to flee sout’ to Kenya; me was surprised cos nuff Indian inna Kenya. Me work me way ’cross de continent, going tru’ Tanzania, Zaire an’ de Congo. Den me work up de west coast which took up de bes’ part ah two year. Me finally reach Casablanca an’ tek ship to Englan’.’

  ‘Backside, you done some serious travelling, innit.’ Biscuit pulled himself to his feet, not wanting to arrive at Carol’s place too late after his promised 10.30 visit. He felt a hot rush inside his head; the herb smoked good.

  ‘To see uder peoples an’ different lands is an education,’ Nelson said. ‘Me eye dem are fully open now, albeit jus’ de one, but it still can open liccle more.’

  Biscuit presented Nelson with a quarter ounce of Jamaican collie. The dread smiled his thanks, passing £50 to the young dealer. Biscuit studied Nelson’s bad eye, and saw that the reddened eyelid was clinging on for dear life. Between the gaps in the locks that partly concealed Nelson’s head, he noticed a lined forehead that had wrestled with many thoughts.

  ‘Before you go,’ Nelson continued, ‘t’ink ’bout dis. It says clearly in de scriptures dat when Christ approached John de Baptist, people were telling Him not to go near ’im as John de Baptist looked so rough wid wild, untamed hair an’ t’ing. Christ ignored his advisors an’ bowed before de prophet, letting him baptise Him.’

  ‘I don’t know ’bout de Bible, dread,’ Biscuit replied. ‘But I know wha’ you trying to say.’

  ‘When King James edited the Bible, he didn’t do it for black people benefit. But he wasn’t thorough in dis an’ didn’t omit certain clues. He also left out fifteen books which are called de Apocrypha. Dese books included de trio of de Maccabees. But de powers in de church at de time didn’t t’ink dese books followed de church’s traditional teachings. So dey were not included. But it’s clear dat dey weren’t included cos dey detailed certain t’ings ’bout de black race dat were very uncomfortable fe de powers dat be. De Jews say de books is ’bout dem but I disagree.’

  ‘Whatever, whatever. As I said, never read de Bible anyway, my mudder don’t keep it in de yard.’

  Jah Nelson look surprised. He changed the subject. ‘So you ’ave ah girl?’

  ‘Yeah, sort of,’ Biscuit replied, realising the time was nudging past 10.30.

  ‘Mek sure you tell her she ah Nubian Queen.’

  Biscuit folded his bounty into his back pocket, and took another look at the impressive African map. ‘Yeah, she’s definitely dat.’

  Nelson watched Biscuit take his leave, admiring his Brixtonian strut.

  14

  Queen Majesty

  On the top deck of the 109 bus Biscuit thought of Jah Nelson’s life story and his words of wisdom. He wondered about the peoples Nelson had met on his travels, and the sights he had seen. He made a mental note that he had to travel to a foreign country one day. Nelson should chat to Floyd, he thought, remembering Floyd’s interest in African history. I ain’t got no time for it. I’m too busy husling, but Floyd spends nuff time inna library dese days, he reasoned.

  Biscuit couldn’t remember the last book he had read, and he thought that if Nelson expected to take him on as some kind of student, then he might be disappointed. It’s alright for Nelson, he told himself. He can spend all the time he wants on his books because he don’t have to worry about no one but himself.

  Carol opened the door, smiling, dressed in dark slacks and a cream-coloured, frilly blouse. Her burgundy lipstick glistened under the light of the nearby lamp-post, and her hair, free of its rollers, topped the look off neatly. Biscuit’s eyes were drawn to her gold ear-rings and neck chain that seemed to sparkle on her dark-chocolate skin. He could only think of one tune, ‘Queen Majesty’ by the Techniques. The song told the tale of a poor man visiting his beautiful queen’s magnificent palace and asking for an audience with her.

  ‘How comes you ain’t dressed,’ rebuked Carol, hands on her hips.

  ‘Dressed? We going on a rave?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you forgot. I left a message wid your mudder last night.’

  ‘I didn’t get it.’

  Carol threw Biscuit an accusing glare, but let him into the hallway. ‘You’d better come in. I s’pose we’ll ’ave to stop at your yard so you can put some garments on.’

  ‘We? Who else is coming ’pon dis rave?’

  ‘Sharon an’ Floyd, innit. Der’s a Crucial Rocker blues up by New Park Road, near where Sharon lives. Yardman Irie’s gonna be der.’

  She led him through to the front room. Biscuit loathed the sight of the neat doilies resting on the limbs of the furniture; it made the room appear so formal, as if Carol’s parents always expected someone important to visi
t. Then there was the huge radiogram situated in the far corner of the room which doubled as a bar. Bottles of whisky, red wine and overproof Jamaican rum teased Biscuit’s dry throat. A wall cabinet filled with assorted glasses and commemorative plates reminded him that Carol’s parents worked hard for their respect.

  ‘Your parents in bed?’ he asked hopefully, parking himself in a doily-clad armchair.

  ‘Yeah. From ’bout ten o’clock dey go upstairs an’ watch TV, regular like anyt’ing.’

  ‘Your paps don’t like me, does he?’

  ‘He don’t like any guys who I chat to. Dat’s how he stay.’

  ‘But wid me it’s more intense, innit. If one day you tol’ ’im you was gonna swap ring wid me, he would leggo some serious tears. I feel so he would come looking for me wid an Ml6 to rarted.’

  Carol laughed. ‘He ain’t dat bad. But den again, he won’t ’ave to feel dat bad cos if it ’appens, by dat time you will ’ave a safe job, innit?’

  Biscuit took his time to respond. He wondered if he would live to see a day when he might go legal, get married and remove himself from the madness. He peered into Carol’s eyes, like black opals, and fearful that he might be caught staring, diverted his gaze. You’re dreaming, man, he told himself. How am I gonna control a decent job? ‘I left school wid nutten, you know de score.’

  ‘Den learn somet’ing,’ Carol snapped, shocked by her own frustration. She paused and composed herself. ‘Don’t boder gi’ me no blasted excuse. If Sharon can go college an’ look after her family, den why can’t you?’

  Education is the key; Biscuit thought of Jah Nelson’s words. He wondered if he did attend college, could he resist the temptation of selling herb to other students? What would his family live on? Maybe he could get a grant. ‘Yeah, maybe you’re right,’ he finally answered. ‘Brenton goes day release at Vauxhall, innit. An’ remember how he got us a squeeze at de Christmas dance dey ’ad.’