The stiffening of the early evening breeze, followed by a slight drop in temperature signaled rain was close by.
“John, I will go; I want to beat this rain before the road turns muddy and me and my truck slide from up here down to the main road.”
We had been sitting and chatting for over three hours, it was time to go, the rain said so.
“Okay, lemmie gi you a two yam an’ some green fig for cookin…..ah know, ah know, not a lot cause yuh don’t cook.” John raising his hand to quiet my protest.
“I do cook, John, if you please. I make the best….”
Him, cutting me off, “de best cooked garden salad! Yuh better protect dat recipe gyul, you cud be a rich woman one dese day.”
“I meant to say stewed beans in my yabba, John, smart-arse.”
“Well dah is food? Beans is jus a lot a gas. All dah beans you eatin’ and gas you passin’ jus helpin’ to cause dis climate change ting.
I made no comment, but turned off down the path toward my vehicle. Let him eat all the salt beef and pigtail he wanted. I never tell him about the effects of his diet on the planet! But he talking about gas. Hmph!
John went to collect the grun food; grun food is food grown in one’s “ground” or on one’s mountain farm. Young people are not eating grun food these days. Farmers are complaining that they cannot get their yam sold. Traditions die and new ones are born —
cycle of life
Collecting my package, thanking my friend and waving good bye, I started my truck, maneuvered the wide turn, and was soon on my way home.
Halfway down the path, I felt a shift in the air, and this time it was not no rain! It was him, standing on the side of the road, tall, majestic, powerful — like the black Jesus.
He wore three-quarters rolled khaki pants, a thin cotton shirt under a windbreaker and boots for trekking these hills.
Ï was hoping he didn’t see me
My truck approached; there was no turning back. It was one way down, or up, depending on how you look at it.
Pulling to a reluctant stop next to Mystic Man, I smiled,
“Hey Judah, errh Jah Son. How are you? Where are you off to? Back to the farm? I was up by John, but I didn’t see you come by. Not that I was looking out for you, but…..”
I was babbling like a dry river after a shower of tropical rain.
Sensing my nervousness, Mystic Man smiled. If that smile as meant to comfort or reassure me that everything was okay, it did not help — -the smile made my foot slip off the clutch, causing the engine to cut out.
Brown eyes danced with mirth; suddenly they flashed green twice; the colour was gone before I could even register it past my subconscious. Did I catch some subliminal message or something?
Was he subliminalizing me all this time?
Of course he was, it was in his energy, he kept flashing the connecting code.
Me, I have a electrical short in my wiring — message not received. I wasn’t going there.
I. Trudie Palmer
One Love