Читать книгу Bivouac - Kwame Dawes - Страница 7

ONE

The pains came in sharp spasms, cutting through his stomach. He opened his mouth, sucking in air. He tried to force a belch. More air in his stomach. He had eaten too fast, too late.

They had not heard him come in. This was for the best. He did not want to answer questions, to assume the mask of mourning that was wearing thin. It had been a long day, driving from Mandeville with his father’s body melting in the backseat of the Volvo. Sorrow was tiring.

He had eaten breakfast at four in the morning before they set out. Kingston was sleeping. They drove downtown, breaking red lights at the deserted intersections. The streets were empty except for the occasional madman or -woman shuffling aimlessly along the sidewalk, smudges against the deep blue of early morning. Ferron noticed a cream Toyota behind them somewhere above Cross Roads. Its lights were off.

“Only dog, madman, an’ Christian, to rass,” Cuthbert muttered. As if on cue, a cluster of turbanned, white-clad “mothers” strolled in slow, dreamlike motion across Old Hope Road to their morning prayers. The soft sunlight turned their skins to a tender orange, their robes flecked with gold. The wind played with the flowing robes. They vanished behind a thick hibiscus hedge. Ferron could see the blue tattered flag on a long bamboo pole bobbing above the yard behind the hedge.

They drove along Spanish Town Road where the traffic was a little heavier, and then headed into the country. In Bog Walk, a heavy mist hung in the air. The wiper was on.

They stopped and Ferron stepped behind some bushes to urinate. Farther down the road, just where it curved and disappeared, he saw the Toyota tucked away to the side. He noted the coincidence casually. But from that point on, his body was tense even if he could think of no useful reason to feel that way.

They bought some oranges, mangoes, and bananas from an early vendor. The boy’s eyes were full of sleep. He did not have enough change, so they left him with a healthy tip. He was too sleepy even to smile in gratitude.

Cuthbert turned north toward the Mandeville hills.

The early start was important. Cuthbert understood these government departments; after all, he worked in one. Collecting a body involved at least eight carbon-copied signatures and a file full of paperwork. At that time of the morning, with so little traffic on the road, the ride would take them less than three hours. With any luck, they would be back in Kingston before nightfall. The funeral home closed at five thirty, and the proprietor, Mrs. Abrams, wanted people to think she had a home to go to. She would not be there after five o’clock. More critically for Cuthbert, the parlor was somewhere downtown, near Jones Town. He did not want to be caught there after dark. His political connections were not on that side of town.

After the fruit, Ferron ate nothing else for the day.

He looked back a few times to see if the Toyota was still following. He did not see it.