Abraham's Treasure Page 2

  He shrugged. Why him? James had begun to scramble out of the water. Jerome jumped down from the Rock of Ages and into the water. It felt cool on his skin. He had to swim from the deep part to the shallow part where James was now tramping toward Granny, apologising.

  ‘We didn’t know what time it was.’

  ‘Where the watches Father Mackey give you for your birthday?’

  ‘You tell us not to wear them to the river,’ James murmured.

  Jerome stood with his brother on the bank and looked up into Granny’s face. She wasn’t really angry. She was just being Granny.

  ‘Rain coming.’ Jerome glanced at James as Granny warned again. ‘Go! Put your clothes on. Go and help Father Mackey before the rain come.’

  She handed them each a brown paper bag. In the bag were two bakes, fried round circles of dough with a crispy brown skin, and a grafted mango – the sweet ones with red spots at the base. James opened the bag and immediately began to devour the bakes. Jerome carefully washed his mango in the river after a quick inspection.

  Granny shook her head. ‘You think I’d give you a dirty mango?’

  ‘No ma’am.’

  ‘If I wasn’t used to your silly ways I’d box you on the ears for insulting me like that.’ Jerome was about to apologise when he heard a sudden roar. Their eyes darted toward the river. James jumped back. A wall of brown liquid was swelling toward the Rock of Ages.

  ‘Get back, get back!’ Granny held up her long skirt and pulled Jerome’s arm. He’d seen this many times before but the suddenness of it was always fantastic. The river had almost doubled in depth in a matter of just minutes. The rain he could see approaching from the mountains in a tall, slow-moving march like a troop of soldiers made out of mist. That one little cloud was now joined by at least seven or eight of its friends.

  ‘De river here!’ The Rock of Ages, no longer majestic, was quickly being swallowed up as the aggressive waters swiftly rose up its heights. ‘Let’s go, let’s go!’ Granny said. The river-bank was now covered in ankle deep muddy water.

  ‘I’ll race you to the house,’ James muttered under his breath.

  But a loud clap of thunder had drowned out his voice and before they knew it the skies opened and massive drops of rain had soaked their clothes. As they rushed up the path and onto the main road leading to the house they could hear the angry rush of the river as it thirstily drank in the raindrops.

  Chapter 3

  Jerome believed that a spirit called Serenity lived at the presbytery and on Sundays she brushed every flower, ancient building, wizened person, even the air, with her soft, calming wings. Of course, he would never reveal such a thought to his brother; but, oh, the beauty and magic of the quiet Serenity brought.

  Most of the priests were resting or meditating, grateful for the end of the duties of another Sunday. It was Jerome’s and James’s job to help Granny clean the cathedral and then visit with Father Mackey to see if he needed anything.

  ‘You think we should go and ask Father Mackey now?’ James picked at his massive afro with a comb. Granny had given up on trying to get him to cut his hair. Jerome thought his brother’s hair was an abomination – but at least it made it easier for people to tell them apart. He ran his hand over his close-cut hair and decided that he needed a haircut already. ‘No. I not going in there till he call for us. Granny going to come by looking to see if we doing our work anyway.’

  Granny had been Father Mackey’s personal cook since he had moved to Dominica, which was a very long time ago – way before James and Jerome’s father had even been born.

  The way Father Mackey told the boys the story was like this: on his first day in the capital Roseau, he met a beautiful young lady at the market. She sat before baskets and heaps of passion fruit, oranges and guavas laid out on a burlap sack on the ground. He’d never left Australia before that and so he’d never known the sweetness of a guava or the tangy egginess of the passion fruit. He’d asked her to allow him to taste each fruit before he would buy. She told him: ‘Father, I have to feed my children. I cannot afford to give away my fruit. Even to you. I am sure God will understand and forgive me.’

  Father Mackey had admired this woman’s sensibility and he’d bought two piles of passion fruit and guava. She gave him a little extra, just to show that she was not a selfish woman – just a person who cared that her children were well fed.

  When Father Mackey offered her the job of cook she saw that she could make extra money and took the job with the highest of expectations, determined that it would fulfill all the dreams she held for her children. That was in 1972.

  So much had happened since then. Granny had indeed worked hard and her three boys did receive a good education and now had their own families. There had been sad things too: the twins’ mother had died, and their father had left the island for America. She hoped that Jerome and James would join their father there when they were old enough. Maybe it would heal their hurt from losing their mother at so young an age.

  Granny busied herself in the kitchen; Father Mackey, like her, was now getting old. Since the last stroke he’d lost a lot of his vibrancy but she knew he’d return to his old self someday. He only ate soup now – on Mondays he ate pumpkin soup;Tuesday, lentil soup; Wednesday, red bean soup; Thursday, chicken soup; Friday was cabbage. On Saturday, she had the day off and still went to the market with her guavas and passion fruit. On Sunday, she made a big pot of callaloo. It was the only day she cooked for all of the priests; the rest of the week she belonged to Father Mackey.

  ***

  Jerome surveyed the rows and rows of pews and sighed. He hated church cleaning days. The pews were like rows and rows of grain waiting to be harvested – by hand. He remembered stories Granny told him about her days as a young girl working on a banana plantation for five cents a day. She’d said that sometimes she dreamed that the rows of bananas would swallow her up and she’d never see the sun or sky ever again. This is how Jerome felt when he faced off the dozens of old benches in the musty church. It would take two hours to clean them the way Granny wanted, with a dust cloth from top to bottom. Twice. There had to be a better, faster, easier way. Had to be.

  James sang as he cleaned his side of the rectory. ‘Treasure. Treasure. I’m going to be a millionaire. And I go’n get a girl that look jus’ like Beyonce.’

  ‘Boy, you better stop that! You making me crazy, man!’ Jerome couldn’t take it anymore. ‘Lying for no reason when my hand hurtin’ me like mad! Man!’

  ‘Lying? Lying? Father Mackey tell us about it weeks ago. You was there but you wasn’t listening. That was the day you was faking like you sick. Remember?’

  ‘I was sick. My head was hurting.’ Jerome tried to remember whether he really was sick that day.

  ‘Well, that’s your fault. He said the treasure buried somewhere in Dominica and it just waiting for someone to claim it.’

  ‘I remember what he say,’ Jerome rolled his eyes. ‘That was just one of the old man’s stories. He always telling stories; why you think this one real? The one about the wolf that come down from Mount Diablotin wasn’t real. We don’t have no wolf in Dominica!’

  James nodded. ‘That’s true but this one different, man. And he say we should go and find it. He say we have to do it because it is tied to our destiny.’ James was extra-serious as he recited the words ‘tied to our destiny’.

  Jerome sighed. ‘I didn’t hear him say that at all.’

  James shook his head. ‘You had left his room by then. He tell you to go home early and rest your head.’

  ‘I remember,’ he said. ‘But I still think is some kind of fake story he making up just to talk. He just like to talk. All old people like to talk.’

  ‘Say what you want, man. Is true. And when I find it, I not go’n share with you.’

  ‘You? If you find treasure, you’ll lose i
t anyway.’

  ‘Ah?! A million dollars?! You serious, man? You know how much money that is?’

  ‘Go and ask Father Mackey. He’ll tell you,’ James defended himself as he sopped a mop in a bucket full of detergent and grungy gray water.

  ‘I will. I go’n tell him about your lying ways.’

  ‘Whose lying ways?’ Granny suddenly appeared in the middle of the church’s dimness. ‘Whose lying ways? You cannot lie in the house of God.’ There was a seriousness in her voice that commanded the mops to stop moving.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Jerome started. ‘I was just…’

  ‘Hurry up,’ Granny said. ‘Father Mackey need to talk to all-you today.’

  Jerome groaned inside. He could hear a soft but steady rain against the roof of the church; it made him sleepy. He didn’t enjoy these Sunday afternoon conversations with Father Mackey. It was bad enough they had to go Mass in the mornings and then come back to clean the church. It was bad enough they had to go to Catholic school and be worse cricket players than the boys at Roseau Boys’ School. It was bad enough that their own father kept promising to send for them – but only promising – so they could leave this island once and for all and live in America where he, Jerome, could find all the books on weather and astronomy that he wanted. It was bad enough…

  ‘Stop daydreaming, Jerry!’ Granny said. ‘Finish your work then you can daydream.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ***

  These days Father Mackey hardly left his room. He wasn’t a very old man, but two strokes had left him in a wheelchair.

  ‘I may not have a lot of time left,’ he said slowly.

  Jerome shifted relieved, thinking Father Mackey meant that today’s lesson would be short.

  ‘James,’ Father Mackey turned to James, who was sitting rapt at his feet. Jerome sat in a chair, further away where he could daydream without offending Father Mackey. ‘Have you told your brother about what we talked about?’

  ‘Yes, Father. But he doesn’t believe me.’ The rules were clear. No slang or broken English when talking with Father Mackey. He would not tolerate it.

  Jerome sat up straight in his chair.

  ‘Jerome, why don’t you believe your brother?

  ‘Um…uh…All he said was there was a treasure buried somewhere. It sounded like one of his games to me.’

  Father Mackey shook his head and closed his eyes. ‘I don’t have a lot of time left. My twin brother will be coming from Australia to claim it as his own.’ He waved an arm weakly. ‘He’s a desperate man but I don’t believe he will hurt you. And he won’t get his hands on it. That treasure is sacred. It’s only for those who deserve the inheritance.’ His voice rasped. Father Mackey had mentioned his brother in the past – a twin brother who was the owner of a multinational corporation. To Jerome the man sounded like a character in an American movie: rich, powerful, wasteful and probably not very smart. To James, Father Mackey’s brother was the adversary, the nemesis, the evil action figure that he, James, would someday defeat in some glorious, stunt-filled event that would somehow involve Beyonce.

  Jerome looked at James, who was smiling triumphantly as if to say: ‘See! I was right!’

  ‘Where is the treasure?’ Jerome asked quietly, afraid to offend Father Mackey who had always been closer to James, probably because James ‘believed’ and Jerome didn’t.

  Father Mackey shook his head. ‘Abraham,’ he said, breathing in and out heavily.

  ‘Abraham?’ Jerome and James said together and looked at each other.

  ‘Abraham in the Bible?’ Jerome asked.

  ‘That’s a good place to start,’ Father Mackey said opening his eyes and focusing on Jerome. ‘But it’s not going to be easy. Remember what I’ve always told you boys?’

  Jerome racked his brain.

  ‘There’s no book of Abraham in the Bible,’ Jerome said with authority. Of that, he was absolutely certain.

  ‘No? Are you sure?’ Father Mackey laughed weakly.

  ‘Um…Yes?’

  Father Mackey focused his blue eyes on Jerome sharply. ‘Every book in the Bible, from beginning to end is the book of Abraham. Go. Look for yourself. If you can’t find it then I haven’t taught you anything.’ Jerome looked down ashamed.

  ‘So how will we know where to find…’ James broke the uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Start from the beginning. Search from the very beginning. A to Z. If you can use what I’ve taught you then maybe I will help you.’

  Jerome and James looked at each other, excitement building in their eyes.

  ‘What is the treasure, Father Mackey?’ James asked sheepishly. ‘A million dollars? Gold and diamonds?’

  Father Mackey laughed, stronger this time. ‘That and more, boys. That and more. It could make you very, very rich men someday. But when you find it you would have already gained enough to be the richest men in the universe.’

  James took in a deep breath and his eyes lit up. He could imagine it now. The richest men in the universe! He and Jerome would take Granny to America and buy her the biggest house in Hollywood with five swimming pools, a movie theatre, two game rooms, and a basketball court. They would go to the best schools money could buy in a chauffeured car, with servants tending to their every need. He had to find this treasure!

  Jerome felt the excitement in the room too; it was infectious from the way Father Mackey smiled. But a part of him was cautious. What if Father Mackey was just being his old priestly self? What if this was one of his many object lessons and there was no real treasure at the end instead just another moral or principle? Yes, if there was a treasure he wanted it, too. But was this real? He was so afraid of big, fantastic dreams – like living with his father. He was still waiting for that one very important one to come true – one that did not require such a big leap of faith.

  Chapter 4

  Granny was proud of her house though it didn’t look like much to the average person but the tiny, two-bedroom concrete dwelling with corrugated-iron roofing that sometimes leaked was all her own.

  Tonight she’d watched the boys go to their room early, surprised they didn’t want to watch television. They must be up to something in that room, she thought as she sat on the front porch, sipping cinnamon tea and watching the stars. Her quiet time was interrupted by the squat figure of Petra. ‘Bon soir, Ms Marcellina.’ Petra said angelically.

  ‘Bon soir, doo doo,’ Granny smiled. Too bad more children didn’t speak patois anymore. ‘James and his brother doing their homework so you will have to come back tomorrow. OK?’

  Petra nodded brightly, hiding her disappointment. ‘OK. Sleep well tonight, Ms Marcellina.’ She didn’t even give me a chance to sweet-talk her some more, Petra complained inwardly.

  ‘Goodnight, cherie,’ Granny said.

  ***

  Petra tiptoed into the back door of her house. She could hear the television playing in the living room and her mother’s excited voice, chatting on the phone with Aunt Creamy. She couldn’t believe it! There was no other explanation: James and Jerome had stolen her diary! She could barely contain her anger. She slammed the refrigerator door shut after looking in it for three meaningless seconds. She didn’t care about food. She cared about her diary. She wanted to work on her project: writing about her summer adventures. But those stupid boys had taken her work. She’d get it back from them! Even if it meant breaking into their room once she had the chance.

  ‘Petra, is that you?’ Her mother called out.

  ‘Yes, Mummy, I just finished washing the dishes.’

  ‘Good. Make sure you wash your face and put on night cream before you go to sleep.’

  Petra rolled her eyes. Her mother was intent on turning her into a beauty queen. So far it wasn’t working. ‘Yes ma’am.’ Night cream? She’d never used the stupid thing
; it sat on her dresser rejected with the rest of the hair and skin products her mother forced on her.

  ‘And wrap your hair in the silk scarf so it will stay smooth.’

  ‘Yes ma’am.’ Petra grit her teeth. There was no way she was wrapping her hair in a silk scarf. It made her head sweat and her brain broil. If she did that then she’d have to sleep with the windows open and that wasn’t a good idea. She didn’t like the windows open at night. Look what had happened the last time she’d left the window open!

  She went to her room and flipped through her desk drawer. She had new composition books her father had sent her from Trinidad, where he taught at university; she could start a new diary. The hikes she’d taken with cousin Mark were still fresh in her mind. But why? She looked up at the ceiling. I can get my diary back from those stupid boys. What she could do, she thought, was make them regret the day they ever thought they could mess with her. She took out a composition book and began to write quickly, her face breaking into a wide smile as her plan of revenge took shape on the lined pages.

  ***

  James scratched his head and squinted hard at the sheet of paper as if the words would suddenly yield up the clue he wanted.

  ‘Abraham,’ he said out loud. ‘Ab-ra-ham.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Jerome said. ‘I thinkin’!’

  James picked at his afro. ‘I think I have an idea.’

  Jerome glared at his brother. ‘I tryin’ to concentrate!’

  Even though it was the holidays they still attended summer school three days a week and there was homework they were neglecting. Granny was surprised when they’d barely touched their supper of buttered bread and orange juice. ‘What is wrong with you boys?’ she’d asked more than once. Usually, they fought over who could have a second or third glass of their favorite homemade drink. Every night they squeezed their own oranges, picked from a tree in the back yard, and added water and brown sugar to the mix. Sometimes Granny would add vanilla essence to give the drink a little more sweetness. Sometimes, if Uncle Peter stopped by on his way home from the bakery he’d bring gingerbread cookies; and they’d have gingerbread cookies and warm sweetened milk for supper instead. But supper was the last thing on their minds tonight. Father Mackey had said the first clue would be easy to find. ‘It’s closer than you think.’ He’d laughed when they’d asked for another hint.