Abraham's Treasure Page 4

  ‘I don’t know why you even talk to that boy,’ James shook his head, his afro swaying.

  ‘He’s our cousin.’ Jerome looked back as Eustace and his boys took up much of the street, forcing cars to swerve out of their way. ‘Everybody afraid of him.’

  ‘Not me. He can’t do nothing without his boys or that machete.’ James looked firmly ahead.

  ‘He’s still our cousin. I don’t have no reason to hate him,’ Jerome said.

  James shook his head. ‘You something else, man. You something else.’

  Minutes later they waited on the steps of the presbytery while Granny cooked Father Mackey’s supper. James said. ‘There’s seven letters in Abraham. We only at B. And we only have three weeks left before we go back to real school.’

  ‘Shhh! I’m thinking.’

  ‘What if we never find it?’

  ‘Shut up, stupid.’ Jerome said.

  ‘I’m not stupid. I’m the one who figure out what Adam was trying to say.’

  ‘That’s because you speak parrot language.’ Jerome meant it as a joke but James took it seriously.

  ‘That parrot is smarter than you,’ James countered.

  ‘Was.’

  ‘It probably still alive, man.’

  Jerome rolled his eyes. How would they know they were on the right track? He would have been happier if there had been at least one piece of gold or something signalling that they were heading in the right direction.

  ‘B is a place where all the people of the world get together.’ Jerome said.

  ‘That’s easy,’ James said. ‘Heaven.’

  Jerome rolled his eyes. ‘Since when there’s a B in heaven?’

  ‘I was jus’ thinking out loud.’

  ‘Where all the people of the world get together?’

  They looked around. No. It certainly wasn’t here at the Anglican church. Maybe at the Pentecostal church? But that didn’t seem to make sense. All the people of the world? All?

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ Jerome said. ‘Maybe we get some ideas in there.’ The church remained open for most of the day but at three-thirty in the afternoon it was dark, empty and silent. They sat in the back rows.

  ‘What you boys doing out there?’ Jerome and James jumped in unison. Granny suddenly appeared before them.

  ‘This is not a playground. How many times I have to tell all-you to go straight home after school?’ She led them toward the door of the church by their collars.

  ‘If I get home and your homework not finished all-you coming to market on Saturday.’

  That threat sent the boys rushing out of the church. No way they wanted to stand for hours at the market helping Granny hawk fruit to old ladies and tourists. It was the most embarrassing thing in the world. They wanted to be like Dutchy and Sticky and their other friends who went to the beach on Saturdays; who didn’t have to clean any churches; who didn’t even have to go to Mass on Sundays.

  In the evenings there was always the chore list. Once they’d got out of their uniforms they began the work of the day. Their next-door neighbour Edwina, who didn’t have to go to summer school, sat on her porch sucking loudly on an ice pop.

  ‘James, you all want to go to the Girl Guides’ picnic on Saturday?’ Edwina was always getting asked to parties and picnics because she was pretty and friendly. Jerome noticed that she asked James if ‘you all’ wanted to go. He was sure she meant only James. No one ever asked him to go anywhere. But he still liked Edwina. A lot.

  James shrugged and continued to add careful brushstrokes of green paint to the picket fence around the flower garden. ‘I don’t want to go to a picnic with a pack of your stupid friends.’

  Edwina laughed; nothing made her angry. ‘There’ll be other people there. Sandy and Malika and Tamara. People you don’t even know.’

  ‘Like I said. A whole bunch of your gossipin’ friends.’

  Edwina shook her head and her eyes met Jerome’s, which is when he realised he’d stopped pulling up the weeds in the flower beds and was staring at her.

  ‘What?’ she smiled kindly.

  ‘Nothing. You have a thing on your hair. A bug.’

  Edwina’s hand flew to her braided hair. ‘Where?’

  Jerome mumbled something and went back to work. James shot him a look and said under his breath. ‘I cannot believe you like that stupid girl.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Jerome muttered back.

  James snickered as Edwina’s phone rang and she ran into the house to answer it, leaving Jerome staring at the empty chair where she’d just sat. No, he didn’t like that chatty girl. They continued painting and pulling weeds silently. A firm poke in the middle of his back startled him. ‘What?!’ He looked up into the face of Charlie Westminster III.

  ‘What ya’ll up to?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘What we up to?’ James sucked his teeth. ‘You can help me paint this fence and stop asking me stupid questions.’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘I just worked for three hours in the shop. I’m not doing your chores.’ Charlie’s mother ran a small grocery store to supplement the income she made as a textile artist.

  ‘Hey, I’m not going to school tomorrow; can ya’ll cover for me?’

  ‘What you have to do?’ James asked.

  ‘I just need a day off. Gonna go hike up to the Boiling Lake or something.’

  Jerome shook his head. How Charlie’s mother let him get away with all that was so beyond him. One thing was certain: Charlie didn’t need to be in summer school.

  ‘I don’t know why she make you go anyway,’ Jerome said.

  Charlie shrugged. ‘She wants me to meet more kids my age. You know? She thinks it will make me less introverted.’

  ‘Introverted? Man, you not introverted,’ James scoffed. Charlie was one of the biggest troublemakers in their school. The first day he showed up everyone was curious about the white American who challenged the nuns incessantly. The nuns had grown so weary of his constant questioning about everything that they pleaded with his mother to send Charlie to the Windsor School where the expatriates sent their children. Charlie’s mother, Ms Cider had adamantly refused. Charlie said she was too ‘anti-establishment’ to send him to a school built just for rich foreigners.

  ‘Why she think you introverted?’ Jerome asked Charlie, who despite himself had picked up a paint brush and was helping James to paint the fence.

  ‘Cause I won’t talk to her.’

  ‘But you not talking to her because she won’t let you talk to your father. Is not because you introverted,’ Jerome said.

  Charlie and his mother had shown up in their neighbourhood out of the blue. The boys learned from Charlie that his mother, Ms Cider (as Granny ordered them to call her), had fled the United States after divorcing her husband. Mr Westminster had no idea where his ex-wife and son were and he probably would never find out. Cider had made Charlie swear that he would never try to contact his father or any of his friends in America. Charlie promised but took his revenge on his mother by not speaking to her.

  Charlie sighed as he painted the fence attentively. ‘I’m so tired of her narcissism.’

  James sighed dramatically, mocking his friend. ‘Why you use all those words to describe your mother? Why she narcissistic? Because she leave your father?’

  ‘You’ll never understand,’ Charlie said. ‘She thinks the whole world revolves around her.’

  ‘She’s your mother,’ Jerome said.

  ‘And what does that mean?’ Charlie asked. ‘That I can’t criticise her for being a self-involved egotist?’

  Jerome squinted against the sun; he didn’t understand what Charlie meant. He just could never imagine using a word like that to describe his mother…‘Charlie, you just miss your big house and your video games and all your friends in Amer
ica.’

  Charlie was silent for a few moments. ‘Yeah, I do. But she’s still a narcissist. Everything is all about her.’

  ‘Things will get better,’ James said. ‘In two years when you turn eighteen, you can go back to America.’

  ‘Two years is a long time,’ Charlie said pensively. ‘A lot can happen in two years.’

  ‘Not in Dominica,’ Jerome said. ‘I been here my whole life and nothing ever happened to me.’ James looked over at his brother and the silent communication between them was understood. It was too early to tell Charlie about their little adventure. They’d wait.

  ‘I’m going home,’ Charlie announced. ‘Tell your grandmother my mom said she needs to come by and taste her callaloo soup to make sure she got the recipe right or something like that.’

  ‘What?! Ms Cider make callaloo soup?’ Jerome was incredulous. It was well-known that Ms Cider was on a quest to conquer every native dish of Dominica and the neighbours had all been helpful to her, especially Granny. But callaloo soup took a lot of time, energy and skill.

  ‘It’s horrible,’ Charlie said. ‘I tasted it; and it’s just awful. That’s what I mean about her being a narcissist. Now she’s gonna force a compliment out of Ms Marcellina.’

  ‘At least she trying,’ James shrugged.

  ‘Right,’ Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll see you guys tomorrow. I wish you guys had a computer so we could chat online.’

  ‘See you later, man,’ James gathered the brushes and the paint cans.

  By the time Granny got home they had showered and were watching the evening news on cable TV just to make her happy. They alternated between the BBC and the American news channel. Granny always said that one day they might see their father in the background walking down the street in one of those news stories. The idea thrilled Jerome more than he would admit.

  The three of them ate a supper of buttered bread and milky ginger tea in front of the TV. ‘The fence look nice,’ Granny said sipping her tea. ‘And the weeds all gone. Thank you, children.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Granny,’ they answered in unison. It no longer seemed strange to Granny when they spoke in unison or finished each other’s sentences. She was used to her twin grandsons’ peculiarities.

  ‘So, what got you boys so excited these days?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jerome said quickly.

  Granny shook her head. ‘Don’t get into any trouble. That’s all I ask.’ Then she was off to her rocking chair on the porch to talk to the stars.

  Chapter 7

  Petra was in Edwina’s living room, watching Ms Marcellina on the porch having her nightly talk with the stars.

  ‘I can’t believe you just went in their room like that!’ Edwina’s hands were on her face, her eyes wide. ‘That’s breaking and entering!’

  Petra nodded satisfied, her arms folded. Her hair was freshly braided and she’d just finished braiding Edwina’s. Hair-braiding was one of her ‘business ventures’. She braided all of her friends’ hair.

  She’d started when she was ten and now advertised herself as having ‘three years of experience’. Her latest idea was to set up a stall on the waterfront where the cruise ships came in so she could braid tourists’ hair. But her mother had said no. Her mother owned a beauty salon and thought it was degrading, unclassy and just bad business to ‘do hair on the side of the road like a savage.’

  ‘A savage?’ Petra had asked incredulously. ‘Mummy, savages didn’t care about their appearance, let alone whether or not they fixed their hair on the street.’

  But her mother had given her the look, which meant: ‘Shut up. You’re going too far.’ So Petra stuck with braiding her friends and their friends’ hair, charging extra to the friends she thought got big allowances.

  Edwina was still uneasy. ‘I thought they would see you when I was talking to them. But they was so busy painting the fence they didn’t see you climbing out the window.’

  Petra laughed. ‘I see your face change when Jerome say there was a bug in your hair. I really thought: she going to give me away.’

  Edwina giggled. ‘He think I scared because of what he say but it was because I see your leg sticking out the window! And then Charlie come! I almost had a heart attack!’ Edwina clutched her chest dramatically. They laughed for a good few minutes, tears pouring from their eyes.

  ‘Just wait and see. Now that I have it back, I’m going to make big fools outta them for taking my diary!’

  Edwina sighed, still laughing. ‘Oh, don’t be too mean to them. They just bored. You know.’

  ‘Yeah. But they shouldn’t mess with me!’ Petra said. She glanced at the phone she’d bought with her own money after her mother refused to get her one. She had a text from Charlie. ‘You overcharged me.’ It said. She rolled her eyes and texted back: ‘Rlx. U’ll get discnt nxt time.’

  ‘It’s not easy being a businesswoman,’ she said seriously. ‘Everybody want something for nothing.’

  Edwina stared at Petra blankly. Everyone knew that Petra tended to lapse into moments of self-importance. So Edwina simply indulged her. ‘I cannot imagine how hard it must be,’ she said faking sympathy.

  ‘Maybe someday. When you get older.’ Petra sniffed and said her good-byes.

  Edwina shook her head and giggled, still remembering the sight of Petra’s leg sticking out the window while she tried to keep James and Jerome’s attention.

  ***

  The boys rushed through their homework that night, anxious to begin working on the next clue. Their thoughts were simple:‘A place where all the people of the world get together.’

  Jerome was in the middle of a maths problem when James suddenly shouted:‘I got it! New York City.’ Jerome clenched his fist and gently reminded him that New York City was not a part of Dominica.

  ‘At least I making an effort,’ James said meekly as he went back to his equations.

  ‘You finish yet?’ Jerome asked impatiently. James looked down at the list of problems he hadn’t even read yet.

  ‘Yes,’ he lied. ‘Let’s go to work.’

  Jerome pulled out his Bible and opened up at Genesis. ‘We should go in order. So whatever he talking about is after Adam and Eve.’

  ‘Right!’ James said, excitedly. He didn’t take out his Bible. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to remember all his favourite stories.

  ‘Babel! B is for Babel,’ James exclaimed.

  ‘What?’ Jerome looked at him. ‘How?’ Then he looked down at his Bible. Sure enough in Genesis 11 was the story of the tower of Babel.

  ‘How you know that?’ Jerome asked, shocked that his brother would beat him on finding this clue. This did not sit well with him at all.

  ‘It was easy.’ James was smirking. ‘Hey, from now on if I figure out more clues first then that means I get a bigger share of the treasure.’

  ‘No way,’ Jerome raised both his hands. ‘Equal shares. Half and half.’

  ‘Even if I do all the work?’

  ‘There’s no way you could ever do more work than me. Especially if we using brain power.’

  James smirked. ‘But I beat you twice.’

  ‘Yeah? OK then, what’s the connection? Where we have a tower of Babel in Roseau?’

  ‘I’m not doing all the work if you’re getting half. You figure it out. Think about it, smarty.’

  Jerome paged through his Bible, re-reading the story of the tower of Babel when people began talking in different languages and thinking themselves more powerful than God. What did that have to do with anything? Did he even know any other languages? Granny spoke French patois sometimes but only the really old people in Dominica spoke that language now. He’d learned in history class that the French had ruled Dominica off and on in the past. But what did that have to do with a tower? He thought back to Father Mackey�
��s clue: a place where all the people of the world get together.

  All of a sudden the door to their bedroom opened and Granny loomed in the doorway. ‘I want to see your homework!’

  ‘What?’ Jerome balked. ‘We did it. We finish.’

  James hid his maths book under a pillow. But she was too quick for him. ‘James let me see what you hiding.’

  ‘Finish your homework James. Jerome, help your brother. Else you coming to market with me on Saturday at four o’clock in the morning!’ She closed the door behind her as they groaned loudly.

  Jerome threw a pillow at James, who ducked before it hit him in the head. ‘Sorry,’ James wailed. ‘I just want to know so bad! I can’t think about nothing else!’

  ‘We have to do our work first. Then we can do other things,’ Jerome lectured. ‘Get your priorities straight.’

  ‘Priorities?’

  ‘Oh, you so…’ Jerome stopped as Granny rapped hard on the door. ‘Finish that homework now! I want to see those lights off in fifteen minutes!’

  They worked on the problems together quickly. I don’t think that’s right, Jerome said glancing at one of the answers James had hastily scribbled in his notebook.

  ‘Is OK. I don’t have to get them all right.’

  Jerome switched off the lights. His brother would never care about the important things in life. He, Jerome, could not bear getting anything wrong! If he got less than 99 percent on a test he would be depressed for days. But James didn’t care about such things; good enough was good enough for him.

  James was silent and Jerome assumed that he would begin snoring at any second.

  ‘Where all the people of the world get together,’ James said out loud.

  ‘Shut up. You want granny coming back in here?’

  ‘Yes. Yes!’ James said in full voice.

  ‘Shhh!’

  They heard stirring in the room next door.

  You go’n get us in trouble, stupid. But it was too late. They heard Granny’s footsteps and their door opened again. Her massive nightdress, which was several sizes too big for her tall, lanky frame swayed about her.