Abraham's Treasure Page 7

Father Mackey didn’t answer immediately. ‘You will face opposition but that is not a reason to give up.’

  ‘So how many people know about the treasure? Everyone on this island?’ James asked.

  Father Mackey laughed. ‘Not everyone. It’s not about who knows but about who believes.’

  Charlie made a sound like a snort; everyone else in the room glared at him. ‘But you’re saying it’s true?’ Jerome asked.

  ‘Have I ever lied to you boys?’

  ‘No. Never,’ James said forcefully. ‘I believe you Father Mackey. I’m just scared.’

  ‘Why? Because of the poem?’ Father Mackey closed his eyes and said softly, ‘Death and fear; a price so dear; for what lies near; a golden snare.’

  ‘It’s a truly terrible poem,’ Charlie muttered and was roundly ignored.

  James nodded frantically. ‘I don’t want to die. I want to go to America to live with my father!’

  ‘But I thought you were the brave, strong one, James. Aren’t you James the strongest swimmer in your class? The fastest runner and long-jumper?’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ Jerome interjected, wanting to stop this praise of his twin brother. ‘I just don’t want to chase something that’s not real.’

  ‘Ah, Jerome, the brain, the rational one.’

  Father Mackey shifted in his bed and coughed. ‘Each step you take will lead you closer to the truth. I can’t tell you boys anything more. You need to find it yourselves. Just know that a lot of people have gone before you and they failed.’ He pointed at them. ‘But you’re not going to fail. Know why? Because that treasure belongs to you and only you. It’s been waiting for you. The souls of your ancestors have willed it to you. Now if you’re too afraid or too doubtful then you may stop looking now. But that would be the worst thing you could ever do.

  ‘How will we know when we’re close?’ Jerome asked but before he could answer Granny entered the room.

  ‘Where you boys been? You left the house so fast.’

  ‘We came to work early,’ Jerome said.

  She shook her head. ‘At least all-you went to the right place. Now, shoo. Go clean the sanctuary. Now! And Charlie, go home if you’re not going to help.’

  James and Jerome hesitated, waiting for some more reassuring words from Father Mackey. He held up one and said: ‘Go. Do what your grandmother says.’

  They filed out of the room. ‘So, this is Father Mackey? He seems very old and…dramatically ill,’ said Charlie, bemused.

  ‘Man, why you have to be so sarcastic about everything?’ James asked.

  ‘In America, good sarcasm is a sign of brilliance. That’s how I fooled everyone back there. Unfortunately, it seems to be falling flat here.’

  ‘You damn right about that,’ James said. ‘Talk like a normal person and just say what you mean.’

  Charlie sighed. ‘OK. Here goes: I’m going home and I’m not helping you clean this church. Like that?’ He winked.

  ‘Man, get outta here before I hurt you,’ James said.

  Jerome shook his head as Charlie bobbed out of the gates. ‘If I was him I’d just go back to America, you know? Call my father and ask him to send me a plane ticket.’

  ‘He too loyal to his mother,’ James said as they surveyed their field. The sanctuary was not dirty – it never was. They went through the motions anyway: sweep, mop, dust, and so on and so on. Granny often said that it was important to be industrious even though the benefits were not immediate. At the time, Jerome had had to look up the word industrious in the dictionary. Now, every time he felt that this cleaning thing made no sense whatsoever he repeated to himself: ‘It is important to be industrious.’ Because he sure couldn’t see any benefits from sweeping a floor that already looked clean.

  Chapter 11

  Patricia Dubois’ home looked like a wellness spa. The airy rooms of the house were decorated with pastel-coloured walls, gauzy curtains and casual yet stylish furnishings – pillows, paintings and colourful flowers were everywhere. Scented candles gave off the calming aroma of jasmine. And pictures. There were lots of pictures. Mostly of Patricia, smiling and being crowned a beauty queen. Patricia’s efforts to always look and be her best as a beauty salon owner had gained her much respect. Her main dissatisfaction was that her sole daughter had chosen to emulate only her mother’s business acumen and not the desire to be among the most beautiful women on the island.

  On this night, Petra could barely remain still. She sat and stood, sat and stood over again as her mother and Aunt Creamy, who was Mark’s mother, quarrelled. They didn’t even notice she was sitting right there on the sofa. ‘It’s not my fault he won’t come and live in the house. He choose to stay out in the street. I cannot force him to stay inside. The man made up a big lie; leave him to face the consequences!’ Aunt Creamy was talking about the main topic of conversation on the island. Everyone was talking about the fact that Mr Brown, as Petra had always called him, was no longer legless. Petra had seen him on TV. Standing. It frightened her at first but now she was on Aunt Creamy’s side. There had to be a logical explanation. Her grandfather must have been pretending all along. That ‘accident’ he’d had twenty years earlier was probably something he just made up. His mind had been leaving him ever since he was a young man. Everyone knew that. Or at least that’s what Aunt Creamy said.

  ‘Well, the question is what to do with him now.’ Patricia sighed. ‘He cannot stay in town. Everybody running after him.’ Petra’s mother looked out through the curtains apprehensively. The reporters had come by earlier from the TV station and said they’d return later. Petra was forbidden to go outside or to talk to anyone about Mr Brown.

  ‘Where is he?’ Petra asked softly. She’d stayed out of the conversation so far. Her mother had warned her to keep silent when adults were talking.

  Her mother sighed again. Aunt Creamy faced her. ‘He’s with your cousin Mark. He took him to the village. They almost had to tie him down. He said he wanted to be on his own. That old man is so stubborn.’

  ‘He’s with Mark?’ Petra asked incredulously. Why would Mark want their old grandfather living with him?

  ‘Yes. No one will think to go up there in the village after him. People here hardly know your cousin since he’s been in America all these years.’

  ‘But what about what he said about some man touching his stumps and making them grow out…?’ Petra recalled the news reporter saying that Mr Brown swore that his legs were miraculously restored when a powerful man touched his stumps while the tower crumbled.

  ‘Petra,’ her mother interrupted. ‘Your grandfather is not a well man. He is mentally ill. Don’t talk about these things again. As a matter of fact, I don’t want you in here while I’m talking to your aunt. Go in your room and do something with your hair.’

  Petra, dejected, went to her room. She ran her hands through her braids. She thought she might redo them so they would look neat – and to get her mother off her back. She flipped through the books on her desk. She sat and pulled out her favourite ballpoint pen. There was so much to write.

  Suddenly she heard cousin Mark’s voice in the living room. She hadn’t even heard his truck pull up. She almost bolted out of her room to see him but she remembered her mother’s warning. She decided to eavesdrop at the door.

  ‘He’s staying with me and he’s OK with that now,’ cousin Mark said decisively. ‘I don’t think they can do anything for him at the hospital in Roseau anyway. The man’s completely gone, Aunt Patricia.’

  ‘What you mean completely gone?’ Petra’s mother asked.

  ‘He said a man appeared to him in the tower and touched his stumps and said some words he couldn’t understand and next thing he knew he had legs again.’

  Petra’s mother sighed loudly. ‘He say what the man look like?’

  ‘No. Well, he said the man was dressed
like his grandfather would dress in the old days. You know? Like a plantation worker.’

  ‘Oh, lord,’ Aunt Creamy said. ‘Maybe he was hallucination?’

  ‘You mean hallucinating?’ Petra’s mother interjected.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Petra’s aunt retorted.

  ‘Um…’ Mark interrupted. ‘Either way, he’s going to keep telling this story to any and every one so I think he should just stay up in the village with me until…until he gets better.’

  ‘You sure you want to do that, Mark?’ Aunty Creamy said.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure, Ma. He feels comfortable around me and I like having him around.’

  Petra crept away from the door. So Mr Brown was staying with Mark. Hmm… Good to know, she thought as she went back to her diary. Good to know.

  ***

  The imperfect plan was formed days later.

  ‘Granny,’ Jerome asked in his most earnest voice, ‘we need to go to the Carib Territory for a school project.’ Granny ignored him as she did the ironing.

  ‘You hear me, Granny?’

  Granny took a long sip of icy lime juice. Jerome could see the sweat droplets gathering on her chest. It was a particularly hot day but Granny always did everything on schedule, no matter the weather. On washing day, the heavy rains would not alter her plans. She’d just hang up the wet clothes to dry in the kitchen and on the porch.

  ‘What school project?’

  Social studies. Jerome and James had planned it carefully. They’d coordinated and practised their stories to precision.

  ‘So it don’t have nothing to do with this game you boys been playing? Something about Abraham?’

  Jerome’s mouth opened. Who told her?

  ‘I only letting you go because Father Mackey asked me to. If it keep you all out of trouble then go off and do it. Just don’t cause anybody trouble.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Jerome rushed off to report the news to James before Granny changed her mind.

  ‘Don’t cause trouble. You hear?’

  ‘OK,’ he shouted back.

  ‘I should tell her we skipping school?’ Jerome asked worriedly.

  James shot him a look. ‘Do it and I’ll choke you!’

  They lumbered out onto the main road, keeping an eye out for Petra. They could see the bus approaching and they waved it down. They hopped on and told the bus driver where they were going.

  ‘No summer school today?’ He looked at their uniforms in curiosity.

  James mumbled something inaudible and walked quickly to the back, away from the driver’s questions; Jerome followed. The bus stopped half-way down Bath Road and the boys didn’t care to look up. Before they knew it Petra was standing over them, fury all over her reddish brown face; her braids appeared to stick out of her head in all directions; her fists balled tightly.

  ‘Where’s my diary?!’

  James started in his seat then immediately relaxed his shoulders and shrugged. He took out his pick and pulled it through his afro.

  ‘Give it to me, else I’ll…’

  ‘He’ll give it back to you tomorrow. OK?’ Jerome said, hoping to defuse the situation and come out of it with all his limbs intact.

  James looked incredulously at his brother. ‘Why you tell her that for?’

  Petra inched closer to James and stuck a finger in his face. ‘Tomorrow. Else I’m burning your house down!’

  James laughed and dodged as Petra tried in vain to grab him but Jerome was terrified. He believed Petra would do anything she said.

  ‘Where you all going anyway?’ She asked suspiciously. ‘I can tell you not going to school.’

  James laughed and waved her away. ‘Not your business. Go home and write your little stories in your little pink book.’

  ‘I don’t want to know anyway,’ Petra smirked. ‘You never know. I might be able to help you someday, James.’

  ‘Ha!’ James laughed. ‘Help me do what? Braid my hair and charge me fifty dollars?’

  She narrowed her eyes at him and breathed in and out deeply. ‘You just give me back my diary else I’ll make you pay!’

  ‘I not afraid of you, Petra.’ James laughed.

  ‘OK. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ The boys watched Petra stalk off the bus. She stood on the pavement and watched them menacingly as the bus moved off. ‘She’ll kill you if you don’t give her that diary,’ Jerome said fearfully, looking back at Petra. He didn’t see her giggling at her own brilliant act. She’d fooled them into thinking they still had her real diary.

  ‘You should read it. You all over it.’ James laughed.

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Yep. A lot. I started reading from the first page last night. Last year she had a big crush on you. By the time I get to the last page maybe she’ll be planning her marriage to you.’

  Jerome shook his head. He didn’t want to know anymore. Didn’t dare ask any more questions. When it came to Petra it was just better that way, for his own personal safety and peace of mind.

  They said nothing else for the hour-long ride, too excited about what they might find. They watched the landscape change from urban shanties to miles and miles of green, small farms set on former cocoa and banana plantations, rising mountains that overlooked tiny villages in cool valleys and narrow ascending roads with the occasional roadside fruit or roasted corn stand. But the beauty of their homeland was lost on them. They had more important things on their minds.

  They signalled the stop and the bus driver left the boys standing in a cloud of dust and heat but Jerome and James were too excited to care. They looked around and saw a typical village much like the one Granny grew up in. Not much to see or do. But Jerome could feel that they were getting closer to truth. Something big was about to happen.

  ‘Let’s just walk around for a while,’ James said. Jerome thought it was a stupid idea but he didn’t have a better one so he trailed his brother along the main street. It was a hilly road and the midday sun slowed their steps. Jerome wiped sweat from his brow but he could tell that his brother was not as tired as he. He tried to keep up.

  ‘Wait!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hear that?’

  ‘What?’ Jerome could see or hear nothing except trees, shrubs and flowers. ‘Listen,’ James said. ‘I hear machines working. Like a sledgehammer.’

  Jerome listened and sure enough he could hear the faint hum of machinery. He looked at his brother and shrugged. So what?

  ‘Let’s go find out what’s going on.’

  Why? Jerome wanted to ask. But he was too hot and tired. His water bottle was almost empty. Whoever these people were they’d better have some ice-cold water. He ambled behind James, whose sense of hearing was much better than his. Then all of the sudden it occurred to him. Red! It was everywhere. Under his feet, stuck in the soles of his shoes, dusting his navy trouser legs. The earth was deep red.

  ‘James,’ he said, but his brother was way ahead of him. The noise of the machine was very loud now so James did not hear him. But they had to be in Red Land. Jerome quickened his steps.

  They happened on the dig site at the same time, Jerome panting and James at ease. The first thing Jerome noticed was the tall white man with red hair who was almost a carbon copy of Father Mackey. The same man from the television news; he was speaking on a phone and surveying the group of men who were digging several holes in an area of about two acres using heavy machinery, pick axes. Was this where the treasure was buried and had someone else beat them to it?

  Chapter 12

  The boys faced a dangerous dilemma. James was gung ho for a challenge. ‘Let’s go and talk to him!’

  But Jerome grabbed James’s arm. ‘No. No way. I don’t think he want us here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Father Macke
y don’t seem that keen on his brother.’

  ‘Maybe it’s just part of this clue. Maybe he will help us.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Jerome looked at the tall, red-headed man talking intensely on his phone and barking orders at the bent-over men who were digging into the rocky ground in a slow, tired rhythm. This man did not look like he was there to help anyone but himself.

  ‘I think we should wait until…’

  But James had run off from their hiding spot toward the digging site. Jerome shrugged and ran after his brother, his chest pounding. He truly had a bad feeling about this. The words of the poem echoed in his mind: Death and fear, a price so dear.

  ‘Hey! Hey!’ One of the diggers called out as James leaped over the holes, running in no particular direction, around the site and over the holes. The men stopped working and stared at James as he jumped high over the holes, one by one. Julius Mackey looked at the boy, moving like a whirling dervish around his precious dig site.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ It wasn’t clear to whom Mackey was speaking but his voice thundered loudly enough to bring everything to a stop, including James. Jerome stood nearby, his heartbeat popping like corn in Granny’s black popcorn kettle. Should he turn back and run away? No. He couldn’t leave James here!

  ‘I lost my basketball,’ James said, panting. ‘Did you see it? Maybe it’s in one of these holes.’

  Mackey walked slowly toward James. ‘There aren’t any basketball courts around here, boy. Now what do you want?’

  ‘I just want my ball.’ James’s voice pitched higher. Jerome could sense that something was about to go wrong. Before he even thought twice about it he ran to James’s side. ‘We lost our ball and we want it back.’

  Mackey looked at their identical faces, back and forth, at least four times. ‘What the hell is this?’

  ‘We just…’

  ‘Get out of here! Right now!’ Mackey’s face turned red, his nostrils flared and his chest heaved.

  ‘You can’t…’ James protested.

  ‘Listen, boys. I’ll do what I have to do to protect what is mine! Now get the hell out of here before you get hurt.’