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Teacher..... Revisited (Chap 1-5)

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  • Teacher..... Revisited (Chap 1-5)

    Originally posted Jan 2001

    Jah Rastafari are very passionate about their beliefs and feel that redemption comes with standing up and calling out for justice. They are loved and admired, by many. Those we pass, who shout out 'Rasta' or 'Ras', with closed fist raised, as a sign of respect.

    But they are also feared and even ridiculed by people all over the island. 'Dirty Rasta', I've heard said. I do know that they are singled out by law enforcement, wealth residents and business owners as a potential threat, and I'm not sure exactly what that is suppose to mean.

    Perhaps some else does... and they can enlighten me.

    Several weeks ago, I met a group of rasta from St Ann's, who were in our village, house building for a neighbor. With only a few other rasta brethren in this area, my rasta invited them to our yard for some rum and a chat. As with true rasta, I have met before, these men were intelligent, interesting and candid about their lives.

    What follows is a FICTIONAL story. I picked these men as the main characters because of their trade and their unity through diversity (you'll see what I mean), and one man in particular... they called 'Teacher'.

    For you true Rastafari, I apologize in advance, for altering or omitting facts or ideals. I may have taken liberty in some areas, but the message remains the same... that's why they call it fiction. Enjoy!



    A route taxi pulled up to the gate and four rasta piled out of the Lada, grips in hand.

    Miss Maggy stepped out onto her verandah, just as they entered her gate, then glanced down the road and kissed teeth. Strangers to the village, she was sure the rasta's appearance was fueling gossip, among the regulars at the shop next door.

    'Wah Miss Maggy tink im do, carry rasta inna community?' Brighton Jones complained to his companions, who were peering out the window of his shop at the taxi stopped in front of Miss Maggy's yard.

    'Look lek dem ago stay.' added Brighton's brother, Chad. 'Dem carry a whole heap a grips jus fi visit. Wah yuh tink Miss Maggy ago do wid so much rasta?'

    Brighton Jones did not want rasta staying next to his yard, nor did he want them in his neighborhood. 'Rasta carry chobble, my yout.' he replied, turning away from the window to pop open another hot Guinness.

    Miss Maggy waited on the verandah, as the rasta made their way up her yard. Back in her youth, she would have hurried to don her best frock for such a handsome group.

    But at 64 years young and a widow for over 20 years, she no longer troubled with such finery, except pon the Lord's day, Sunday Church services.

    Besides, her yard frock and slippers were more appropriate for the business she planned on conducting with the rasta.

    Shielding her wise, aging eyes from the glare of the sun, she studied each man, in turn, as they approached her.

    The 2 youths leading the group were full of energy, bounding up the steps, two at a time, still singing along to the last song, they heard on the taxi's radio.

    Miss Maggy smiled to herself, pleased. Both were tall, sturdy young men, with broad shoulders and strong backs... she would get a good day's work from them.

    The other 2 in the group, silently strolled up the yard with practiced ease. Little effort was used, though they carried with them, heavy bags containing the tools of their trade.

    An old, almost-worn-thru 'carpet bag', caught Miss Maggy's attention and her eyes drew up to those of the man who carried it.

    From this distance, it was impossible to determine his age. His suit of clothes were hand-made and neatly pressed. His face lined, weather-worn, with a look of 'Country' and bush life.

    On his head, he wore a large knit cap, the top of which was weighted down, resting on his shoulders, from a whole heap a dreadlocks, piled inside.

    Around his neck, he wore a hand-made leather amulet. Miss Maggy quinted her eyes to get a better look at the piece. She had met lots of rasta over the years, but had never seen such an strange adornment before. Ahh... time enough later to discuss it's meaning with the owner.

    In all her years of observing people, Miss Maggy quickly concluded that the carpetbag rasta with the strange bag, was the leader, and waited for him to join his brethren on the verandah before addressing the group.

    'Good day, Rasta.' Miss Maggy nodded to each, then directed her attention to the carpetbag rasta. 'Mi nephew Jenkins sey yuh do good wuk. Mi tank yuh fi come alla dis way fi help a ole ooman.'

    He nodded his head, but remained silent, holding Miss Maggy's eyes with his own. Then abruptly, he moved closer to take up her hand.

    Reaching into the leather bag around his neck, he withdrew a small object and placed it in her open palm, quickly closing her fingers around it, holding his hands over hers.

    It was cold, hard. Miss Maggy, already intrigued with his strange bag, was dying to see what he kept in it... undoubtfully something of great value. But with the rasta's hands closed tight around her own, sneaking a peak, was out of the question...

    ...and just as she finished that thought, he released her hands and the object they held, before stepping back again.

    Miss Maggy could contain herself no longer and quickly uncupped her hands to first look at the piece that would carry her through these next days.

    It was made of solid white stone. No bigger than a clothes pin, it's delicately carved features, clearly portrayed... a mother with child.

    Miss Maggy gazed on the mother's adorning face, bent towards her child, and tears began to blur her already worn eyes.

    The rasta remained quiet, as she pulled a kerchief from her pocket, resisting the urge to wipe her eyes, instead wrapped the stone carving tightly inside it and placed it back in her pocket.

    Clearing her throat, she looked up at the carpetbag rasta and nodded before adding, 'Yuh do good wuk fi tru, Rasta. Come offa di verandah, mek mi show oonu weh fi put yuh ting dem.'

    She did not look again at the other men, just turned around, opened the door and
    walked into the house... expecting them to follow.

    Their travel was long and it was already past mid-day, so it was decided that work would begin the following day, after some hot food and a good night's sleep.

    Miss Maggy walked into her kitchen a little while later and found one of the two rasta youths at the sink, cleaning vegetables, a piece of saltfish in a pot on the stove, another pot of water boiling for dumplings.

    'Yuh find everting yuh need, Chef?' The question may have come out a little harsher than she had intended, but it had been many years since she had a man cook in her kitchen.

    The youth standing at the sink, peeling Irish, reminded Miss Maggy of when her grandson would visit.

    But the chef inferred nothing in her tone, or if he did, he ignored it... looking up from his task, he smiled. 'Eeh, eeh everting cris Mizz Maggy. Mi have some food hot up fi yuh soon.'

    Pleasant boy, Miss Maggy thought to herself. He seemed to have an agreeable nature, though a little unruly. The older rasta in the group would need patience with him, he had alot to learn.

    But, if he was a chef, then it would be nice to have someone else cook for a change. Until Miss Maggy glanced over at the pot on the stove and chuckled. 'Doan boil away di saltfish soh and mek mi dumplin done chroo, yuh hear, Chef?'

    The chef smiled again and Miss Maggy turned heel, with a wave of her frock tail, and went back through the hall and out onto the verandah.

    The other rasta were also gathered there, each in their own mediation, spliff in hand. Ganja smoke was filling up the verandah and floating out into the yard, like rolling clouds.

    Miss Maggy inhaled the sweet smell of high grade blend and knew immediately they had carried it with them, most likely from their own crops. She hadn't passed this particular scent coming from any of the shops or yards in this area.

    In fact, Miss Maggy quickly found herself in need of a chair away from the group, as she was getting somewhat light headed....

    'Yuh smell dat, Brighton?' Chad Jones called to his brother from the front of his shop. Brighton followed him outside, just as another cloud of ganja smoke blew past them, from Miss Maggy's yard.

    Brighton shook his head and kissed teeth. 'Chobble jus a start, brotha. Miss Maggy know whappen lass time. Shi have nuff tings fi bex. Dis ago gi more den she can carry, fi tru. Mi ago lock up di shop, Chad. Go home fi yuh fambly. Mi wi si wah gwaan wid dis ting inna marning.'

    They looked at each other for a moment longer, then Chad hopped on his bike to do as his brother suggested. Brighton looked after him as he disappeared down the road, then turned back toward Miss Maggy's yard.

    Music could faintly be heard, coming from over the fence. Ummmm... rasta turned on the radio, he thought. But as Brighton began locking up the shop, the words of the song started floating into his ears... ummmm.. not reggae... old American classic...

    (singing) 'When a m-an, loves a wo-man, he can't do her no harm...'

    Brighton found himself humming along, as he walked up the path, behind the shop, that led to his house.

    At least they like good music, he said, to no one in particular, before closing his door and locking it tight.



    Rattling pots, filling with water from the kitchen, brought Miss Maggy from dreams of the first year they moved to this yard.

    For a moment, she thought she was stil dreaming and forgot there was anyone else in her house. After so many years living alone, this change in her solitary routine, was going to be tiring, for true.

    Her head felt heavy, full up. Her memory of the time after eating dinner last night, was dim. Donning her yard frock and slippers, Miss Maggy padded out to the kitchen and found the other rasta youth busy preparing breakfast.

    'Yuh up early, Rasta. Weh di chef?' she asked, turning down the pot of boiling water and taking up her cup and tea bag.

    'I & I cook di marning and mid-day meals, empress.' His voice was smooth, surprisingly low in tone for all his boyish youth. And when this genuinely handsome face, turned to look at her so, OUCH! Miss Maggy blushed and truly felt like an empress.

    'Wah dem cawl yuh, Rasta?' she casually asked, pretending to pick something out of her tea. Off hand, Miss Maggy knew of several village girls whose heads might be turned by such a look. She would have to keep an eye on this one alright.

    'I & I is called Zee, empress.', the rasta youth replied and this time, flashed a smile, that to someone much younger, might have been taken for an invitation. Over the years, Miss Maggy had many wicked grins flung her way.

    This youth was good, but needed a few years of maturity, both in mind and face, to be truly dangerous.

    'Mi like fried dumplin and plantain inna marning, Zee.' It was what her husband, Jerome made for her every Saturday morning from the first day of their life together until he left, that morning, to pull up his fish traps and check his catch.

    They had sat at this very table, discussing everyday mundane things. She reminded him not to forget the pipe fitting for the sink, when he went to town.

    He smiled and reached over to pat her hand. He had promised she would have running water in her kitchen by Sunday dinner, when the family arrived. He wouldn't forget or she would have him waking up the hardware store owner and not getting any sleep at all, until it was done.

    When he didn't reach home by late afternoon, Miss Maggy went over to Brighton's shop (owned by his father Curtis, then) to have someone run down to the Fish Stop at the main road and ask for word of Jerome.

    Brighton and Chad, barely past pickneys then, jumped on their bicycles and headed off to the Fish Stop before their father could even think about stopping them.

    They needn't have bothered. Shortly after they headed down the main road, a taxi pulled up in front of Miss Maggy's yard and one of Jerome's fisherman friends got out of the passenger's seat.

    Miss Maggy hurried over to him, though not wanting to hear his words.. she knew he carried the worst.

    The sea was rough this morning. A swell may have pushed the boat into the buoy line of Jerome's traps. Somehow, he had become entangled in it, perhaps trying to free it.

    The trap, still full and heavy, dragged him below the surface. He hadn't carried his knife. They found it in the boat, where he last stowed it, stuck under one of the seats.

    Almost 20 years later, Miss Maggy still had the knife. Tucked away in her dresser drawer, safe inside one of Jerome's old socks.

    Zee called to Miss Maggy, several times, before she was brought back from thoughts of pipe fittings and fishing knives, to fried dumplings and plantain.

    'Dis marning Jah provide ackee and pears fram yuh yard.' Out of the sink, he held up the fruit he had picked, then continued, 'But I & I do mi bess fi please yuh, empress.' The rasta youth went back to his task.

    Miss Maggy watched quietly, drinking her tea, her thoughts replaying, the many happy Saturday morning breakfasts, she had here, with her husband.



    Miss Maggy and Zee had a quiet breakfast alone, talking about fruits and vegys, seasoning and spices, until Miss Maggy started yawning. Pleading a full belly and old age, she took to her bed in hopes of catching a few more hours of sleep before work started that morning.

    It seemed that Miss Maggy just laid her head down, when noise from the back yard brought her wide awake.

    (singing) 'Under the broadwalk, where the music is fine, under the broadwalk....'

    'Whatta gwaan?' she pleaded from her bed, then slid into her slippers and hurried over to the window.

    It was the rasta... already up and working. A neat 10 x 10 hole had been dug 2 feet into the yard, Zee and the other young rasta were in the middle of this hole, shovels at hand, their alto and tenor, in perfect pitch.

    The carpetbag rasta and his counterpart where stringing plumb lines, their baritone and bass, holding the beat. When they broke into their next selection, 'Just My Imagination', Miss Maggy knew she couldn't stay abed any longer.

    Miss Maggy may have slept thru the first session of the Rasta 4, which began shortly after breakfast and continued thru, until the foundation square was cut, but the patrons at Brighton's shop next door, didn't miss a minute of the entertainment.

    Brighton was in his shop, restocking the shelves for the day's business, when he caught a glimpse of the rasta carrying their tools into Miss Maggy's back yard.

    The tall bamboo fence separating the two yards, marked the lot line for 30', before posts and barb wire continued back thru the bush. So Brighton had a clear view of the rasta when they reached the area where work was to begin.

    Almost as they laid down their tools, the carpetbag rasta began in his clear baritone voice...

    (singing) 'boom.. boom.. boom.. boom.., here we are with the man, working on the chain gang-g-g-g....'

    The rest of the rasta brethen joined him on the second chorus.. and so it went that morning. Brighton and his customers were treated to a free concert courteous of the rasta quartet and their selections from the 50's and 60's.

    Business was good and Brighton was glad to have stocked his shelves that morning. By the time, Miss Maggy emerged from her house, the shop had already brought in over J$3,000 from the crowd gathered in front of their yards.

    But Brighton wouldn't have been so craven for the business had he known, that somewhere in that crowd, his sister Henny was coverting the tall muscular rasta youth, with that soft tenor pitch.

    In fact, he would have boxed her a good lick, if he had been privy to the conversation she was having, at that moment, with that oh-so-bright and facety gyal, Ocra from the 'Little Miss Pee' club at the crossroads.

    'Henny honey, nuh use bawling fi dat... weh yuh know im ago tek 1 look pon mi and gi yuh di breeze!' Over the years, Ocra had tiefed several men from Henny, so when Ocra set her sights pon di tall handsome Zee, Henny knew this was gonna be war.
    She quinted her yeyes and looked Ocra in the face before saying; 'Doan cawl mi Henny Honey, yuh hear! Yuh know mi cyaan tan it!'

    Ocra looked at Henny like she was gonna get licked, then started to laugh. 'A joke mi a mek, Henny Honey!'

    But Henny wasn't gonna leave it at that. 'Mi name is Henrietta Honeybear Jones. And doan yuh figet dat mi know alla bout dat ting wah happen fi yuh in Cave Valley. '

    Henny cut eye and Ocra kissed teeth, but that was the way it was since they were 6 years old. And the quarrel was quickly forgotten, when a commotion from the front of the crowd caused everyone to strain their necks to see whatta gwaan..... had stopped. Show was over, at least for now. The rasta had broke for the mid-day meal and soon the crowd too, went their own way to start their pots cookings.

    Only a few people remained in front of the shop, when Brighton finally emerged, his pockets full of the morning receipts.

    He shook his head, when he spied Henny chatting with Ocra. 'Henny, come mine di shop, mi soon come.', he shouted over his shoulders, as he climbed the path that led to his house.

    He expected Henny to do as he said... and Henny only did so, cuz it gave her a better view of the rasta.. especially the tall handsome one... that also appears to be the chef.

    'How lucky fi yuh, Henny.' she thought to herself, absent-mindedly grabbing a lollipop from the open bag and sticking it in her mouth.



    Lunch was a loooonnnnggg drawn out affair (it seemed to take WEEKS!! hehehe) Henny got bored waiting for Zee to return and when Brighton came back to the shop, she headed up to the house to change into her best frock.

    But Ocra was way ahead of her. After she left Henny at the shop, Ocra ran all the way home and dumped the contents of her closet onto the bed.. then spent the next 2 hours trying on every battyrider and teeny-tiny blouse she had.

    After deciding that the black and white checked short shorts with a flowing lace see-thru blouse flattered her best, she climbed into her 5" heeled black boots and walked back down to Miss Maggy's yard.

    'Waddled' might be the more adapt word, as these boots WERE NOT made for walking and by the time she reached Miss Maggy's... she was limping something fierce. hehehe

    The rasta had not yet returned to their work, but Henny was already out front waiting in her floral cotton frock (2 sizes too small) with a square neckline that pushed up her breasts until they were overflowing from the top of her dress.

    But when Henny spotted Ocra walking down the road in her battyriders and boots, she was fuming! How dare her... and in the middle of the afternoon! She couldn't possibly catch Zee's attention in her old 'granny frock' with Ocra dressed like a dancehall queen!

    When Ocra arrived, she complimented Henny on her new frock, eyeing the way it displayed her ample chest. Cradled between those overly round peaks was a pendant that Ocra had never seen before. Reaching out to hold it in her hand's, Ocra inspected it closely. It was made out of black onxy, a delicately carved figure of a woman holding a child.

    'Weh dis ting come fram, Henny?' Ocra asked, still holding the necklace in her palm, carressing the smoothness of the stone. Henny looked down at the pendant and snatched it out of Ocra's hand, before adding, "Mi granny gi it teh mi before she passed.'

    Of all the things she owned, this was the most precious to her. So when Ocra asked about it, with that devil-look in her eyes, Henny knew her craven friend well enough and quickly changed the subject.

    Stepping back, she kissed teeth and stood with arms akimbo as she looked up and down at Ocra's mode of dress.

    'Mek mi know wah yuh mean fi do, Ocra. Yuh come back wid yuh best dancehall battyriders and dem boots... wah mek yuh wear dem boots tideh, eeh? Yuh tink fi get dat rasta teh look pon yuh and figet alla bout im wuk?'

    Wearing her Miss Pee's outfit in the middle of the day, Ocra kinned teeth and twirled around so Henny could get a better look at her backside, hanging out from beneath her way-too-short shorts.

    'Yuh tink im gwine notice mi did change?' she said slyly, batting her eyes and grinning at Henny's tight-lipped face.

    'If yuh start fi wine pon di fence deh soh, mi ago box yuh fi tru, Ocra.' Henny replied and Ocra laughed, but secretly mused (Dat hexactly wah mi ago do!) and looked about the yard for a nice flat place to stand in those boots, so she could dance, in full view of Zee, when the concert resumed.

    Anticipating another round of entertainment, several in the neighborhood also returned to the street out in front of Miss Maggy's yard and Brighton's shop, soon a crowd had formed once again....

    Over the years, Miss Queeny had made the rounds of all the eligible (and some not so eligible) men in the community and found them woefully lacking in both form and character, (Her motto - 'So many men, so likkle time').

    With her eye on the rather interesting rasta called 'Teacher', Queeny was determined not to be outshined by a group of silly young girls, so she had also changed into a very pretty red frock and just for good measure, carry wid, her famous 'B-Lime Pie'. (The 'B' stands for BOOZE, a generous helping of white rum!)

    Chatting in front of Brighton's shop, looking over the crowd in attendance at the afternoon session of the Rasta 4, Miss Katie Lee and Miss Joy, the Hane brothers' wives, were discussing the suss about the new rasta in town.

    'Lawd have mercy, mi cyaan believe alla di ooman dem come fi look pon di breddren.' laughed Miss Joy, bringing KLH's attention to Ocra, balancing on her 5" heels, showing Henny her semi-exposed batty.

    The Hane brothers were the only 2 rasta left in town. Ever since the 'incident' several years ago at Miss Maggy's, Kay and Joy found that their social life had become nearly non-existent.

    How ironic, that the love they had for their rasta, once almost shunned, now didn't seem like such nonsense to the town's single women.

    'Oh coodeh' giggled Miss Kay, pointing to a group of school girls, racing down the street toward them... not wanting to miss a thing...

    At age 8, Blaze Blume was a lovely child, the sweetest, quietest thing to ever live in this close-knit community. Now 17, she had somehow become the town gossip.

    Nothing got by Blaze, she was the first to chat every bit of suss she could dig up (or make up, whatever happened to fit her mood) and always had some outrageous comment of her own to pass on.

    Her acid-tongue had burned quite a few in this community, mostly her rivals and those who thought about giving back, even 1/2 as much as she put out.

    A year younger then Blaze, Goldie and Treasure immdiately became her best friends, the day they helped her escape Yardin Lakeland, and an inevitable beating, for some gossip Blaze had passed on that wasn't entirely true..

    The town now assembled, all heads suddenly turned as, almost on cue, Zee and his brethren filed out of Miss Maggy's back door, (their lunch FINALLY over!!), picking up their tools, they began the afternoon's work.

    (singing)... lit-tle an-gel, lit-tle one...



    Miss Maggy stepped out onto her verandah and smiled as she looked out at the whole town assembled in front of her gate.

    There hadn't been this much excitement in the community since last fall, when the parish police raided the Miss Pee Club looking for drugs and weapons (neither where found, but a whole heap a married men had a lot of explaining to do... hehehe).

    Miss Maggy knew the rasta arrival was cause for tongues to wag, but she did not anticipate having the whole drama played out in front of her yard. Who knew there were so many women in this town so intestested in these rasta.

    Scanning the group, she shook her head when she spotted young Henny, glancing sheepishly at the handsome Zee.

    Brighton would not be pleased if he knew his daughter had her eye set on a rasta. Maggy made a note to have a chat with the young girl before Brighton found out what was going on.

    Standing next to Henny was her co-hort Ocra. Maggy kissed teeth at the outlandish outfit Ocra had donned in the middle of the afternoon and hoped she wouldn't fall off those silly boots and break her neck.

    Then Maggy's eyes shone surprise as she spotted the matronly Miss Queeny in her pink frock. How long had it been since she had worn that outfit? 10, 15 years?

    Undoubtably, Miss Q had found another man, in this group of rasta, with which to ply her well-versused siren's song. And if that didn't work, it looks like she had brought along her liquored-up pie to soften his resistance.

    Glancing over at Brighton's shop, Maggy hailed up Miss Kay and Miss Joy, motioning them to join her on the verandah. It was odd that they would be part of this crowd, she had seen little of them since last spring and was anxious to hear the news since their absence from the town social scene.

    Miss Maggy wasn't the only one taking note of the town's women in attendance....

    'Look pon dat fine ooman inna battyriders an see-thru blouse.' whistled Matt (the OTHER young rasta) to Zee, not paying attention to what he was doing and shoveling dirt in Teacher's direction.

    Drawing his eyes away from Henny's exposed chest, Zee gave a cursory look, to that of her companion.

    'I&I did si har fram marning, but mi tink shi mussi change dem clothes fi yuh, Matt. Jus di kinda ooman wah gi yuh di rise, nuh?' he replied, smiling at the way Matt's greedy eyes took in Ocra, from head to toe.

    'Look pon wah oonu do deh soh, zeen?' grumbled Teacher, shaking his dreadlocks and wiping away the dirt Matt flung his way.

    ' Im look fi a gyal teh kip im warm tonite, Teacher, and im have a mind fi dat ting inna boots.' laughed Zee, 'Im cyaan look pon wah im do, wid im yeye dem fulla titty and batty.'

    Zee laughed even harder as Matt's face flushed red with his teasing remarks.
    'Kip di ting in yuh trousers, my yute.' smiled Teacher, joining in on the fun.

    'Mi know di ongle man di ooman dem come fi si?' remarked Matt, noticing how Miss Queeny was staring boldly at Teacher, as if willing him to look up at her. 'Look lek di ooman inna pink frock carry sintin fi yuh, Teacher.'

    Teacher glanced over in Miss Queeny's direction and was held fast by the depths reflected in her dark eyes. 'Dis ah ooman knows hexactly wah har waan.' thought Teacher, smiling as Miss Q raised her eye brows, ever so slightly, in invitation.

    'And di school gyals ova deh look lek dem ago rush wi!' laughed Charles, the 4th rasta in the group.

    Indeed, at that moment, Treasure and Goldie, trailing behind the bold Blaze, were making their way up the hill behind Brighton's shop, looking for the best vantange point to spy on the rasta.

    Blaze had intended to do so with minimal attention, but Goldie, slipping on the long grass, grabbed for Treasure to balance herself and they both dropped to the ground, howling.

    'Oonu tap di cow-bawling and come yah!' Blaze shot back at the two still lying on the ground. 'Yuh waan dem tink wi jus sum pickney dem?'

    The girls struggled to their feet and hurried to catch up to Blaze, who had already reached the fence separating the 2 yards. When she looked back, the rasta were staring in their direction and she flashed them a wide smile, pulling down on the hem of her school uniform to emphasize her perky young breasts.

    'Cho, wah Blaze tink dem rasta ago do wid a likkle pickney lek har? Ocra hissed to Henny, seeing Blaze, Treasure and Goldie leaning up against the fence, not 10 feet away of where the rasta were working.

    "Come on Henny, wi dideh too!' Ocra grabbed Henny's hand a started to haul her up the yard, holding onto the fence with the other hand and carefully walking, with toes pointed outward, so she won't fall off her boots.

    'But si yuh gyal, Matt.' smirked Zee, watching Ocra duck-waddle up the slight incline of Brighton's yard, dragging Henny behind her.

    But when Ocra finally gained the more level ground near the fence, she glanced up, ignoring Matt's inviting expression, and kinned teeth directly at Zee, whose own smile suddenly fell away from his face.

    Charles and Teacher, noticing the exchange, were dead with laugh. But Ocra paid them no attention, her eyes never leaving Zee's, she proceded to introduce herself. 'Good afternoon, rasta.' she began, 'Dem cawl mi Ocra and mi welcome oonu fi town.'

    Charles and Teacher merely nodded at her words, for opening their mouths would have surely been followed by a fit of laughter. But Matt immediately dropped his shovel and quickly gained the fence, smiling into Ocra's face he proclaimed, 'Wah a fine welcome committee yuh be, Mizz Ocra.'

    Matt was now blocking her view of Zee and she was forced to look in his direction. Acknowledged his presence, she turned a quick smile and pronouced her thanks, all the while attempting to peer over Matt's shoulder, at her real quarry.

    Zee bowed his head slightly to Ocra, 'I&I bid yuh good day, empress.' But before Ocra could engage Zee any further, Blaze bolted over to where she was standing and pushing Henny aside, put on her best 'cat's smile' and purred, 'An mi name is Blaze. Wah dem cawl yuh, brethren?'

    Matt, more interested in the exotic, sexual Ocra than this school girl's fancy, gave Blaze a brotherly smile, none the less, and bowing low at the waist replied, 'Glad fi meet yuh, Mizz Blaze. Dem cawl mi Matt and dis here is Zee', pointing to the other young rasta, leaning on his shovel. 'Ova deh, Teacher and Charles.'

    Both Goldie and Treasure crowed in next to Blaze, waiting for their turn to be introduced.... and Ocra was fuming. She wished they would all just leave!!! They were in the way of her chatting with Zee!!

    'A who yuh fren dideh?' Zee asked the group, walking over to the fence, interrupting the name exchange. 'Wah?' Ocra replied. She had forgotten all about Henny standing behind her.

    'Yuh fren inna pretty yellow frock, empress.' Zee asked again, smiling down on Henny, who blushed 4 shades of red before stepping between Ocra and Blaze, waiting to be introduced.

    Ocra stared at Henny, as if she had never seen her before this day. Blaze and her co-horts kinned teeth at the look on Ocra's face, but remained silent.

    After a brief, but uncomfortable silience, Henny finally extended her hand in Zee's direction and said, 'Henrietta Honeybear Jones is mi name. Mi fadda own di shop dung deh soh. Onnu welcome fi come cawl anytime, wi have di bess fish in town.'

    'Cho, Henny!' she thought to herself. ' Wah mek yuh add di lass pawt bout fish?' But Zee just smiled broadly, shook her hand, and replied, 'I&I be delighted fi si yuh fish stock, Miss Jones. Mi chef fi mi brethren and wi nyam fish everyday. It good fi have a supply soh close by nuh?'

    Ocra could hardly contain herself and 'accidently' bumped into Henny, forcing her to pull away her hand from Zee's to steady herself on the fence post.

    Trying to draw Zee's attention away from Henny, Ocra asked, 'Yuh a chef? Mi fadda di chef in mi yard. Mi granny did pass weh mi madda jus a chile an har fadda cook fi di fambily. Weh mi madda and fadda get married, mi madda seh im haffi cook cuz har doan know how.'

    All turned to stare at Ocra. This was the most information she had ever provided about her family. It also explained why her mother spent all her time down at Romie's Bar... she didn't do anything at home.

    Seeing the rasta break from work and the crowd of women forming around them, Miss Queeny hurried up the yard, followed by most the rest of the town. She reached the group just as Ocra was confessing the fact that her mother was no cook.

    'Mek mi know wah night yuh lek mi fi cook, rasta.' Queeny exclaimed. Turning to Teacher, she held out her pie and continued, 'Alla di town aks mi fi di recipe fi mi famous B-Lime pie.'

    Ocra and Blaze rolled their eyes at Miss Q's intrusion, but noticing her attention on the elder rasta Teacher, they paid her no mind.

    Teacher accepted Miss Queeny's gift with a nod and his thanks, while Charles and Zee exchanged an amused look, knowing he would never get a chance to taste it, before the craven Matt had consumed the entire thing.

    'And wah yuh name, mistress?' Teacher asked, lost again in her knowing eyes.
    'Yuh can cawl mi Queeny, rasta. And mi mean wah mi seh bout dat dinner.. any time yuh waan a break fram di yute's cooking, yuh jus haffi cawl mi up.' She followed this invitation with a smile that reached all the way to her eyes, letting the rasta know, that dinner could be followed by a more tasty kind of dessert than her famous pie.

    Noticing the town's exodus from the front of her yard, Miss Maggy hurried over to the side of her verandah, peering around the corner to see what had happened. She shook her head and kissed teeth at the interruption of the day's work.

    'Come on gyals' she sighed, 'mek wi break up dis party. Dem oomen ago kip rasta fram dem wuk fi di whole day.' Miss Joy and Miss Kay followed Maggy down the stairs and made their way to the back yard.

    'Hole on deh oonu!' Miss Maggy shouted as she reached the group. 'Dis nuh bashment! Time fi wuk, so leff di rasta alone. Galang teh yuh own yards and come back tonite afta dinner fi yuh waan.'

    The crowd uttered a collective sigh, but the promise of a bashment that evening soothed their curiousity. It had been quite some time since Miss Maggy had a party in her yard, so they relucantly moved back down to the road, chatting among themselves, anticipating the night's events.

    Ocra and Henny were the last to leave. Chasing away an embarassed Blaze and her friends with a sly comment about school work needing to be done. 'Mi si oonu at di bashment tonite, eeh?' Ocra asked, directing her question to Zee.

    'I&I stay in dis yard empress, soh yuh will si wi soon.' Zee pronounced, then turning to Henny he asked, 'And yuh Miss Jones? Yuh ago come fi di bashment?'

    Henny couldn't believe her luck. Here was Ocra fawning all over this rasta and he was asking HER to come back. 'If mi fadda seh mi can have di night off fram wuk di shop, mi be glad fi come.'

    Zee smiled and nodded at her reply. 'I&I look forward fi si yuh again....' and so as not to appear to anxious, he turned to Ocra and added, '.... and yuh as well, empress.' before leaving them both and returning to his work.

    Seeing how Ocra's eyes followed Zee, Matt cleared his throat and proclaimed loudly, 'Mi gwine wait fi yuh come, Mizz Ocra. Mi a chef too, maybe wi can have a chat bout dis cooking ting.'

    Ocra had no intention of getting caught up in a chat with the rather dull rasta Matt tonight, but she flashed him a smile and said she would be delighted to talk about seasonings and sauces with him.... later. Finding nothing else to say, she grabbed Henny by the hand, waved her goodbyes and headed over to Brighton's shop.

    Henny wasn't even aware they had left Miss Maggy's yard. She was day-dreaming about the handsome Zee and their next meeting tonight. 'Mi gwine haffi find sintin nice fi wear.' she thought, mentally going through her closet of clothes and deciding nothing there would be appropriate. Maybe Ocra would borrow her something.....

    If Henny thought Ocra was going to help her impress Zee, she would be alarmed at the thoughts going through her head at that moment. For Ocra was also day-dreaming.... about a large hole opening up, right then and there, in front of them and Henny tumbling head first into it.......

  • #2
    Re: Teacher..... Revisited (Chap 1-5)


    Dis story laannnnggg fi tru... Lacy look pon shi printer wah 15 page dem... CHO!

    **Lacy making note to self... mek mi tap be soooo long winded and jus get on wid it**


    • #3
      Re: Teacher..... Revisited (Chap 1-5)

      I loved just as I did in January...

      *****Ochee zooming off to read next chapters***



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