Chapter 27

Most mornings while we bathed in the sea the fellows were out fishing, appearing after we came out of the water and were on our way to prepare breakfast. That morning I had noticed that both Nigel and Jerome had taken quick, questioning glances at the bathing suits Alida and Jewel were wearing. Lloyd and Victor had made appreciative comments about them to the girls, but had not dwelt on the subject. We had rinsed off with rain water and afterwards covered our suits with blouses and pedal pushers, or shorts in Alida’s case, before going to work getting breakfast.

As we went about our business, we three had referred back to the topics of the night before, with Alida saying she saw nothing wrong with beauty contests if you were good-looking, and my asking what was the standard for judging looks, as Jerome and Mr. Percy had remarked, when the participants were of different types? We had laughed again at Mr. Percy’s question; and Jewel had commented that she could understand the girl Minerva’s point about beauty contests being demeaning, with judges and people looking you over. Alida had protested that that was very different from the ancestor on the auction block who had had no choice in the matter, whereas taking part in a beauty contest was voluntary. Myself, I raised the idea of the force of public opinion luring participation into such contests for gain and approval.

ooo0ooo

One of the things I particularly enjoyed about Caye holidays was the lack of any pressing need to converse or entertain; and we could communicate between long silences without giving offense to anyone or being thought of as ill-mannered. We tended to speak more quietly and would often resume a conversation after a long time lapse, picking up where we had left off.

It had been my habit of getting up very early in the morning, even before the fishermen, and, sitting on the veranda, enjoying the sounds, scents and sights at that hour, with the water lapping against the sand or tree roots as the tide rose or fell, the wind sounding its progress through the trees, the sun peeping over the horizon at first, then rising boldly to its full glory framed in a sky variecoloured sometimes and bland at others, birds squawking challenges to each other while others sang their pleasure and contentment with the way things were.

At times like these Nigel might join me, slipping his hands through mine, sitting next to me sometimes or inviting my company to the bridge (docking pier) with a tug. On Easter Sunday morning, he had observed quietly in my ear that his daughter was becoming a glamour girl right under his nose, no doubt having taken note of the two-piece bathing-suit as they had come in from fishing the morning before. Knowing him, I had anticipated just such a reaction and had quickly reassured him that her mother was keeping a close watch on the case. I had thought the bare midriff of the suit a convenience for my athletic daughter, who was very active on board ship and would cause no undue attention being, at sixteen, minimally developed. Besides, we were not in a public place but with the family. I probably would not have allowed it in a different setting.

I had walked hand in hand with him to join the others on the bridge and had looked on as they had bailed the boat, cleared and coiled the anchor rope, washed down the deck and performed the miscellaneous tasks in preparing for setting out to sea; Jerome muttering a quiet appeal from behind me to ask my protégé to forget the word “sir” while on holiday.
I had smiled to myself, knowing these two men so well that I could predict their concerns. I had succeeded in getting Jewel to refer to Nigel, less formally, as Mr. “B,” as others on the hospital staff often did, instead of “Mr. Brandon;” but Jerome’s case had been more of a challenge. I had noticed his discomfiture as she tagged on “sir” when addressing him or answering his questions, and had sought Alida’s help for a solution. She had promised to deal with it and I had been relieved to hear the word used only once or twice during the time we were all together, Alida later confessing that it was the best she could do.

ooo0ooo

Easter Sunday night we had held the traditional “entertainment” when everyone, from the eldest to the youngest, had to perform an item of their choice, whether recitation, joke, song, dance or whatever, and no one was exempted, not even Mama and Daddy, who graced us with a rendition of the story of William Tell year after year until we had memorized parts of the account and could fill in when their memory stalled.

It was a joint effort, declaimed in verse intermixed with prose, with the rest of us joining in as the story progressed: saying how William Tell, reputedly a highly skilled archer, had been challenged to test his expertise by shooting an arrow to sever an apple placed on his son’s head for having refused to bow before the King.

Mama and Daddy had gamely begun the tale, with all of us joining in at such dramatic lines as “never palm-tree straighter stood than Tell before them all,” while declaring that “his knee would bend to God, and God alone.” The story went on with someone urging William Tell to “shoot quick and straight, thine aim is sure, thou canst not miss today!” and ends with his successfully performing the feat, but afterwards revealing that he had had another arrow in his quiver earmarked for the King should failure have resulted in injury to his son.
This item usually brought back memories of their schooldays to my parents, when the “Royal Readers” were the textbooks used in elementary school, and which they claimed contained a greater variety of superior reading material to those nowadays.

Next had come Nigel, joined by the children on drums (a dishpan turned upside down), a “shaka” (glass bottle with dried beans), and imitation back-up music and sound arrangement as on the disc, singing a favourite Sparrow calypso called “Try Again.”
Mr. Oswald on guitar accompanying Miss Mavis’ rendition of the popular brukdown, “Cyan walk da mi plantaish” had come next, with her insertion of innovative disturbances other than “ping wing.”

As master of ceremonies, which had relieved me of giving a performance, I had decided to put Uncle Lito and his friends next, doing a paraphrased version of a limerick, also a yearly standard, which left two remaining persons to perform, including Jerome, who would dodge every year giving the excuse that he didn’t have a partner for one of the Garifuna dances.
To prove his good intentions he usually brought his battery-operated cassette player/recorder with him, and entertained us with his treasured Garifuna tapes, included among which were some he had recorded of young musicians experimenting with composition.

For the first time, however, he had not been allowed to escape, as Victor had discovered from Jewel that Mrs. Lynch, her Standard Six teacher, had been teaching the class to do the “Punta” ever since the year that the annual Festival of Arts had expanded to their district; so that as soon as Jerome had set up the equipment, Victor had surprised him with the announcement that a partner was on hand to do the Punta, really shocking both him and, more so, Jewel, who was very shy and had had no warning of what was afoot. Seeing her distress, I had encouraged Alida to accompany her and learn the steps by following her movements.

I had heard the Punta, sometimes described as a fertility dance done by a group of male and female dancers, for instance; had seen a stage performance of a dance based on it created by a local choreographer; and had also witnessed a version performed by a couple at a party to the music of the early commercial bands; but nothing had prepared me for what I had seen that night at Caye!

While the entertainment had taken place on the wooden veranda so far, it had been decided to transfer the stage to the ground in order to protect the dancers’ bare feet from splinters while executing the toe movements of this dance.

As the drumming and background chant of a woman’s chorus had started, the females seemed to be floating, their hips swaying ever so slightly as their toes grasped the ground in what seemed like tiny shuffle-like steps describing a slight arc away from the male while he, erect and with hands behind his back, as if with slight restraint, advanced in their direction with stronger, quicker toe movements to the throbbing of the drums and the chant of the chorus, the beat steadily increasing in tempo and volume to a crescendo, then reversing and gradually fading into silence.

When it was over, I had watched Jerome lean towards Jewel and say something in her ear as she, giving him a shy smile over her shoulder, had reached for Alida’s hand and, pulling her up onto the veranda with her, had disappeared into the house.

After announcing the last item, I had watched through the corner of my eye as Jewel and Alida had returned to the veranda and sat in the shadows watching the performance; and was filled with curiosity about what Jerome had whispered to her.

(Chapter 28 in next Tuesday’s Amandala.)