Veronica Carnegie

Nat Cole opened his eyes wearily and looked around the room. His only shirt hanging on the nail behind the door caught his eye first. It had been new and very blue at one time, but now it was old and darned in many places, and faded. In fact, the constant wearings and washings had left it looking a sort of dirty white rather than any other colour.

'Have to get a new shirt soon; this one kinda gone now. A can't wear it much longer. ' His eyes continued around the room to the old, broken-down table and paused on the jam bottle in which he kept his sugar, now empty; the cocoa tin, also empty; the Four Aces box which he knew contained one Zephyr; the matchbox which he knew had in one stick.

'But what de devil a' going have fe me tea dis mornin? A didn't mek no raise at all yesterday. It was a bad day for scufflins. A nuh even raise a copper. Today should be a better day. Saturday is always one a mi big day. A better go get a look pan Missa Bertie 'Gleanah' before 'im wake up.'

He reached under the canvas cot and drew out his one pair of old, brown shoes, carefully fitted the loose piece of leather over the hole in one shoe and the piece of rubber over the corresponding hole in the left foot. He dragged on the shoes, pulled on the shirt over the merino, and stuffed it into the faded old khaki pants in which he had slept.

'Dam it! A didn't remember fe catch de water yesterday; anyway, mi face can stay until aftah a read the Gleanah.'

He hurried out, closing the door of the lean-to he had rented from the 'lease land' contractor, Mr. Jones, and remembered that next week Saturday the rent was due again. He hadn't paid any for the past two months and he would have to find six dollars next week for the three months. Mr. Jones was a rough man and he knew that he couldn't owe him any longer. He walked along the narrow, winding track skirted with 'police macka' and 'dildo', past Bredda Man house, then past Brukins yard, turned left past Ma Nicie yard, through the balm - yard of the Healing Temple, then right through the Rasta yard, and then up to the road to Missa Bertie 'fry-fish' shop.

'Nobody nuh wake up yet and bet seh Bredda Man nuh come in yet. Friday night is 'im usual butchering night. A did go out wid 'im one night but it too dangerous. We did have fe steal de car first, den go down a Bog Walk. We did get two nice goat an a did really raise a smalls, but mi no like it at all.

'Miss Nicie little niece weh come from country fe wuk up a Havendale nuh get up yet neidah. Is a fat little ting - a woulda really like get aroun' it. But Miss Nicie so damn strick through she is a balmist. Anyhow, a going try mi bes.

'See the Gleanah yah. Missa Bertie nuh wake up yet. Mek mi si now - sport page. Racing at Caymanas Park - a wondah if it wort' de time fe tek di train and go down deh. Senior Cup cricket - t'ings usually slow a dem place nowadays. Ah-h-h-h. Football at de Stadium, K.C. and Vere Tech. A' mus mek a raise deh.'

He folded the paper carefully in the same shape in which he had found it and turned to retrace his steps, whistling Israelite softly to himself, and then started to sing the tune.

'A could really sing one time. Dat's why dem call me 'Nat Cole'. Ah did even come second on the Vere Johns Show at Ambassador, but a doan noah wah happen. Mi voice just change and the people dem doan' even wahn hear mi again. Anyway, is life.'

He went on down the track, past his house, to the cricket ground known as 'Berlin'. It served as a recreation centre; everything was played here; but mostly cards and dice, for money. Many a defaulter had got his features permanently marked in this place. On the edge of the ground, several lime trees grew. The fruit never had time to mature and the leaves were used by all and sundry for tea. He broke off a couple lime twigs and headed back to his room for the old Ovaltine tin and then went to the standpipe. 'Little Miss' - Miss Nicie's niece - was there, catching water to take home. Everton, also known as 'Mawga Rat', was also there, washing his face. Nat walked up to Everton and greeted him. 'What happen, Ever? How it a go? A doan see you for a long time. It look like yu' get up too early nowadays.'

'Ah! bwoy! A' haf fe mek a early start. Wuk hard fe get now. Is nearly three months now since the house weh a was a work finish buil', and since dat, everyday mi walk out mi foot bottom a look a bly; but bwoy, a ca'an raise none. An' de lickle money mi did wuk soon done now.'

'Bwoy, a know how it stay out deh, it hard to dickance. An a hear seh Julie a expec' again. Dis one mek how much?'

'Five. Dat's why a have fe get a work. Dem a build a new l0-storey office down Duke Street and fe t'ree weeks now mi go down deh, bwoy, an' a ca'an get a break. Anyway, de foreman, Mr. Walker, tell me fe keep trying and come early every morning because somebody might a drop out and you never know what might happen.'

'Awright, Rat. A wish you luck. Hi, nice girl, how are you this morning? Can I help you with your pail? Ah like you' eyes, you know, and you' shape is fit. But how comes Miss Nicie keep you inside so much? From you get inside in the evening ah never see yuh put you nose outside the door until next morning.' He used his best English. This girl looked good.

'Oohnoo man too bad. Dat's why. Anyway, if you wan' see mi, why you doan meet mi at de bus stop at North Street and Orange Street when a' coming home - say 6:30. Den you can walk mi home.'

'Awright, Little Miss, I'll be there.'

Nat Cole helped Little Miss to put the bucket-pan on top of the 'cotta' on her head and watched her lithe steps and swaying hips as she walked away. He felt his loins quicken and he could hardly wait until evening. He washed his face and washed out his mouth, filled the Ovaltine pan with water, and walked back to his room. He reached under the 'house bottom' and pulled out a paper bag which had in the coal he had scrounged from Brother Man last week, and he put the last of it between the four stones beside the house which served as his stove. Then he put on his Ovaltine tin and put the lime leaves in it. He took out the match and, carefully shielding the light, lit the coals. Then he sat down and, while waiting for the 'tea' to boil, thought about Ma wga Rat.

'I was jus' like 'im once. Every morning a use to get up and go look wuk. A look wuk till a ty-ad. 'Mass Zela, you want anybody else fe wuk pan the building dis morning?' 'Good morning, ma'am, you want anybody to work in the gardin today?' 'Morning, foreman. I am a good mason an' a can do carpenter work too, gi mi a job, nuh!' 'Morning, sah, is dis where dem apply for a gardener boy - a storeman - a delivery boy - watchman - a day labourer?'

'No! No! No!' 'Sorry!' 'Wey you Union Card?' 'Go wey, you nuh want work, all you a look is somet'ing fe tief!' 'Come back tomorrow!' 'Tomorrow!' 'Tomorrow!'

'The same dyam t'ing, over and over again. No sah, if me even starve mi nah do dat again. Me will live by me scufflins.'

He drank the lime tea, lit the cigarette from the coals and sat back, savouring the smoke. 'Is a good t'ing a never craven and smoke off dis cigarette last night. De Zephyr really tasted good.' After about a quarter of the cigarette had been consumed he put it out and placed the remainder in his shirt pocket. 'No use me smoke all a' it now. A nevah noah what might happen.'

He cut across Berlin on to the Foreshore Road, then east to Harbour Street, continuing east, then turning down King Street to Victoria Pier, and made himself ready for the day's work.