Jamaican Heat
A Novella by William DeSouza 2014
(an Excerpt)
The warm Caribbean breeze streamed down the Blue Mountain range into Kingston bringing with it the sweet odors of banana, sugar cane and mango. The gentle winds of the tiny tropical island felt like a warm blanket as it wrapped around me. The leaves of the mango and hibiscus trees in the yard bristled with each gust as if in anticipation of the next encounter between secret lovers.
I looked up toward the mountain and could see thin white wisps of clouds flow past the peek, traveling toward the ocean and parts unknown. I was content to sit here forever and let life unfold in front of me, content enough that I was only a watcher, not getting involved with the day to day turmoil that lay outside of my control.
As I sat on the veranda, friends and family mixed and mingled around me, catching up on the latest news, and of course the latest gossip. The women showed off their latest frocks and the men, well, they did what men did best in social situations. They found a quiet out of the way place to play games and drink beer.
The dominos slamming onto the wooden card table startled me as my uncle Brian exclaimed in joyous triumph, "Beat dat ya dog ya!" A boyish grin crossed his lips, his Jamaican accent was thick with the patois slang of the tiny Caribbean island.
"Ya workin it ard misa Brian. Ya need not worry bout ya winnings though," replied Trevor, an old family friend. He slammed his double sixes down and jumped up with his hands raised in victory.
The table reverberated with the play and laughter boomed from everyone present.
I enjoyed watching these grown men behave and play like boys, as if embracing their youth for the first time. They were family, friends and strangers at the same time and I adored them all. There was a deep sense of familiarity about their faces, their voices, and this place. At the same time I felt as though I was an interloper as I watched with a kind of voyeuristic pleasure.
Truth be told, I was more a stranger these days. These hot blistering days where only the tourists ventured out in Kingston under the blazing mid-day sun.
I may have been born on the island but I left Jamaica soon after I married Jeffery. It’s been almost six years since I was last here.
Right out of University and in my very first job, I met Jeffery through a mutual friend. I used to read about love in romance novels, but only when I was with him did I understand what love really was. He was in the Canadian Air Force working at the embassy here; and being from Canada, Jeffery didn’t know much about the island. But that just gave me the excuse to spend time with him playing tour guide. It wasn’t long after that we decided to marry. I was nineteen and full of hope.
Six years ago, and a lifetime away, we left Kingston and the blissful tropical breeze of Jamaica to the frigid cold and snow of Northern Ontario. Jeffery’s home was Sturgeon Falls and it was as far from Jamaica as the sun is from the Earth.
