On a quest in Balaclava's bushes

There are times in life that a man needs to stand up for himself. You know, declare to all who will listen that you've had all you can take and you will take no more. I found myself in such a situation recently while walking through a bushy area in Balaclava, St Elizabeth. I was there with Whistler, a middle-age carpenter, who had an uncanny ability to perfectly whistle the latest pop tunes, and his grandson Otis, a feeble young boy who wore no shoes.

I met Whistler in the town square that morning and was following him to his workshop near an old railway station. He made much of his carpentry skills, so I was enticed to see some of his creations for myself. Unfamiliar with the area, I took a bit of a tumble, landing on the nether regions of my anatomy. This, to the grand amusement of my travelling companions.

"Hee-hee! Yuck-yuck!" they laughed, the boy pointing mercilessly in my direction. Now I was willing to excuse the first few seconds of raucous laughter but after more than a minute, I had had about enough. I gave the pair a good talking-to that seemed to surprise them both.

"Calm down yuh nerves, man. Is joke we running," said Whistler. I felt a bit guilty about my outburst, but at least it ended the incessant laughing.

A few seconds later, we were on our way again. I had been to Balaclava before, at least a couple of times, but this was the first I'd ever seen this section. There was little evidence of human settlement, except for a discarded plastic bottle here and there.

I asked Whistler why he had set up his workshop so deep in the woods.

"It nuh really strange to we, yuh know. Is 'cause yuh don't know di place, but it nuh far," he said.

"Di place want to bush now so it might look a way to yuh but is not so it look all di time."

Otis, the grandson, sneezed. It was a heck of a sneeze that jolted the poor boy's meagre structure.

"Bless you," I said.

"Eh?" he replied.

"What?" his grandfather interjected.

"Bless you," I repeated.

"Wara?" Whistler replied.

"Nothing," I said.

We continued walking.

I asked Whistler if he actually enjoyed working in such lonely conditions.

"Yes, man. Di carpenter work very noisy yuh know. So at least when we keep it out here, nobody caan come start no fuss over di noise," he said.

I looked at Otis, who seemed to be struggling a bit. I asked Whistler if he was all right.

"Him? Cho! Him too lazy. Him must learn," said Whistler.

We carried on walking for about five minutes without speaking. I thought I spotted a mongoose, but wasn't really sure. It was a sunny afternoon and the walk was taking much longer than I had anticipated. I asked Whistler if we were close.

"Yeah, man, before yuh quint we reach," he said.

Fifteen minutes later, we were still walking. I stopped and turned to Whistler and his sweat-covered grandson. I had the speech all planned out. I needed to know how much further we were going and I needed to know now.

"Now see here ... ." I started to say. Whistler cut me off.

"We reach now," he said. I looked around but saw little more than four wooden posts crudely stuck into the ground and a blue sheet thrown over them.

"That's it?" I asked. "Yeah, man, it nice man," he said. It wasn't exactly what Whistler had made it out to be, but that didn't matter much. It was his handiwork that I had made the journey to see. I asked him about it.

"Oh, mi nuh really have none out here right now, yuh know. Mi only work offa order and is long time now I nuh get no order," he said.

Now anger boiled inside me like water in a kettle. I was certain steam was coming through my ears when I asked the man why he didn't tell me that a long time ago. Otis chuckled.

"Oh, mi never tink bout it," Whistler said, casually.

It was only the presence of the boy that kept me from completely losing it that sunny weekday afternoon. Inflicting bodily harm upon a fellow in the presence of his grandson is not really my style. Dejectedly, I bit my lip and swallowed my anger. The trek back to Balaclava square was silent.

Where should Robert go next? Let him know at robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com

FEEDBACK

Dear Robert,

I am at work reading it, so I cannot laugh out loud. Love it, love, love it. Keep them coming. When I read these, they take me back home.

- Brianamarcia

Dear Robert,

You are just great. Would you believe that my entire family, from grandparents down to my children, attended and were confirmed in that very church. Such fond memories!

Thank you.

- Memories

Dear Robert,

I am rolling on the floor with laughter. Shaky ah di boss. Keep them coming!

- Marie

Dear Robert,

Please don't kill me with laughter. Great story. Keep them coming.

- Jaunae

Dear Robert,

I was so glad I was in the comfort of my home to laugh out loud to the point of tears. This story is one I will never forget.

- Heather

Dear Robert,

DWL! I should visit Skull Point the next time I am in Manchester. RL, your articles always have me cracking up to the point where I start crying.

- TG

Dear Robert,

I truly enjoy reading your articles. It's very refreshing. I love my people and country. Your stories remind me how much I miss them both. Keep up the good work!

- KayKay

Dear Robert,

Great article. Something to laugh about out of Jamaica. Great work as usual, looking forward to many more.

- Guess

Dear Robert,

Poor Shaky. I don't blame him, mi would a fraid too. Good memories. Robert yuh large.

- Yardman

Dear Robert,

I love your stories. They make me laugh and I get so nostalgic just hearing about 'mi little country'. Jamaican people are truly one of a kind.

- Patty

The following are some feedback letters received to last week's edition of Roving with Lalah.