Posts by Dee

Strangers of the Past: Part IX

Posted on 12/09/2012

Unfolding the morning newspaper in front of him, Chief Francis perused the news with a careful eye. With the upcoming festival and increasing wave of visitors arriving in their island, the police force could not afford to lax on their duties. From his many years of experience, he knew that crime would increase while the residents grew more preoccupied with preparing the island for the week of celebrations.

He cringed as he mentally counted the many hours he would have to sacrifice for patrol duty, wincing as he could already hear the groans and bemoans of his team of police officers when asked to spend more time on duty. Though their extra shifts would be reimbursed once the festival was over, the additional wages would prove not to be enough for the officers who often felt taken for granted by the residents.

If only their government could follow the example of those in America who gave their police officers agreeable benefits for their loyal service, they would be better off… or so he’d heard.

Heaving a deep sigh, Francis peered up from the top of his newspaper to the front window of the lobby in the police station. The front verandah was bare of on-duty officers, most of them either patrolling the city or the few lounging in the back. He didn’t mind the solitude. It wasn’t very often the station had much visitors and Francis didn’t care at this moment if it was because his officers were growing lax or the city was better behaved in the recent week.

With a sardonic smile crossing his lips at the absurdity of his last thoughts, Francis folded the paper and started to stand when he heard a popping sound below his waist. Gritting his teeth, Francis slowly lowered himself back to sit on the chair as the wave of pain shortly followed.

Without a word, he reached on the nearby table for the phone and quickly dialed a number. Taking a deep breath, he slowly leaned back against the seat and waited for the dial tone.

Shortly afterward, the dial tone was interrupted by muffled voices on the other end. Francis frowned deeply. “Are you there?” he groused, the pain setting into his lower back, shoulders and now his legs.

“Hmm, yes…” a male’s baritone voice sounded on the other end.

Francis shifted his gaze as much as his body would allow him without eliciting more pain along his neck. None of the officers was in sight and this time, he cursed them for heeding his request to be left alone in the early hours of the morning. “You should come here now.”

The other voice hesitated as the voices around continued on. Then he heaved a sigh. “Pa, I’m at work. Is something the matter?”

Francis stifled a groan. “Would I call you if something was not awry?” he spoke tightly. “Neville, do I need to remind you that you still do house calls?”

The man on the other end sighed. “I do, but when there is time… Right now I am scrubbing up for a procedure.” He paused as a voice spoke urgently. “Pa, what is it? I can send a nurse to—”

“Never mind,” Francis snapped quickly before his son could finish his sentence. Pulling the phone from his ear, he slammed the phone back on its cradle, glaring at it as if it was his doctor son in front of him. “Useless…” he muttered to himself and winced once a sharp pain shot down his legs. Shifting his gaze back to the window, a sudden wave of relief rushed over him as he spotted three men walking down the brick-laid path to the front gate. Squinting to make out their faces, he smiled in relief and waited to be rescued.

Jonathan scanned the quiet terrace of the station and frowned. “Maybe we’re too early…” he muttered softly as they walked down the path. None of the officers that had once gawked at them on the day they were arrested were to be found.

“They’re probably on vacation,” Hapta mused aloud, popping at his gum as he walked a step ahead of them. “These people are serious about their festivals.”

Marcus smirked, also scanning the foregrounds. Then he noticed the trunk of a car peeking from behind the corner of the building. “Isn’t that Chief Francis’ car?”

Hapta glanced over to where Marcus gestured and nodded. “You’re right. Maybe he’s here somewhere…”

“There’s no need looking,” Jonathan replied in a low voice and both men glanced over at him. He was staring straight at a closed portico in front of them. The men turned to the clear window in front and squinted, noting a man sitting inside. “Isn’t that him?”

As the three men walked toward the door, Francis managed a sigh. “Finally…” he breathed as Hapta pushed open the door and he frowned up at them. “What took you so long?” he groused, the growing pain driving his impatience as they gaped at him.

Jonathan raised a brow at the strange behavior of the once friendly man. Marcus frowned at the man’s rigid stance. “Are you alright, Chief?”

“Not particularly, no,” the older man muttered, glancing down at his legs. “I believe I got up too quickly and my back is suffering for it.”

The three men grimaced openly, staring at him. Having noticed the phone beside him, Jonathan cleared his throat. “Did you call for help?”

“Tried to… Don’t worry, it’ll pass just in time for the meeting.” Chief Francis managed a smile just as the pain slowly died down. Still, he kept his stiff body propped straight. “What do I owe this unannounced visit?” He waved a hand to the empty chairs around him.

Hesitantly as if they would’ve preferred taking him to the clinic, the men slowly found their seats while keeping their eyes on him.

Hapta promptly answered. “We’re here to take you for lunch…” He cleared his throat when Francis raised a brow and chuckled lightly. “Well, we planned on it.”

Francis managed a smile. “That is very kind of you.” Then he narrowed his eyes in suspicion, although the residents of the community were known for their hospitality. “Lunch for what, may I ask? I know in your country, you say nothing in life is free, right?”

“You’re right,” Hapta agreed. “We need your help.”

Marcus shifted his attention to Hapta, having not expected Francis to be so forthright. He’d hoped the man would be more at ease after eating with them, so that their request would be less strange and audacious.

“How can I help?” the man muttered, wincing slightly as the pain returned.

“Maybe we should take you to the clinic first,” Marcus interjected, noting the man’s stiff form. “We can talk about our request la—”

Francis waved him off, turning back to Hapta. “How can I help?” he repeated, eyes trained on the man.

Both Jonathan and Marcus looked over at Hapta, both anxious about how he would convince the man to give them the information they needed to find Hannah again.

Hesitating only for a second or two, Hapta glanced at his comrades quickly before looking back at an expectant Francis. “We’re actually not here as the missions’ security backup team.” He paused, waiting for Francis to roar in outrage.

The older man merely smiled patiently. “I figured.”

All three men exchanged rueful glances before Hapta turned back to him, eyes wide in surprise. “Was it that obvious?”

Jonathan refrained from rolling his eyes and reminding Hapta that the lie was too farfetched and unsound for even a common resident to believe much less a seasoned police officer.

Francis shrugged casually despite the stiffness of his shoulders and back. “Not too difficult considering the missions group doesn’t really worry about security while they are here…” He tilted his head curiously. “Now that you have started confessing… what are you doing here?”

Hapta smiled easily, as if he’d already predicted this inquiry. “Truthfully…” he looked over at Marcus and Jonathan and the two men held back groans once they noticed the telltale look in his eyes. He turned quickly back to Chief Francis before they could stop him. “We’re actually doing some travel research…” he glanced over at Jonathan, gesturing to the man who now fought gaping at him openly. “For Jonathan’s travel adventure novel,” he fibbed without hesitation, noting how Francis’ eyes lit up in curiosity.

Jonathan curled his fingers into his palms, refraining from lunging forward at Hapta for weaving yet another lie, this time at his expense. Marcus fought back laughter that threatened and glanced away from Jonathan’s murderous glare. Today was going to be a long day.

<<Part 8 || Part 10>>

Categories: Strangers of the Past

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Strangers of the Past: Part VIII

Posted on 03/09/2012

Flowers streamed the posts of street lights lined on each side of the street as Ameya drove out of her house, her young son snuggling in the seat beside her. With a warm smile at him, she turned back to the road ahead and grinned as she noticed a group of neighbors standing next to a naked streetlight post at the top of the hill. Slowing to a stop beside them, she peered out her window and waved. “Bonjou,” she greeted them warmly.

The three women clad in their house clothes, with bright-patterned cloth wrapped around their heads turned to grin at the younger woman in her car. “Bonjou, Ameya,” they replied together.

Two of the women, Mrs. Faluna and Mrs. Hendi were in their late sixties but didn’t look a day older than mid-forties, their dark eyes dancing with excitement for the upcoming event for which they now held a large basket with vibrant strewn flowers.

The other lady was much younger, Genevieve Faluna, closer to Ameya’s age. She beamed openly, once peering into the car at the sleeping Tomas before looking back at Ameya. “Sa ou fè? How are you keeping?” She’d asked how Ameya and Tomas were doing.

Ameya nodded graciously, considering she’d carried her sleeping child without him stirring in suspicion to the car. Today would be a long day and she had to keep him with someone while she worked. “We are going to the beach.” She would take Tomas to stay with the one man she could trust more than anyone, even Genevieve her friend.

The three women, understanding Ameya, nodded in unison and the two older women smiled gently. “Tres bien… Good,” they gave their approval before turning back to their duty.

Genevieve who was holding the basket of flowers moved closer to the car and grinned. “I heard you had a bit of a drama this week…” she whispered in English, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Ameya and Genevieve often spoke in English considering it was the language Ameya spoke without trouble and Genevieve had gone overseas for study before coming back home but didn’t want to forget it.

Ameya rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she gripped the steering wheel, trying not to recall the three men who had soured her mood earlier.

“For now,” Genevieve tilted her head to study her friend’s face. “We shall talk later then? I’ll come by when you get home.” She glanced over at Tomas and grinned. “He will spend time with Old Jonas today?”

Ameya nodded. “For now. I will have to try to sell some herbs at the market.”

Genevieve snapped her fingers. “Oh right. That’s why I wanted to ask you.” She peered behind the back seat before whispering. “Do you have any rabbit meat?”

Ameya smiled at the strange folk name. “Priva lappulacea? I have some at home… For your maman?” It was an herb found in the country and often requested by most people Mrs. Faluna’s age, although Genevieve’s mother hated taking medicine of every form.

With a furtive glance over her shoulder at her oblivious mother and aunt, she nodded and turned back to her friend. “She doesn’t know yet, but I will have to sneak it in her food… you know how she is.”

The two younger women nodded and then Genevieve grinned. “Will you be helping us with the food for the festival?”

Ameya grimaced inwardly having forgotten all about the Independence Day Festival. The entire week, the town of Vieux Fort and the surrounding villages were preparing for the country’s most important festival, which explained the flowers and makeshift lanterns propped all over. “I can help…”

In her mind, she began thinking of how and where she would keep Tomas while helping. It was the main reason why she normally kept to herself, because in festivals and large gathering of people, keeping Tomas settled was often a challenge and sometimes impossible.

Genevieve barely noticed the pause. “Good. Don’t worry about Tomas. We’ll keep him busy. Oh, and bring that Papa of yours with you.”

“Mesi,” Ameya replied, allowing herself to breathe a word of thanks to her friend.

“You are most welcome,” Genevieve replied with a wide grin and the two girls giggled softly, so as not to wake Tomas.

Then Mrs. Faluna finally noticed that her next stream of flowers were not available and peered over her shoulder, throwing an impatient glare at her daughter’s back.

“Your maman is calling,” Ameya said softly and Genevieve stepped away from the car. “I will have your item ready.” Releasing her foot off the brake, Ameya eased the truck down the hill, glancing at the rearview mirror to see Genevieve shuffle back to her mother and aunt to complete the decorating of the streetlight pole.

A painful twinge stirred at her heart, watching the cozy scene of her friend’s family and she quickly tamped it down, glancing at her sleeping son. “You are my family… and that is all that matters.” As if hearing his mother’s words, Tomas whimpered softly and stirred a little.

Ameya smiled gently and pressed down on the accelerator to head for the pier, where Old Man Jonas was waiting for her.

—

Sliding the fishing net over the edge of the boat, the old man grunted as his knee popped loudly and he swallowed a curse. A white and gray bird suddenly perched on one side of his boat and he grinned openly, chuckling as the bird began pecking at the net.

Another fisherman’s boat, larger and wider than his slid beside his and he rolled his eyes as a younger, more burlier man peered over at his, grinning with open amusement.

“Old man,” the man said in their native tongue. “When will you let this boat go?” His voice sounded sincere, as if caring that the dilapidated boat would give in at any moment.

Surely, under the bird’s weight, the older and narrower boat creaked noisily, causing the younger fisherman to chuckle louder.

The older man clucked his tongue in annoyance and he tugged at his long, grey beard, not even giving the younger man a glance. “When you let yours go, I will consider it,” he groused in response, tugging the net and causing the alarmed bird to flap his wings and hover over the boat. He scowled as the bird returned to its position and the younger man laughed at the scene. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“I am off to catch great big fish, Old Jonas,” the younger fisherman said proudly, puffing his bare chest. “Want me to bring you some?”

Jonas clenched his jaw as the fisherman eased his wide boat away and toward the great big sea in front of them. “Foolish idiot,” he muttered, rolling the sagging net with holes in them while staring forlornly at his bucket, with only three fish and some cretins inside. So much for getting a big catch today and what a terrible day to be off his streak. The girl was bringing her boy to stay with him and what would she say if she knew how hard it was these days to keep up?

Growling, he wiped the sweat off his balding head and tossed the rolled-up net over his shoulder before pulling at the rope to tie his creaking boat to a anchored post by the shore.

As he trudged up the hill to his house, the light bucket swaying over his shoulder, Jonas couldn’t help but think about the last time he’d stumbled on the biggest catch of his life. It’d been before he caught the girl. Almost twelve pounds of sea’s treasures in his net, he almost broke his back pulling the catch onto his boat. That was almost nine years ago.

Remembering the good old’ days made Jonas smile. No matter what the girl said, he was still as sharp as a shark’s fangs. He could picture the glistening scales of the fish that wriggled in his net, their vibrant eyes begging to be released back into the sea. He could still recall the weight of each in his hands as he counted the treasure he’d found. Almost fifty fish was the best he’d caught that year, and the probably the last.

He frowned, slowing to a stop. Ever since he’d found that girl, his fishing streak had never been the same and his comrades would not let him forget it. They said she was his bad luck charm, the moment he pulled her onto his boat after finding her one day on the banks. His frown deepened, remembering her frail shoulders and dirty, bleeding cheeks from lying face down on the mud and rocks.

Shaking his head that he would even consider what could have happened if he’d ignored her just for another opportunity to continue his fishing streak, Jonas grunted and continued up the hill. As he reached a milestone embedded deep in the hard ground, he glanced up to see a truck parked a few steps from his home.

“She is early,” he mumbled and continued his trek to the shadowed cottage underneath a thick, large oak tree.

Before he could take one step to the door, it flung open and a young boy stepped outside. “Papa Jonas!” the boy squealed with delight and started sprinting toward the older man.

His brow eased and a smile split his frowning lips as the boy stumbled toward him, his thin arms flailing. Jonas chuckled and walked to meet the boy, grunting when he slammed against his legs. “Easy,Tomas,” he mumbled, bending at his sore waist to wrap his arms around the boy.

Ameya stepped slowly out of the cottage, a smile tucked in. She wrapped her arms around the post near the door, watching the cozy scene of her son embracing Old Man Jonas, the man who had saved her life more than eight years ago. Her heart stirred again, just like it had when she watched Genevieve approach her mother and aunt, and when that tourist woman had grabbed her hand tightly.

She shook her head at her foolishness. There was no need to feel jealous or longing for family. Even though Old Man Jonas was gruff, he was the next best thing she had for a family. He’d saved her life, he’d taken her and Tomas in without much grumbling and for eight years, they would meet like this… Giving her son the warmest embrace and the love she wanted for her son. He was her father, in every sense of the word and she was grateful for him.

As the old man peered over Tomas’ head, he eyed her from head to toe. “You look tired… and too skinny.” He reached for Tomas’ hand and led him back to meet Ameya.

She chuckled, shaking her head as the two of them approached her. “That’s why I’m here, Papa. To eat what you’ve caught.” She noticed a glint in his eye but ignored it. “And of course, what I’ve brought for you.” Hooking an arm around his own thin arm, she led them into his cottage, though shabby and often dusty. But it was still home.

They closed the door behind them and soon, both Tomas and Ameya laughed in delight at Old Man Jonas’ grumbling of his day at the pier.

<<Part 7 || Part 9>>

Categories: Strangers of the Past

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