Stephen VasciannieTHE ONE-EYED Ivan is about to pounce. He is moving slowly, so you have no excuse: there is more than enough time to make preparations. You also have time to worry. You try to make sure that if the roof goes, you have a spot which may still remain relatively dry. You note the warning - if your roof flies, use your mattress as cover, and lie low in the bath. This may be quite undignified, you may reflect, but you glance at the bath, considering whether you could be sailing down Barbican Road in that bath in a few hours time.
You think about food. Lines from Lovindeer's 'Wild Gilbert' about 'Bully Beef' come hazily to mind. The food shelves of various supermarkets were bare by the time you checked in, so you will have to manage with supplies stored from the time of Charley's non-appearance. Dry crackers abound: your shelves are a veritable cornucopia of processed flour. You cannot bring yourself to store water in the bath because, subconsciously at least, you want the bath to be dry and ready in case rooflessness strikes.
You look outside at the neighbouring trees. A navel string is planted here or there; the coconut tree hanging perilously close to the house, and it occurs to you that coconuts could become both projectiles and nourishment in your hurricane career. You become wistful, fretful and self-critical all at once: how can you be so worried about property damage, when you have convinced yourself that these things don't matter? You know that no answer to this question will bring you full satisfaction.
LOVED ONES
When all the structural, gastronomical and miscellaneous concerns are addressed (flashlight checked, radio batteries acquired, computer wrapped in plastic etc.), you turn your mind to books. Actually, you have been thinking about these all along, but you are not inclined to admit that in addition to family, loved ones, friends and colleagues this is what really counts in your life. As some of your books are stored close to foot level, you will have to move them to higher ground. But which ones must you move, and which ones could possibly be left in situ? Space is limited, so choices have to be made.
You reach, first of all, for some history books. You already keep some anti-slavery books as close to your bed as good taste and other important considerations permit; now, on an emergency basis, these are to be joined by Eric Williams' The Negro in the Caribbean and From Columbus to Castro. You are sure that the former should go into safekeeping, but you hesitate about the latter: it is, after all, still in print, and perhaps you should register the smallest of protests about the self-congratulatory style that has affected some aspects of this work. But no, the text is readable, substantial and enduring, so it joins the books in your most secure collection.
ORWELLANIA
You turn next to Orwell, for reasons that have to do purely with Orwell, and also to do with Sereta Harris' teaching of Orwell in Fourth Form at K.C. in 1975. For you, literature before Orwell was interesting: after all, the perceptive Beryl Urquhart had taken you most memorably through David Copperfield and Shane. But Orwell's Animal Farm appeared at the time of your proper political awakening, and Mrs. Harris had struck the perfect balance in promoting literary appreciation amidst the political significance of Orwell. So, you grab Animal Farm, a collection of Orwell's essays (the collection with A Hanging, Politics and the English Language, and Why I Write), and Burmese Days. You leave behind 1984, as readily available and depressingly dystopian, and you conclude that space will not allow you to secure various books about the author, including Christopher Hitchens' Orwell's Victory and George Woodcock's The Crystal Spirit. You look for your copy of the book with Clive James' recent essay on Orwell, and hiss your teeth when you can't find it.
FOCUS ON FOCI?
You are in a quandary about novels, short stories and poetry. Some things automatically recommend themselves. So, for example, you lovingly take up Focus 1960 edited by Edna Manley, and Focus 1983 edited by Mervyn Morris. You pause with the first, and though you are on emergency alert, you read again Hairdresser on the Gray's Inn Road by R.L.C. Aarons and Woman Trouble by Peter Abrahams. The former is predictable but hilarious, while the latter, with its subtle touches, reminds me to secure Abrahams' The View from Coyaba. From Focus 1983, you reconsider Mervyn Morris's Peace-time, which seems to throw up new meanings every time, and you smile as you go through Lenworth Burke's Notice-Board, a memorable account of student machinations at university. You wonder if you will ever find a copy of the pre-1960 editions of Focus, and you notice that in Focus 1983 the editor wrote: "It is hoped it has been hoped before that Focus will be annual."
You are now almost ready for Ivan.
Stephen Vasciannie is professor of international law, head of the Department of Government,UWI, and a consultant in the Attorney-General's chambers.
