Veronica carnegie

When Mr. Bedford's son, Allan, dropped us off at Kennedy Airport for the nine o'clock flight, we were early, and third and fourth in the Air Indies line. I had taken three tablets, as directed, and one of them must have acted as a stimulant, for I was warned against taking my usual morning coffee. I felt light-headed and cool, as if I were walking on foam. Leroy noticed and kept glancing at me in puckered puzzlement.

A young woman stood by the wall. She looked as if she were waiting for somebody. She was us. As soon as we moved up to the counter, the woman hurried across with the wide-open manner of a just-recognised old friend. I was suckered into believing I had known her face, but had forgotten her name; I gave a half-smile. She casually asked if we could check in one of her bags, since she noticed we had only one each. We both refused.

"Sorry, my dear, we are responsible for our own luggage."

She smiled plastic, shrugged, and high-heeled back to her waiting spot. The airline clerk wished us a good flight.

We moved off and noticed three baggage stubs attached to each of our tickets.

"Son of a bitch," I said, and stared at the stubs.

I felt assaulted. The clerk was obviously in league with the woman and had managed to get her many pieces of luggage on-board by forcing stubs on us. We were hijacked into going on the plane with four extra bags when we knew nothing of their contents. Invaded, we decided to watch the woman for a while. We rounded the bend, then turned back in time to see her approach the next, and the next, passenger, until her many pieces of luggage, already stacked behind the counter, were tagged and slid away on the belt to the plane.

Leroy soon found somebody to tell him about the skilful operation of some business people. The woman, the friend volunteered, was fired from her job at the bank for doing the same thing. It was an ongoing activity for many ICIs like her.

"They buy goods for stores and pharmacies, discharge off the goods at the airport, pocket the money and travel again. The Air Indies contact in New York sends off the many bags to their destination and no baggage ticket is collected on their arrival," the friend explained.

Leroy swore to expose the activity.

How many bags our woman checked in, I'll never know, but I glared at her as she settled in a seat near us.

Still in the departure area, I read a little, then stretched my legs. Leroy was peeved because I did not feel like discussing my medical details with him, and I was about to apologise when an angry-looking man shouted at a group of men, dressed in black and wearing skull caps. They had huddled together, watching the news on a laptop computer.

"You are the cause of the present problem! You bomb the Palestinians non-stop! You encourage the main bombers of Afghanistan and Iraq and now you have bombing rights to destroy the Lebanese. Shame on you! Shame on America for giving you a new killing field!"

"Like you, mister, we read about the war in the papers and watched the invasion on television."

"Who appointed you judge and jury? Anybody who stands up to you, you kill as terrorist, and nobody can stop you? Who the hell you Jews think you are?"

The man was enraged. His relatives in Lebanon had been massacred in the shelter of their basement. His wife joined in the attack and wept as she related how innocent people had been bombed in their cars as they tried to escape the Israeli onslaught. She was a nervous wreck, on her way to Jamaica, where Lebanese relatives would take the family in.

Israel's attack on Lebanon was a vexed topic for Leroy. He had watched the CNN and Fox reports while I underwent tests. He said some reporters boasted how the Israelis were bombing Lebanon with American top-of-the-line, sure-hit weapons, while the Hezbollah were firing outdated rockets that could not possibly find their mark. One news anchor praised the accuracy of the Israelis who had bombed the Lebanese airports, energy stations, reservoirs, hospitals and clinics, main highways and bridges, "using American planes which showered American bombs." They dropped leaflets telling people to get out and, while the people were getting out, bombs accidentally killed some in their cars and others hiding in their cellars. The most painful part in Leroy's update - and I saw supporting pictures on the airport screen - showed villages cut off from the aid agencies, decomposed bodies of civilians lying in rubble, car loads of innocents fleeing the massacre while hoping their white sheets, flying through the windows, would save them.

"Give it up, Leroy. Listen to the news, biased or not, and use the information for material for your book. Those people have been fighting for ages and there's not a damned thing you can do about it. By the way, the wrapped-head woman is staring straight at you. Let's move."

The Air Indies area was by that time packed and we joined the few who waited by the near gate.

"Den why yu didn't kill 'im? Yu mean yu couldn't mek anada duppy, Madda?"

"I couldn't bring mahself to do it. The man was nice and courteous. Aftah ah had the long talk with 'im, would you believe he open de car door fo' me an' gave me a lif' to de subway?"

"What a hell w'en she 'ear dat 'im don't dead."

"Marva Campbell don't deserve him. He's too good for 'er. I call 'is mother an' warn 'er."

"Marva pay yu, Madda?"

"Well, she pay mah passage an' half of mi fee. She to pay the res' w'en the job done." "Dat's not bad. Tek it an' gwan, Madda."

"What she gwayne to do w'en she fine out him doant dead?"

"His mother soun' smart. She wi move fas' an' get 'im in anodah state. An' in any event, I'm not workin' fo' her again."

I pushed my hand as far as it could go down the back of my shirt, scratched vigorously, and turned to look at a class of Jamaica's society nobody wanted to talk about.

"Morning. Yu back scratching yu?" She smiled knowing the discomfort of an itching back. "Ah ongle 'ope yu nat ketchin' anyt'ing in dis place, yu know," a younger woman in the group comforted.

"It's OK." I continued to scratch. Where in Jamaica you're from?"

"Richman Vale."

St ... St ... I can't remember which one of the St. parishes they said. I talked with them and told the 'mother' that I hadn't expected her to be so beautiful and she could have got any part in a movie if she'd wanted it. She was a slim, trim, good-looking, fine-featured, light-skinned, well-dressed, middle-aged woman with bouncing, rinsed-brown, shoulder-length hair. Obeah women and witchcraft workers, in my mind, were not supposed to look like this glamorous lady and her entourage - or should I have said 'staff'. I commended her when she said her role in life was to help people. She had received a gift when she was 12 years old and today she was the best healer in her parish. Many people received gifts of prophecy, of tongues, healing and so on, and people should show respect. She said they were planning to form an association, but it was difficult getting a meeting place without attracting the crowd and the press.

"You could put a hex on the negative reporters."

"Mother" thought I was funny.

Leroy came back laden with news and I asked the ladies to excuse me.

Her real name was Ruby Milton. Mrs. Ruby Milton. She had two married daughters but nobody knew where Mr. Milton was. He had disappeared about seven years ago. She was a frequent flyer and solved problems for West Indians living overseas. She was a specialist in Immigration transactions and visa procurement.

"I want you to know Mother Milton is renowned for her medicine-free treatment, and she anoints and massages her clients with strong, glove-free hands.

I was beginning to doubt Leroy when a man who was eavesdropping said he knew Mother, and all you got from her parlour was a good bush bath. She used no powder, no oil, no cream, no Kananga Water, no asafoetida.

"I hope yu didn't give her our address and telephone number. I don't want to be mixed up with any obeah people," Leroy said to me.

"She's a high scientist and I already exchanged address and phone numbers."

The man who knew Mother told us she wasn't as good as the four brothers at Three Miles Corner. If we wanted, he would introduce us and we would get value for our money. He gave us his card and insisted on calling the brothers' names. They were the best scientists on the island.

"You never heard of Prof? He was their father."

"I never thought necromancy would have grown into big business," I said.

Her real name was Ruby Milton. Mrs. Ruby Milton. She had two married daughters but nobody knew where Mr. Milton was. He had disappeared about seven years ago. She was a frequent flyer and solved problems for West Indians living overseas. She was a specialist in Immigration transactions and visa procurement.

"I want you to know Mother Milton is renowned for her medicine-free treatment, and she anoints and massages her clients with strong, glove-free hands.

I was beginning to doubt Leroy when a man who was eavesdropping said he knew Mother, and all you got from her parlour was a good bush bath. She used no powder, no oil, no cream, no Kananga Water, no asafoetida.

"I hope yu didn't give her our address and telephone number. I don't want to be mixed up with any obeah people," Leroy said to me.

"She's a high scientist and I already exchanged address and phone numbers."

The man who knew Mother told us she wasn't as good as the four brothers at Three Miles Corner. If we wanted, he would introduce us and we would get value for our money. He gave us his card and insisted on calling the brothers' names. They were the best scientists on the island.

"You never heard of Prof? He was their father."

"I never thought necromancy would have grown into big business," I said.

"I hope you will call me and tell me which brother you want to meet to do your job. Remember, one specialise in killing the enemy. If yu don't want the man dead, don't go to him. The second one is the healer. Yu go to him when the doctor give yu two weeks to live. The third one deals with the court cases and can get yu off any serious charge. He also handle domestic problems and help yu tie up the person you want. The fourth brother is the immigration and visa expert. They don't credit,"

I moved away at the boarding call, disturbed by the latest piece of information and puzzled at the growth of what was once an underground activity.

Late afternoon; I felt the descent. I looked down and a swig of excitement seeped through my bones. Swift scenes rolled by. I was thrilled, filled with emotion, and afraid to show it. I wish you could have looked through the same window and experienced with me. I bit my bottom lip and viewed the touchable green hills - so close I thought I could identify certain trees. I saw buildings with shapes out of Grimm Brothers and registered the portrait of the shimmering sea, in tones of blue and white.

"Mummy! Mummy, si di mad man there."

"Stop pointing."

"Him not saying anything."

"Shut up." The woman was not comfortable with my standing so close to her. She moved, with the child two places behind. The lines moved quickly and soon with our two bags, our torn-off tickets and baggage stubs were outside waiting for our drive.

They must have sat at the back of the plane, for my nemeses, Sgt. Gilbert and Sgt. Thompson walked by us. Handcuffs linked their hands to two deportees. I looked away.

"Excuse me."

Before I could say yes, he said, "You have a brother used to walk Washington Boulevard?"

I shook my head and looked right into Sgt. Thompson's face.

"Strange.You are the spitting image of a man name Fly."

He hurried to the police station.

A man at the car park entrance was selling T-shirts. He wore one. It read: WORLD WAR III and on the back: FIGHT. 'For your country' was in fine print.

I saw people buying. Leroy bought two and one was not for me. I was tired and it was time to take my tablets. I asked him to leave me off at Nurse's house and "I," said the sparrow, "with my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin."

"Who saw him die?" "I," said the fly, "with my little eye, I saw him die."

Leroy glared at me. He swore to God I was a hopeless case, revved up loudly and drove off with a screeching noise.

Nurse came to the door.

- Veronica Carnegie