to imply some fellowship between them as he offered her to sit. He then cleared his throat with a further cough, cough as he sat to continue the tale he had been telling to all who were gathered; Godfrey and Hannah, sucking upon their pipes; Molly loudly devouring a red love apple; the washerwomen, Florence and Lucy, straining to hear from a little way off; Byron, of course, sitting almost still while inspecting a scab upon his knee; even Patience had come.
‘So, me continue,’ Nimrod said and July felt him looking straight upon her with a keen glare . . . but then so did Molly. ‘Three white men come looking for the negro them call the Colonel—him the leader of this band that torched the trash house up at Providence plantation—the flames licking till all that remained was the jagged, scorched stones that did appear like a black-tooth grin within this breach. In upon the carpenter’s shop they come—looking here, looking there. But them no see five negroes hiding from them.’
‘Five, you say?’ Godfrey interrupted.
‘Five,’ Nimrod replied.
‘And where they hiding?’
‘In a cupboard,’ Nimrod said.
‘Five men in a cupboard. That be a big cupboard,’ Godfrey said.
Hannah, sucking upon her teeth, snapped, ‘Hush up, Mr Godfrey,’ before nodding for Nimrod to carry on.
‘Suddenly them flew from their concealment to jump upon these white men. Them seized their cutlass. Bound their hands. Blindfolded them and marched them to the works. And there . . .’ Nimrod looked from one person to the next, as best he could, whilst saying, ‘them threw those white men into the boiling sugar like them was three pieces of temper lime.’
July gasped. As Nimrod leaned in closer to July, the little tuft of beard upon his chin waggled like a goat chewing upon grass as he whispered loud, ‘Only their hats floated upon the liquor.’
July wished to pull at the bouncing strands of hair upon his chin to beg him to tell her the beginning of this tale, for it was lost to her while everyone else sat silent within the thrill of this fright.
Except, that is, Godfrey, who after sniffing loudly said, ‘And where was the boiler man when them throw three men in his good sugar teache?’
Nimrod leaned back, folded his arms, and lifted his eyes to the sky to answer, with a heavy sigh, ‘Him was drunk.’
‘The head man was drunk, you say?’ Godfrey said. Everyone, even Patience, sucked their teeth upon Godfrey, for he was clouding up this tall-tall telling.
‘Mr Godfrey, the boiler man was drunk ’pon rum him had stolen from the stores,’ Nimrod answered. And all gasped except . . .
‘And you say all this be going on as we sit,’ Godfrey said.
‘Let God be my witness. Let the Lord strike me down now if what I say is not true.’ Nimrod lifted his arms to let God declare him a liar by frying him in a fire bolt before this gathering. When no lightning struck, he carried on with, ‘Hear me now, the island is ablaze. They be fighting everywhere and white men be running for their lives. Them say militia so feared for the situation that they will pay Maroons good money for a pair of rebel negro ears.’ Nimrod leaned forward upon his seat to grab Byron, ‘And them no worried if there be no head in between. Who’ll give me a penny for these?’ he said, tugging the boy’s lobes. And oh, how everyone screamed . . . except Godfrey.
As Nimrod sat back upon his seat, folded his arms and grinned, July noticed that he had lost more teeth since last she saw him, leaving his smile as mangled and forlorn as one of the missus’s broken-down hair combs. But at least those ugly chops were upon a freeman.
‘And so is we now all free?’ Molly asked.
‘Ah, well,’ Nimrod pondered.
‘Is we or is we not, Mr Nimrod?’ Godfrey questioned, with deep annoyance in his tone.
Before answering, Nimrod carefully raised one cheek of his backside from the chair and, with a grimace of intense concentration, let forth a loud fart. Then giggling, he waved his hand in this emission to waft its pungent smell from him. Distaste clouded everyone’s face. Except Nimrod, who found it very amusing. Once the stink had passed, he composed himself enough to say, ‘Well, as you know, Mr Godfrey, I am a free man.’
And no sooner had those words left his crooked mouth than Patience shouted, ‘Hold them!’