I enjoyed the benefits from the lifestyle in a Caribbean country. Above all the secret that I could not speak of, I did not work hard all the time like the Japanese do; I had learned to slack off at clients’ houses―leaning back against the couch, chatting with the clients or enjoying tropical fruits that were abundant in this country.
May was hot. It had been eight months since I came to Saint Lucia. As I loitered about my house, I found a riot of mangoes in the dense cluster of trees on the property, where sheep was grazed. As I moved closer to them, I saw my neighbor’s dog barking at me. I gingerly climbed up a tree, picked big green pinkish ones, and dropped between the rocks covered the weeds. My arms full of them, I went to my house. It took at least five days to ripen. I had done so occasionally, and as I choose a ripe one and ate, I felt giddy that I was doing something different from my regular meals.
*
Feeling my hands was itchy, I had woken up in the middle of the night. There were mosquitoes everywhere and I had had rashes on most of my body. One night, I could not bear that anymore, especially between my fingers, even my cock. It occurred to me that I had scabies because I had done that before. I rushed to the bathroom slipping off my clothes. While taking a shower, I had let out a scream of the itchiness of my skin. The more I scratched the rashes, the more I felt better, so that it got even worse.
In the morning, I headed to VFort Health Center. “I think scabies live in my skin,” I said, embarrassed a little. I stood still, naked, in front of the dermatologist, who examined my entire body. “That’s for sure,” she sat down at the stool and turned to the laptop. “Do you have Ivermectin(anthelmintic)?” I asked. “I know it’s a potent pill. In Japan, I had used it before. It worked much better than the ointment.” She seemed to look something up on the laptop. “Permethrin is enough for the rashes. They could be better soon. Every one had been healed. But, if you want it, go to St Jude Hospital. You may be able to get it.” I sighed, but smiled at her, covering my disappointment. “I will go from now.” “Okay. Next Tuesday. Come. I’m going to be here.”
St Jude Hospital was a sports stadium with olympic symbol. The interior was converted into a medical facility. It was a rainy afternoon and a dense humidity I could barely agree with induced the itchiness. I had shown the pharmacist the rushes between my fingers in an exaggeration. “You could get it at Victoria Hospital,” the pharmacist said. “Or America.” That upset me to guess there was no Ivermectin in this country. No matter what, I wanted to avoid going back to Japan, where Japanese never stop. I want to have time to breath and live in Eden like Saint Lucia.
As soon as I came back home. I put the doormat away and cleaned my house. Every morning I put my underwear and the bedding into hot water, washed, and had them dry under the sun. Applying Permethrin to my whole skin gave me temporary relief of itch and rash―to the extent that I slept through them somewhat. But after a couple of nights, I had found myself scratching my hands and felt anxious about the itch that was sure to return; craving to get Ivermectin I believed would obliterate the scabies. At least I have to keep getting Permethrin.
“Why isn’t the skin doctor coming? I’ve been waiting for her since early in this morning,” I said, wishing I could have set a time. “I didn’t know,” said a caregiver wearing the well-tailored yellow outfit. “I suppose she is at home and spend with her family. You should wait.” Her words did not astonished me, recalling my colleagues was always late and that they sometimes skipped work: eating lunch with her family, visiting her friends or shopping at Massy Stores. The only thing I did not comprehend was that grown men was at home during the day; drinking Piton beers on the terrace in a breeze. I was jealous, but how wonderful it would be to enjoy a happy carefree life.
It was past three. “Do you know when the skin doctor will come?” I asked another caregiver. “I’m not sure, Perhaps she is on vacation.” I did not know what to made of this. Next day, a physician prescribed me Permethrin.
The route from Vieux Fort to Castries―by bus of some sixteen minutes―was the steep winding road in the woods. I had seen the Japanese doctor via telemedicine and had my mother send me Ivermectin. It took two weeks to arrive. I loathed waste of any kind, and when receiving some parcels, I needed to go to Castries, the capital, and when the reckless driver jolted, I felt sick. But now I was going to become free of the itch that drove me mad all night, so I dreamed of Union Island in Saint Vincent―the waters is far crystal clearer than those of Saint Lucia. It thrilled me that I would make the most of my vacation.