I emerged at the ranch, on the other side from the University. There were the dotted horses in emptiness before me. The sun was still casting its ray all around. The ground had been consist of mud and gravel, though vehicles had worn it down virtually. I traced their ruts; the horses in a peaceful mood felt like a reprieve from the annoying things in my head.
There was enough space for children to play soccer. Some of the boys darted toward me, “Faster, faster, faster.” I ran with them, and then sped off rather deliberately. Although I felt like I was being chased, when I looked back they had long since cease to run and played soccer with their smiles; besides, I had overlooked the adults barbecuing over beer and reggae. Caribbean people enjoyed a happy, carefree life, unlike most Japanese, who tried far too hard.
The road in the ranch finished abruptly at its periphery. A little way ahead was a row of houses. There was a path through the jungle and among the big fruit trees, a path beaten by vehicles. I recalled an evening when I had run through it. The ranch had disappeared into darkness and I become aware that a vehicle was edging up to me, slowing to a halt.
“What are you doing?” Startled, I got caught in a branch of green plums beneath the franks of dark trees. “I’m just running, sir.” I replied to the police officer. “Look at me.” I tugged at my UNDER ARMOUR T-shirt I wore. He looked me from top to bottom and accepted that reluctantly. “You have to wear something glowing. Or else a car hit you.” I held out my left wrist. “Apple Watch shed light.” “No. Reflection,” he said sternly. Not wanting to put on what was not cool, I said, “I don’t know where to get it.” “Home Depot,” his eyes fixed to my face. “Next time, without it, take you to the police station,” he rolled his eyes and drove off. A short while later, I passed the black man running with no reflection, assimilated with darkness.
The sun had retreated now, purple layer like an hallucination loomed in a residential district full of luxurious houses, and before long I passed by a a matronly woman wearing an off-white Panama hat. “K.” I stopped, looking back, astonished. “Aisha. I didn’t notice. It’s been so long.” She looked younger than her actual age of sixty five. In Saltibus, we had hiked more than three hours a day to visit the clients until she retired. No other person in this country would be as diligent as her. I admired her wonderful energy and bright manner―she invited me to her house for lunch every work day and gave me many local fruits. “Yeah, I’m going to my daughters house. Won’t you come for dinner?” “I wish I could, but … .” I was so happy just to see her.
By the time I could see Laborie bay, where I sometimes swam, the sky was dark. I rounded the corner of the bus stop, going right along the highway with many ups and downs, past large houses hidden behind the woods. A breeze gently shook the shadowy coconut trees and some vehicles had driven past me. I would have been greeted by a soft horn of the bus driver perhaps I knew.
When I saw a pickup truck with several boys on the bed, I knew they would stare at me. “Hey, Chinese,” one of them stood up. “Ack-chooww!” he imitated Bruce Lee with his limbs; the other laughed out loud. I had at least three names in Caribbean countries. Chinese, Chinaman and Ching Chong. I no longer gave a shit, not because of what teenager said, but because everyday someone called me names.
For a while no passersby in sight, but the large trees thin out, and the Massy Stores with lights out here. The woman selling avocados was still there by it. Although I had often bought some, I did not pause and greet her. Once I asked her to sell one for four EC dollar. “Five,” she said soberly. Nevertheless, I did so one more; she resented, turning away and yelled something at a fellow worker in the distance in Creole. Since then I had never decided not to haggle, for she sold so much more delicious and bigger ones than others.
Past the Massy Stores, I had sprinted the path, which descended, the grass poking my feet. In life, there had been so much injury, and it was far from perfect. Crossing the main road toward a tunnel of trees, I did so again as if to obliterate my tracks.
Gentle palm trees rustled in the wind. Along streams stood small wooden terraced houses. Around one of them were some half-naked men, drinking beers and talking boisterously. The heavyset neighbor. I supposed. I had never been asked to join. “K. Watch out for the bricks. I’ve put them away,” he hold a Piton beer in his hand, and I thanked and treated him lightly. The friendly Caribbean people I knew was somehow lazy, unreliable, or irresponsible.
As I was approaching my house, I could hear the distant music of Gregory Isaacs. Ahead of me, the three small kids played ball. When I came nearer, they broke into a trot. I had no choice but stop and exchanged fists―’yeah man’’―in turn with each of them. At the same time, I saw, just beyond them, stray dogs I feared might attack me.
*
I looked at the torii gate jutting out of the bay, the morning sun overhead. When the tide goes out, you can go there. Every day, I passed the elderly woman running recklessly―her shoulders stooped and her gaze forward―in her awkward movement. She looked diligent and stubborn, however her several muscles were so lazy that her figure lacked beauty. Why could not she stop and face her own weakness? But no one would stop her because she would never stop until she could be ruined. Her self-righteousness hampered her from knowing another world.
