Thursday, February 03, 2011

Spirits

The bar, like so many others on this small Caribbean isle, was little more than a square shack, open on three sides, with a small kitchen in the back. The early afternoon sunlight poured relentlessly down on the rusty tin roof. I dashed underneath to avoid the ultraviolet deluge.

"You look like a man in need of a drink," the barmaid said, her raspy voice suggesting years spent in a intimate relationship with cigarettes and whiskey. "Had a hard night?"

Yes, I did have a hard night- sleepless in what should have been paradise. Roosters, confused by the street lights, thought it prudent to crow throughout the wee hours. In my half-sleep, their cries turned into the cries of slaves being beaten on the sugar plantations. That had been long ago, but perhaps not that long.

"You're pretty observant. I couldn't sleep. I better have a hamburger and a Coke instead."

"Bad dreams, huh?"

"How long do you think spirits hang around? A year? Ten years? 200 years?"

"If it is anything like a bad love affair, it's as long as they suffered. One year, a one year hangover. You must be a 'sensitive'..."

"Yeah, a sensitive... yeah, that's it, I must be a sensitive"

"You don't like it here, do you?"

"It's not that I don't like it, it's just that I just don't want to die here."

By Professor Batty



6 Comments:

Blogger Cellar Door said...

This explains a lot.


Anonymous NormanLake said...

No one here gets out alive. Better to be sensitive than senseless.


Anonymous Jon said...

This is why we only keep hens. Rooster are possessed.


Anonymous Caroline said...

Sleepless in the Caribbean is something I have been through...


Blogger Professor Batty said...

CD~ I'm still wondering about this.
NormanLake~ I got out of that bar.
Jon~ Possessed is the perfect word.
Caroline~ I'd like to read that story.


Blogger Alec said...

Mercifully, unlike Princess, Cotton Valley doesn't appear to have any roosters, just the "calming" sound of the trees blowing in the wind.

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