Caribbean: a novel Part 42

When his listeners asked about the messages on his s.h.i.+rt, he pointed to the picture of Haile Sela.s.sie and told them: 'Great ruler. He conquer all Africa.' He told them that his lion was the one mentioned in the Bible: 'Lion of Judah. Come to give us total power.' He also explained that the pope in Rome would soon be destroyed because he was the spirit of Babylon, but the Great Babylon itself was America, which would also be destroyed. He further predicted that very painful punishments would soon overtake Queen Elizabeth II: 'She the daughter Queen Elizabeth I, who send her captain, John Hawkins, to Africa to bring your mammies and daddies here as slaves.'

When the people stopped to listen to his ranting, intermixed with long pa.s.sages of incomprehensible Rastafarian jumble, he dropped his voice and ended with great seriousness: 'America the Great Babylon overseas. Who the Great Babylon here All Saints? The police.' Always when he said this, he stopped, stared at his listeners with a fierce glance, utilizing his height and the fearful appearance of his hair and beard to terrify them. Then he would drop his voice to a whisper: 'Great Babylon must be destroyed. The Bible say so. Revelation.'

And now he whipped out his Bible: 'Chapter Eighteen, verse two, look at it, read it for yourself: "And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen and is become the habitation of devils ..." And now read verse twenty-one: "And a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone, and cast it into the sea, saying, Thus with violence shall that great city Babylon be thrown down, and shall be found no more at all." '

Sally noticed that he always stopped short of calling for outright revolution or an attack on the police, but that was certainly the import of his words, and his listeners knew it. But when the tension was at its maximum, he became once more the gentle messenger she had seen that first night at the meeting. Then the warmth in his eyes and the rea.s.surance in his placid face, framed as it was in his Christ-like beard, exuded love for all and an invitation to join his crusade to rescue the black people of this earth.

When townsmen invited Ras-Negus and his two companions to take lunch with them, everyone noticed that he picked out only certain foods, and before eating, placed them in his coconut sh.e.l.l. Aware of the interest, he explained: 'No canned food. No meat. Only food as Jah sends it, fresh from field and tree. And no plates or metal spoons. Only fingers as Jah gave them.' It was sometimes rather trying to watch as he dipped his long, bony fingers into his bowl and brought them dripping to his bearded lips.

As he ate he took the opportunity to explain to his host in the gentlest terms the principles of Rastafari, and when one man asked: 'Is it true you have ganja as your sacred herb?' he replied: 'It's the herb Jah sent down to earth to make black people joyous. You smoke ganja like Haile Sela.s.sie say, you catch a glimpse of heaven.' And he left the men bedazzled by his description of what life was going to be like when Haile Sela.s.sie, as the seventy-second incarnation of the G.o.dhead, returned to take command of the hundred and forty-four thousand who were to be saved.

On the way west toward Cap Galant, Ras-Negus spoke with quiet fervor of Rastafarian principles: the concept that all women were empresses, that children were one of the world's great blessings, that good men and women ate only natural foods and not canned poisons sent to the island in cargo s.h.i.+ps owned by the Great Babylon in Miami.

The drone of his subdued and pleasant voice almost put Sally to sleep, but when, to keep herself awake, she asked: 'Mr. Grimble ...' and he stopped her: 'Not Mr. Grimble, Ras-Negus, John the Baptist of the Leeward and Windward Islands.'

'Ras-Negus, what was that hundred and forty-four thousand saved you spoke about?' and for the first time when talking with her directly he produced his small leatherbound Bible and flipped it open exactly to Revelation, Chapter 14, from which he read in low and gentle tones: ' "And I looked, and, lo, a Lamb stood on the mount Sion, and with him an hundred forty and four thousand, having his Father's name written in their foreheads ... These were redeemed from among men, being the firstfruits unto G.o.d and to the Lamb." '

Closing the Bible, he said, looking at Sally: 'You and I should live our lives so that we can be one of the hundred and forty-four thousand.'

'You mean that of all the people on earth only ...?'

'Group by group. Of these Windward Islands, maybe only one hundred and forty-four thousand saved.'

'In America, which has a huge population?'

'None. It is Babylon.'

When they reached Cap Galant they found that the government had erected from stone and wood a s.p.a.cious belvedere in which some dozen separate groups were picnicking or simply resting to enjoy the n.o.ble scene. The appearance of Ras-Negus was so striking that he commanded attention, and soon had about him a small group of curiosity seekers who encouraged him to descant on the glories of Rastafarianism. But Sally noticed that with this audience he did not even mention let alone stress revolution, the supremacy of black over white, or the ritual use of ganja, and she realized that he was much more clever than she had thought, for he knew instinctively how to tailor his comments to his crowd. She had more respect for him when he spoke with blacks, because then he was more forthright. But regardless of his audience, in whatever he said he conveyed a tremendous sense of Africa, and Sally thought: This Rastafarian has never been there, but he exudes the smell of the great rivers, the sounds of the deep jungle and even the chattering of the many plumed birds. G.o.d, this man has made himself Africa!

After he had been orating for some time, a woman came up who had attended that first night meeting and asked him to expound on the curious Rastafarian vocabulary. This was apparently one of the aspects of Rastafari about which he considered himself an expert, for he declaimed wildly and sometimes with unintended humor about how the English language would be modified when the Rastas took over. Among his more memorable suggestions: ... 'Politics is how the white man oppresses the blacks. We must call it by its right name, polytricks.'

... 'Understand is too beautiful a word to be harmed by the negative concept under. It must become overstand.'

... 'Divine has the n.o.blest meaning, but it's damaged by that first part die. It has to become I-vine, throwing all the divinity on the I, the immortal me.'

...'In Tudor just now I saw the new library. Marvelous place for children, but it corrupts them with false information in that first part lie. It has got to be truthbrary.'

...'One of the best things a Rasta can be is dedicated. But the power of the word is killed by that first part, dead. We call it livicated.'

On and on he went, as if he were playing a child's game, dissecting the language and subst.i.tuting crazy corrections. When he saw picnickers eating the most totally satisfying food of the islands, a ripe mango with its rich-tasting fruit and golden juice: 'Man-go, it means some good fellow is dying. We make our word I-come.'

Sally could not determine whether he was making any converts or not, but a remarkable event occurred which proved that he saw his visit to All Saints as a missionary journey, for he attacked his targets with a cleverly designed two-p.r.o.nged a.s.sault: first he gathered them about him with a performance on his homemade musical instrument, singing in fine style one of Bob Marley's best songs, 'One Love,' then he carefully scrutinized their faces to see who might be open to his next approach. With a psychological insight that was extraordinary, he identified half a dozen young men who seemed susceptible to what he intended doing. With Sally and Laura following, he led his group to a secluded portion of the cap and there produced from his bag a supply of the best ganja leaves from the hill country of Jamaica.

Sally had never before seen the notorious herb, illegal on All Saints, and was surprised at how pleasantly aromatic it was in its natural state, but she was even more startled when she saw how Ras-Negus smoked it. From what she had read in Time, she had expected him to roll it into something like a cigarette, but he did not. Taking a strip of newspaper, he formed a generous cornucopia, small like a cigar at the mouth end, flaring out to a diameter of three inches at the far end. When he lit the weed and started smoking in deep drafts, he looked as if he were making music on old Triton's 'wreathed horn.'

He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, allowed a look of saintly benevolence to clothe his face, then pa.s.sed the strange contraption to the man standing near him, who took four deep first-time puffs. Since the cornucopia contained an immense amount of ganja, some ten young men could share it, and now it came to Laura, driver of the car. She had apparently been introduced earlier to the herb by Ras-Negus, for she took the smoking paper, dragged on it expertly, sighed deeply, and held it out to Sally.

This posed a problem. Sally, as the daughter of the commissioner of police, was well aware that even the possession of marijuana on All Saints, let alone the actual smoking of it, was illegal, but her experiences on this crowded day had awakened in her such an interest in Rastafari as an authentic black religion that she was inclined to partic.i.p.ate in all its rituals, so she accepted the ganja from Laura.

'You must take deep breaths,' Ras-Negus directed, and when she did she felt the subtle smoke diffusing through her lungs and apparently her heart and head as well. Eight deep drags produced a positive euphoria, and once more she felt the sense of Africa.

It was late afternoon when they started the drive home, and although Sally's mind was not entirely clear, it was apparent to her that Laura was surprised when Ras-Negus climbed not into the front seat with her but in the back with Sally. Once there, he lit another ganja cigar, and soon the car was filled with the sweetish aroma and Sally was being pressured to take one drag for every three or four that he took. Laura, from the front seat, also asked for her share, and the little car bounced merrily homeward.

Now Ras-Negus, in a grand euphoria, started finding in his Bible random pa.s.sages which more or less substantiated the teaching of Rastafari. Again from Revelation came:' "And one of the elders saith unto me, Weep not: behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, hath prevailed ..." ' He said that this proved that Haile Sela.s.sie, who was a lineal descendant from King David, would soon take over Africa.

'But he's dead,' Sally protested, and he countered: 'His spirit. Not his followers, like you and me. Africa will be ours.'

To prove his point, he turned to Psalm 68, where he read in verses 31 and 32: ' "Princes shall come out of Egypt; Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto G.o.d. Sing unto G.o.d, ye kingdoms of the earth ..." ' This clearly meant, he claimed, that Great Babylon America would soon fall under the sway of Ethiopia.

On and on he went, galloping through the Bible to lift this arcane morsel and that, but always he came back to Revelation: 'Victory over Great Babylon isn't going to be easy. Listen to Chapter Nineteen, verse nineteen: ' "And I saw the beast, and the kings of the earth, and their armies, gathered together to make war against him that sat on the horse, and against his army." ' This seemed pretty nebulous to Sally until he pulled from his leather bag a small photograph of Haile Sela.s.sie perched on a white horse. This led him immediately to Chapter 20, verse II: ' "And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and heaven fled away ..." '

Sally, in her gently muddled state, could not see the connection between a white horse and a white throne, but apparently there was one, for the concept inspired Grimble to lean his head back and recite long pa.s.sages from the Bible, none of them directly related to Rastafari but all of them wonderfully narcotic, and as she drifted under the united spell of the magical words and seductive herbs, she realized that Ras-Negus was fumbling under her dress and then with his own trousers, but his words were so persuasive and his presence so commanding that she found no wish to resist, until she wakened to the horrifying fact that this frightening man with the Medusa locks intended having s.e.x with her right there in the cramped back seat of the moving car.

She did not scream, but she did try to push him away. However, he was too powerful, and forced her to keep her hand inside his baggy trousers until he gained partial satisfaction.

It was frightening but not repulsive, for his entire being-his deportment, his narcotic words, his sense of dedication-bespoke a world she had not known before, and his wild vitality gave substance to that pretty word she and her friends had discussed so glibly: negritude. Exhausted and bewildered as the effects of the ganja subsided, pressed into her corner of the car, she prayed that it might soon reach Bristol Town. When Laura stopped her car at the home of Commissioner Wrentham, Sally jumped out and ran inside as if she sought sanctuary, for here, in the persons of her able father and her sane brother, black Africa and white England did meet in a decent and agreed-upon harmony.

Sally was so shaken by her experience with the Rastafarian and his ganja that next day at noon she went to the small, neat rectory attached to the Church of England building and asked if she could speak with Canon Tarleton, and his white-haired wife said brightly: 'That's what he's here for, my dear,' and off she went to fetch him.

The Reverend Ess.e.x Tarleton had been only an average boy at school in England and not much better at the university. In divinity training it was obvious that he was never going to be among the leaders of his church nationwide. But all who knew him in those years were satisfied that he was a young fellow with a clear call to the ministry, and when, in 1939, he joined the navy as chaplain, they were pleased that he had found his niche. After serving at various bases and in several important wars.h.i.+ps, he was, after the war, a.s.signed to a small church in Barbados, where for many years he was both happy and effective, but when the community grew, it required a younger and more energetic man, and he was shunted off to the less populous island of All Saints. Here he would end his ministry, a well-intentioned white man helping a black congregation establish its norms. On Sat.u.r.days he umpired cricket matches, on Sundays he preached, and on all days he held himself in readiness to consult with his paris.h.i.+oners. He would have been astounded had anyone pointed out that he was the kind of humble servant who had held the British Empire together and who now accounted for the fact that on islands like All Saints emotional ties still bound the newly freed young nations to England. They banked in London, sent their bright youths to English schools, and purchased their books and magazines from what even the most ardent black patriot still called 'The Homeland.' In cricket it was grand when some fine test team came from Australia or India, but people marked their calendars in gold when an English team arrived.

'And what brings you to my little room?' he asked Sally as he bustled in, offering her a gla.s.s of sherry.

She said she would like some, then explained that she was bewildered by Rastafarianism, and as soon as she said the word, he stopped pouring and said: 'Yes, I know he's been doing a lot of talking, that fellow from Jamaica.'

'He's certainly been talking to me, quite persuasively.'

'Now, now, Sally! You're much too sensible to be taken in by that nonsense.'

'But he quotes the Bible with such telling effect. Tell me, Canon, are the words of Revelation meaningful?'

Canon Tarleton sipped his sherry, then broke into robust laughter: 'Sally, I'm going to answer your question with what might be called terrible frankness, but for G.o.d's sake, listen to me. The religious kooks and weirdos of this world, and I'm borrowing a wonderfully appropriate pair of words I picked up from a recent issue of Time, have used two books of the Bible for the last two thousand years to prove any confounded thing they wished. Daniel and Revelation! They do as much harm in the world as Jamaica rum and Holland gin.'

'How do you mean?'

'They're apocalyptic. Inspired rantings. You and I this morning could dip into those two books and prove almost anything we wanted to.' He reached for his Bible, showed her that he was opening it to Revelation, and read a farrago of words and symbols and sheer obfuscation: 'Now tell me, pray what does that mean?' And very cleverly he began to a.s.sign arbitrary meanings to each of the words and symbols, until in the end he had proved, by juggling Revelation, that in the year 2007 Canada was going to invade both the United States and Mexico.

'Using Daniel and Revelation, you can prove anything.' He rubbed his chin and chuckled at a preposterous scene he had witnessed: 'When I was in Was.h.i.+ngton last year for the meeting of our church, I listened to this new crop of radio and television ministers. What clever men they are! How handsome they are on the telly! And half of them were ranting about some inscrutable pa.s.sage in Revelation.'

'Then what the Rastafarians say is all junk?'

'You used the word, I didn't. But without answering you, because it's never right for one religion to knock another, I'm going to look out the window and nod my head.'

Sally, much relieved to hear her suspicions confirmed, changed the subject: 'Would you please look at Numbers-Chapter Five, verse six. I memorized the place because when he read the pa.s.sage, it did seem to me to justify the strange way he wears his hair. Tell me, Canon, have you ever seen this Rastafarian?'

'I have. The other night at dusk, and he scared me half to death.' He was trying to find the pa.s.sage, and when he did he said: 'I'm afraid there's nothing here that says anything about hair.'

'Try Chapter Six, verse five,' she said. 'I may have gotten it backward.'

'Ah ha!' he chuckled. 'This is the famous pa.s.sage that rebellious young men in London used to convince their parents that long hair for men was ordered by the Bible: 'The vow ... there shall no razor come upon his head ... he shall be holy, and shall let the locks of the hair of his head grow." ' Closing the Bible, he turned to Sally and smiled: 'That certainly justifies ... What is it they call that infamous hair? Dreadlocks?'

'It seems to.'

'Ah, but my dear young woman. You can go terribly wrong if you settle upon one short pa.s.sage of our Bible for your sole instruction on anything. When the young mods, as they were called back home, threw that notorious pa.s.sage at their elders, scholars in our church combed through their Bible to see what other firm instructions were given about men's hair, and in Leviticus, the great book of law, they found in Chapter Fourteen, verses eight and nine, these words: "And he that is to be cleansed shall wash his clothes, and shave off all his hair, and wash himself in water, that he may be clean ... he shall shave all his hair off his head and his beard and his eyebrows, even all his hair he shall shave off: and he shall wash his clothes ..." Your Rastafarian could profit from those admonitions, especially the part about was.h.i.+ng.'

Sally reached for the Bible, read the pa.s.sages, and smiled, but the canon was not finished: 'But as so often happens with the Bible, it was stout old St. Paul who clinched the matter in First Corinthians, if I can find the pa.s.sage that was widely circulated when long hair for men first hit the streets. Yes, Chapter Eleven, verse fourteen: "Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him?" '

After Sally had had an opportunity to study that pa.s.sage, the old clergyman said compa.s.sionately: 'A minister my age has seen a dozen sects rise and fall, and those that rely on selected pa.s.sages from Daniel and Revelation are the most pernicious. But their error is understandable. Men and women grow restless when faced by tough, tested teachings of Roman Catholics or American Baptists. People aren't ready to discipline themselves according to the truth that has been distilled over twenty centuries. So they construct their own apocalyptic religions, all fire and h.e.l.l and golden chariots and a hundred and forty-four thousand of this and that, and I suppose that in the long run, they do no great harm. But in the short span, dear G.o.d, can they be destructive!'

As she was about to leave, he said: 'I heard about his predictions on Ethiopia, and you can find pa.s.sages which support his wild dreams, but in Zephaniah, a little-known book tucked away near the end of the Old Testament, the prophet takes care of your Rastafarian's Ethiopia: "The Lord will be terrible unto them: for he will famish all the G.o.ds of the earth ... Ye Ethiopians also, ye shall be slain by my sword." '

When he led her to the door he said amiably: 'Sally, you and I, using our scissors and paste, could construct a wonderful new religion, but we'd use only the n.o.ble parts, Deuteronomy, Psalms, St. Luke, the letters of St. Paul. But of course, such a religion has already been compiled for us. It's called Christianity.'

In the weeks following the tour of the north part of the island, the Rastafarian became an object of suspicion in Bristol Town. Harry Keeler, in charge of the managerial aspects of tourism, was distraught when a rather fat white woman from New York who had come ash.o.r.e from a Scandinavian cruise s.h.i.+p was physically abused on the street by a big black man, who shouted at her in a loud and menacing voice: 'Go home, you big fat white pig.' When she regained her balance and looked at him in bewilderment, he added: 'We don't want you fat pigs on our island.'

The incident caused an uproar, for everyone appreciated instantly the damage it might do their princ.i.p.al industry; and when news was rushed to Keeler's office, he jumped to the conclusion that the black offender must have been the Rastafarian. But the most casual interrogations proved that to be untrue; the a.s.sailant had been identified by several disgusted islanders, and he denied having any a.s.sociation with the Rastafarian.

Keeler swung into action immediately, and without seeking approval from anyone he hurried to the cruise s.h.i.+p, Tropic Sands, out of Oslo, to make profuse apologies to the captain, the cruise director and any of the other officials he could find: 'This sort of thing does not happen on All Saints. It was a shameful aberration and will not be tolerated. a.s.sure your people of that.'

When an officer took him to the s.h.i.+p's infirmary, where the New York tourist was resting under mild sedation, he accomplished a great deal of good by making an on-the-spot decision. 'Madam, I know how frightened you must have been. Yelled at and pushed by a strange man. I sympathize with you and I'm mortified, because we don't allow things like that on our island. Here's what I'm going to do to try to win your forgiveness. The people of this island will pay the entire cost of your boat trip, and since the Tropic Sands doesn't sail until eleven tonight, the governor general invites you to have dinner with him, you and a friend of your choosing, at Government House, seven sharp. I'll be here to fetch you in a taxi.' Having made peace with the offended woman, he then doubled back to the captain, invited him to the dinner also, and hurried ash.o.r.e to phone the governor general to advise him of what he had done, and to ask his apology for having made what Keeler called a 'unilateral decision.'

The dinner was a huge success. The woman turned out to be a Mrs. Gottwald who served as entertainment officer for a large synagogue in Brooklyn, and it had been she who had organized the Caribbean cruise aboard the Tropic Sands that had brought forty-seven pa.s.sengers to the s.h.i.+p. Suddenly she became a person of great importance not only to the s.h.i.+p but also to the island, and she proved a well-informed talker.

'People like me,' she explained, 'and there are lots of us who determine where groups will go for their vacation, are extremely ...' (she emphasized the word) 'attentive to press reports. Those airplane hijackings absolutely killed the Mediterranean. We couldn't give our cruises away. n.o.body goes to poor old Haiti anymore. The ugly troubles in Jamaica destroyed its tourism for a while, but now we're back. But we take our people only to the north coast of the island, never to a troubled town like Kingston.'

Captain Bergstrom said: 'It's becoming profitable for our s.h.i.+pping companies to buy or lease an unpopulated island, or a remote stretch of a troubled island like Haiti or Jamaica, and build our own little vacation dreamland. Walled in behind a palisade, you see only those blacks who are allowed in as part of the work force ...'

The way he described this new development in tourism betrayed his low a.s.sessment of it, but it remained for Mrs. Gottwald to dismiss it as a solution to the problems of tourism: 'I would never take my people to an isolated place like that. And my people wouldn't want to go. They want to see a marvelous mix like your fine main street. They want to meet black people and brown. Otherwise they'll stay home.'

This occasioned favorable comment, especially from the black governor general, but then she added the warning that had to be attended to on any island that hoped to maintain its tourist trade: 'I shall never forget what happened on St. Croix in the American Virgins some years ago. I had my group, sixty or seventy at that time, in St. Thomas that day and we were terrified when the news flashed along the waterfront and into the cruise s.h.i.+ps docked there: Black hoodlums with machine guns attacked guests at the posh Rockefeller golf club on St. Croix. Dead bodies all over the place. It killed the Virgins for that season, and even now we can't sell day excursions to St. Croix.'

Now the governor spoke: 'I do hope, Mrs. Gottwald and Captain Bergstrom, that you can help us avoid inflammatory publicity.' He had been a scholars.h.i.+p student at Oxford and spoke with one of the world's loveliest accents: pure Oxford softened by Caribbean suns.h.i.+ne. 'Of course, if incidents like today's should be repeated, news would have to circulate, and we would be honor-bound to let that happen, even though we knew it would be damaging our island. But I give you my word that we're not going to let it happen again ...'

Captain Bergstrom chuckled and raised his gla.s.s: 'You have a tremendous advantage over us, Governor. Our big s.h.i.+ps have to stop somewhere. With the Mediterranean closed and the Orient so far away, we're left with only three choice areas for the American travelers like Mrs. Gottwald and her group: Alaska in the summer, Mexico and the Panama Ca.n.a.l for the in-between season, and your Caribbean in the winter.' Then he added ominously: 'But if things get out of hand, if our travelers are abused when they come ash.o.r.e, we drop your island, just like we've had to drop Haiti.'

As the party broke up, the governor said: 'Mr. Keeler, you did me a signal honor in bringing these two experts to dinner. I've learned a great deal. And I trust that you, as our expert, listened and will take steps to protect our visitors and our island's good name.'

Next morning at seven, Keeler was in the office of Commissioner of Police Thomas Wrentham: 'Have you arrested the culprit?'

'Easily.'

'Anybody interrogated him?'

'I did.'

'Results?'

'I suppose you want to know whether he had been in any way influenced by the Rastafarian.'

'Exactly.'

'If we can believe him, and I'm inclined to, he's never even seen the stranger.'

'Was he high on marijuana?'

'Smoking it is not a big problem on this island, as you know.'

'But with the Rastafarian preaching his doctrines, it's going to be.'

'I agree, but in this case, probably no.'

'Then why in the world would he attack a white woman and say the provocative things he did?'

Wrentham leaned back and reflected on this: 'Sometimes it's in the air. Word from other islands, radio broadcasts about terrorism, an article in Time or Newsweek ...'

'Or the visit of a Rastafarian,' Keeler suggested, and the commissioner said: 'Today, on an island like this, that's usually the case,' and he took from a desk drawer a report forwarded to him by his opposite number in Jamaica: 'Take a look,' and Keeler read: Further study of Ras-Negus Grimble's background reveals that his grandfather was an English sailor who jumped s.h.i.+p in Kingston in 1887 when he was about thirty-nine. Took up with a black woman and had three children. One grandson married a black and produced Hastings Grimble, known since the Haile Sela.s.sie business as Ras-Negus.

As a young man he fell under the spell of the famous Jamaican reggae singer Bob Marley and his group The Wailers. On several occasions he filled in as subst.i.tute singer but did not earn a permanent role. We have a strong suspicion that he provided the Marley team with its ganja and he seems to have masterminded a rather big operation wholesaling Jamaican marijuana to the United States market. Small, fast planes were known to have dropped down into the high valleys near his home village of c.o.c.kpit Town, but my men never apprehended either the plane crew or Grimble, who we were sure was supplying them.

We believe he left Jamaica for one simple reason: we were hot on his trail. If he's moved his operations to your island, watch out for heavy traffic in marijuana. But he also preaches racial warfare and we think he was behind some of the uglier incidents in our sad affair some years ago. Watch out.

As for his rather deep involvement in religious matters, our informants a.s.sure us he is sincere. He really believes that Haile Sela.s.sie is the incarnation of the G.o.dhead and that soon the blacks will command all of Africa and most of the rest of the world.

Nota bene: He not only preaches but absolutely believes that police are the Great Babylon which must be destroyed. I cannot discover where he got this idea, but friends tell me it was from the book of Revelation in the Bible. Regardless, wherever he or his friends appear, the police can be certain they will have trouble. My advice: get him off your island.

When Keeler pa.s.sed the papers back, Wrentham asked: 'How does that strike you?' and the Englishman replied: 'I'm scared on two counts. That incident yesterday with Mrs. Gottwald could have proved devastating to our tourism, and will if it's repeated. And I'm beginning to see intimations that the Rastafarian's evil hand is surfacing in many surprising areas.'

'What should we do?'

'Deport him.'

'That's not so easy. There are rules now. A judge would have to issue an order, and a black judge doesn't like to do that against a fellow black. Too reminiscent of the old days when whites said who could live where.'

'Then let's see if we can establish any kind of relations.h.i.+p between the man yesterday and the Rastafarian. If we can, you go into court and ask for a deportation order, and have the judge summon me to confirm that our tourist industry might be shot to h.e.l.l if he's allowed to run loose any longer. Or, if we find him connected in any way with ganja ...'

Three months pa.s.sed, during which neither Colonel Wrentham nor Harry Keeler was able to devise a tactic for handling the difficult Rastafarian they had on their hands. In the meantime, the problem had taken a dramatic turn into wholly new channels, and now both Canon Tarleton and his wife were involved. One Thursday morning in late March they were seated in their rectory trying in vain to comfort a young woman member of their church who was totally distraught. She was Laura Shaughnessy, the fine-looking granddaughter of an adventurous young Irishman who had come to the island in the last century, had quarreled with the Catholic priest and joined the Church of England, and had taken a black wife, producing a large brood of children and grandchildren who brought honor to his name.

A trusted employee in the governor's office, she had her pick of suitors, and the Tarletons sometimes discussed whom she might marry. Mrs. Tarleton felt that Laura was a bit too bold in accepting dates with the young officers from the cruise s.h.i.+ps, on the logical grounds that 'such affairs never lead to anything,' but the canon defended her: 'She's a la.s.s, and a bonny one, who's trying to find her way. Watch, she'll marry the best young man in these parts,' and when it became obvious that Harry Keeler might very well stay on the island, Tarleton predicted: 'Don't be surprised if Laura grabs him. Perfect pair.'

It hadn't happened, and now Laura sat before them in tears. She was pregnant, had no desire to marry the man involved, whoever he was, and was desolated by the options that faced her. But she had come to the right pair of people for counsel, because Mrs. Tarleton a.s.sured her: 'First thing to remember above all else, G.o.d has always wanted you to have children, perhaps not in this way, but you are now engaged in a holy process, one of the most magnificent in the world, and you must find joy and fulfillment in it.'

'But ...'

'All that comes later, Laura. Believe me, and I speak as a woman with children and great-grandchildren of my own, that G.o.d smiles on you at this moment. You bring Him joy in being fruitful, and, Ess.e.x, I wonder if you would lead us in a few words of prayer?'

Joining hands with his wife and Laura, he prayed that G.o.d would bless the child in the womb and bring it to a productive life. He spoke of the joys of motherhood despite temporary difficulties, and he a.s.sured Laura that G.o.d, the Tarletons and all sensible people supported her at this moment. Then, still holding on to the young woman's hand, he said rea.s.suringly: 'You must understand, Laura, that my wife and I have held meetings like this many times in the past. This is not the end of the world. It's a problem to be faced, and like all such problems, there are reasonable solutions.'

Together the Tarletons explained that she had several specific options. She could have the baby here in All Saints and let the scandal expire, as it would in a short time, but that might make it difficult for her to find a husband locally; in such cases the girls almost always had to marry down in the color hierarchy. 'But they always find husbands if they're basically good girls,' Mrs. Tarleton said, and her husband added: 'And you are.'