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Chapters (14)
  1. Salt Crystals
  2. I. THE DAMNED CIRCUMSTANCE
  3. II. NOTEBOOK OF A RETURN
  4. III. DIVISIONS
  5. IV. LICKLE GOUGH
  6. V. BOWIE GULLY
  7. VI. THE PAPERS OF TIME
  8. VII. NORTH END
  9. VIII. SALT CRYSTALS
  10. IX. IGUANAS ON THE ROOF
  11. X. THE SOUTHWESTERN CARIBBEAN
  12. XI. CREOLES AND RAIN
  13. XII. OTTO
  14. TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

I’m a professional mototaxi passenger by now. ‘Hola, amigo.’ This guy isn’t familiar with the address I give him,
which means he doesn’t have OCCRE status. I try asking him about the blockade, but he doesn’t say much, just complains that they won’t let vehicles through, then speeds up. Back on my narrow little street in Sarie Bay, I pay him his two thousand pesos and search the depths of my backpack for my keys. Looks like the pilot didn’t stay long at the base, either: there’s his truck again, blocking me. The front door to the army house is open, and I stare unabashedly as I turn the key in the white gate. I open the door and a receipt falls to the ground from where it’s been slipped between the bars. Wat di hell! It’s the most expensive electricity bill I’ve ever received. I hear the sound of hurried footsteps, and before I can close the wooden door, a line of soldiers emerges, orderly as figurines, all wearing olive-green dungarees and sunglasses. There are four or five of them, waiting impatiently. I imagine the flight routes in their briefcases. The last one out is the captain who gave me a lift. He’s in a rush, taking long strides with his gaze fixed somewhere on the ground, and his jaw is tight, as if he were making complicated mental calculations. He’s the alpha. His spotless shoes tread the pavement littered with withered cayennes, and he turns towards me – he’s in olive dungarees, too – just before he opens the door to the truck,

‘Señorita,’ he says very seriously.

‘Captain?’ I respond. And off they go.

XI. CREOLES AND RAIN

XI. CREOLES AND RAIN

It’s late November and the wind makes the whole house creak. The heat is a bygone discomfort: the tiles are cold these days, and last night I couldn’t sleep until I got one of my mum’s pink bedspreads out of the closet. Yesterday a neighbour’s ceiling tiles flew clean off the roof.