Nard had retreated to the pot of rundown stew, saying something in Creole I couldn’t understand. There was an intense fragrance of fish simmering in coconut milk. The smell of our Sunday expeditions up La Loma when I was a child, heading towards the Barrack from downtown. I remembered all those eyes I sought with mine, wilful, haughty eyes, ladies leaving church at midday, their long polyester skirts and veiled hats, the almond eyes of young men doing nothing, shirtless and sandaled, seated under the trees. I remembered how urgently I longed to see something, something nameless. Another song surged forth from all the rest, a reggae that pitched me back to my teenage years. A woman’s voice sang the chorus: and man never really give nothing to the woman that she didn’t, didn’t already have. I smiled. So many glimmers of the past, so many things I’m harbouring inside me. The song had the same melody as a classic American rock song. I hummed along to what I could remember and found myself dancing a little. Slowly.

So please, believe in me, when I seem to be down, down, down, down, please be there for me – a gentle chorus – seem to be down, down, down. I’ll be there, you see if you want a lova’, if you want a lova’…

‘ – none of the ministries, either – not the Ministry of Home Affairs or Foreign Affairs or the Environment, not the President – ’ Jaime was saying. He gave me an oblique look. The conversation had progressed, but I didn’t care anymore, I don’t think anyone cared anymore, Franklin had been checking his phone for a while now… ‘ – it’s citizens themselves who should be condemning the business owners’ abuses,’ he continued in a monologue until he clicked his teeth in frustration and we heard Kent let out a yell.

‘Hey! Da who guan come help serve di pliets?’ I heard from the warriors’ side of the space, where the two helpers had thrown in the towel: they were sitting on the floor, hugging their knees, drinking quietly. They must have been eighteen or nineteen at most.