Innocent on the run. Part 39.

Chapter 14. The Jamaicans were ecstatically happy as they trooped down the gangway to make their way to their homes. Ricky watched them go. They had been great fun to be with, and he had shaken hands with all of them as they left the ship. Immigration officials and a representative from the sunken ship's owners had come aboard when the cattle boat had docked. They had told the crew to be ready to be called on if necessary at the enquiry in Cuba. In the meantime they were free to go. As for Ricky, he would have to see the British Consul in the morning. He would stay aboard the boat for the night and would be sent for when the Consul was ready to see him.He went back to his bed of straw for another night. This time with only the pigs for company. They hardly smelled at all now. He was up quite early in the morning, and leaned on the guardrail looking at the view. It was a beautiful island, rich in tropical vegetation, brilliantly coloured flowering shrubs, bougainvillea, oleander and shower of gold, and many varieties of multicoloured birds and parrots. He could see some large low buildings in the near distance and some cylindrical oit tanks further on. Fields of vegetables and orchards of fruits stretched to the foot of some sharply rising hills in the background, where villas and large houses were partly hidden in the lush palm trees and foliage. To the left around the curve of the bay were the distant buildings of the city, reflecting the strong rays of the sun. It was a beautiful setting, the city nestling at the water's edge in a natural bowl, formed by the hills rising around it. At eleven o'clock a car pulled up at the ship and a Jamaican driver came aboard. The Captain talked to him then called Ricky over. ` Dis driver will take you to de consul.' he said. Ricky thanked the Captain, and followed the driver to the car. He set off towards the city, past the industrial sites, then through the suburbs, past the railway station and into the residential area. They drove slowly through the crowded streets of Montego City, where throngs of people jostled each other in the crowded markets. Huge varieties of fruits and vegetables, bread, cakes, and meats were on sale. Clothing, hardware, electrical, mechanical and handicraft stalls all vied for business. The driver sounded his horn constantly, creeping through the throngs of people who grinned at him and waved. He pulled up outside a white colonial style building, and told Ricky to go inside. There was a desk with a Jamaican behind it in the foyer, and Ricky approached it nervously. `I've got to see the Consul.' he said. `Name, please sir.' `Ricky, er Richard Davies.' The clerk looked at a list of names in front of him. `Yes, Sir. Please take a seat.' He indicated the easy chairs scattered around, and picked up the phone. Ricky sat in one of the chairs and waited. Half an hour later a tall, fair haired young man of about twenty five approached him. `Davies?' he asked. 'Er, yes.' The young man grimaced. 'Pooh, you stink.' Ricky flushed. ‘Yes, it was a cattle boat, you see,' he started to say... `Come!' the man said, putting his handkerchief up to his nose. Ricky followed him in to an office. It was quite spartan, with only the desk and one chair behind, and one in front of it. The man sat behind the desk. Ricky was about to take the chair in front when the man barked, `Don't sit. You've already dirtied one of the easy chairs.' He put a printed form on the desk in front of Ricky. `Fill that in.' he said. Ricky took the pen and filled in his details. When he'd finished, the man took the form and read through it, then threw it to one side. `Why did you stow away on the Jamaican ship ?' he shouted. Ricky was startled. `I, I wanted to get home to Wales,' he stuttered.'It was not going to Wales, it was going to Jamaica.' 'I didn't know that.' 'You should have made sure before you committed a criminal act and stowed away on a ship.' he shouted. `Why did you stow away, did you not have a return ticket ?' `No, I didn't. I was stranded when my ship sailed without me.' ‘What ship?' `The Llanerin. She was in Port Arthur.' `Why did you not go to the consulate. He would have sent you home D.B.S.' `D.B.S? What's that?' Ricky asked. `Distressed British Seaman. We have to do it all the time for drunken British Seamen like yourself,' he glowered. `Because of your behaviour, the British Merchant Navy is despised in every country in the World. You're animals, and a cattle boat is where you belong. If I had my way I would send you home in a cattle boat.' He threw some paper across the desk. 'I want a full report. The name of the ship you were on, the owners, the Captain, your reason, or excuse for missing it, and your home address and next of kin.' He bellowed, `Now write.' Ricky's hand was shaking as he wrote. D.B.S.He'd never heard of that. He could have gone to the consulate in Port Arthur and been put on another vessel going to the U.K . He'd gone through all this running, hiding, subterfuge, lying, getting shot at, for nothing. What a nightmare. He put down as much as he dared, giving his reason for ending up at Corpus Christie as flight from the police, who he thought would lock him up as an illegal immigrant. When he'd finished he handed it to the blonde man. He read it through and grunted. 'Well, at least you've admitted you were drunk and missed your ship.' he said. `Now I have to telegraph U.K. and check out your story with the shipowners. Have you any money?' `Yes, about thirty dollars.' `Then I suggest you get a room for tonight at one of the guest houses. They are cheap and clean. Have a bath and launder your clothes and be back here tomorrow at eleven.' He waved his hands in a dismissive movement, 'Shoo.' he said. Ricky walked out, seething. The bastard, he thought to himself. Snobbish, hoity toity bastard. If he's like that tomorrow, I'll punch his toffee nosed head for him. Outside, the sun on his body, and the thought of going home soon restored his sense of humour, and he went in search of a guest house. There was a row of houses in one of the side streets with vacancy notices in the front windows, and he knocked on the door of the first one. A large, round, black lady answered his knock, and to his request for a room, she grinned and opened the door wide. 'Come in, man.' she said. She showed him the room, a spotlessly clean, bright bedroom. It was perfect. The lady looked him up and down. 'You been working on de farm, man ?' `Cattle boat,' he answered. `Whee,' she said. `You'se best give me dem clothes, and I'll wash dem for you. Wait here a minute.' And she disappeared to reappear with a shirt and some trousers, socks and underwear, all beautifully clean and ironed. `Dese is my son's ' she said. ` He don't live here now, but you can borrow dem.' `Thank's very much.' Ricky said. `Now, you get changed. Have a shower first, it's right across the hall. Then you call me, and I'll wash your stuff. Just holler, Betty, when you'se done.' `O.K. Betty, thanks a lot.' Betty rolled out of the room, her great hips swaying. The shower was marvellous. Ricky stayed under for a long time, luxuriating in the sweet smelling soap, and the hot water which washed the stink of the pigs off him. He dressed in the clean clothes, which were baggy on him but clean, and he felt miles better. Betty came up the stairs when he called down and she gathered up his dirty clothes. ` Dey'll be dry and ironed by tonight.' she said. `An de front door is always open. Just come an’ go when you like. We eats at seven o'clock, so don't be late.' Ricky went out into the sunshine. He walked through the crowds in the market, smelling the flowers and fruits that were on offer. It was good to be clean again. He offered a stallholder an American dollar for some fruit, but she said, ' No, we take only Jamaican money. You must change it in de bank.' There was a bank in the next street, so he changed the thirty dollars he'd got from the skipper of the fishing boat, and went back to the market for his fruit. He walked past the library and the Coral Theatre, and along Gloucester Avenue to the beach. There was a steel band playing on the beach, the men dressed in colourful shirts and trousers, playing on cut down oil drums, each section of the drum top beaten out to produce a different note. The sound was fantastic, and people were dancing and swaying to the lilting music. Ricky sat on a bench and ate his fruit, watching the happy people on the beach. There was an open air bar under a thatched roof, and people were sat on the stools around it drinking from tall glasses decorated with fruit. Two poles had been set up with a long stick separating them about three feet off the ground, and some tourists, pink from the sun, were taking turns, trying to get under the stick in a Limbo dance. They were falling flat on their backs in the sand, until one of them mastered it, and the attendant lowered the stick another six inches. They shouted in glee, as the one who had done it, tried again and fell over backwards. The Jamaicans loved it and were hooting with laughter at the antics. The tourists made the attendant do it himself to show them how it was done, and he lowered the stick to one foot off the ground ! They all clapped in time to the music as he slid his body under the bar without touching it. A great shout went up as he completed it and he leapt to his feet, dancing around, singing ` Limbo, Limbo, get de Limbo beat.' Further on there were some boys playing cricket on the hard packed sand near the water's edge, so Ricky walked on a bit to watch. They were as keen as the men on the cattle boat had been, every stroke played with great concentration, and every ball bowled with ferocious determination. When the ball was knocked into the sea, three of the players would run and dive in after it, splashing around and having great fun in the breakers. People were swimming out to the larger breakers on flat boards, and standing on them when a big wave came along, riding the surf back into the beach. They were expert, riding up and down the huge breaker as it approached the shore and tumbling off the board into the shallows, before the wave dissipated it's power on the white beach. Ricky watched them for a long time, laughing at the antics of some learners who came along. They spent more time under the water than on top of it. It was obviously exhausting, as they tried three or four times to get up on the board, then lay on the beach recovering. He turned away eventually and walked back to the town. There were some really beautiful old buildings dating back to the late 1700's and early 1800's, and he stood in Charles Square looking around him. An old Jamaican man came up to him. ` Dey's beautiful old buildings, aint dey? ' `Yes, magnificent.' `Dat one over dere,' he pointed to a magnificent building. `He de Old Court House. Dat where hundreds of black slaves wuz sentenced to hangin' in 1832. Dey mutineed against de bosses. Dat building opposite, dat de Cage, which was de jail for de slaves. Dis whole place is a shrine to the hundreds of slaves who died in the uprisin', an' a memorial to the great Samuel Sharp who preached that all men is equal. He raised his eyes to the sky and shouted, 'Hallelujia,' before shuffling off, muttering 'De bad old days, ' and shaking his grizzled old head.