| TOURIST HARASSMENT .� by Hazel D. Campbell 2004 There weren't many people on the beach; just enough to form a small crowd when they stopped minding their own business to get involved with the two female tourists who were bargaining with the young men frolicking in the water. The men had been amusing themselves by taking turns pushing one another on a surfboard in the mildly choppy water. The cruise ship further out had been sounding its raucous warning for the last half hour, but the women, engrossed in their meandering progress, loud laughter and snatches of song happily ignored the warning that their liner was about to depart. They had been having lunch at the hotel on the beach, and had lingered past boarding time. They didn't know how much kick the rum in their punch had and now they were blissfully drunk. The ship's purser could be seen on the ship in the distance frantically waving to attract the women's attention, but they had stopped to admire the young men's antics and decided that it would be easier to be taken to the ship on the surfboard than to walk the long distance across the beach and on to the jetty which would take them to the impatient ship. "We have money!" the redhead shouted, waving her purse. "Take us across." Always on the lookout for an extra dollar, the young men were immediately interested. "Take us on your board to our ship. It's too hot to walk." The blonde did a little hula dance while the redhead fumbled in her purse and brought out two twenties. US currency. Real money. John came out of the water, stuck the notes in his swim trunks and began to lead her into the water to where his friend Paul was waiting with the board. "I have money, too!" the blonde shouted, waving a hundred dollar note in the breeze. Paul dashed onto the beach grabbed the money, gave it to his bemused girlfriend and led the singing, dancing blonde into the water to join her friend on the surfboard- turned- raft. The other persons on the beach were immediately involved. "Them wi drown. The sea too rough." The women were now in waist-high water tugging at their loose shirts. "Oh, mi God!" somebody gasped, as the board tilted left, then right under their weight as they tried to sit on it. "Them gwine drown. Somebody call Security." The men getting frightened at the hullabaloo and realizing the impossibility of reaching the ship in this way began to reason with the women to get off and continue walking to the ship, but they wouldn't budge. "Take me to Jamaica where the rum come from," the blonde sang in a raucous voice which immediately created laughter among the spectators on the beach. "We're coming! Just wait," the redhead shouted in the direction of the ship and tried to stand up to wave, whereupon both women tumbled off the board into the water. They came up spluttering and laughing. The people on the beach, now more amused than concerned, laughed with them. Paul and John were kept busy trying to get the women out of the water while dodging the rum-fumed kisses they kept trying to plant on them. "I love Jamaica!" the blonde shouted. "Viva! Viva.. Whatever..." said the redhead. They were two very happy women. The ship's horn sounded another impatient warning and the purser started running down the jetty. He had apparently just understood his passengers' intention and knew it was up to him to save them. On the beach two anti-harassment officers had appeared. They stood quietly watching the situation. "This nah work," Paul told the women firmly, and he and John lifted them back to the beach where the purser had just arrived. He was hot, sweaty, out of breath, and could barely conceal his annoyance. The women, wet and bedraggled but still happy, danced away with him as he steered them in the right direction. The little crowd cheered and the women waved. "We won't forget you! Viva the rum punch! Viva Jamaica!" They continued shouting and singing. Suddenly Paul and John were accosted by the officers. "You're coming with us," the officers said. "For what? What did we do?" "Harassing the tourists," was the reply. "How unnu so fool-fool!" The crowd was once more involved. "The man them never do nothing." "You nuh see a the tourist was a harass them!" |
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| THE EMPTY JAM JAR
� Hazel D. Campbell 2009 The day before my grandmother died, she called me to her bedside, My heart turned over when I saw how frail and other-worldly she looked - this once strong woman who had been there for me all of my life, nurturing me in the absence of both mother and father. "I have something for you," she said. "It�s the only legacy I have to leave for you." She slowly reached over to the table by the bed and handed me an empty jam jar and an envelope. "Huh?" I asked. She smiled. "Keep it safe," she said. "It is very valuable. When the day comes that you feel that you have reached the end of your world. When happiness seems to be a thing long past; when you are so down that you feel that you would like to end it all, open the envelope and follow the instructions." My gran had always been a little off-centre in her beliefs and actions, so although surprised, I took the empty jar and envelope without further comment except to say thanks. The next day she was dead. I buried her with a great deal of sadness. I was married, with two children, but it felt as if I had lost the only friend I really had in this world. My marriage was proving shaky; one of my children had been diagnosed as autistic. I needed gran's strength to pull me through. Life became increasingly turbulent after she died.. More marital problems. A difficult child to rear. Many months passed. Finally, John and I decided it was better to separate. So there I was, packing to leave home, ending a marriage which had run out of options. I pulled an old suitcase out of a cupboard and wondered, for a minute, what an empty jar wrapped in an envelope was doing in it.. Then I remembered - gran�s legacy.. I remembered gran on her death bed saying ' read the letter and follow the instructions when you�ve reached the end�'-. Surely, this was the end. I carefully opened the letter and recognized her scrawling handwriting.. I could almost hear her voice as I read - 'This is not really the end.. Open the jar, take a sniff and do what your heart tells you.�' Curious, I turned the jar round and round. It was empty. What on earth did she mean? Nevertheless, I tentatively started to unscrew the lid. Maybe this was Gran's idea of a joke. Maybe a jack-in- the-box kind of thing would leap out at me. Maybe she thought this would make me laugh. But no, there was nothing in the jar. The lid had rusted a bit - after all, it was just an old jar, so I had to use some pressure, but I still couldn't get it off. John was in the other room, also packing as we had decided we would both move out of the matrimonial home. Out of habit, I went to him - we were still on speaking terms, and asked him to use his superior strength to open the jar. He looked at me curiously. He must have thought I was cracking up. "Why don't you just throw it out?" he asked.. There was already a very big pile of stuff we were throwing out - discarding - like our failed marriage. I didn't answer, so, having to use quite a bit of effort, he twisted open the lid. Nothing popped out as I had half expected. It was after all really just an empty jar. John handed it back to me with a curious expression on his face. I held it to my face and inhaled, as gran had instructed, then quickly replaced the lid and turned away ....to find myself nervously waiting at the door of my old church, dressed in all my bridal finery; Gran, still strong, standing beside me smiling (She had insisted on being the give-away parent). Then we were walking slowly down the aisle to meet John, handsome, himself looking nervous, but with each step I could feel the happiness growing bigger inside me, certain that this was the only thing I wanted in life - to be John's wife, to have and to hold till death us do part. He smiled and I could tell that he was feeling the same way about me. My heart threatened to burst through my chest into a million red roses and shower the guests with these symbols of our happiness and love. I staggered back into consciousness of the present and saw John looking at me with the same look I must have had on my face. "Are we really sure we want to do this?" he asked in that gentle, caring tone I had not heard for a long time. I had forgotten how happy I had been to become his wife. Maybe he had also forgotten the happiness of our wedding day. Could Gran have preserved some of that happiness in a jam jar, wisely knowing that there would come a time when we would need to remember in order to carry on? Was she witch enough to stuff happiness into a jam jar? John and I stared at each other for a long time and then he turned away and started unpacking his bag. I was too stunned to do anything but sit on the bed, cradling an empty jam jar in my hands. . THE END . |
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