Bottom Line

This struck me today:
Most children would manage without their parents.

Far away from Japan

I remember the carrots I forgot to buy and how I kept those carrots in mind while I watched the plane on TV that went straight towards World Trade Center and never changed its direction. I remember it now from my little island in the great, great ocean with waves that children can ride on, with their inflatable dolphins and crocodiles. And I would think about it too if I was in the middle of a continent and the water only flowed from a river. I happen to be in the other end of the world. Japan, I write your pretty name on everything I remember these days.

The rat and the goat

Somebody had dragged the goat into the bushes, probably the one who had hit it with the car. We passed it on our way back from the beach. It lay on its side, it was a white goat, actually a kid. Two days later there was nothing but some of its fur left. Rats, ants, birds, mongooses had done a good job. We never noticed any stench though it was very warm.
The rat died in a trap. I put it up.
I sat at the terrace in the evening. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something with fur darted off. It was in the middle of a sentence, the direction was away from me, so I didn't do anything. I accepted the fact that either it was a rat or a tarantel.
A couple of days later it presented itself as a rat. It wanted to move in. It insisted. Five times that evening it ran towards me trying to reach the open door. I do not want to live with a rat. I'm afraid of rats. Like millions of other people I give in to an irrationel fear which is perhaps not a fear but more likely a deep detestation.
I put up the trap, it was caught the first night.
I woke up 3.30 am. It was raining heavily. The trap easily cuts off a childs toe so it was placed under a chair. Its eyes were open, its small feet relaxed. The whiskers were all intact. I sat in the rain for a while, kneeling beside the trap. I couldn't find my detestation and everything about it, me, the rat, the trap, the rain, the late hour, was awfully pathetic.

The first kiss

I'm about to open chapter 14 and have a certain hesitation, like waiting for the right moment.I don't know any right moments. But there is this little love for the moment just before the moment.

Buying a t-shirt

The dress rail was placed so that shoppers could look at the t-shirts from both sides. I was in the blue end, the woman at the other side was going through the white ones.
Most of them got prints. I don't want prints on my t-shirts.
- Are you Beverly?
The woman looked at me. She got beautiful eyes.
- Who?
- Beverly. Are you Beverly?
- No, I said.
She sized up two t-shirts, a red and a green.
- Do you know Raul?
- No, I don't think so. I'm not from here.
- She killed him. Beverly killed Raul, they say.
- Oh.
- I haven't seen her since I heard it. She used to come here.

Why Antigua?

I was asked why I of all places in the world have chosen a place the world takes no interest in.
That's why, I said. I just didn't know before you asked.

Driving with Edgar

I'm not sure I can manage to keep to the left as they do here in Antigua. So I've decided to drive with Edgar when the bus doesn't agree with where I'm going.
Edgar is a careful driver. It's very pleasant to sit at the backseat, sometimes in my own world, sometimes in his. In the frontwindow he has a little flag, green and yellow, for Dominca. What ever I see through the window, I see it together with the flag. I see mongooses, donkies, the bay, the hills, a child in a garden, perhaps its mother leaning against the balustrade.
- You won't regret it if you go there. Very lush. So green. Fruit trees everywhere. All kinds of fruit. Coconuts, bananas, mangos, lots of mangos.
We pass through the sunburned landscape, reach a village just outside English Harbour.
Cars are parked in both sides of the street, a crowd slowly enters the church, nicely dressed people, some have just arrived and kiss hello to the right and the left, others finish a cigarette just outside the entrance. The sun breaks through the cloudes.
- There will be a lot of drinking tonight, Edgar says.
- It's a wedding, right?
I lean to the side, hoping to get a glance of the bride. I once sneaked in at a wedding in Italy. It was one of the most touching weddings I've ever been to.
- No, it's a funeral. After the church they will meet somewhere and have a party. They will drink all night.