Floating Round

“Yuh mudda,” I say. Black Bai tilts his head up at me puzzled. It takes him a moment to process so he stops walking. His right eye twitches as sweat beads down into a fresh cut above his eyebrow.

“Man carry yuh skunt,” he says, looking at the two other laughing boys, “What dat even mean? Me mommy nah got people spin round her.” Cheddi howls with laughter, his shoulders bouncing up and down as he clutches at his big stomach.

“It’s joke he making Black Bai,” Shawn says. “What de big n round dat people spin round? Yuh mudda.” Black Bai’s face does not change. 

“Like planets,” Cheddi says after a moment. 

Black Bai’s eyes dart around for a moment before landing on my face. “Ohhhh. Me get it.” he says. He does not laugh.

We have lunch at Cheddi’s house today because he eats better than the rest of us. Shawn and I race to finish our food in case Cheddi’s mother has extra. Cheddi’s father boats to Wakanam every morning, selling flour, chickpeas, and fish. I tell Cheddi that Granddad says his father also brings fake flour and people to Wakanam sometimes. 

“Yeah buddy. Like in de Bible,” Cheddi says, his large eyes beaming. “Meh fadda de a fisher of men.” 

“Man shut yuh rass chubby,” Black Bai responds, poking into Cheddi’s big stomach. He hates when Cheddi talks about the Bible. Cheddi does not complain; he never has anything to complain about, even when Black Bai pokes his big stomach. Shawn scarfs down the last of the lamb curry, picks up his plate quickly, and walks back to the kitchen. I throw a bone at him but it whizzes by his head. 

“At least meh got one stomach,” Cheddi says.

Shawn leads us down the rocky road a bit more, stepping over cracks and walking around holes deep enough to hide in. He stops at the street head and treads down a small slant to a thin creek a meter wide; he jumps over the water to the other side. We jump after him. Dry grass pricks at our bare feet. Black Bai yelps, sucks his teeth, then stomps hard on the ground. 

I field the left side of the pasture while Cheddi and Black Bai bat. Shawn bowls. Ball, wicket, ball, wicket, ball, catch. 

“Man, have some fun,” Black Bai yells at him.

“Winning is all de fun,” Shawn huffs back. Soon I switch places with him when Black Bai and Cheddi ask. Shawn hates fielding so he asks us to play tag instead. He wins that too.

We sit for a little and I brush mosquitoes off my leg. Cheddi also swats at them while sitting against my back. Black Bai and Shawn lay near the creek, their eyes pointed to the stars in the night.

“Roydon, when yuh gwan release yuh fadda’s ashes?”

“Me nah know.”

“He in Hell?”

“Shut yuh rass chubby.”

“Maybe he de in Hell. Me fadda say dat people go straight to Hell when dem kill demselves.”

“He not in made-up land.”

“He in de air.”

“Heavan?”

“Not heavan. He in de air. Floating round.”

“Floating round Black Bai’s mudda.”

We laugh.