The Sniper
There were not many fences but everyone new exactly where his boundaries ended and where his neighbors began. Between our house and that of the Georges flourished two mango trees. The Mango War tree was very close to our house, so close in fact that the roof of my room was continually bombarded by ripe fruit. The higher limbs of this tree provided a dormitory for a family of fruit bats. These creatures I considered a threat. Everyone knew that at night they preyed on people sucking the blood of unwary sleepers, especially of boys my age. Many times I would try to resist falling asleep for fear of becoming a victim of these horrendous creatures. They were the enemy and thus fair game for my slingshot. Fortunately I was always a pretty poor shot although to my shame I put away several of these innocent creatures. The other mango tree stood close to the rear entrance of Mr. George’s house. This one was much smaller than the mango War and bore an above normal size fruit with a fairly large pit but very tasty. It was some kind of hybrid mango but I never learned the name.
Mr.George was a carpenter by trade and built his own house. Several years earlier he had rented a plot of land on which to build his house. I spent many hours hanging around the construction asking silly questions, getting in the way and in general making a nuisance of myself. As with our own house, Mr. George built his on a slope, with one side at ground level and the other somewhat higher. Under the high side he built his carpentry. Mr. George may have been from the neighboring island of Tobago or from the interior somewhere. He was not a very tall man, normal built, and his eyes were full of life and pregnant with enthusiasm. He was friendly, enthusiastic and purposeful, and a hard worker. His wife Thelma, was younger than her husband, taller and stouter, friendly, smiled with her whole face and was always kind to me. Their two sons, older than I, were Reevus --younger, fairer of skin and on the fat side- and Noel, taller slimmer and darker. Reevus was smarter, wiser and gentler. Noel was coarse.
Armed with a very vivid imagination, my cap twin barrel shot gun and accompanied by our faithful “Puppy” I roamed and explored ever inch of the Hill. I had hunted lions, tigers, and elephants; been bitten by all kinds of bugs, pricked by all kinds of needles, scratched by thorns of lime trees and “gru-gru boeuf” palms. I knew where every bird’s nest was located, every nest of snake/lizard’s eggs. I had climbed every tree. Tarzan would have eaten his heart out.
One day I’m up in the mango tree closest to the back gate of the George’s. Today I am a British soldier observing the movements of our German enemy and alert for a target of opportunity to get within sniper range. I am well concealed about 20 ft. above ground. Suddenly I hear or perhaps sense approaching footsteps. Must be careful. No German soldier will get pass me. I hold my breath. Footsteps get closer. Now, directly beneath my perch I make out a wooly head above a pair of legs surreptiously advancing towards the George’s entrance. The owner of the legs is wearing short pants and some nondescript upper clothing; also a beard. He reminds me of Hailé Selasie. His legs, wooly hair, beard and shorts disappear into the George´s back entrance. He has to be a German spy disguised as a black man. After accounting for several enemy soldiers I retire.
Several days later I´m on the porch reading when something attracts my attention. I look up in time to see our spy on another of his missions. After a while his presence becomes so routine that I stepped down from red alert and found other forms of mischief. Around this time I´m enrolled at St.Mary’s College (CIC). New school, new friends; priests and prefects. New demands new responsibilities; little time for playing games by myself on the hill. Rarely see the Georges. One day I learn that Thelma has given birth to a baby boy.
When next I see Mr. George, he´s in his carpentry shaving a board. Today he isn’t very talkative and I notice how much he has changed. His eyes are dull having lost their original intensity and brilliance. He has aged noticeably over a very short period. I feel sorry for him.
A few years go by. Reevus and Noel are grown young men. Reevus fascinates me with accounts –detailed- of his amorous trysts under the Meyer´s house then in construction. Changes are coming to the Hill. An access road has been built at my father´s expense and I am indignant when I learn that the local Government will provide a name. I feel that this should be our privilege.
I don´t remember if I ever learnt the name of the George´s baby. The last time I saw him he was about four years old. A pretty kid, neatly dressed in overalls, standing tall under a crop of wooly, bushy hair.
