Let’s Hear Some More from The Nanny, Pt. 3

Stories told from a Carib-Jamericanadian perspective. In richly blended language mix of; nonsense talk, sensational spelling, double entendre, and Jamaican Patois. Yeah, man, a Jamaica yawd mi cum fram. Sorry, I meant to say; I’m Jamaican-born and bred, okay? Yes, wordplay is the order of the day around here. So

“She must not sleep,” they’d said, to the weakest of the weekend’s wicked. Like. She who was there dying to sleep, with you yes, so that she may hasten the casket when her man of the latest day gets wind of it, as I’d guessed. She wanted more than anything else at the time to take a nap in the new casket the big man had bought and paid for, for her last hit upon a dying day’s score. Had it for weeks, though she didn’t know that much about such a practice… “Nor should she stop working, the line, not even for a week,” they said.

“A day,” others say while pouting off their mouths at her, okay? Yes, at the nanny’s back door too, behind her face, well. That’s all that you’re going to hear from Gord, no more than me and mine, or Grace’s head. “Not even for bread,” they further said. “Not for any reason so to speak,” as was read. Sweet eh, yes Edith mi Niece, and Mildred, oh.

“No, don’t do it. Let’s tell the truth oh, just as a tip. Because that’s not really how it goes, we’re not related, as you’d supposed.”

“I understand, you’ve got more than a thousand reasons why you’d want to deny even knowing such a man, as I am.” So, here’s what they said further Moe, I mean, there’s more. “Not while the really important people of the week are in dire need of your ever-in-demand servicing style list stick habit.” Caregiving you know, with a twisted smile like this, so to speak of it. Tik Tok time clock wrapping up pennies and dimes on it. Sweet as sausage, it was, they had to grab a supporting role upon the act Sis, from above. In the act of trying to hold it all together in control, and rock this, with love.

“For what — man, and, and, for how long?”

“For a week at the very least,” so I was told when I asked this. Well, so everybody there was told then. So, she went back to work on the fabric, trying to make a shirt for a jerk like this one that couldn’t speak. Worked well for a while. “For a short while,” she’d said when she accepted the hard owed bread in fits of rage, but. It was in agreement with their pleading, and yes, pity was wrapped up in it and needing, like, like while kneading out the wheat dough mix. Yes, it was wrapped up in how much they’d begged and spit. She would have done so until she shirked and stopped it.

“Oh sheet, why, what happened, she’d skipped?”

“No, you know… Well, it wasn’t like that, but this; she’d hit upon a burnout and crashed.”

“Oh my gosh. Why would you even think to say a thing like that? She’s not a quitter to do them like that on the wicker, is she? Oh, noo.”

“No,” she said, with a long drawn-out oooo, accentuating Ted.

“I know, I know, it wasn’t that but, it was because…”

“What, because of what?”

Because she dropped plop off her high top, I mean, her thigh, yes. Just like this orange here, and that rye over there. So, she dropped and died, like, just like those go goes wax-to-a-shine thighs, yes — mi bred, dead. If you want to, you may leave, since you don’t believe, but. I’ll go on and tell it to these guys’ sleeves. She died trying to get back up, you know…

Tried to get back up and continue to wok the work, standing on her toes, trying to finish folding the shirt but she could not, so, she lay there till she stopped, breathing, and died, clear. Right there on the flat of her belly like guava jelly.

“Where, you mean…”

“Yes — mi dear, right there on the job.”

“Yes?”

(Look at his mouth, open wide as…) “Yes, there.” Then comes the really big surprise of the year. Hubby had gone nowhere no; he was still there. Here, take a look through this youth’s tube. See? Hobby was always wise. Well, he’s Papa too in this leg of the shoe from Bata that’s now bouncing on and off their backsides good and proper. But yes, he was wise enough, though not as seen through their up uppity eyelashes neatly brushed to go show off to mister McAnuff.

They were closed in, and most of the islanders’ time clocks were all but frozen. Those who were already gone the way of the fallen, they too. Fell to the plague that called them…

“Where, to hell?”

True. Well, at least for some of them, not you. You’re a Saint as we all already know the new, so. “Come away from there,” was what you hear. So came a voice very serene and clear. As it said to you, “Get out and run for your life” before the full wrath of the plague came storming through that night, and you? Yes, you got up and left in obedience to their begging and pleading, but. It was all because of the hellish call that was heard coming through the wall. They didn’t want you to be caught up in such protocols.

“So that was how she’d managed to escape the sword?”

“Yes. Happened when you’d skipped the hall, she heard and did as you’d said when you’d called, telling her to get out and come with you in order to survive it all. Hence, you’re here with her now and standing tall, to answer the other calls and my talking tales that are so very tall that… no, let’s just leave it at that and go back to that shock, of a show. You’ve already gotten the prize that they owed you, you know, so. The cure was almost ready, right?”

“Sure.”

So they say to Freddy. And yes, you too — Brice,

“…who are you talking about now, Gord?”

“No, not you now, nor him over there at whom I’m directing this sharp sword. It’s to that guy further along over there by the soiled-up style it sticks and is strong, though a bit bored, so. By the time it got there and settled in steady, though, taking up arms to go playing with new clear and Freddy…”

“Yes, I know, the old one too, no?”

“Oh! Well, yes, couldn’t you guess? He wasn’t someone known to be giving up on a trusted old friend like you — Tess, just because of the new Aunt’s circumstances. Ants such as that, and this, those that had happen to drop in on the antics at the old boat house in Newlands 6.”

“No?”

“No, and no heavy-handed soothsayer like you, was going to make him change his shoe on sheets like these.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay, hold on, because you’re leading me off track man, stop that at once, or else.”

“Else what? Go, move your horse, because. That one-trick pony of yours doesn’t know the first thing about a dance, but. It was because this was to prove just as deadly — okay?”

“Okay, so what next did they say?”

“We’ve got to hold on just a bit longer,” yes, that was what they said to everyone, and her. “If we get past this rut of a one hit of a wonder.” Hit her hard in the gut down under you know, yes, yes Zander, hard enough for someone to bust a sweat to wet way down below their latest odd dress, but. “We’ll be home and good to go bulk cooking the gander and the food to go with it too, unless…” Okay. we’ll leave it at that address and go away west to undress.

“Yes?”

“Yes, just the word I heard them all say at the time too, as soon as they heard about the undressing parts, and you. ‘Yes,’ was what they all said to you, Mister Alexander Wood. Would you allow me to say it again, and just as good?”

“Yes, go on, go on, yes you can.”

“Yes, I thank you, sir. But you can’t rest now — sweetie, and she.” They were talking about the other lady, the one with the key. The one who was there pointed the finger back at me at the time, as if she wanted me to go and take her place in the line. “No,” they say, that’s not good, okay. Not for us, no, not you, “and me,” (I had to interject this in and agree.) Not when we, wonderful people like us and like, like the Anguses, “for the sake of Chru’rice — man, and those kids, and…”

“And who? The Goods?”

“Yes, she too, that one door ring woman over there in the trolly made of wood, ‘we need you,’ they said. You can’t do that to us, not while we need every available hand-me-down thing that we can find on the bus to use a gripping upon the lot tory hotline string. Don’t forget to remember. You’re not doing it for a favor, like, for free, no. You’re doing it on fees, in the sweetened-up pots of David’s teas. Of morning coffee beans from dried Blue Mountain scenes too, yes.” And the teas that they said were green, but when they gave it to mean in the cup that was a bit unclean. That was when I’d noticed that it wasn’t really green, but brownish, and, and…

“…mean, or me? Don’t you mean, me?”

“Probably, but they were feeding her the plated plots of…”

“What, vegetarian sardines?”

Yes, you know what. When she responded in the negative on these and turned around to go home and ease herself out of the ordeal and left, to go and take a pp, will you please, please, you know… “Oh, come on!” Was what she heard coming from…

“Who, from who, them?”

Yes, those were the very words coming from them. They begged and pleaded along yet some more mi Breda man. Oh, which one are you wearing, a man, or woman’s shoe — my brother from the Netherlands?

“I won’t answer that, there’s no need to, let’s just see if we can tin you.”

“Please, allow me some time to feed…” She said, reversing the talking seeds right back at their shaky knees below the head. They wanted to be there remaining as the headship in the Fed. Whilst bedding down in their well, combing gowns for the overnighting harbor ring ships’ kind of welcome. Whenever they are coming into town to call in sick when the rising hell comes, but. She disagreed with it. That was when the guns came into play on her relatives’ but, oh sheets, no.

No naked parts such as that wart were there to show off but, like, that buttoned-up arm, below the neck, and the head one in command of the buttress’ warm, and welcoming address. Or something else might have been ringing like the alarm that was there wringing bloody red. Yes, the one made of clay — mi Breda dear, it was announcing the next one called in sick as said. Pumped full of bloodshed by the said pops man and husband whom they’d already pronounced dead. The announcer himself, was the very next one who was to be blown away like puffs of smoke the very next day. He and his clan were chief among the Sayers who did the tell-say.

“You mean, like, like, that one, along with the called-in sick; front desk girl?”

“No, let’s leave it that way as it is and go twirl.” It was coming from the nose and mouth. Okay? Because someone else was seen hiding out there and smoking the regular tar-studded pack-a-day. But her father, and husband to their mother, wasn’t like Mister Rose, her brother. No siree, he really knows, and he too has one of those. He knew how to use it on whims and fancying the fancier things like those pentalene.

“What’s that?”

Those, you mean, you haven’t seen them before? Look, man, look, see those men walking towards her door? They just love to use them. Some new concept armrests are used these days to get warmly undressed when they don’t want to upset the rest of the jet sets. Wink-wink. Don’t worry about it yet, we think. But, yes. Father has one of those things for them. He was sure going to use it on them.

“Who, on who?”

Those who were there firing off their mouths of talks on and off things that didn’t belong to you, like, like your pops and such other things that, at… like, those that I’m pointing at, like, him, and her, not me nor you. But, yes, at that same one at whom I’m now turning to aim again, and still pointing a finger ring too. He’ll be the next in line to walk those boots. Yes, father has more than one as a matter of fact, and was prepared to take a stand with the ax. Standing up to them on that, and placing the blame on those fat cats over there too, those who thought that they knew.

Yes, those types of blowers were hanging on his arms, resting on his shoulders too, on the hideout farm. Worse off than that and you, he knew how to use them, use them was what he was about to do to amuse them. Quick, real quick boo.

“Put them in their proper order — man, so that everyday Joey kind of people like us may be better able to understand.”

“Okay, Mick — My brother. Okay, listen on.”

To be continued.

That’s it for this excerpt. Be sure to join us again tomorrow or any time thereafter, for more of the series, as we continue with the story. Don’t forget to like, share, and comment. We sure would appreciate it if you’d subscribe and follow us somewhere too, thank you.

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Just an excerpt from my book called “Twisted Tales from the Big Fail.” A Novel: Real Inky Trails Series.

By writingelk, All Rights Reserved.