“Medicine Man”

by Ray Anthony Stoute (Trinidad & Tobago)

Is months gone now and still, nobody want to go near the beach house where Jude used to stay. I see people make a wide arc to walk in the surf rather than pass in front that place. Is a blasted shame to see the rundown condition of it after I used to have the outdoors looking the best out of all the other houses on that stretch of beachfront. Nobody going to set foot there now or fix it up though – not after what happened to Jude.

Jude was the middle-aged French Creole running his own business, servicing the big oil company down there on the south-east coast. He set up shop there alongside all the other companies jostling each other like dog in heat for the contracts getting handed out down there. Doh get me wrong eh, Jude was a hard

worker and built his company from scratch, but I sure he had help greasing the wheels to win his contracts with all his Port of Spain connections – decades of colonial privilege at work, nah. But the good thing is, out of the couple hundred people he hired, most of them, well the grassroots labourers at least, came from

right there down in Mayaro. Because of that, that short, wrinkle-skin outsider used to walk like a god among men in the area, rewarding the locals with his patronage.

I used to get along real good with the man, and he used to pay much better than the rest of them cheapass homeowners down on that side. When he see my handiwork in the area he couldn’t wait to steal me away with the nice salary that I always know I deserve as a landscaper – not no damn yard-man. Is I who put him on to the best places to get fish from on a Sunday morning, who to go by in the market for the freshest goods, and which hardware to visit where they wouldn’t dig out yuh eye. That is how we came to be friendly and knock a glass together when the occasion called for it. It was on one of those occasions, when his tongue get heavy from the Johnny Walker Black Label, that he confided in me that he was sick – the family cancer finally ketch up to him. His wife, Sally, used to visit from Port of Spain and stay down there off and on, especially now with his condition. She was a nice, pleasant woman, and much younger than Jude. I always wondered how he ended up with her. She tried her best to get him on the road to

recovery: she changed up his diet to one setta fruits and vegetables from the market; the maid had explicit instructions what not to cook for him; and somehow she get him to start going to church every other Sunday. That last one wasn’t easy to do, eh – Jude was one big atheist who only used to worship money.

He thought his money coulda solve all his problems. I remember the time when we were sitting down out on the verandah and the man keep insisting that it must have an alternative he eh try yet to beat the cancer.

“You eh try everything, you know,” I tell him. “You in Mayaro and you never consider herbal medicine?”

He had grab me round the shoulders, since the Johnny was starting to kick in, and say “Errol, at this point, where my insides feeling like a small goal match going on, I am willing to try any blasted thing.”

Seeing the desperation in the man eyes, is then I recommend that he make an appointment with Isaiah, the healer in the village.

“You mean that vagabond who like to waltz by my property looking high like a kite and not even say ‘good morning’?”

“You ever tell the man ‘morning’ Mr. Jude? I asked him.

And as if on cue, we spot Isaiah from a distance, walking barefoot down the beach. I watched Jude’s eyes narrow, focusing on Isaiah who looking like a carefree spirit just come out of the mangrove with waistlength, graying dreadlocks dancing up in the sea breeze. Even the almond trees seemed to sway more

vigorously as he passed as though it was a delight to see him. He was a mystifying sight, and when he finally passed in front Jude’s place his eyes never glanced once towards the house where me and the boss man was sitting. That was when it made sense to me. Isaiah was the first person from the area that didn’t

show any reverence towards Jude. Not for his role as a business owner, not for his massive beach house, and definitely not even to his face. There was no friggin’ acknowledgement.

I decided to beat the iron while it hot. I stood up and looked straight at Jude whose eyes was still following the disappearing Rastaman.

“You interested or not, Boss Man?”

He let out one long sigh and finally nod his head:

“Alright Errol. Arrange it.”

The next morning at the house was a hot and humid one, doh mind it situated right by the beach. Isaiah showed up promptly at seven. I greeted him with an abundance of reverence at the front gate to make up for Jude’s lack of enthusiasm. I didn’t need to see Isaiah’s bloodshot eyes to know that he had already light a spliff for the morning, judging from the scent wafting from him. I felt like I was escorting royalty as he sauntered behind me, allowing me to lead him towards the house where Jude stood in the verandah,

looking non-imposing in comparison despite his puffed chest and military ‘at-ease’ stance.

“Salutations, Mr. Jude” Isaiah said with a slight bow and his hands clasped in front of him as though he was saying prayers.

“Mornin’, Isaiah,” grunted Jude, “Thanks for coming.”

I left them there to give them some privacy, but at the same time, I was damn curious to see Isaiah in action for myself. Making a segue ‘round to the back of the house, I went up the steps to the kitchen,

holding my breath with each tiptoe up the noisy wooden rungs. I listened for the sound of their voices entering the front door and then strained my neck forward through the doorway as much as I could to be able to get a partial view through the glass of the hutch cabinet that stood just at the dining room

entrance. Thank goodness the blasted ugly bead curtain didn’t rattle and expose my ass.

Then, as Isaiah entered the house, I could swear the room get a shade darker even with the sun approaching midday. It kinda hard to explain, eh, but from where I was standing I could feel Isaiah’s presence – it was like his aura, if you believe in them thing, was sending out a pressure, pressing on my temples and raising the pores on my skin.

The two men faced off like two borat sizing up the other, with neither giving way. Nobody uttered a word for a couple minutes and then Isaiah dip inside the plastic bag he carried and pull out a rum bottle full with a dark liquid. “Drink that,” he said abruptly. “I already seeing the problem inside you.”

“Well, hold on a minute,” Jude said, breaking the solemnity of the moment. “I didn’t even explain what I going through.”

“You mean the growth inside yuh belly?” Isaiah said, without a hint of compassion. “You call me here for action or to gallivant and waste my time?”

Jude’s eyes widened. I could bet you he was thinking that ‘this blasted Errol giving out my information to everybody.’

Grumbling, Jude obeyed and tilted the bottle to his mouth. He screwed up his face and looked like he was about to spit out the liquid but Isaiah, sensing the reaction, reiterated his command more forcefully: “Drink!

Drink until I say stop!”

I looked on as Jude guzzled half of the bottle, as if the taste had gotten more palatable.

“That good,” Isaiah said as he relieved him of the bottle. He pulled a candle out of his bag and a silver holder. He set it on the ground between them out of my view. I didn’t see him light it but now I could smell the unusual aroma of candlewax and incense.

Jude now stood motionless, but as he later recounted to Sally when he felt I wasn’t listening, his head was spinning as he tried to focus on what Isaiah was chanting. Isaiah then started rubbing his oils on the entranced Jude – on his head, his limbs and his enlarged stomach, continuing to chant his unintelligible words.

Then a strange thing happened – Jude’s head dropped, and his body seemed to rise from the floor. From where I was hiding, the couch was blocking my view of his feet but I damn certain I saw the man rise a few inches upwards. I was looking to get my ass outta there before I ketch some bad vibes from this whole simi-dimi, when Isaiah stretched out his hand and touched Jude’s forehead who bawl out and fall backwards, knocking his head so hard on the ground it sounded like a coconut now drop from a tree. Is then I rush out the back door and reenter the front of the house so Isaiah wouldn’t know I was maccoing everything. Is only then I realized Jude had passed out on the floor.

Over the next few days Jude seemed more energetic than usual. He didn’t talk about Isaiah’s visit, but I know he was drinking out the remaining medicine that was left behind because he doh ever spend a bad cent – whatever he buy hadda use. I found that a lil distance develop between us too and thought that it

was because I kept reminding him of the balance of money that Isaiah had made a point of telling me that was owed. He didn’t tell me otherwise but I assumed that he was feeling better as he started back walking in the evenings after work and his colour looked a lil more healthy.

Meanwhile Isaiah was back to his nonchalant routine, walking up the down the beach on his errands or whatever the hell he does be about, but the difference now is that he would slow down when passing

Jude’s house and look up towards the verandah with his locks flapping like he name Medusa or something. Money aside, I figure something wasn’t right and I stop him one evening to see if I could pull an ole talk and find out what going on. Isaiah is not really one for conversation eh, so we didn’t really talk

‘bout Jude or anything interesting for that matter. I promised him a collection of empty rum bottles I had put aside in the storeroom to get rid of and he seemed thankful ‘bout that. When he pat me on my back I thought he was thanking me for a job well done, but suddenly he draw me in closer with his mouth so close to my ear I could feel the bristles from his beard. “Careful of the company you keep eh, Mr. Errol,” he whispered. “That house have some hard times ahead.” And with that he continued his trek along the beach, humming a tune that floated on the breeze. I watched after him pondering what the hell this man talking ‘bout, and as I turned towards the house I could see Jude in the doorway staring down at me before disappearing back inside.

My suspicions of a strain between Jude and me were confirmed when I realized my access to the inside of the house was suddenly limited unless it had to do with house maintenance. My days were also reduced from 5 days a week to only twice. Ms. Sally’s visits from Port of Spain became more frequent too but our interactions were less and I could see the uncomfortable expression on her face as she tried desperately to avoid locking eyes with me. There was a morning when Jude had gone to the office and I had just cut some fresh coconut from the tree – Ms. Sally’s favorite – and called out to her at the front of the house.

After a few minutes with no answer, I assumed she probably was sleeping or got a driver to take her out the road. I carried the coconuts up to the verandah and then thought I would surprise her by cutting open a couple of the water nuts and pouring them out in a jug to chill in the fridge.

As I cracked the door I got a waft of something that was similar to the candle and incense smell from Isaiah’s visit, but sweeter. I eh see no candle in sight when I entered the room though which was looking dark, even darker than I had experienced the other day. A panic take hold of me and I get my ass out that house so fast I didn’t care if Sally was inside and hear the door slam. Them coconuts stay right there on the steps and I call it a day. As I was packing up my tools Jude’s van drove in and cast a glance on the coconuts before he went inside. Two minutes later he rushed back out and started walking straight

towards me.

“Errol, you was just inside the house?” he asked me with my back turned towards him.

“Nah, Mr. Jude,” I lied. “I just put some coconuts on your step.”

“So why all that damn smell inside. The house stink with it. And what is this?” He stretched out his hand with a pendant hanging from his clenched fist. “Why you leave this hanging over my door.

I looked at the roughly etched stone with a mix of disbelief and fear. “I never saw that before in my life, Jude,” I said, now dropping all formalities. “Why you don’t ask Ms. Sally?”

“Sally not here! She went back to Port of Spain.”

“Well, I saw her this morning so she probably … “

“Look, Errol, you see you and all these backward villagers, and your smartman Rasta friend, I had enough of all of you.”

As soon as Jude utter those words, is now self the blood rush to my brain. “I know you always used to look down on Mayaro, eh! And Isaiah and me eh no friends – what bullshit you talking here this evening? Why

you don’t pay the man his money?”

“You see what I’m saying? What am I paying your friend for? I look like I am miraculously healed? Man, Errol, don’t bother coming back here, eh.”

Is a good thing that I am not a violent fella otherwise I woulda beat that piece of shit like a snake. I finish packing up and jump in my van and drive off. Looking back in my rear view I could see Jude walking down toward the beach gate gesticulating as if he talking to somebody on the other side but with the night

setting fast I couldn’t see properly and frankly I didn’t give a damn.

The next morning the news spread like wildfire – apparently Sally came home to find Jude lying face down on the bed, lifeless. Incense was burning in the room with a half bottle of scotch on the bedroom side table next to a rum bottle with a brown liquid. It was only after the autopsy revealed some unknown toxins in Jude’s body that the police decided it would be best to test the bottles, but such proactivity would have called for some forward thinking by the police for once, and of course, nobody could find the friggin’ bottles. Nah, it made more sense to harass me at my doorstep asking me one setta dotish questions ‘bout where I see Jude last and if we had any arguments when last I was on the property.

“I doh work there anymore, and I wasn’t there on the property when everything happen,” I told the officer looking him straight in the eye to show him I eh no lil jackass he could intimidate. Besides, nobody will believe the things I witness in the last week working there, and I not implicating myself in no drama to get

me locked up. To ass with that!

“What is your relationship with Mr. Isaiah Jacobs?” the officer responded. “A friend of yours? I hear that is your grapevine family.” The smirk on his face was obvious.

“Look here, officer,” I start to get damn vex. “Is either you lock me up or get out my yard.”

My lil grand charge seemed to work, and those two waste-of-time officers went their way, casually admonishing me about future cooperation.

But the biggest surprise was a couple months later when I got a call on my cell from Ms. Sally. She was finally going to clear some stuff from the beach house and wanted to know if I would help her sort everything. Well despite the strange vibes that house gave me now, I jumped at the chance to see her again. Man, it was so nice to see her, eh, and she looked more relaxed than I had ever seen her.

“Errol, I want to fix up this place again, you know. Mabe do some work to get more light inside. I would love for you to be involved.”

She saw my reaction and said, “Don’t worry, I’m not scornful of the place with Jude’s passing.”

She touched my forearm reassuringly, stroking it. I felt a closeness with her and gave a big grin as I glanced down at her inviting, open blouse and suddenly stared at the pendant hanging around her neck.

Observing me, she grasped it. “You like it? I could make one for you too, you know.”