“Rum Shelf”

by Brandon Mc Ivor (Trinidad & Tobago)

“You feel it have more to life than this?” Marlon asked. The watch he’d finally managed to afford after a year’s work at the supermarket glinted in the fading sunlight.

“Than what? Drinking in Beharry’s?” came Rocco. 

“Well, yes. But I talking about Arima.”

“Men like we ain’t cut out for city life like them Port of Spain aristocrats.”

“But how you go know if we ain’t try, Rocco?”

“Me, I have my goals set a little lower. See that shelf behind the counter? Beharry have a nice little collection of rum there. I want to work my way through all of them.”

“I trying to be serious, Rocco. I was reading the papers and I think it have a few places in Belmont I would be able to afford if I get a work.”

“I being serious too, Marlon. You try your thing, I go try mine. Look. Beharry, let me get two glass of the 1919 there!”

"Two?" 

"We toasting. To all our dreams coming true."

Beharry poured the drinks over ice and slid them along the black lacquer counter to the two men.They brought their glasses together with a sharp clink.

The rum was mild and well suited to the rocks, sliding over their tongues like heavy dew off a lily.

“How Port of Spain treating you, boy?” asked Rocco.

It had been three months since their last time in Beharry’s together.

“I getting by. The place I in a little small. And Port of Spain people not friendly like up here in Arima. But you know, I think the boss man like me. It have a position opening up and if I get it, I could move into somewhere a little nicer. Get my own office, too.”

“Well you looking like a man working in a big office, with you tie and button up.” said Rocco, “But like you not wearing you watch again, eh Marlon? You looking to buy a nicer one with you new salary or what?”

Rocco laughed, but Marlon’s face sank.

“Actually Rocco, boy. You know someone make off with it? It get thief off my wrist after I fall asleep in the maxi. Port of Spain people really different, in truth you know,” mused Marlon.

“That is why you go stand out,” said Rocco, “Them city people make different. But they ain’t make better. You have to show them what kind of man it have living out here in Arima. And when you get that promotion, treat youself to something nice from one of them fancy store in town.”

Marlon rubbed his wrist where the watch used to be.

“You right, Rocco. Thank you. The old watch didn’t fit so good anyway. This just be another step in the journey. Speaking of which, how far you get in Beharry rum shelf?”

“Well, you know I could only afford a nice drink every so often. But I like that 1919 so much that each time I did mean to try something new, I end up buying that instead.”

“So you ain’t try anything new in the last three months?”

“Well, I go try one today. To you getting this promotion! Beharry, let me get two of the...lemme see... Mount Gay Master Select!”

Marlon’s eyes widened; the Master Select was twice as much as their usual Black Label. 

Rocco touched Marlon’s hand.

“If we doing something, we should do it right, eh? And besides, as my tastes getting fancier and I rolling with a big shot now, I start putting in a little extra hours at the quarry.”

For many Trinidadians, Barbados were the nation’s bitter rivals, but at least there in Beharry’s, Bajan rum was given the same careful pour over the same clear ice as any local spirit. 

“So you ain’t like International Circle? That is a long way you come from Belmont. I don’t know how much more up you could go from there unless you change you name to Sabga.”

“Maybe not in Trinidad.”

“Marlon, you mean to tell me you thinking of going up the islands? What other office Ramlogan’s have outside of Trinidad? Jamaica?”

“Well actually, Rocco. A recruiting company from America reach out to me some weeks aback.”

“America! So you start packing already?”

Marlon shook his head.

“You mean to tell me you considering to reject that offer?”

“To be honest, I think I could get a better one. But let me not goat mouth myself. What about you, Rocco? What Beharry have for you these months gone?”

“Well I was so shame last time I see you when I ain’t make no progress. So I ask Beharry real nice for some credit and I try a few little things. Today we going for the Appleton.”

“The 12?” asked Beharry.

“A rare occasion like this, we can’t skimp. You good with that?”

Beharry smiled, nodded. He knew Rocco was good for his tab, once the money came in.

“To getting an even better offer!" said Rocco.

The rum splashed copper red over the ice. It was, by all accounts, a simple rum—something you might mix with Coca Cola or ginger beer. But even the simpler rums felt special, like they harbored some hidden complexity, when they were served as a part of the two men’s journey to the end of Beharry’s shelf. 

“But you ain’t talking Yankee at all, boy Marlon.”

“Really? I was worry about that you know.”

Marlon had been so stifled by the peacoats and scarves the February weather required that wearing his old sleeveless shirt and cargo pants felt like he’d unstrapped a boulder from his back. Of all his American wardrobe, only his watch—a modest Seiko—made its way into Beharry’s.

“But I bet you ain’t talk like you talking to me now with all them American big wigs,” said Rocco.

“Well you right about that. You does have to talk like you introducing the Prime Minister around them Americans. That’s why it so nice to be back and talk how I does talk.”

“Although, you know Marlon, I did always think you could talk nice when you need to. That is why I wasn’t surprise you could move Port of Spain and fit in easy easy.”

“Port of Spain seem like a long time ago now, boy.”

“So where you is now? Boston?”

“Brooklyn. New York, nah.”

“New York! I bet big important man like you must be working on the top floor of the Empire State Building.”

“Well is funny you should say that, Rocco. Because I was thinking recently I want to move out to around where the Empire State Building is.”

“You looking to change you wuk again, boy Marlon? But you can’t sit still!”

“Well, to tell the truth is not work I studying. You would believe me if I tell you I studying to go back to school?”

“To school? But what more school a smart fella like you need?”

“I think I might want to try my hand at journalism. Writing, Rocco!”

Rocco rubbed his chin.

“You know, Marlon, an Arima man like you...you go have stories them Yankee would have never hear before.”

“You feel so boy, Rocco?”

“Marlon, I really believe it ain’t have much you can’t do”

“That is kind of you, Rocco. But I ain’t come to just talk about me. Is almost a year I ain’t see you. I hope you make you way through at least a few more of them rums.”

Rocco smiled, held up his glass.

“But oh gosh, man Marlon. Give me some credit, nah. You ain’t see I drinking the Havana Club? I say I go drink less if it mean when I spend my money, I getting a higher quality rum and a good experience. Though the funny thing is, the closer I get to the end of Beharry shelf is the more I find I ain’t want to finish. But at least when you come around, I will work my way through. We trying the Boukman today. Beharry!”

“But you say that fast man, Rocco! Like you was ready this time.”

Rocco looked down.

“I figure I meeting a big man like you, Marlon—I should know what the hell drink I drinking beforehand.”

Beharry appeared before them and the Boukman was poured out of its green-glass bottle into two chilled glasses. It was a Haitian spirit, spiced with botanicals the two men had never before tasted in a rum. And whether it was the strength of the alcohol or the scarcity of men’s meet-ups since Marlon’s move, the bottle’s inscription, “Listen to the voice of freedom rising in our hearts,” became suddenly poignant to Rocco. 

“Gone America so long and ain’t talking Yankee at all, at all,” he said.

“You know, I does read the articles the day they drop, Marlon? The self same day!”

“Really? And you ain’t think is too much? They does want you to go over the top a little bit, sometimes. To catch people eye, nah.”

“I think is just right. Well, I do feel you could use some smaller words sometimes. You does be sending me to the dictionary!”

“Is funny you should say that, Rocco. Because I was thinking to try something new.”

Rocco laughed.

“You studying to join NASA now or what?”

“No, no. I like the journalism thing. I mean I was studying to write an article about home. And maybe even write it like how we talking now.” 

“Like this? In we slang? You wouldn’t be shame to have people hear how we does talk bad english down here?”

“You would be surprise, Rocco. It have a lot of people who don’t consider it bad, the way we does talk. In fact, people does find it interesting. But actually, Rocco, what I was really thinking is to write a story about you.”

“About me? What it have to write about me?” Rocco laughed.

“I was thinking you must almost be at the end of Beharry rum shelf. Food and drink culture very big now, you know. People does like to read about that.”

“You think people would want to read about that? You know I not diligent like you, Marlon. I can’t describe the rum and tell people 'bout the history. Why you don’t just talk about the rum youself? People would like that better.”

“Is not just the rum I want to write about. Is what they call a human interest story. They want a story on family.”

“But you know I ain’t have no family, Marlon. You tell them that and they go think that that is why I always in the rum shop”

“No, Rocco. Is not that. What I saying is, you come like my family.”

The amber face of the 1919 Rocco had been sipping rippled, as a tear rolled off his cheek and into the spirit.  

He started in a small voice.

“Well, Marlon. Is funny you choose today to tell me you want to write a story like that. Because… Because I  make it to the last bottle on Beharry shelf. I was waiting for you to come down to finish. Since we start this little journey together, and all.

“And I do my homework. He have a special something for we. Is in a Fernandes Black Label bottle. But really, that is a babash he make heself. But don’t write that in you magazine to get Beharry license confiscate, eh? Beharry, fix we up! And pour one for youself too.”

He poured the three drinks over some ice. It was a strong, clean smell.

“You know, Marlon. Is every time we toast, we toasting to you next big move. What it is this time? You going for that prize you write about, the Pulitzer? You coming back to run for president?”

“Rocco, boy, is so much toast you does toast to me, you forget is today you drink you last rum off Beharry shelf. Rocco, today we toasting to you.”