Jamaicarunnings Serial- "the Girl from the Lane"

The Girl from the Lane- 11th Installment

Tony sat on a stool in the middle of the sorting room at the General Post Office listening to one of his co-workers relating his adventures of the previous night to the sorting crew who were more than eager to hear the tale. The country was in the violent grip of National Elections and the strong ideological divide had literally cut a huge swath through the Jamaican population. Considering the wanton politically motivated killings, particularly in the downtown area, it was a little unusual that there were so many intent listeners to the discourse. The Post Office, or the Central Sorting Office as it was called stood in the heart of downtown Kingston adjacent to the infamous Matthews Lane where the strongmen of the ruling party controlled turf. To the immediate west lay the feared Tivoli Gardens, the political strong-hold of the challenging political opposition. Only days before, a group led by the leader of the Opposition had come under heavy gunfire in the same downtown area as they wrapped up a tour of the area. The tension that emanated from the saga could still be felt, despite efforts from all quarters to lighten the atmosphere.

The co-worker related his experiences of jumping a number of neighborhood fences in order to escape his attackers who had accused him of being a supporter of the Opposition party. A he continued his story, Tony begun to question the wisdom of this chatter in the current environment. He slipped off the stool and shuffled over to where his friend stood dramatizing his experience alongside the pile of unsorted letters.
“Errol” Tony called out to him. Errol though was on a roll and therefore not hearing him.
Tony reached over the group and tapped him on the shoulder from behind “Errol!”
“What is the matter” Errol responded as he spun around to face Tony.
“Com on man, we have a lot of mail bags to finish and it is getting late” Tony stated.
“I am on the floor man, allow me to finish,” Errol replied in annoyance.
“Mr. Johnson will soon be around here and he will certainly give you all the time you will need to finish your story” pointed Tony.
At this, most of the workers dispersed. Everyone was aware of Mr. Johnson’s intolerance for employees slackening up on the job. In an environment where most of the workers in their category were non-unionized, Mr. Johnson fired and hired at will.

A fusillade of gunshots in the surrounding area had shattered the mood of evening shift. Mr. Johnson, not wanting to have the death of any of the Post Office workers on his hands calmly advised the workers to close down the shift. Within a half an hour, they were all making their way to their respective bus stops. As Tony and Errol walked to the top of King Street, Tony spoke.
“Brethren, how can you be relating those stories in that place. Are you completely stupid?”
“What do you mean by that?” Errol asked.
“Do you realize that this is downtown, where everybody is. Labourite, Socialist… everybody!” Tony exclaimed.
“So do you mean that I should be frightened by that?” asked Errol.
“Yeah, right” Tony was not prepared to conceal his annoyance.
They were both at the top of King Street where it connected with South Parade. A smattering of pedestrians scurried to the different bus points clearly trying to get out of the downtown area.
“Let me show you something” Errol chipped.
“ I really don’t want to see anything man,” Tony replied. “ just walk quickly”
“ Check this out man!” Errol exclaimed, slowing his pace and extending a bag he had had slung over his shoulder.
Tony turned around to implore him to keep closer. In the current socio-political atmosphere, running gun battles were common in this area between the Matthews Lane and Tivoli Gardens factions. Occasionally, there were flare-ups between factions in Central Kingston with the theatre of war not uncommonly being right there in downtown Kingston.
They both crossed the wide South Parade at the southern section of the Saint William Grant Park with Errol still insisting that Tony take a look at the contents of the nylon bag.
At the corner section of the park where South Parade intersects West Parade, Errol halted just away from the glare of a street light.
“Let me see it” said Tony. He figured that the only way to get Errol moving quickly was to appease him. For such a small bag, it felt rather heavy. “What’s in this?” he asked.
“Just look man” instructed Errol.
Tony pulled apart the drawstrings which sealed the bag. In the semi-darkness, he could not clearly see the bags contents so he stuck his right hand into the bag. At the same moment two men approached them from West Parade.
“Don’t move boy” The voice came from directly above them out of the darkness of the hedges of the park. Tony was still in the motion of retrieving the object from the bag. Errol, on instinct shot off like a hare, sprinting away in night up West Parade.
Tony, his hand still in the bag turned as Errol fled, noticed the two approaching men across West Parade as they turned and ran in Errol’s direction. In a flash, Tony was away, sprinting back across South Parade towards the dark silhouette of the Kingston Parish Church. He had shot away as the explosion thundered above him. Two more explosions followed, then another. They seemed more distant. In one motion he was over the gate of the Parish Church and running through the small cemetery at the north of the ancient church. The explosions continued, sounding further and further away.
Tony scaled the fence at the north of the church. He knew he had placed some distance between himself and the attacker who had chased after him. He had gone in a semi-circular route, running on instincts. The cheers of the National Stadium was nowhere this time. There was no medals to be had here. He was running for his life. He sprinted north along Orange Street, and east on Charles Street. At the corner of East and Duke Streets he ran left scaling the fence into the King George VI Park. His right hand still clutched the hard object in the nylon bag as he slid into the shadows of the historic Marcus Garvey monument. His heart was thundering from the exertion. It had been a while since he had done so much running. Only the sounds of insects feeding in the park could be heard. Once or twice, the engine of a motor vehicle droned by in night. As the silence enveloped him he pulled the object from the bag. It was cold, oily and heavy for its size. It was the first time he was holding a gun in his life.


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