One o’clock in Jamaica’s Summer sun is no joke thing. As Bert would say, ‘Dem time deh, the sun a bawl out and a bake people forehead until till it soft.’ But Bert was being squeezed until he was almost slim by his full suit of green from head to toe.
He’s convinced he’s a damn ninja. He needs to behave.
His green shirt, tight like a blouse. Well it was actually a blouse, but it fit him so tightly it could not do its duly duty of covering his navel. Matter of fact, it didn’t even go so far down his mid section to even cover half of his belly. His belly was too big and wagga wagga and Bert’s navel shaped badly. It ill-shaped until it leant downward. Plus it big and shine and looked like pure air in it, and the tight blouse just won’t cover the ugly navel. Anyway, Bert loved his suit like wow.
He was standing in the hot sand, no shoes, barefoot on Hellshire Beach, staring in the white one o’clock sun. His hands steadily clasped under his chin, he wasn’t blinking. Bert knew he had to look good in his suit so he Naired-off and shaved some of the hair off his belly to make it shine. Only where the blouse exposed was shaved smooth and shine. The rest of his belly was still hairy-hairy.
Bert released the clasp from under his chin and began training, calling out the moves as he peeled them off on a rapid.
“Kick move! UH! Thump move! UH! Double Spin Kick! WAP! WAP!”
He put his hand to protect and hide his face and hollered out “Block move! HHUH!” He said the ‘Hhhuh; from the centre of his gut.
His cell phone rang, he took out his Nokia 3310. It was his favourite cousin, Trudy.
“Hey Trudy, you good?”
“Yeah mi good. Don’t say I’m always calling you to ask you for something enuh, but this time very, very important. I want to go to this party and Roger won’t give me any money to do my hair, can you please …”
“I get it, I get it. I understand cous, gonna transfer it for you when mi leave the beach. Mi deh yah a do some serious training.”
“Tehehe . . . you sound so weird speaking patois Bert. Okay later, mi will call and remind you to transfer it, eight thousand ok?”
“Eight thousand fi do hair?”
“Yeah, that cheap, a because mi buy two pack a hair already.”
“A because you a mi favourite cousin mek mi a do it enuh.”
“Love you too Bert.”
Both of Bert’s parents were dead, natural causes, exactly a year apart from each other. Bert thought about the fact that he didn’t have a relationship with most of his family except Trudy, because Trudy was just genuine. No matter what, he knew she would always have his back. Despite the age difference between him and Trudy, Trudy being seventeen years his junior, they had a pretty good relationship.
No time to skylark. Bert got back into his deadliest move, “Tomma Hawk! UH! Knee! UH! Bruck Back! UH! Lizard Grip! HHHUH!” He did it twice, “Lizard Grip! UH! HHHUH!”
Bert was tired. He couldn’t bother with no more after those eight moves, it mashed him up. Training was through.
Bert was having a serious conversation with someone. It sounded urgent and may have to do with his extraction of Portia’s crown, who knows? He made a very angry face at the person, but only he could see the person he was talking to.
Of course no one else could see the person. He’s a freaking ninja, what do you expect? Only he could see him. Or maybe - he was mad.
Bert found out that he had super powers. No, he wasn’t a certified nut case. He may have truly had some special powers bestowed upon him from the heavens. The thing was, how could he come up with a plan to convince Marj that he was a ninja. But not just any ordinary ninja, one with extreme super powers, such as being able to make his eyeballs bulge and flex. His prime power over all.
Plus he could disappear. Literally. No joke. Just Voops! And him gone. Vanish just like that.
He wanted to prove it to Marjorie by disappearing off the face of the earth right in front her very eyes. Seeing is believing, so he’ll ‘Voop!’ into a puff of smoke, disappear and show her his extraordinary talent.
Over the last couple of days, Marj realised that Bert wasn’t too sensible on a higher level now. She spoke to her family about it and they all told her she should institutionalize him. She agreed with them. But deep down in her heart she couldn’t. She decided she was gonna keep Bert home until he recovered and got back to his regular senses.
In the meanwhile, day and night Bert was trying his very best to disappear for Marj but it just never could work when she’s around. Bert would disappear often, but what he observed was that it would only happen when he sat on the toilet seat. So the mastermind came up with a brilliant plan.
The plan was simple but brilliant. All he did was held her hand and asked her,
“Please follow me to the bathroom to doo-doo?”
He knew very well that whenever he started he would disappear – ‘Voops!’ into a puff of smoke, proving to his wife once and for all, who he truly was, and get on to the bigger things at hand, lifting off Portia’s crown.
But she refused. And in Bert’s eyes, it was for the oddest reason that she was refusing. She would always annoyingly say, “I don’t want to go into the bathroom with you Bert, because whatsoever you doing in the bathroom - it smell too awful.”
Therefore, the ninja had to devise a new master plan to demonstrate his powers and evaporate. He wanted to make her into a believer. In the meantime he continued to train hard at Hellshire Beach every boiling sun for his deadly mission and he had adamantly made up his mind.
Marj noticed that every night when she came in Bert was getting a degree blacker heading towards ackee-seed black. She knew it couldn’t be bleaching cream, no rubbings was in the house, so she asked him straightforward,
“Bert why are you getting so black? You ptomaine poison?” Bert looked at her mouth, her top lip was a slightly darker complexion from the rest of her face and her bottom lip was cherry. He cut his eye at her. She caringly asked,
“Want me to make you some bizzy tea?”
“Marj you wouldn’t understand, but I was chosen to go on a secret mission.”
“Who chose you Bert?”
“Who else? Jesus himself.”
“Who?”
“Jesus.” Bert answered, “Mi naaw tell nuh lie, Jesus come down from heaven and pick me special. Just like how him did pick Moses.”
“Bert I’m carrying you to the psychiatrist! Jesus didn’t choose you to do anything.”
“ how’d you know if I’m the chosen one?”
“Chosen one to do what?”
Bert brought a finger to his plummy pouting lips and said, “Shh . . . tek time talk. I can’t tell you. It’s a secret mission. Let’s just say someone will be de-throned.” He winked slyly with a slanted smile. “And know that Jesus showed mi the path to your tights. And even a matching blouse as a modern day miracle.”
“What’s this secret mission now Bert?”
Bert broke out in a frenzy fanning the words away from her mouth, trying to put a lid on it. “Ssshh . . .SShhh…Classified information Marj. I can’t tell you some of the murderous details but I can tell you that every patty crumbs must be eaten without fretration about tax on it. Not even a patty bag must be taxed. And I’m the Saviour for all patties and all patty bags.”
“What you talking about Bert? I’m so lost right now.”
Bert made a deep sigh. “Uuuh!! Lord God Man.” He threw both hands up in the air. Marj’s head was thickly dunce and he couldn’t get through to her. “Ok. Let mi get to the meat of the matter.” He tried to explain it in an easier form, “Remember the very wise and powerful words of the great Martin Luther King enuh Marj, as he once said, ‘Tax-free patty for all and every mankind.’”
“Martin Luther King didn’t say that!”
Why was Marj running him down? He knew what he was talking. Well maybe it wasn’t Martin Luther king who said that. He paused as he thought about it sensibly for a while. Marj was right it wasn’t Martin Lu
ther King that had said that, so he corrected himself arrogantly.
“Well Bob Marley did.”He stuck his chest and chin up as he replied and then widened out his eyes, showing a dangerous amount of eyeballs and shoved his face up into Marj’s face waiting to see if she would dare oppose his knowledge.
Marj was a bit terrified. She had never seen him behave so out of whack; so frivolous and theatrical with his madness. It was getting way out of hand. Maybe she should really take him in to the professionals like everyone else was advising her. But as she stared back in his dangerous eyes, she was seeing that it was Dr. Kemp, her Dr. Kemp. The same loving and caring man she had married eight months ago. The man she loved. She’ll not give up hope on him and turn him in into any mental institution. She knew she could nurse him better than any institution would. She knew she just had to stick it out just for a short while, her Dr. Kemp will soon return. He’ll soon be better.
“Bert used his middle finger and pushed Marj in her forehead and said, “A you mi a talk to enuh, you a gwaan like you naaw hear mi, Mi seh as Bob Marley said, If anybody put tax on patty, tek dem neck.” He grabbed both sides of his tights and hiked it up higher before he continued, “And we need more knowledge like this being passed on to the younger generation. As a matter of fact, these are the uplifting words we need the church to preach to the kids.”
It was clear, her husband was getting worse. He was having severe delusions and misconceptions very regular now and very grandeur. Tears crept up to her eyes. It pained her heart more than Bert could ever know. She fought not to let the tears fall from her eyes. She felt a deep inner hurt for her husband’s mental condition. He didn’t deserve this. He has no real idea of what he’s saying or what he’s doing. He’s emotionally detached from all his feelings. She’s not sure he’s able to love; to love her. The tears slid from her eyes and she didn’t wipe them away. She just let them flow freely down her face. Hugged him sniffing and through her crying voiced crackled,
“For better or worse. For better or worse.”
She squeezed him tight to her chest.
With both hands at his side, Bert didn’t squeeze back. He was blank.
CHAPTER 5
BERT IS A PSYCHIATRIST TOO, SO WHAT IF HIM MAD?
“Mi can fry a egg wid mi yeye! Just look pon it like so,” He demonstrated …
“Bert.” Marjorie looked exhausted.
Bert wasn’t replying, he only had his hand sticking out, waiting and expecting to get the plate towel to wipe his bottom. Marjorie called again, “Bert.”
"Yes wife.”
“Just go doo-doo please. Just gwaan.”
"No. Mi want di plate rag, don't mek mi fight you fi it.”
Marjorie was strong but he was testing her faith now.
“You know you can’t fight a ninja. Just gimmi di plate rag.”
Marjorie put one hand to the roof and said,
“Lord help me, do.” She sighed, and for the first time since Bert started acting this strange she had to kiss her ring twice in such a short span of time, she repeated her Mantra in her heart, ‘For better or for worse, Lord, for better or for worse.’
She handed Bert the towel and instructed him. “Bert, don’t flush the towel, you hear.”
Bert looked at her as if she was stupid.
“Bert just please. Don’t argue. Don’t flush the towel, it will bung the toilet.”
Bert’s voice was low and soft, “Baby what’s wrong, why you crying?”
"You Bert; You. I don’t understand what's happening in your head anymore.”
"Truth is, you’ll never understand Marj, no one will. No doctor, nobody. I’m beyond humans. I’m a ninja.”
“You need to see a damn psychiatrist. Can’t you at least get a bigger shirt put on? You don’t see that the whole of your belly skin is exposing?”
He looked down on the shaved section of his belly, he seemed a bit embarrassed.
“But mi can get slim if mi want.”
He sucked in his gut, held his breath. And his face bloated up.
“Let go your breath Bert.” He released immediately and his belly banged down big as it was. “That doesn’t make you slim. We’re going to the psychiatrist tomorrow, ok baby?”
“Marj?”
Marj didn’t answer. She only sighed. He called again.
“Marjjjj! Mi know you hear mi enuh.”
"Yes Bert.”
She hoped he’d at least say something sensible to her. Some sign that he was coming around and that she was holding on to something that was not totally gone. A hope that Bert was not now totally off his rockers at a point of no return. Bert calmly asked her,
“Answer this one question Marj. Look here. Look at me and don’t lie.” Marjorie’s vision was blurry with tears. Her chin crimpled, he sounded sane. That’s just what she was looking for, just that small sign of sensibility. Bert had romantic eyes, and Marj could feel the chemistry. The feeling they had together when they were teenagers, before they moved into this house together. She felt a chill of love. Bert’s voice was soft,
“Have you ever been a ninja, Dear?”
Poor Marjorie. She couldn’t take it, she let go of her tears again. They came in abundance, her body was shaking. Bert continued,
“You think being a ninja a simple sup’n? No. It’s not an easy road. Is it Buju did a sing ‘bout. This is classified information and I shouldn’t be telling you, because if they ever find out they’ll cut my neck. Clean, clean. You hear mi? But Buju is a secret ninja too. Why you think the CIA dem lock him up?”
“STOP! STOP! BERT STOP! Just Stop!” She was shaking her head looking down, one hand holding her forehead and the other leaning on the counter, balancing her. She felt weak and she didn’t even feel the pain in her ankle anymore. “You’re no ninja! Buju is no ninja! And you definitely not a ninja. Stop!”
Bert was taken aback by her raised voice, but more stupefied by her preposterous claims, saying he was not a ninja. She was in denial and he knew what he had to do. He had to doo-doo on the carpet right in front of her so she could see when he disappears.
He thought for a while, maybe he had to test it first. What if the toilet seat had something to do with it. Tonight he would sneak out the bed, get a screw driver and screw off the toilet seat, put it in the middle of the living room carpet and test out if he doo-doo there, if he would disappear.
Bert’s psychiatric instinct crept in, he knew the frustration and anger from Marjorie was about more than she was saying. She had a greater feeling, maybe jealousy, maybe disbelief.
Something was annoying her badly. Annoying her so much that she was crying. He grew sensitive, he picked up on what was really happening, picked up on her feeling, and knew exactly what it was,
"A badmind you badmind mi fi super powers? You is a ungrateful little witch!”
"What super powers Bert? Is mad you mad?”
"What super powers, eehh? What super powers?” he repeated her question in disbelief that she didn’t know about his super powers. But he was silent after. It seemed he, himself, wasn’t sure either. He thought for a split second, his pupil swung side to side as he thought ingeniously about it. Then darting a steady daring stare in her eyes he burst out boldly, “Mi can fry a egg wid mi yeye! Just look pon it like so.” He demonstrated, force-squinting his fat bulby eyes very hard, trying to flex his eyeballs and a long vein got visible in the centre of his forehead like he was about to explode. He was trying to convince Marj that this was true and going hard at making up a frying egg face. Just to make sure she understood how he was bad on frying eggs with his eyes, then confidently added,
“And mi yeye dem fry di egg dem well crisp too, crisper than fire. And it add salt.” He gouged out his eyes way beyond normal opening and the large round white of his eyes were protruding. He pointed at his two eyeballs with both index fingers and steadied them in front them and said,
“You see dem big yeye yah? You see dem yah? Dem no normal. A mi gift de
m.” He stopped talking to make sure what he was claiming submarined down into her head properly; giving her some time to sponge-up the fact that her husband had super power eyeballs, then said, “Dem yah special. SPECIAL.”
He swiftly shot off his pointing fingers closer to his eyeballs and didn't even blink as he added. “Specialllll!”
Marj slapped her own forehead, frustrated. Bert was on the path of proving the special talent of his eyes. There was no eggs in sight to demonstrate his unbelievable talent. So instead he asked of her,
“Mi ago sight your finger dem wid just mi eyeball dem alone a move, so try your best to jook out mi yeye dem now. Concentrate.” He gouged out his eyes even wider, daring her to try her best shot. He wheeled his wrist around doing the come here motion to her to get her closer.
“Come. Dweet. Try jook dem out.” Marj didn't budge. Just stared. He sweetened the offer and said,
“Come nuh. Quick. Mi a gi you three try.”
“Really Bert? . . .Really? . . .I’m not having this conversation with you. Why you’d have mi around the stove in the mornings if you could fry the eggs with your eyes? Why you didn’t fry the eggs and sausages this morning with your eyes then? Why Bert? Why?”
Bert craned his neck forward and closer to her face.
“You hear mi seh mi can fry sausage wid mi yeye?”
“But you just said that a while ago Bert.” Marj felt the urge to pee, but she held it.
“Egg mi seh. EGG! Bay Egg!” He was right. He didn’t mention anything about sausages or frankfurters. He went almost into a fit frustrated at her liar ways,
“Deaf ears gi liad trouble.”
"Why didn’t you fry the eggs with your eyes then?”
“Marj, get some sleep. You sound like a mad woman. How on God’s green earth mi fi fry egg wid mi yeye, eeh? You a mad likkle girl?”
Marjorie slammed both hands on the glistening countertop.
“It’s you who are getting mad, you Bert, You! You the one claiming you can fry eggs with your eyes, not me.”
"No Marj.” He was calmly shaking his head disagreeing politely like any British would to casually refuse a cup of tea offered to him. “Mi never seh dat. Mi never seh a thing. Mi not even did mention the word egg to you. God kill mi right yahso if mi a tell a lie. A hungry you hungry?”