Rule of the Bone (23 page)

He didn't recognize me obviously, on account of me having changed physically so much since I was five and he looked slightly irritated like Evening Star'd interrupted his nap or something. He was incredibly tall, at least to me he was and skinny but with a good build just the same and he had a long brown-haired ponytail and a diamond stud in his left ear and he was wearing these loose tan shorts and sandals and a fancy white shortsleeved shirt that was silk or something. He was all tanned too like Evening Star only on him it looked like he'd gotten it naturally and not from sunbathing on purpose although I could tell in a second he was one of those guys who thinks about their looks a lot like ol' Bruce did except my father was much more normal-looking than Bruce. Plus he obviously had major bucks, being a doctor and all.

He goes, What can I do y' for? and then looking around the room he caught I-Man in back and he says, That I-Man? Yo, Rasta, wussup? Respect, mon. Everyt'ing irie? talking pseudo-Rasta like Evening Star which made me wince a little. But it was cool that my father knew how to do it.

Everyt'ing irie, I-Man said and went back to studying the picture of the lion like he was playing a video game.

Well, what about you? he says to me. Evening Star tells me you're here to see me. Do I know you? he says looking down at me now and giving me the big once-over. Evening Star was lounging behind a ways leaning against the banister and taking occasional draws on her fatty and nodding her head to the beat of the music in the background and shuffling her feet in a little dancestep with her eyes closed and suchlike. Really
into
it.

What's your name, kid? he asked me and he took out a pack of Craven A's and lit one.

My name's Bone, I said. But . . . but it used to be Chappie. Chapman.

Oh? he says and he lifts his eyebrows like he's made the big connection but doesn't believe it yet so mainly he's suspicious. What's your last name? Bone. Bone what?

Just Bone. But it used to be Dorset, I said. Same as you. He held out the pack of cigarettes and I took one and he lit it for me and I saw that his hand was shaking which was a good sign, I thought.

Okay. Dorset, he says. Same as me. Well, does that mean we're related?

By now Evening Star'd picked up the drift of our conversation and came over with her eyes glittering and the dogs were excited too like they could read her mind. I decided then just to say it straight out and let whatever happens happen, Jah's will be done et cetera so I go, Yeah. We're definitely related, man. I'm your son.

His mouth dropped and he goes, My
son
! Chappie? He says,
You're
Chappie? like maybe he expected some six-foot All American dude instead of a short skinny scabby-kneed kid in a doo-rag and tee shirt and cutoffs.

But he grinned, he actually looked happy to see me and he said, Lemme see you! Lemme see what you look like, for Christ's sake! and he pulls off my doo-rag and studies my face for a second and keeps on grinning like he's actually ecstatic to see me now which relieves me a lot.

Evening Star says, This is so
cool
! This is so wild! and the dogs are jumping around and grinning too and I-Man has come over and has his old amused pursed-lip smile back like he'd arranged the whole thing and is pleased it's all working out so nice for everybody. There's a heavy Bob Marley song booming from the poolside speakers, I Shot the Sheriff, and some guy is hollering, Cynthia, Cynthia, watch this! and I can hear the diving board thump and a big splash.

My father put his cigarette into an ashtray and took mine and did the same and then he placed his hands on my shoulders. He held me away from him and looked into my face like he was looking into his own distant past and his eyes filled up.

Then he said, Ah, Jesus, Chappie, thank God you've finally found me, son, and he pulled me against his chest and hugged me hard and my own eyes filled up but I didn't cry because even though I knew that from now on everything was going to be different I didn't know in what way so in the middle of the moment that should've been the happiest moment of my life so far I was scared instead.

He stepped back and caught my crossed bones and he said smiling, What's that?

It's a tat. A tattoo.

Lemme see it, he said and he drew my arm toward him and turned it over like a mainliner looking for a vein to shoot. That's because of the name? Bone?

Vicey-versie.

Then he dropped my arm and looked at me from way up there and he laughed. Ah, you little devil. Yeah. Yeah, you're my son all right! he said and he hugged me again.

After that there was a continuous flurry of activities you might say, except when my father had to go back to Kingston to work as a doctor which he did three or four days a week. Instead of calling the place Starport I named it the Mothership on account of how Evening Star ran it but only to myself and I-Man because nobody else up there seemed to have too good a sense of humor about the scene, not even my father. There were all these lost animals Evening Star took in, like dogs and cats and goats and birds. Plus the people who I called the campers. I-Man didn't know what campers were so I had to explain but it got lost in the translation I guess because he still didn't get it.

Mostly though the campers were from the States, the white ones at least and the females and the rest were Jamaican dudes who were hanging mainly for what they could get out of the Americans who were like these artist types and older and compared to the Jamaicans rich. The really rich one it looked to me was Evening Star. I think she was like an heiress and the Mothership'd been one of her family's estates and she paid for everything, I noticed.

When my father wasn't there the campers pretty much ignored me, even Evening Star so I could lurk in the background so to speak and check things out on my own with I-Man. Except for the three or four little kids from the neighborhood who did yard chores and ran errands for tips the Jamaicans were natties, these good-looking young dudes with starter dreads and terrific builds most of them walking around barefoot in only loose shorts that sometimes showed their units and making out on the couches and suchlike with the white American women and I suppose hooking up with them later. The females were like middle-aged but generally pretty hip and good-looking and I guess single or else their husbands were still back in the States making some more money or something. There were usually two or three of them, different ones because whenever Evening Star'd drive one down to the airport to go home to the States she'd come back with a new one to replace her or a few days later a taxi'd drive up the hill with one. The natties more or less stayed the same. It was a little weird to see older women acting like that and I could actually understand the natties better since they were mainly into hustling anyhow, Jamaica being such a poor country and all but the whole thing made me want to puke sometimes.

It's hard to explain. I usually don't give a shit what other people do so long as it's what they want to do. But it was like the white American females were into young black guys and were probably scared of hitting on a regular black guy from the States who would've known where they were coming from and would've told them to fuck off so instead they hooked up with these black dudes who were basically permanently broke and didn't even know anybody they could steal off of for a living. I could tell the females felt superior to the natties, plus they could fly back to the States whenever they felt like it and live a regular life but the natties were stuck here hustling forever.

Rent-a-Rastas, I-Man called them but I think he was pissed more because of the way they pretended to be followers of Jah like him and went around Rasta-rapping all the time about Babylon and Zion and one love and suchlike to impress the females, than because of them selling themselves so cheap. They weren't exactly skeezers, those guys but when you thought about it if they were their price tag was too cheap. That's what bugged
me,
I think. Like they got to hang out around the pool and smoke a lot of free ganja and all and snort some coke and listen to reggae on boss speakers and I guess for a Jamaican the food was pretty good at the Mothership because Evening Star liked putting out these awesome meals on the porch every night with candles and everything and they got to have sex with white women, but that was about it. No actual money changed hands. People who have to sell themselves ought to be paid in cash is what I think.

Me the campers treated like just another neighborhood kid except when my father was around and suddenly I became the little prince. They handled I-Man though like he was a movie star or something due to him being a real heavy-dread Rasta-man from the olden days especially Evening Star and the natties who thought I-Man'd hung with Bob Marley and Toots and the Wailers and all which he probably did since Jamaica's such a small country and back then in the seventies there weren't that many real Rastas anyhow except for Bob and Toots and the rest of the Kingston reggae posse. They'd like ask him, I-Man, did you really
know
those guys? and he'd say, I-and-I an' Ras-Bob, we be like brudders, mon. Toots-him, Toots be cool too. I-and-I an' Toots an' Bob, we be schoolbwoys togedder, mon. Then he'd go all dreamy like he was remembering the olden golden days in the ghetto so you couldn't really tell, plus nobody'd push him very hard on the subject I guess because everybody even me wanted to believe we were hanging with this cool dude who'd been almost famous.

In general I-Man chilled and ignored the poolside activities on account of having to meditate a lot and not being into any of the females but when he came around and joined the campers at the chillum pipe which he did on a regular basis they'd all deal with him like he was Grandfather Dread full of Irie wisdom and in a sense he was. He was into it too, I could see. He'd talk the talk and walk the walk. They'd come up and check out his awesome Jah-stick and a couple times one of the natties reached out to touch the lion's head on top and got zapped just like the Delta Airlines lady in Burlington which really busted everybody's brains when it happened and made them go all wide-eyed and respectful although by now I knew from checking it out at the ant farm once when he was sleeping that he'd just planted these tiny sewing needles into the lion's head where the whiskers were and on the tip of each of the ears that you couldn't see unless you got real close and he'd like move the stick a fraction and stick you good with one of the needles and you'd think it was Rasta magic. To me it was a joke but I didn't say anything. I just made like I was used to magic from I-Man and touched the Jah-stick whenever I felt like it because you could avoid the pins easy if you knew they were there.

Basically though for I-Man the situation was cool because he got to sell a whole lot of weed to the campers and their friends, so much that he had to make a trip every few days back down to the ant farm for more. Plus I think he'd started using the resident natties to do some dealing in the neighborhood so for him it was like setting up a branch office. For me it was okay too at least for now. I liked Evening Star quite a lot mainly because she was my father's old lady but also she didn't ignore me as much as most of the others did and asked me questions like what was my sign and so on. Plus she let me help with the cooking since from living with I-Man I already knew quite a bit about how to make Ital food, the main kind of food they had up there except when somebody came in from the States and brought a lot of what she called goodies that they couldn't get in Jamaica like special canned hams and salamis and once even smoked oysters the same as I'd learned to enjoy during my days holed up with Russ at the Ridgeways' summerhouse. I-Man of course didn't eat any of that stuff but the natties'd all join in in spite of Rastafarians not being allowed to eat pig or any animal that comes from the ocean and doesn't know how to swim, which is smoked oysters to a T. Also other good things like crabs and lobsters. People sitting around eating ham and oysters and suchlike'd send ol' I-Man into a funk for days and he'd diss everybody for it especially the natties and then go hole up in the back of the livingroom alone in the dark with his arms crossed over his chest and like glower so I always ate the deaders in secret even though I myself never made any great claims to being a Rasta-in-training and didn't have any image to protect. I just did it to be kind.

My father came and went a lot and the deal was I'd help out around the Mothership for room and board when he was gone doing chores like the kids from the neighborhood and then when he was back at the Mothership him and me'd work hard at being a real father and son team going places together and talking about the past and all. It wasn't like we went fishing or played baseball or anything cheesy like that, he wasn't that kind of dude and I wasn't either. It was more like he took me into Mobay in the Range Rover to score some coke off a guy who ran the Holiday Inn and another time we went out to Negril to do a money deal with a Jamaican real estate guy where you exchange American dollars for Jamaican money at a different rate than at the bank and he explained how this sort of thing worked which was pretty interesting and all in case I ever got my hands on some American cash.

He was cool but he wasn't what you'd call a normal father. He didn't want me crashing with him in Kingston he said because he was gone all the time and the apartment was only a one-bedroom but I figured it was a girlfriend. He was the kind of guy who'd have one and Evening Star was the kind of old lady who wouldn't give a shit as long as she didn't have to deal with her in person and my father was too smart for that. I asked him about doctoring and he said he worked in a hospital in Kingston but didn't seem to want to talk about it particularly so I didn't push it. I guess it was like he'd done in Au Sable at the clinic when he was an x-ray expert under false pretenses and had gotten my mom to cover for him. He'd done a lot of trampoosing since he left Au Sable and he sat up late sometimes with me and I-Man out on the porch when everybody else'd gone off to hook up, telling us about his travels to places like Florida and Haiti.

One night he even apologized for abandoning me back when I was five. It was your mother, he said. If it hadn't been for her I'd've never left you, Bone, he said. I liked it that he called me Bone when he knew he didn't have to. Those days I'd've let him call me anything he wanted. He could've called me Buck.

My mom'd wanted to throw him in jail for nonpayment of alimony, he explained and he knew if he was locked up he'd've only ended up ruining not just his own life but my life too because A, there was no way he could raise any money while he was in jail anyhow and B, he knew I'd have to grow up in a small town where everybody'd look down on me because my father was a jailbird, so before my mom and the sheriff could bust him he'd fled the country. He said he'd planned to make some money elsewhere so he could send it to me later like in secret but he was never able to figure out how to get it to me without my mom and the sheriff knowing. And there was no way once my mom got married again he was going to send her money so she could just hand it over to my stepfather who was a pure piece of shit. All these years, he told me, he'd been like waiting for me to come to him on my own. And now I'd done it.

The Mothership was huge like a hotel with all these bedrooms on the second floor and there was a small empty one at the end of the long upstairs hall that Evening Star gave me for myself the first night that had two beds in it. The very next day my father and I got my stuff from the ant farm including my old stuffed woodcock and the classical CDs which I still hadn't played and I moved in there more or less permanently and I-Man shared the room with me when he wasn't down at the ant farm himself loading up on fresh weed or traveling around the countryside setting up branch offices or dealing it himself. Most of the rest of the bedrooms up there were for the visitors from the States and whoever they happened to hook up with, plus there was the poolhouse that had its own bedroom and kitchen and then a couple of cabins they called cabanas out in the woods by the garden that people slept in.

Evening Star and my father who I'd started calling Pa by now so's not to call him Dad like I did my stepfather slept in the master bedroom which was downstairs in back. They had like their own bathroom and a private screened-in porch and everything back there but they didn't really sleep together like a married couple since Pa was a night owl, probably due to him liking coke so much and Evening Star was an early-to-bed early-to-rise kind of person which is generally true of people who're into weed but still want to be in charge of things.

Usually after a long day of slightly criminal activities with Pa and a night of father-son talk with him doing most of the talking and me most of the listening I'd go up the wide center stairs around two or three in the morning and crash. I-Man'd already be snoring but I'd still be wired especially if I'd had a taste of Pa's coke so for hours I'd lie there listening to Pa walking around downstairs in the kitchen or playing old seventies tunes like the Bee Gees on the stereo in the livingroom until finally I fell asleep myself. Then real early the sun would wake me up since my room was on the east side of the house and no curtains and I'd hear Evening Star down below running the vacuum cleaner and washing dishes and emptying ashtrays. I was starting to wonder when they ever got it on.

This one morning after the sun came up I couldn't fall back to sleep so I came downstairs and over coffee me and Evening Star got to talking in the kitchen about my sign which is Leo the lion and seemed to impress her quite a lot due to how the Rastas always talk about Haile Selassie being the Lion of Judah and all. Your astrological
sign,
she said, is your
entry
point to the universe. It's the place where y'all step off the
astral
plane, darlin', and land on the
planetary
plane, and that's why it determines your character and your fate!

Yeah but there's about eleven other signs, right? Twelve in all?

That's
right
! she said all excited.

Like fucking duh, I'm thinking. But I go, That means one-twelfth of all the billions of people on earth have the same sign as me, okay? Millions and millions of people all over the world and they're all like Leos, okay? With the same character and fate as me. Except so far like I haven't run into a single person whose character and fate're anything like mine. You know what I'm saying? Like maybe all the other Leos are living in China or someplace.