Frippery snorted derisively and, for once, I had to agree with her. I couldn't imagine Harry going for a ride over my lap. Not in a million years.
"Maybe I thould hath married Raoul. He knew his plaith!"
Boner threw his head back and guffawed.
"Hah! Six feet under. That's his place, all right. That boy could never satisfy you. He was a mere prop to aid your writing process. You might be Domina Dark when you write your little fem-dom ditties but I know you're really looking for a dominant male. You just don't know it yet, you poor misguided fool. The mere fact that Raoul laughed his head off when you tried to whip his little brown bottom should tell you something. Shouldn't it, my sweet?"
Frippery looked as if she might explode with fury. Suddenly, she cracked Boner over the head with her twig.
"He wath a no-good thlave! And you are a no-good huthband! Jutht like my exth!"
His jaw set in determination, Will wrestled the branch out of his wife's wildly flailing arm and bent her forwards over a low wall. I began to almost get aroused, even if it was the Boner-Drippits. Frantically, Boner began to whip Frippery's bony little bottom as she howled in anger.
"Take that! And that! I'll teach you to misbehave. I've had to resort to spanking Heidi from the gym, you know, to assuage my needs! I didn't like being unfaithful but you left me no choice. I just can't lead a spank-free existence. I've had to spank the Avon lady and that fat little girl at the corner store. Not to mention a couple of bank tellers and…"
"Enough! I don't want to hear any more! You utter bathtard!"
It was Frippery's turn to retaliate. With a sudden Herculean effort, she threw Will off her back and picked up her fallen switch.
"Pig! Monthter!"
"Stuck-up Pollyanna!"
I decided that enough was enough. A little marriage guidance was obviously the order of the day and I began to muse upon a devious plan. Leaving the terrible pair to thwack at one another in frustrated frenzy, I sidled around the perimeter wall of the mission until I reached the front entrance, then nonchalantly strode off down the track to the beach.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE JOYS OF PARENTHOOD
The capital of St Kitts is Basseterre, and the centre of Basseterre is The Circus. It is supposed to be styled after Piccadilly Circus in London but I have never been able to see the resemblance. Instead of the statue of Eros there is a clock tower, a memorial to an illustrious former politician. The clock often shows the right time twice a day.
The Circus more closely resembles a French town square than the London meeting of thoroughfares, and given the French colonial history of St Kitts that is hardly surprising. Here four or five streets meet and so does everyone on the island. The Circus is the centre of Carnival (immediately after Christmas, just to be awkward), and it is where taxis breed. A yellow telephone attached to a telephone pole is the hotline to the taxi rank. It sometimes rings but is seldom answered.
The bars and restaurants of The Circus are conveniently arranged on the second floors of the buildings. I sat at a balcony table in Ballahoo to watch the world pass by while refreshing myself with a cold Carib. Carib is a Trinidad beer, but the best Carib is brewed in St Kitts. It has something to do with the softness of the water. The Circus Grill across the way was packed with refugees from the cruise ship being serenaded by a soft reggae duo.
Below me taxi drivers played warriwarri and dominoes. A smart young lady in an official looking t-shirt swept litter into a wheelbarrow. A dog slept in the middle of the road where the shadow of the clock tower lay. I took a long pull at my beer and leaned back. Harry Neptune was at peace with the world.
Now, did I really expect that to last?
"Daddy!"
I looked round hastily but the ecstatic cry had come from the square below, not from my shaded eyrie. All the same, I pulled my Panama down over my face before peering over the paint-peeled wooden rail.
Captain Ahab stood in full uniform at the entrance to Ballahoo. I could not see his face beneath his cap, but the set of his shoulders looked distinctly defensive. He appeared to be looking around as if for a route of escape.
"Daddy!"
Surely the first cry had been from a girl? This sounded more like a boy? And the first had been from below, while this one was from across the square. The intrigue factor was rising. I waved for another beer and settled down to watch the fun.
"Daddy!"
"Daddy!"
A small girl in a red floral frock ran out of the shadows and clung to the Captain's leg. Across the square a boy about the same age with a puzzled expression on his face stared at the Captain from under a Miami Dolphins baseball cap.
"Daddy?"
A woman appeared behind the boy. She was dressed in a brightly patterned frock with a deep cleavage, shaved head, and a frown.
"Daddy?"
Another woman put in an appearance, this time below me. I recognized her as my waitress. She wore a short black skirt and white blouse, and long braided hair.
Captain Ahab tried to shuffle away, but the little girl hung onto him fiercely. The waitress grabbed him by the arm and swung him round to face her.
"Why dat boy say Daddy? Who he?"
Shaved Head strode across the square and stood in front of the Captain with her hands on her hips.
"Why dat girl say Daddy? Who she? And who dis trollop in de fancy clothes?"
The small boy had followed her over and now he picked up a fistful of fallen leaves and threw them at the Waitress.
"Trollopy! Trollopy!"
Ahab tried again to back away but by now he was surrounded. The little girl retained her grip on his leg and gazed up at him seraphically. The small boy, not to be outdone, stopped yelling at the Waitress and grabbed Ahab's other leg.
The little girl glared at the small boy round Ahab's uniformed leg and tugged. The small boy glared back and tugged as well.
I had heard stories from ancient Greece of execution by teams of horses running in opposition directions whilst attached to the limbs of the victim, but this was the first time I had seen it in action. Ahab did a creditable impression of a turkey's wishbone at Christmas and with an anguished cry collapsed to the ground. The two children collapsed as well and started crying.
Shaved Head and the Waitress looked at each other and solicitously helped the stricken Captain to his feet. Shaved Head brushed the back of his uniform and the Waitress brushed dust off the front.
Suddenly Shaved Head grabbed both Ahab's arms in hammer locks. The Waitress ceased brushing, drew back her fist, and landed a blow Cassius Clay's daughter would have been proud of in what must have been his solar plexus. Ahab would have fallen despite Shaved Head's grip on him when the one-two uppercut landed on his jaw. He shot bolt. I heard his teeth click together and wondered who his dentist was.
"Why dat child say Daddy?" demanded both women simultaneously.
Ahab gasped but could make no intelligible sound. The women realized it would be a while before he made sense and shoved him into the old British red telephone box on the street corner. They closed the door and leaned on it. The two children reconciled themselves to the situation and started searching for ants to insinuate under the door.
The Waitress started.
"T'ree year ago, Carnival." The stress on the last syllable betrayed her Jamaican origins. "He marry me here in St Kitt' on Boxin' Day."
"Four year ago, CropOver." Shaved Head was clearly from Barbados, the stress now on the penultimate syllable of the annual Bajan festival a dead giveaway. "He marry me in Bathsheba on de beach."
"An" after de weddin' night I never see he again!" they chorused as one.
The two women contemplated the imprisoned Ahab, beating on the door made immovable by a rope the children had thoughtfully wound about the telephone box.