Abraham's Treasure

by Joanne Skerrett

  ‘I warn you boys. Now you have to come to the market with me on Saturday.’ She shut the door quietly behind her, not saying another word.

  Jerome looked at his brother incredulously. Why did he do this? Why?

  But James was smiling deviously. ‘A place where all the people in the world get together!’ He opened his arms as if delivering a present.

  Then it dawned on Jerome. His brother was right. Again. A place where all the people of their world got together was the market! And in the middle of the market was a tall, white tower.

  It was a relic from the past. The French had built it as a lookout tower but now it was just a historical orphan that held little relevance for most Dominicans. Tourists loved getting their pictures taken outside of it because the pockmarked, white limestone seemed so quaint in the tropical setting. But the tower itself had no use; it just stood there looking over the market like a bored, unpaid security guard.

  You’re a genius, he wanted to say to James, but instead he shrugged and said. ‘Lucky guess.’

  James shook it off, so happy he was that they were on their way to clue number two. ‘I bet it’s all the way up in the tower. You know there’s 500 steps leading up to the very top?’

  ‘Everybody know that. We learn that in social studies.’ Jerome was positively irritated.

  ‘I can’t wait. We’re getting closer! Closer to my million dollars.’

  Chapter 8

  The Carib Territory was usually very peaceful, except during the tourist season. But this was the rainy season and the only visitors who came at this time of year were historians or archaeology students, and scientists from the Volcano Centre, who came to measure seismic activity on the island. But the sounds of heavy dredging and excavating filled the air. A group of men hacked into the earth, sweating under a tireless sun. Julius Mackey oversaw the work and nodded, pleased. He pulled out his phone. It was time to let his brother know he had arrived.

  ‘Hello Julius,’ Father Mackey said. ‘I’ve been expecting your call.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t think I’d just leave it all to you, did you?’

  ‘It doesn’t belong to me. Or you,’ Father Mackey said.

  ‘We’ll see about that. I bought off the chief; I have exclusive rights to this land.’ Julius was confident and assured. He could hear Father Mackey breathing hard on the other end; he must have struck a nerve.

  ‘The Caribs, the Kalinago people as they prefer to be called…their land is very sacred,’ Father Mackey said.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Julius mocked. ‘Very sacred. And very rich from what I’ve learned. They fooled Columbus and his sailors, didn’t they? But they didn’t fool everyone.’

  ‘Julius, you’re going down a very dangerous road. Do you know the history of these people on this island?’

  Julius Mackey scoffed. ‘Of course I do! I know all about it. But that changes nothing for me.’

  ‘We have no right, Julius,’ Father Mackey said.

  ‘No right?!’ Julius bellowed. ‘Do you know that the business our family built for generations is falling apart? All the money is gone, John! All of it!’

  Father Mackey paused. ‘That still gives us no right to take back what rightfully belongs to these people.’

  Julius Mackey made a sound of exasperation. ‘This treasure’s been sitting around for over two hundred years, John. Two hundred wasted years. I’m not going to lose everything I’ve worked for in Australia and just leave our family fortune rotting away on this godforsaken island.’

  ‘Julius, please. You’re a good businessman, you will be successful again,’ Father Mackey pleaded. ‘You don’t need to do this.’

  ‘You don’t understand, John. Everything is gone. This thing is my last hope. Every last dime I own is going into finding this treasure.’ Julius Mackey sighed. ‘If you cared anything for our family’s name and honour you’d help me find this treasure.’

  ‘I can’t do that, Julius. Not knowing what I know.’

  ‘Spare me what you know, brother! I’m tired of your history lessons. They do nothing to solve my problems!’ Julius Mackey thrust the phone into a holster on his hip and surveyed the land around him. He was on his own again. When it came to their family it seemed that he was always the one doing all the fighting. His brother would be of no help. Well, that suited him just fine. He’d do all the work and reap all the reward. This land was his land now, no matter what his brother said. It wasn’t like he was stealing anything. He’d spend the last few thousand dollars he had wining and dining that Carib chief and that hadn’t even figured into the cost of the land itself.

  He would help the people once he found the bounty, he thought as he sifted some red dirt through his hands. Once he got his business back into the black he’d help the Caribs restore their land to its natural state. Right now, he had more important things to worry about.

  The sounds of shovels hitting dirt, pickaxes slamming at rocks and grunts of men hard at their labours were like a melody in Julius Mackey’s ear as he surveyed the work site from his shady spot under a tree. The sun reached down and laid hold to everything. The very earth seemed to cry out in thirst. The men who were causing the din laboured diligently, never even looking up at their golden adversary in the sky.

  Julius Mackey was growing agitated. No bank on the face of this earth would lend him a dollar. He wanted the men to work faster. If they could get this work finished in four days instead of five that would be one less day of wages.

  ‘Come on, men!’ he bellowed, his red hair flashing as he emerged from under the tree. ‘A little faster. The sun will be setting in just a few hours.’

  One of the men, a Kalinago, stopped to gulp some water.

  ‘You!’ Julius screamed ‘No one said you could take a break!’

  The man went back to work quickly. Julius turned to his assistant:‘Can you make them work faster? Do what you have to do!’

  This was his last gamble. No one could take away what was rightfully his, no matter what his brother said. See, Julius Mackey was a realist. When he’d first heard about the treasure he hadn’t believed it. His drunken uncle had told him about it one night while they regretted the failure of yet another business venture. Then he’d asked his brother about it and, true to his nature, his twin brother could not lie to him. The story was true; there was a treasure! Julius then made up his mind: He would find it and use it to restore his family’s fortunes.

  True, one could say that the treasure’s rightful heirs were born and bred on this island. But they would never find it! They didn’t have the brains or the resources. These simple-minded, lovely people needed someone like him to unearth the darned thing. It would be for their own good eventually. Why should he just give it all over to them?

  Chapter 9

  The Saturday morning sun barely broke through the mist that covered most of Roseau. It would be a steamy day. At five, Granny woke the boys and ushered them to the backyard where the piles of fruit waited. She waved away Mr Jean who usually carried the stalks of sugar cane to the bus stop, while Granny carried two heavy sacks of oranges, passion fruit and papaya behind him. Instead James carried the heavy, prickly sugar cane that were at least a foot taller than he, and Jerome struggled with a sack of fruit. Granny did not seem to be straining at all. In fact, she was singing cheerfully. Even though all of her hair was white she was still a very strong woman. They waited silently for the bus, too afraid to say anything to change Granny’s good mood. Hopefully, it would be a short day at the market. If the cruise ship was in port then there would be plenty of customers early in the morning before the sun came out in full force.

  While they waited for the bus, cars passed them by. Jerome did not usually feel ashamed of living in one of the poorest parts of Roseau or of not having a car but this morning, standing on the sidewalk with fruits and stalks of sugar cane wait
ing for the bus while cars whipped by, made him want to be somewhere else. Why didn’t they have a car? His father sent money from America every month. Why didn’t they ever eat at the restaurants in Roseau or go for ice cream on Saturdays like Edwina and other kids their age did with their parents? Why didn’t they have Nike sneakers and American clothes? Most times Jerome was successful at suppressing those thoughts but today he couldn’t. He didn’t know any other kids who had to go to the market to sell fruit with their grandmothers; maybe the kids from the country villages but no one from Roseau.

  Jerome looked up the road and recognised the big, white Toyota truck that belonged to Mr Warner, Dutchy and Sticky’s father. Mr Warner was the police chief so he was very rich and powerful; he was also nice and always offered Granny a ride whenever he saw her walking along the road. This morning was no different – but today Jerome wished Mr Warner wasn’t so nice. Mr Warner stopped the big truck at the bus stop and leaned his head out the window. ‘Ms Marcellina, you want a ride to the market?’

  Jerome could see Dutchy and Sticky sitting in the back seats pointing and laughing. His face and neck were on fire. He was filled with a violent hate and shame that he had never felt before. ‘No!’ he heard himself saying. ‘We don’t want a ride.’

  Granny started but Jerome interrupted her. ‘The bus coming.’

  Mr Warner shrugged and waved as he drove off. Jerome could still see Dutchy and Sticky giggling in the back seat. What were they laughing at? At him and his brother because they were poor? Stupid idiots! At least he got all As in school; they could barely read. Jerome spat on the sidewalk.

  ‘That’s not the bus,’ Granny said. ‘That’s a school bus.’

  Granny was right. The school bus slowed as it approached them. Jerome saw a familiar face peering out a window. It was Edwina’s. She waved, her usual cheerful smile shone and it should have brightened his mood as usual. But he didn’t wave back; he could barely meet her eyes. James waved weakly. The bus was full of staring, gossipy girls. The Girl Guides picnic! That’s where everyone was heading.

  ‘This is one of the worst days of my life,’ James groaned.

  Jerome shrugged. ‘It could be worse.’

  ‘How?’

  Jerome didn’t have an answer. He looked up the road and was relieved to see that this time it was indeed the right bus.

  By seven, the sun shone fiercely down and the heat placed a sheet of sweat on everyone’s skin. The smart housewives and grandmas had come and left early because they knew that the early bird gets the best fruit and vegetables before they are picked up, haggled over and manhandled by the tourists. The best pieces of fresh-caught shark, the best tanias and dasheen, still a little moist from the cool earth were gone. The ripest custard apples that you could open up and eat right there with the milky sweet juice running down your arms and into the crook of your elbow were gone. Yes, early was best. It was also the best time to catch up with old friends who’d been coming early for decades and decades. After all, going to the market was a tradition. Daughters who’d accompanied their mothers as children came now with babies wrapped firmly to their chests or backs to get their own fresh fruits, fish and vegetables. After eight, the market operated mostly for tourists and late-comers who either didn’t know or care about quality.

  ‘When do we go up the tower?’ James asked as he hopped from one foot to the other.

  ‘Stop hopping. You look like that crazy parrot Adam.’

  Granny shook her head at their chattering and looked at them as if they were a pair of speckled, overripe bananas. Sales had been brisk earlier as her regular customers came to get her best bunches of basil and mint and even now customers continued to come. She had sold most of the passion fruit and the bunched stalks of cane. Jerome wished the traffic would increase just a bit more because they could be sold out in one hour. There were more important things to do than make small talk with old people.

  They could stand it no longer. ‘Granny, can we go now? Please!’ James pleaded.

  Granny put her hand on her hip. ‘I warn you about your homework the other night. I tell you this would happen.’

  Mr Arrow, who had sold his corn and potatoes from the spot next to Granny for at least twenty-five years, laughed and touched Granny’s arm. ‘Marcellina, maybe they learn their lesson.’

  She sighed and shook her head. ‘Go. Go. Just don’t get in no kind of trouble.’

  The boys ran off, not really hearing anything beyond ‘Go. Go.’ They headed straight toward the white, limestone tower where a legless man sat on a cart outside the narrow entrance into the tower. He wore a dirty yellow shirt and crusty khaki shorts that revealed his two stumps.

  ‘Hello Mr Brown,’ Jerome said respectfully. The man nodded. He was Petra’s grandfather. His family wanted to take care of him but he refused to live with them or in the old people’s home; instead, he chose to wander the streets all day on his wheeled cart and sleep under verandahs at night. He was harmless but he smelled bad and it was always embarrassing to look him in the eye because he had no legs and was so dirty. He looked up at them. ‘What you boys going in there for?’

  ‘No reason,’ James said and held his nose. Jerome hit him hard on the arm as they stepped past Mr Brown.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t let him see you holding your nose. He’ll feel bad.’

  ‘Is not my fault he doesn’t bathe. There’s a river right across the street.’

  ‘He’s still a human being with feelings.’

  James shrugged. ‘So-rry. So, I should faint instead?’

  Inside, the tower was a bare dirt floor with a long flight of steps leading to the very top, where there was a lookout window. Where should they start looking?

  ‘Let’s climb the stairs,’ James said.

  ‘Why do all that work? What we looking for could be down here?’

  ‘It would never be that easy.’

  ‘Right. You know that for sure.

  ‘I’m climbing.’ James set off, holding on to the wall that supported the steps on the left. There were no handrails on the other side.

  ‘Be careful,’ Jerome called out as James scaled the steps quickly. Jerome pulled out a penlight his father had sent him last Christmas and scanned the round, narrow area. There really was nothing in here except for an overwhelming odour of pee, paper wrappers and a few cans littering the dusty floor. He walked around and looked at the floor; it was concrete but covered in dirt. The walls were limestone, dirty with some graffiti. He had an idea.

  ‘James, I need to get a big flashlight.’

  But James didn’t answer immediately. ‘James?’ He couldn’t hear his brother’s footsteps anymore. Jerome quickly ran to the steps and began to climb, holding on to the wall. The steps were narrow and with no other means of support he feared he could fall off the side and hit the ground. ‘James?’

  ‘I find something.’

  ‘What? Where you?’

  ‘Step sixty-eight.’

  ‘Sixty-eight? You counting?’

  ‘Stay down there. It’s like a puzzle. I think it start at the bottom step.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On the wall. Read the wall. For each step there are some words that end in a sentence.’

  Jerome took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘I can’t see; it’s too dim.’

  James sighed loudly. ‘We going to need a flashlight.’

  ‘I’ll go get one.’ Jerome ran out of the tower to the hardware store two blocks away. Thank goodness he had a few dollars in his pocket. He ran back quickly, as if Petra were chasing him.

  ‘You have it?’ James shouted from high on up.

  ‘Yep.’

  Jerome shone the light on the wall next to the first step but there was nothing. He climbed the second, third, fourth step and nothing. At the f
ifth step he saw it! The words were carved into the wall in a crooked script, some of it barely visible. He pulled out a notebook and pen and wrote it down, step after step. After a while he forgot his fear of falling off the steps so engrossed was he in unravelling this poem or clue, or whatever it was.

  ‘James, where are you?’

  ‘I think I figured it out,’ James called out from the top.

  ‘You write it down?’

  ‘Some. But it’s all in my head.’

  ‘We need to write down every word so we don’t forget.’

  ‘Why? We could always just come back and read it again.’

  ‘No. You never know,’ Jerome said as he diligently climbed each step and scribbled each word on his notepad.

  James sighed and brushed shoulders with his brother. ‘I don’t know if I understand.’

  ‘Shhh!’ Jerome followed the steps all the way up to a hundred. He definitely understood.

  At the top of the steps he wrote down the last word. He read it again. And again. Then it dawned on him!

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Jerome began to run down the steps as fast as he could. ‘We need to get out of here now!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get out of here!’ But before Jerome could get the last word out he felt a slight rocking under his feet and heard a rumbling from the top of the tower.

  ‘What’s happenin’?’

  ‘It go’n fall over!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get outta there, James!’

  Jerome was at step 41 and counting. He thought he had maybe only a few seconds before the tower crumbled in a heap. He didn’t want to be part of that heap. He held on to the wall even as the ground shook beneath him. The rocking was now stronger, more violent and he could hear screams from outside. The writing on the wall! He had to move faster! He could hear his brother calling out to him.