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Authors: Randy Boyagoda
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that a few had been used by street urchins and scavengers to collect broken gin and beer bottles for a priest reported to have been killed by a local warlord in a drunken brawl. This was a place that needed Americaâs prayers and investment. There were rumoured drilling possibilities. Natural resources were a terrible thing to waste.
V.
In time, the boys from town got their mascot to play soccer with them after his shifts. Bokarie proved to be very quick on the ball and had the footwork of a dancer. They delighted that he could knife between them, faking one way and darting the other, and then score with ease. Their fathers gutted and chugged their way around slopitch diamonds with beer coolers for bases. And Bokarie climbed up and over an infamously high retirement-home wall and returned an errant Frisbee one Saturday. He reached summer legend status.
A week after this feat and elevation, Jennifer took Bokarie to tea. He detailed his recent activities. His options for further community involvement were discussed and he was also given an overview of parliamentary democracy and campaign cycles. A soccer workshop was announced after their meeting, to be held in conjunction with a Little Caitlin Bottle Drive. Jennifer decided that it was still too early, too traumatic, for a full creek cleanup. Better to wait until the coming election date was set and then count back from there. Recycling would be a fit response to the tragedy.
The day was a great success and Jennifer took many pictures of the pink-shirted Bokarie bouncing soccer balls on his knees as he deked and danced the children around the pylons, shouting instructions and adjusting postures. Every child was given a set of pink wristbands for bringing a bottle. Parents wore proud seamed faces and inquired about personal soccer tutorials and cursed themselves for forgetting to charge video camera batteries. Cream soda was served. The town was starting to froth and overflow with its recent excitements. First that little girl, so tragically gone, and now this twisting, this turning, this chocolate-skinned newcomer. Dropped in from nowhere and kicking around town as if heâs always been here. A few of the old-timers even conceded that road apples could make for good fertilizer.
4
LICORICE WHIPS
I.
As instructed, Bokarie raised his hands to the ceiling and waited. Despite prior explanations of what this would entail, he was still a little nervous. He didnât like any of it, especially this strange man asking questions and measuring him up. He had been told that this was the necessary procedure. Searching hands closing in on his body. Professional interest in his height and habits. The outlay of cash. There were other suited men standing immediately outside the room where he was getting measured up. They were watching him and his escort, smiling with force, waiting to be of assistance. He wondered if he had been tricked in being taken here upon first arriving in the capital city, whether he had been made into someone elseâs turtle.
The surrounding music, muffled and martial, was interrupted by a loud voice charged up with gunpoint enthusiasm. As if, Bokarie thought with private knowledge, the speaker was using prepared notes not his own, and the words had to be delivered with impeccable vigour of voice or its owner would be made to suffer. Even the man writing information about Bokarie on a notepad paused and looked up at the interruption, though he must have been accustomed to such occurrences.
âAttention, please, ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, this is a red alert. I repeat: this is a red HOT alert! For the next hour, anyone who wants real savings on already low low prices is directed to visit the Home and Garden Department on the lower level. As part of our end-of-summer sale, all mulch and lawn ornaments on clearance are an additional fifty percent off! Hurry!â
Jennifer was standing outside the tailorâs room where Bokarie
V.
In time, the boys from town got their mascot to play soccer with them after his shifts. Bokarie proved to be very quick on the ball and had the footwork of a dancer. They delighted that he could knife between them, faking one way and darting the other, and then score with ease. Their fathers gutted and chugged their way around slopitch diamonds with beer coolers for bases. And Bokarie climbed up and over an infamously high retirement-home wall and returned an errant Frisbee one Saturday. He reached summer legend status.
A week after this feat and elevation, Jennifer took Bokarie to tea. He detailed his recent activities. His options for further community involvement were discussed and he was also given an overview of parliamentary democracy and campaign cycles. A soccer workshop was announced after their meeting, to be held in conjunction with a Little Caitlin Bottle Drive. Jennifer decided that it was still too early, too traumatic, for a full creek cleanup. Better to wait until the coming election date was set and then count back from there. Recycling would be a fit response to the tragedy.
The day was a great success and Jennifer took many pictures of the pink-shirted Bokarie bouncing soccer balls on his knees as he deked and danced the children around the pylons, shouting instructions and adjusting postures. Every child was given a set of pink wristbands for bringing a bottle. Parents wore proud seamed faces and inquired about personal soccer tutorials and cursed themselves for forgetting to charge video camera batteries. Cream soda was served. The town was starting to froth and overflow with its recent excitements. First that little girl, so tragically gone, and now this twisting, this turning, this chocolate-skinned newcomer. Dropped in from nowhere and kicking around town as if heâs always been here. A few of the old-timers even conceded that road apples could make for good fertilizer.
4
LICORICE WHIPS
I.
As instructed, Bokarie raised his hands to the ceiling and waited. Despite prior explanations of what this would entail, he was still a little nervous. He didnât like any of it, especially this strange man asking questions and measuring him up. He had been told that this was the necessary procedure. Searching hands closing in on his body. Professional interest in his height and habits. The outlay of cash. There were other suited men standing immediately outside the room where he was getting measured up. They were watching him and his escort, smiling with force, waiting to be of assistance. He wondered if he had been tricked in being taken here upon first arriving in the capital city, whether he had been made into someone elseâs turtle.
The surrounding music, muffled and martial, was interrupted by a loud voice charged up with gunpoint enthusiasm. As if, Bokarie thought with private knowledge, the speaker was using prepared notes not his own, and the words had to be delivered with impeccable vigour of voice or its owner would be made to suffer. Even the man writing information about Bokarie on a notepad paused and looked up at the interruption, though he must have been accustomed to such occurrences.
âAttention, please, ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, this is a red alert. I repeat: this is a red HOT alert! For the next hour, anyone who wants real savings on already low low prices is directed to visit the Home and Garden Department on the lower level. As part of our end-of-summer sale, all mulch and lawn ornaments on clearance are an additional fifty percent off! Hurry!â
Jennifer was standing outside the tailorâs room where Bokarie
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