< Situations and Revelations of Passing Notice in Guyana >
Locket #9
Whenever I visit my uncle the first thing I always notice is the Grundig
radiogram sitting in his living room. If you don't know what that is, it's
a radio receiver, with a section for playing old-time records, with a
turntable and a handle and needle. A boxy cabinet on four legs which my
uncle dusts with a rag to keep the surface shiny.
I try to keep his mind diverted, otherwise he would start telling me
again about his father who preserved it over the years.
His father was a radio man, from back in the 1950s. The Grundig
radiogram had a special place in their family house furniture. His
father could never imagine the day things like cell phones would be
invented. He wanted this radiogram passed down from generation to
generation.
Since my mother showed no interest, Uncle was trying to get me to
take it. One afternoon he showed me how it worked. The radio part
had a knob you turn to find a station. It spins through static and babble,
picking up then losing signals.
"German technology. Best in the world. No other radio does produce bass
like this," he said, the first time he switched it on. "You hear that? You
hear that deep, rich bass." I really couldn't tell the difference even
when he turned up the volume.
I told him I would think about taking it. In the meantime he should keep
it at his place until I got older, and he was getting ready to pass on. I
meant it as a sincere promise. "I intend to stay alive till I dead," he
shouted at me.
His father might have been a Grundig radio man, but in fact Uncle was
a Sony radio man. He has a Sony transistor, a portable, looking real
grubby from years of handling. It was his main source of listening
pleasure. His father must have been really disappointed when he
switched to Sony.
He liked the sound of the treble. "You hear how clear the voice sound?
Clear as bird tweet. You don't get that sound from the things you young
people carry about. With the earpiece screeching in your ears."
He would sit out on his verandah, his spectacles a little twisted, the
flimsy antenna pulled right up, listening to people talk ̶ cricket people,
BBC news, people arguing about life in this country. His days arranged
to rise and rest in order. That is how he is.
Since his wife died, he thinks the bank is the best place for his money.
Refuses to spend it on "foolishness". Wears the same clothes washed
and pressed; and always happy when I showed up at his gate (he calls
me 'beautiful dreamer'). He gifts me a book on my birthday and at
Christmas.
"Tell your mother to come round and visit next time. She always sending
you instead," he'd say. I told him he could always jump on his bicycle
and come visit her.
^ ^
My mother started showing interest the day Uncle announced he was
going to New York. Spending two weeks there with some old school
friend. "You know what?" she said, "You could bring things for me when
you coming back. Travel up with the suitcase half-empty, and bring back
things. I'm making a list."
I started thinking: maybe he could bring something back for me, like
the latest Samsung phone. I promised to read the last book he gave me.
I showed him my old phone and explained how it worked. He didn't even
own a phone. As far as he was concerned people on the road with
phones didn't know how precious life was. "Walking and talking like
phone conversation is some new energy food." (I laughed, that was
really funny.)
Still, I suggested he take my phone with him. He could call his friend
from the NY airport. Speak to him from inside the plane.
He said he liked the text messaging part. "It's like writing short letters,"
I explained. "And you could stay in touch with us on your way to the
airport. In case of emergency? Like if you miss the flight and need
to contact Georgetown."
We tested sending messages to my mother's phone. That really
impressed him. All of a sudden he was a modern man, about to step out
in the world with the latest technology. Some old people might sneer at
modern stuff, but gift them something like the phone, see how fast
they get addicted.
^ ^
Uncle's addiction was clear on the morning of his flight. My mother's
phone start receiving messages as early as five o'clock. She couldn't
understand what was happening. I explained our arrangement. "This
is no emergency message he sending." She told me to delete everything
when he was finished.
The messages streamed in one after the other. I could hardly recognize
Uncle as the sender. I took the phone and went to my room.
Message #1: Arrived safely [he meant at our airport]. Four hours before
the flight. Sun not even up yet. Giving myself time to get through, then
sit back and rest. Standing and waiting now in a short line. Nobody at
Check In counter.
Message #2: Mass confusion in the lobby area. Two buses arrive with
passengers from a flight cancelled last night. Bags like crapaud all over
the place. More than one line heading now to the Check-In counter.
Message #3: Ah moving up, ah moving up. I nearly drop the phone.
Message #4: No progress to report. Man with a jacket on his arm asking
to take my confirmed seat. This flight-cancel thing always happening.
He was a last night cancelled passenger, went back home to the Corentyne,
got no sleep, came back to airport. Says he MUST board this morning flight,
otherwise he will lose his job in New York. I told him, Sorry, buddy.
Yesterday was yesterday, Today is today.
Message #5: Time 6.30 a.m. Confusion and coarse language. That squirmy
fellow with the jacket on his arm now making a bumsee of himself. Lady
juggling a nice little baby that wouldn't stop crying. She say is somebody
else baby she holding, and that is why he crying. He want his real
mother. Everybody holding and crying now.
Message #6: Still waiting. I freezing into a statue from the legs coming
up. Drop the phone again, look like the screen crack. This phone does
feel uncomfortable in my pants pocket.
Message #7: Passenger in front of me told by surly officer to pay
Departure Tax. The man start one shouting: "This is ridiculous. Just
five more years, I done with this place." I didn't say a word. I tell you,
at any desk or counter in this country people does act real stupid. Two
comrades pointing guns at each other's face. Stupercilious and stupid.
Message #8: Time 8.30. Ah reach the waiting to board area. The one
plane outside the glass look like it shut down since last night. Don't see
any mechanics doing maintenance. They just announce a plane scheduled
to arrive from Trinidad now delayed. Hell of a situation. Good thing I
bring two boil eggs.
Message #9: Sad to say, still not on my way. Some people definitely
getting left back here today. I settling down with the good book. King
James, Psalms 11. If it wasn't for Psalms 11, I would still be in hospital.
[I asked my mother if Uncle had an operation recently, or some serious
health problem. She said she didn't know, and reminded me to delete
all his messages.]
At this point the messages stop. Either Uncle dropped the phone again,
or maybe this time he lost it.
Anyway, I had more important things on my mind. Like this boy who
thinks my buttocks in tight pants is the beginning and end of his world.
This "Janie gyal" still not ready to "go backdam" with him. Connection
incomplete. Later for his world.
Byrdee Klautky
Georgetown, Guyana
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 