Oliver Benjamin
APPENDIX D – Dragon’s Mouth
Boom, clap, the waves are still talking but now I’m sick
and tired of whatever they ever said or ever will say.
JACK KEROUAC, Big Sur
How to recapture, how to relate, the crazy enchantment
of these Ethiopian days?
EVELYN WAUGH, When the Going Was Good
After doctors at the Montego Bay hospital removed Roy’s stitches, he
moved down to Treasure Beach, one of the few areas which weren’t
overrun by mass-market tourism. It wasn’t that he liked Jamaica so
much, in fact he was growing to hate it, it was just that he found
himself unable to move. At this moment he was paralyzed by yet
another glorious sunset. His eyes reddened as the sun hit the water
with a hiss.
“Coffee please,” he said to the waiter, “Nescafé.”
“Instant? Why you no wan’ de Blue Mountain coffee? It’s de
best.”
“Nescafé,” Roy repeated, “And put a shot of your shittiest rum in
it.”
A stoned hippie at a nearby table said, “That stuff will kill you.”
“I’llkill you,” Roy replied evenly. The hippie shut up. The waiter
returned. Roy took a refreshing sip of dehydrated, reconstituted
chemical approximation enhanced with yeast crap. Darkness fell. He
sat there staring at the great splashing bay in front of him, the only
authentic drink one could count on in this world. Seawater.
“Blue Mountain High Import Company?” the foreman had said when
he arrived at the plantation, “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of them. They’ve
been closed down. We’ve got a legal action pending against them.
Seems they were selling some cheap blend and saying it was ours. Is
that who you were buying from?” He laughed openly at Roy.
Now he sipped the last dregs of the instant and stood up. The
restaurant was empty. He paid his bill and strolled down the dirt
path that led to a small seaside bar. It was a fine, balmy night but he
didn’t care about the weather. He no longer held his powers of
discrimination in high regard. He drank himself dumb and barely
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