“Rashinda!” It was my sister calling me from the other end of the house. I could never tell if she was angry by the sound of her voice. I put my cigarette out in the ashtray and looked hard at the patio before going inside. My lungs were heavy and I felt light headed. I slid open the glass door and lazily made my way to the kitchen table at which Trecia was sitting. She was reading the paper and smoking. When I sat down she did not acknowledge me immediately. Without looking up at me she flipped through the pages of the paper and said. “Do you remember that crisis in Jamaica a few years ago?” I did, but I said nothing. “Moraganot was the man in charge of that.” I knew the name because that particular Revolutionary had been responsible for the cures to many diseases. Well that, plus my sister was dating him when she was in Africa. “I will tell you something about him that nobody knew: He loved the United States.”
I was not surprised. I had met the man maybe twice when I was younger and I remember him going on and on about how much he enjoys this or what an impact that has had on him. He was a kinder gentleman. I opened my mouth finally, “So? Baseball and apple pie, what’s not to like?”
“No, no, no, he liked the system of America. He liked Democracy and Capitalism working like a well-oiled machine. He liked the ideals; the deep loathe and fear for Communism. You see? He could go on forever about the faults of communism and how much he hated it.” She smiled and had finally looked up from the paper to make sure I was still following her. I was. “When Moraganot trekked Europe to find eager young men to follow him to Africa, he was skeptical and afraid. Not knowing what fruits or toils his ventures may behold. Also, he had no real plan. He made his way into Egypt through the Suez Canal. His numbers had strengthened after passing through various countries in the Middle East. In the Mid East there is a lot to want to escape, such as persecution for religion, orientation, debt, general anarchy, but I digress. When he got into Egypt Moraganot met many people. He learned many languages and he witnessed many hardships. Now, there are a lot of stories as to what happened when he went through Eritrea, and Djibouti, and Ethiopia. Most of them revolve around some of his friends getting captured and he has to run into a prison facility armed to the teeth and shoot his way out. None of that is true. All along his trek through Africa members of his operation were captured, sometimes they were shot at just because they were a large convoy of native Africans. Some were saved, others suffered torture or death, and most people in the convoy had come o terms with that.” She paused and looked down.
I said quietly, “Did you?”
Trecia frowned, “Yes. I did.” She paused for a shorter amount of time then continued, “Anyway I can’t remember the exact number but the operation had grown strong. I had been talking to Moraganot the entire trip and I remember looking into his eyes for the first time in a while when we finally reached South Africa. I could tell that something had changed in him, and that he now knew what he wanted. So, when he told me was to set his sights on Jamaica, I knew he didn’t mean vacation. That is where we parted. He and his operation set sail and I went on about life in Africa.” There was obviously more to this part of the story than she was telling me; sweet goodbyes, tears, a ship disappearing into the sunset, what have you. I could tell by her face and she way she paused the story.
“What did you do in South Africa?”
“I will get to that another time but let me finish this.” Trecia smiled at me, “Many of the people in Moraganot’s convoy had become dear friends of mine. We stayed in touch and kept up to speed about the progress with Jamaica. There was a long period of time when I wasn’t getting letters or phone calls. That was when the scuffle was declared a war and Cuba, Haiti, and the U.S. all got on the Defense. Remember all of that?” I nodded; she continued, “It only took Moraganot three months to quiet the storm before something really awful happened. Then I get a letter from him and he is telling me all of the wonderful changes since his ‘regime’ took control; he is going on and on about the changes in the community and life was great out there. When I saw him next he told me of expansion plans; talking about how the East Indies were only the beginning.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember him mentioning something about that when he came and visited. Wait… wasn’t he killed?”
Trecia took a deep breath, “No he wasn’t killed he shot himself in the head.”
“What!? I thought you said he had it great down there.” I was speaking sort of loudly.
“It was. He had a fantastic life down in Jamaica, and all of his people loved him.”
“So what was the problem? Why did he do it? Was it a conspiracy?”
“A lot of people believe it was, but at the funeral, I ran into a dear friend of mine, Vesuvius.”
“Like the volcano?” I asked.
