Chapter 36

Devon House

29 Hope Road, Kingston, Jamaica

The afternoon was muggy and sticky. The sun was trying its best to peek through the thick, rolling
clouds, but its best efforts were for naught as the clouds were entirely too overwhelming. The smell of
rain in the air hung ever so thick to where a person could swear they felt wetness drop from the sky
even if it wasn't at all. The grass that Arthur was casually walking across was wet and slick. The
wetness managed to cling to the bottom of his bell-bottomed brown dress pants. His matching brown
polyester jacket and vest clung to his chest which only caused the man to undo the top two buttons on
his black silk shirt to where his chest hairs were showing.

Where Arthur was marching to was a prestigious looking building which sat directly in the middle of a
ninety-nine acre stretch of land. The front courtyard was surrounded by a lovely menagerie of tall palm
trees and luxurious flowers. Yes, there was a driveway that led to the mansion, but it was filled with
fancy cars and limousines that made it nearly impossible for a person to make it through. Trekking
across the grass was Arthur's only and last resort. The two floor mansion he was walking towards was
glowing white from front to back. Flowing green plants hung lavishly on the front porch making it appear
as if they were growing from out of the house itself.

The second Arthur ascended the pearly white stairs that led to the front door he suddenly stopped dead
in his tracks to take notice of his shaking right hand. The man stared down at the appendage in
subdued wonder, trying to figure out what in the world was causing it to vibrate so violently and out of
nowhere. He himself was calm, but there was something uncanny about his pulsating right hand, like it
was aware of something he wasn't.

Arthur slipped his hand into his pants pocket before opening the door and allowing himself inside the
stately manor. Before he could even take two steps inside the aromas of food seized his nose in such a



pleasant way that the man desired a bite more than anything else going forward. He strolled across the
parquet flooring, clip-clopping like a horse in his brown dress shoes. Above his head was a sparkling
chandelier, while the splendidly decorated ceilings reminded him of something from a fairytale story.
From a nearby room he could hear a parakeet squawk and carry on as if it were under attack, while the
dogs outside began barking in the most insane manner.

Arthur just couldn't seem to take his eyes off of the environment that he found himself immersed in. For
him it was like taking a step outside of his own body. No, he wasn't bedazzled by it all, but just the fact
that he was visiting the place for the very first time seemed to bring about a swell of pride to his
existence. Even the pristine smell of the mansion itself seemed to settle his overactive stomach. From
one hallway to another were black maids and butlers carrying silver platters of food and expensive
alcohol from room to room. The chattering's of people caused Arthur to turn from left to right until he
was able to locate the direction of the commotion on the first floor. There was a wide open room to his
immediate right which was guarded by two well dressed, large black men. Just before he could reach
the room one of the men extended his right hand in a halting fashion.

"You go no further, mon." He said in a composed fashion as if he had everything under control.

Arthur stood before both men at that moment and simply stared them down. He looked at one and then
the other before taking a very slight step backwards and peering into their very eyes with his own
piercing, hazel-eyed glare. Both of the men stood with conceited looks on their faces for a few
moments before the appearance on their individual mugs suddenly took on a more worried, if not
dismayed manifestation. They both looked as if all the bravado they once possessed had all but been
sucked right out of them within a matter of seconds. Utter hopelessness seemed to engulf their very
beings. Then, like two men who had just lost the will to live, they stepped aside and allowed Arthur to
stroll right into the large dining room where a gathering of distinguished men and one woman were
already seated and eating.



They all carried on for a minute or so before finally realizing that something was out of place. Arthur,
who was steadily and patiently standing beside a portrait of Michael Manley on the wall, examined all
thirteen men and one woman seated at the expansive dining table staring right back at him with the
most dumbfounded expressions on their faces.

"See here now, who ya be?" One older black man stood up.

Continuing to walk inside, Arthur smiled and announced, "I be none other dan Arthur Bushard."

"How did you get past the guards?" Another black man asked.

"Your guards were very generous to me."

"You cannot be in here!" An older, British speaking white man stood up and approached Arthur.

"But you do not know my business here." Arthur plainly replied.

"Well then, be on with your business." The white man impatiently insisted.

"As I stated before, my name is Arthur Bushard. I originate from Negril, and I am very interested in
running for Parliament."

At once, every person in the room all burst out in laughter, all but Arthur, who remained stationery in the
middle of the floor with a gracious smile still stuck to his face.

"What, do you think you can just walk in here and run for Parliament, mon?" Another black man said
from the table. "It's not that easy."

Casually walking past the white man, Arthur remarked, "I assure each and every one of you dat my
business is very serious."



"So is ours, young man," the white man obstinately commented. "We are here having a nice, quiet
lunch."

"And yet, you are having a nice, quiet lunch while the PNP and JLP are still warring?"

Right then, every laughing person gradually calmed down. Arthur could feel the tension in the room the
deeper he wandered in. He knew he had everyone's full attention at that moment.

"What is your business here, sir?" Another gentleman asked.

"I want to make a difference in dis country."

"Wonderful, another dreamer," the white man snickered while turning and going back to his seat.

"A dream is only frivolous if de dreamer does not believe in it." Arthur rebutted. "For far too long dis
great nation of ours has seen violence and corruption of all sorts."

"See here, Parliament is not corrupt!" One man adamantly stood up from his seat.

"Den why become defensive, friend," Arthur questioned with a pointed finger.

"Let's hear him out." The white man suggested. "He obviously traveled a far distance just to state his
case. And we are a government of the people. Let the people speak."

Arthur continued to ramble around the table and room. "I am de son of farmers. My family was born
into de dregs of society, scraping up all dat we could to survive."

"You're telling the same story we all lived at one time, mon!" One man shouted.

"And yet, you are sitting here having lunch in the Devon House." Arthur turned. "Much like Devon, I too
have amassed a great wealth for myself. But unlike most of Parliament, I plan on putting my resources
to good use."



"How do you know we are not doing good by our country?"

Arthur turned a suspicious eye to the man and asked, "While de Prime Minister is in Canada, you are
here enjoying a splendid lunch courtesy of de taxpayers. It is well documented dat none of you foot
your own bill."

"You young jackass," a black man shot up from out of his chair. "How dare you come in here and—

"Sit down, Royson." The young, black lady seated next to him commanded in a cordial fashion while
keeping a steady eye on Arthur.

Blushing, Royson did as he was told and slowly sat back down in his seat. By then, everyone had
reclaimed their places at the table and listened.

"I am not here to accuse anyone of anything. As I was saying, I am from a modest family in Negril. We
saw all kinds of degradation and misery. We saw firsthand how humanity and all of its...paranoia, drove
us away. But as my family is all but gone, I remain to right de wrongs. To bring back a sense of civility
to a place dat never once saw it to begin with. I have traveled all over dis world. I have seen directly all
de beauty dat dis planet has to offer, and yet, it is my lovely Jamaica dat stirs me de most. When I was
but a pup, I and my siblings worked de cane fields for nothing at all. Our hands sore to de very bone. I
have lost dem all by now, and yet and still, I strive onward for my lovely nation."

"See here, this is all well and good, but you cannot just come in and entice us with some speech!"

"My friend, dis is no speech." Arthur turned to the man. "Dis is my soul I bear to thee. The gang warfare
dat is taking place all over dis grand nation is deplorable. I once knew of a young man. He was a very
troubled young man. All he wanted was to be free from de curse dat had befallen him. Little did he
know, dat his curse was his strength. Dat is how I see Mother Jamaica. Dis mighty nation is not hell on
earth, it is home. It is not a curse, but a stronghold. De young people of dis nation are in dire need of
direction, but the leadership is old-fashioned and out of date. Unable to connect with de current



environment. I am not saying just by me walking in here dat I can simply wave my hand and dis
country's woes will be gone. Dere is still a lot of work both inside and out dat needs to be done. But I
have traveled very far to seek de minds of dose who call themselves leaders not to judge me, but come
out of dis self-absorbed delusion dat they live in and take de time and effort to seek de minds of dose
who labor night and day for mere scraps."

"But we do care about our people!" One man contended. "It is not our fault that the youth are killing
themselves, or that people do not have a livable wage! There are many factors that—

Everyone, including Arthur, all paused and waited for the passionate man to finish. But once he caught
sight of everyone's blazing eyes staring him down he simply bowed his blushing face and chose to
remain silent.

"The excuses are long-labored and tedious." Arthur continued. "I come to offer solutions, not more
justifications. While De Queen is over in England sipping on tea and crumpets, we are here suffering
with gangs, out of control political parties and poverty. And yet, she claims to care."

"See here, sir!" The lone white man resisted. "I'll have you know that the Empire of Great Britain is one
of a humanitarian cause! Our Queen holds her constituents in the highest regard!"

"I'm quite sure she does, but what kind of monarchy rules from across an ocean?" Arthur asked.

At once, the white man melted his tense body back into his seat while the others glanced at him and
each other in the most leery fashion.

"So far all we hear from you are words." The man named Royson spoke up. "What solutions do you
have?"



"Pull back the veil of secrecy. Dat may work in de Americas, but we are not dem!" Arthur fervently
implored. "Show the Jamaican people dat you are with dem all de way. From the richest all the way to
the poorest. Dere is a clear cut reason as to why dey do not trust you, it's because your work is in de
dark. De people only see dis," he pointed at the table, "but dey never see the compassion. Mr. Manley
comes and he goes, but his passion for his people is but a whisper."

"You may want to run for Parliament, young man!" One man said aloud. "But you do realize dat such an
undertaking requires not only a viable commitment and de trust of de Jamaican people, but also a
considerable amount of money, do you not?"

Arthur turned and looked at the man for a second or two before smiling, "My friend, money is far from
an issue as it concerns me."

"Do you have any political experience whatsoever?"

"My experience comes from life." Arthur smugly remarked.

"You look as if you're no more dan 28 or 29 at best." One man sneered. "Your so called life experience
remains to be seen."

"Precisely," the white man said. "You just cannot come in here and present such claptrap to us like it
were a platter of bangers. You should have never even been able to get past the guards."

"Please, let him speak." The young and lovely woman softly pleaded. "He came all dis way to plead his
case, and if you all call yourselves representatives of de people, den listen to one of your people. Mr.
Manley, if he were present, would certainly hear his appeal."

The room grew incredibly stiff and quiet. All Arthur could do was stand in front of one of the windows
where the sun was glaring on his back and marvel at the young lady as if she herself were glowing like
one of the chandeliers hanging above the dining table.



"I am in your debt, my lady." Arthur bowed his head. "If I seem arrogant in my speech, den my
apologies herald me. But like you gentlemen, and lady, I am passionate about my country. What my
parents gave up long ago, I have embraced. Growing up destitute only gave me a deeper sense of
appreciation for de following day. If you only saw de streets in which young people dwell on a daily
basis. Needy mothers who only want better for dere children. Men who cannot provide for dere families
because of lack of work, den perhaps the consideration of a voice dat sees dis day to day would
possibly sway your opinions." Arthur then began to walk the room again. "I do not claim to be a wise
man, but I am a man who hears de cries of his people. A man who's heart is afflicted, and rather dan sit
around and wait for some great miracle to occur from a quote, unquote, pie in de sky, I am more dan
willing to do all dat I must in order to be not only de voice of my people, but also de leader dat dey so
desperately need. Even if it means my very existence," he gripped his fists as tight as he could.

Still, the room remained perfectly silent until Royson suddenly snickered sanctimoniously, "The
Americans have a name for people like you. They call them Charlatans." He then snickered, "Even
your English is disastrous."

Arthur could not only sense the haughtiness steam off of the man, but he could also hear his heart beat
faster and faster with the passage of every second.

Looking straight at Royson, Arthur replied in kind, "But I am still here before you, unimpeded, am I
not?"

Some jaws were closed shut while others were hanging to the table. Only the chirping birds from
outside seemed to bring a somewhat calming effect to an otherwise tense setting in which everyone,
set aside Arthur, was locked inside of.

Squirming in his chair, one black man sat and frowned, "Who...who are you again?"


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