The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

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?"