Screech! The case of the screaming radio

Everyone inside the small shop gathered around the radio. The antenna attached to it was broken and taped together in three different places.

A man who looked to be in his early 20s was given the unenviable task of trying to tune it properly, while the others grew impatient.

Even as he turned the knob left and right, the only sound coming from the radio was a loud, screeching noise.

Screech! Screech!

"Find di station nuh Claffy!" yelled a tall man standing at the back of the huddle.

The man fiddling with the radio mumbled something, then glanced up at a large clock on the wall in front of him.

"See it deh! It must done by now!" a woman standing next to him said.

"Low mi nuh!" the radio tuner retorted. "Yuh nuh see di sinting nuh good!"

Those gathered behind him said nothing, but the comment seemed to anger a rotund woman sitting behind the counter of the shop.

"Buh yuh bright!" she shouted. "Nutt'n nuh wrong wid di radio. Ef yuh nuh like it den tan ah yuh yard and use yuh owna radio!" she said. The man, perhaps wisely, remained silent.

It was early afternoon, and apparently time for a live broadcast of a lottery draw. People living close to the shop had come there to listen to the broadcast.

"Cho! Come wi go over Miss Ida," said the tall man, and with that, the group ran out of the shop.

Then, it was just me, the woman behind the counter, and the radio which was still making an annoying screeching noise, left in the shop.

"Beg yuh tun off di radio deh fi mi," the woman said. I walked quickly to it and searched for the 'OFF' button. I didn't see any, so I turned a random knob. Screech! Screech! The noise got louder. I quickly turned the knob back in the other direction, but nothing changed.

Screech! Screech! It was deafening.

"Ay, man!" the woman behind the counter yelled. "Mi seh tun it off, not tun it up!" she said.

I pressed every single button on the radio and turned the two knobs all the way left, then right. Nothing happened. Screech! Screech!

My only remaining option to prevent both the loss of my own hearing and becoming the object of the shopkeeper's wrath was to make a run for it. But just as I eyed the doorway, I heard a loud thud. Boop!

It was the large woman. She had walked over while I was in a mild panic and gave the radio one solid whack. With that, it went quiet.

My ears were now ringing from all the commotion.

"Is dat idiot bwoy come mash up mi radio, yuh know," said the woman, as she sauntered back toward the counter.

She said something else, but I couldn't hear it. The ringing in my ears seemed to be getting louder.

I signalled to the woman that I would be going outside. I needed to clear my head.

I stepped outside into the fresh Portland air. The sun was out, and there was a gentle breeze. I could hear the waves of the nearby sea crashing ashore. I walked by some vendors selling yam, vegetables and fruits by the side of the road. A man holding a piece of yam and a knife walked up to me.

"Any yam, boss?" he said. I had that morning bought some yam from a friendly old woman near the shop with the noisy radio. I told the man this and he nodded.

"So how yuh do?" he asked. I told him of the incident in the shop, but explained that other than the ringing in my ears, I was fine.

He asked me if it was my first time in Manchioneal. I told him it wasn't, but that it had been a long time since I visited.

"Yuh must come back, man. Yuh nuh see how Portland nice?" he said. I agreed.

"But next time yuh come, just stop here so first. Di best yam is right here," he said.

Where should Robert go next? Let him know at robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com