An encounter with a St Mary man back from The dead

The man leaned on a rock and picked at his scraggly beard. He took the cap off his head and fanned himself.

"Yes, man. If is never two ting, mi wouldn't stand up here talking to you today," he said. "True ting, man." A rogue fly buzzed near his ear and was promptly smacked away with the cap.

A car sped by on the narrow roadway in Castleton, St Mary. I was standing just a few feet from the road with Mr Bernard, a lifelong farmer who sells coconuts near the entrance to the botanical gardens for which the community is best known.

Now Mr Bernard is a friendly fellow, who loves having a good chat with just about anyone who passes by. When I first got to the area, he walked over to me, using a cane for support.

"Mi foot gone, man," he said, tapping his left leg. "Doctor seh it gone gone. It dead, man. But is so it go. At least mi deh yah same way," he smiled.

I asked him what happened to his leg. "Mi did dead, you know," he said.

I froze.

"Yes, man. Mi dead fi seven day. Coma dem seh," he shrugged.

I was quite relieved there was a non-creepy explanation for the death comment, but quickly stifled my chuckle, not wanting to appear insensitive.

DOING FINE

I asked Mr Bernard how he was doing now.

"Mi alright now," he said. "Is a strokes mi did pick up, you know. Mi fall down and mi don't know what happen after that. People seh dem find mi lay down and carry mi go hospital. Mi lay down deh fi seven day before mi get up back."

A chubby boy about 10 years old was running by. He wasn't wearing any shoes. "Missa Bernard!" he hollered, waving as he bounced along.

"Oy!" was Mr Bernard's reply. He turned back to me.

"Yes, man. So even though mi caan move fast again, mi still come out here come sell mi coconut dem and ting," he said.

Mr Bernard told me that he loves farming and has been doing it all his life. He went to the United States on farm-work programmes a few times over the years, but enjoys nothing more than toiling away on his own farm in the hills of Castleton.

"Mi nuh live far from here, you know," he said. "But you can't drive. You have to walk through the hills and ting to reach."

I asked him how he managed the trip with his troubled leg. He chuckled.

"Mi know di way, man! Fi mi foot dem know which part fi step," he said.

He told me that other than the time he spent overseas, he has always lived in Castleton.

"In fact, when mi get di strokes, is not even di first time dat mi fall down around here, " he said.

Mr Bernard recalled a summer day many decades ago when, as a young boy exploring the hilly terrain of the community, he fell head first out of a coconut tree.

He chuckled at the memory.

"Tee hee! Look at dat. Mi give thanks, though, 'cause it coulda worse," he said.

No other vehicle had passed since we stood there talking. I asked him if he was able to make a living just by selling coconuts there.

"Mi do what mi can, you know," he said. "But mi really do dis because is it mi love. Mi have mi children dem in town and one in Merica who don't leave mi out. No sah, dem don't leave mi out a inch." He tapped his chest.

"Into life, you have to look at what you have and just give thanks because it always could be worse. It always could be worse," he said.

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