Previously: Mercenary Leon fails a mission because of David, better known as the Prince of Wales. Socialite Wallis Spencer is also a spy. MI6 makes them a team. David becomes king. David abdicates, they marry and he becomes Bahamas governor. Leon dies and his son Leon becomes a mercenary.
Sidney didn’t take long to walk the winding road across the hills separating Nassau and the community of black Bahamians. By the time he reached the other side the road was a mere path and the houses reduced to shanties. Dogs roamed the area looking for scraps of food and occasionally fighting when another dog had found a juicy bone. Women sat in their front yards tending huge vats of boiling soapy water to wash their clothes. Wearing his ragged fisherman clothes, he fit in. On the right was an elderly woman stirring a pot of clam chowder with a delicious smell, reminding him of his mother’s cooking. He closed his eyes and thought back to when his mother was alive. He pulled a pence from his pocket and handed it to her. She nodded and filled a soup bowl and handed it to him.
He sat on the ground nearby and closed his eyes again so he could savor the aroma. Sidney pushed the thoughts of his mission from his mind to contemplate whether life in the hills over Nassau might be preferable to the life he was living. His meditation crumbled when he felt another body plop next to him. When Sidney opened his eyes he saw a young man grinning at him.
“I like you,” the boy said. “You’re the only one who has more holes in his clothes than me.”
Sidney cocked his head.
“Don’t mind me. I’m always making bad jokes. I think it’s better to laugh than to cry, don’t you?” When no answer was coming, he stuck out his hand. “They call me Jimbo. Who are you?”
“Sidney.”
“You ain’t from around here. I know all the boys who are scratching out a living. Your parents dead too?”
“Yes.”
“Where you from?”
“Eleuthera.”
“Oh! A Out Islander. You don’t have to worry about food then. You can go fishing.”
“My whole family used to fish,” Sidney offered.
“Did you hear the story about the fisherman who got ate by a shark?” Jimbo asked. “It was years ago.”
“It was my grandfather.” Sidney’s voice was hardly above a whisper.
“Oh.” Jimbo stopped in mid-gulp of chowder. “So that’s why you don’t talk much.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sidney explained. “Fishermen get used to hours of not talking. It takes our minds off business.”
“You talk good. You get to go to school?” Jimbo asked.
“My father taught me.”
“So, he went to school?”
“No, his father taught him.”
“The one who got ate by the shark,” Jimbo whispered as though connecting the dots of Sidney’s story.
“You don’t need a school to learn if you if listen and force your mind open to new things.”
Jimbo patted him on the back. “You need to meet Leonard Greene. You’re as smart as he is.”
Sidney finished his bowl of chowder. “And who is he?”
“He’s the leader of the Burma Road Boys.”
Sidney didn’t say anything but stood to return the bowl to the old woman. He considered how to learn more about the Burma Road Boys without acting too excited. This was his first lead on his mission, and he didn’t want to disappoint the organization.
“Is he the local preacher?” He chose not to sit.
Jimbo stood instead. “He’s more than a preacher.” He looked around as though checking who might be listening in. “Excuse me. I gotta give granny my bowl.”
When he returned, Sidney thought it best to change the subject a bit. “So, the chowder lady is your grandmother?”
“Oh no,” Jimbo replied. “That’s what everybody calls her. I’m like you. No relatives at all.” He motioned to Sidney to walk down the path. “That’s what Leonard Greene is. He’s like everybody’s father and best friend.”
Sidney decided it was best to continue appearing disinterested. “Where do you sleep? I gotta have a place to sleep.”
“A bunch of us boys have tents deep in the woods.” He pointed to the trees. “The bobbies come run us off every now and then to keep the Bay Street Boys happy. But we always find someplace else.”
“Can I sleep in your tent, just for tonight?”
“Sure. You can meet Leonard Greene. He’s holding a rally at our camp at sunset.”
The sun had just disappeared behind the hills when the camp began to fill with black men who gathered around a big fire. A tall man, dressed in a worn business suit, approached the group and gazed into their eyes. His wrinkled face shined with righteous hope.
“Did all of you work hard today?” Greene’s deep voice resonated around the camp and through the trees.
A discontented grumble arose. Sidney was sure they were all saying no.
“No! You may not have earned a single coin but you worked hard! You worked hard staying alive, keeping hope alive, defending your dignity so it’s still alive!
The negative rumble turned positive bit by bit.
“I guess you’ve heard there’s a new boss man down on Bay Street along with the rest of the rich white boys,” Greene began his speech. “It’s called the American Pleasantville Corporation. Don’t that sound nice? Don’t that sound friendly? And it’s going to create a heap of jobs for all you men and boys out there. Don’t that make you happy? They’re going to hire 2,500 of you to build two British air force bases south of Nassau and Grants Town. You know where that is, don’t you?”
A chant rose up. “Burma Road! Burma Road! Burma Road!”
“That’s right!” Greene replied. “The meanest plot of scrub brush God ever did put on this earth! And they’re going to use your muscle, your sweat, your blood to pull those thorn-infested bushes out so they can build a runway for all those pretty airplanes to land.” He paused to wipe his brow with his handkerchief. “But you don’t mind that, do you? You’re proud you can work hard, ain’t you? That scrub brush ain’t nothing to you, right?”
“Right! Right! Right!”
“But what they’re not going to tell you is that they’re going to pay you only part of what white men get for the same work! And the light-colored folks, who happen to have a white daddy and a black mama, they’re going to be paid more than you!”
“No! No! No!”
“You know the pretty pink building downtown where the government is run? It’s the representatives in that building who decide it’s all right to pay black folks less. And who elects those representatives? The white folks, not you!”
“Not me! Not me! Not me!”
“And why is that? Aren’t all men supposed to vote?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“So why can’t I vote?” Greene pounded his chest. “Just because I’m black! I’se a man too!”
“I’se a man! I’se a man! I’se a man!”
Sidney, not understanding why, joined in.
“I’se a man!”