2.2 Isla de Los Varados
“Look! Do you recognise that girl?” Murry cut in pointing at a group of joggers running up, “She is Amelia. Damn! She’s stripped to her briefs!”
“Concha!” uttered Half Tone, “But when did she remove her headscarf?”
“A month ago,” said Asmr who knew everything about girls, “she decided not to wear a head covering and turn immoral. She belongs to the Soleimani.”
“Immoral!” cried Murry, “I think it makes sense!”
The Soleimani were 15th century settlers on this island before the English conquered the land. I belong to them. There stood an 18th century mosque in the old town of Safa, a mile south from the Hook of Caba. I live in Safa. The Hook of Caba is a piece of land that extends towards east like a cape known as the uptown in Point East. This mosque was haunted for ages as far as I could remember but now some followers of faith resumed prayers in the realm of growing radicalism. The Safar Kada Mosque, last time I saw, stood covered of creepers to the domes and grass grown tall in the lawn. Religions were disregarded by state law for almost three decades in the headship of Mayor Brando though not entirely banned. There are lots of beautiful churches and temples in Azul, around Salt Waters of Caba and towns of Fresco, Mercado, Florina and Nectar. Los Varados was colonised by the Protestants in the 17th century.
“Look at those legs!” deliberated Half Tone and babbled, “A neat pair of legs packed for ages in tight fit leggings and in a flash exposed in the eye with a shine on the shins. That blows my mind!”
“She is wearing massage oil,” added Murry, “that gives the shine in the sun. She is so skinny! I can’t believe it’s her! I’m fuse blown!”
Two joggers in Amelia’s group wore headscarves and cheeky tight shorts for jogging. They passed in front of us and Jokey enunciated, “You can still define the tone of skin around her face where she pulled off that headscarf.”
“Yeah, yeah…” echoed Half Tone.
“Look at those wobbling bums! Must be a mushy pair to jiggle like that on every step!”
“Upper legs are more bleached,” uttered Simon.
“Yeah, yeah…” and he cackled breaking down in half, “What did you say?”
“You guys are crazy!” I couldn’t define any such toning but she was an attractive girl. More attractive than the bathers in the water in bikinis with swelling backsides looking ugly.
I was shocked to notice a looming structure in the rays of the sun; a building under construction and it was there all the time. That place belonged to Miss Sophie Nadz and I knew so much because I grew up by the corner in the opposite lane. She was one wealthy and educated lady. I heard she was currently holding a post of a deputy minister at the Ministry of Education.
In the late nineties and early eighties, when I was a kid, Sophie Nadz’s mother called me to come and watch the television. I remember sitting on the carpet among a few neighbourhood kids and watching Charlies Angels, Six Million Dollar Man, Starsky and Hutch, Hawaii Five-O and even some educational stuff for kids like ‘The Sound of Music’ and ‘Raid on Entebbe’. Oak cabinets, whatnots, shelves with books; encyclopaedias. She wasn’t Soleimani and I don’t know her religion. I knew their ancestors came from a Lebanese-American descend.
There were several rising buildings on the island and the heart of the city crowded of folks and congested of houses. Since Mayor Brando opened doors for settlers from all around the world, it is getting crowded at a rapid pace. My mother was a settler too.
“Alright, I’m going to get your cool,” I said.
“Hang on! Kawla! You are a liar!” Murry grabbed me instantly, “Check his shorts!” Jokey drew my shorts and Half Tone seized my legs. They stripped me bare.
“You never wear an underwear!” uttered Murry.
Jokey found a small packet hidden in the hem of my shorts, “Got you!”
“That is not mine!” I cried.
Jokey ran with my shorts and I ran after him on the promenade elevated a metre above ground. While the joggers were running towards us, Jokey ran pass the girls and I had to go after him swinging my dick. Jokey jumped down and ran into the joggers and I followed. He took a turn around the joggers and into the morning strollers.
I was squawking in a terrible voice, “Give it back! Give it back! It’s not mine!” I was oblivious to any form of indecency and knocking the strollers in my way. He threw my shorts to Murry who climbed the rocks and tossed into the sea.
Half Tone choked, “That little guy carries a massive dagger!” That was obviously true. “He reminds me of a pair of pliers plucked with a lock of hair!” There was lot going on in Half Tone that made him roll on the ground with laughter.
Meanwhile, the fire squad lined up to watch me run streak. They even passed remarks and quite direct, “The man is shaved in the frontal!”
Half Tone and Murry grabbed me on top of the promenade and lifted me. I still kicked my legs to run. “I am not getting in there!” I protested.
Half Tone could not help laughing, “Reminds me of a hairdresser’s scissors! Pull away from the hair, it still goes shearing like that, cut-cut-cut…”
“Get in there, Kawla!” ordered Asmr, “Get in and put on your clothes! You are a forty-year-old man!”
“You’ll pay for this!” I yelled.
Eventually, I dived into the waves and grabbed my clothes. I felt a shiver but not a pinch on the scratch marks on my back. They took away my packet of brown sugar. Now it belongs to them.
That was the only packet I got. I climbed my bike and rolled, taking a turn by the corner beside the building construction and slowed a bit passing several gates now standing on the façade wall of the place where I grew up. Several shops and garage gates aligned in a row and this area was unrecognisable. Formerly, the house I lived was built on crude walls, partially roofed and a lawn filled of white sand, called Blue Heaven. Less people around then and children chase one another playing touch on unpaved roads.
I can’t say who lives there in the lots nowadays. Why I am talking about this place – Blue Heaven! It is my father’s place and there is more to it.