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NIGHT OF THE SLURRING
MAMPIES by Peter Dean Rickards
I don't know what it was
that made me look up from my dozing sleep that windy morning.
I remember being half in and out of consciousness. Somewhat
aware of my surroundings and still lost in a a dream I
was having about trying to sell the State Department a
miniature person I had found in my bathtub and captured
in a jar.
-"I won't take less
than 1 million", I told them , " ..and I ain't
talking about no rasscloth midgets either star! This is
a real three inch human I got here!"
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Suddenly, as I was about to close the deal for
a very reasonable $750,000U.S (plus stock options), my
nose detected a high rancid stench that was far too powerful
to be my imagination.
My eyes fluttered and
I opened them slowly, trying to adjust to the light. And
then I saw them.
The Mampies.
As they limbered closer,
the smell intensified.
Was that "Babe"?
No! It was "Charlie."
I raised my hand to my
face and rose from my plastic chair, hoping to ease past
them casually without being detected.
No such luck. In a second,
they were upon us, blocking off the only exit and eyeing
us all in a way that made me want to clutch my head and
scream!
And then, after what seemed
like an eternity, the one in the purple blouse spoke up:
"We
want some Red Stripes eh? You guys got any Red Stripes
and some pot?"
We all shuddered
but did what she asked.
Jamaica is a tough place,
but Mampies, well, you just don't want to mess around
with Mampies. Especially at two in the morning and especially
when they're armed with U.S dollars!
We fetched them drinks
and gave them a big pile of ganja. Then they plunked themselves
down at a table and proceeded to mash up some cigarettes
into the pile of weed and began rolling it altogether
into about a dozen pin sized spliffs that they slobbered
on and stuck behind their ears.
The natives were perplexed
but nobody challenged them. We had all seen the powers
of the Mampy before and nobody wanted to get them upset
and provoke them to start hugging us.
So, we dug quickly through
the emergency Mampy crate and retrieved that damn ONE
LOVE Marley single and some other crappy stuff that previous
Mampies had left behind: Rod Stewart...Alanis Morrisette,
and...(God have mercy on our souls) that Mambo Number
5 thing.
For a while, it seemed
to work. The Mampies sat quietly in one corner, talking
about cowboy boots and summers "up north at the cottage",
when we made the mistake of playing INXS. That's when
things turned really ugly.
"Whooo--hooo!!!!
I've got to let you know...I've got to let you knoooow...You're
one a my kind!!!"
It was dreadful
and we all scattered to one side as the smaller children
started to cry and ask if they were going to go to heaven.
There was
no doubt about it now, the Mampies had let loose.
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"Haha! I
am so fuckin' wasted Connie! Get some more Red Stripes eh?"
They started to
whip out US dollars and before we knew it, one of the natives
had fallen under their spell. We tried to pull him back but
his eyes had glazed over at the sight of the greenbacks and
he was now moving hypnotically into their clutches.
"Bloodcloth.
Whatcha star? Dem gyal probably never get a slam in all ten
years."
As the Mampies clutched the pole
and shook the roof, I managed to hide some of the little ones
in a cupboard.
-"Don't make a sound",
I told them as I hurriedly locked them inside, " this is
just a game and the winner will get his very own deportee Corolla
to run taxi wit."
Meanwhile, back
on the dancefloor, things had taken a turn for the worse:
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"This
is SO IRIE EH? You got any more Pot?!"
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"Wheee...Jamaica
rocks!You got another 8-ball?!!" |
Poor Winston.
They had him exactly where they
wanted him and it was scary. Especially when one of the Mampies
kept lifting up her giant blouse and flashing her her big
rolls of pale fat. It was full of varicose veins and flopped
over her zipper.
YUCK
In the panic, I glanced over
at Winston, still caught in their lair without any chance
of escape!
"Oh Bloodcloth
Star! Mi frighten now star! Run weh star! Run weh!"
But it was too late.
"Hey Connie.
I fuckin' love black guys!. They're so fuckin' cool. Fuck
Racism man! Fuck Racism! Woooooo! One fuckin love!!!"
Everyone just tried to keep as
still as possible. This was too much.
Too much for the senses.
The little children in the cupboard
could no longer stand it and suddenly they broke free and
tore out of the bar as if their clothes were on fire!
-"God help us!", they
cried as they fled into the Jamaican night!
And then, just when it seemed
as if things could get no darker, it did. The one in the purple
started to tell jokes.
Fuckin A'! So then you know
what the doctor says?! He says " Only in fuckin' Canada
eh?" Hhahahaha. Fuckin A' eh?
And worse...
"Pfffft.
Pffffft. Pfffffffffft...."
Look! I'm
a dickhead! I'm a dickhead! Haw haw haw!"
As she sat there
with the condom on her head, we took the opportunity to try
to drag away Winston who was still relatively unscathed. But
just as we got close enough, the Mampy tricked Winston into
thinking she was falling backwards and as he came closer, she
forced herself on him!
" Wooooo!
So is it true what they say about "once you go black you
never go back!?? HAHAHA!"
Not to be outdone, the biggest fattest Mampy
lumbered forward and after blowing some beer out of the blowhole
in the back of her neck, seized Winston who was completely paralyzed
with fear and totally helpless!
"Mmmm..you're
so warm. You wanna come up to my place and drill me till I'm
raw?"
Suddenly I felt
my legs start to move underneath me. All on their own; as if
the impulse to run was no longer the sole reserve of my brain
which was baked in a petrified funk!
And then...she looked at me.
Right at me.
And, for the first time in my life,
I found myself looking directly into a burning ring of FIRE!
"Hey. I
like you. You wanna come with us? I'll give yah $73U.S! "
That was all it
took.
I scrambled onto the top of the
bar and dove, using the top of her head as a stepping stone
before grabbing the rafters and vaulting myself out the exit.
I ran as fast as I could with the
sound of Rod Stewart following behind me in the chilled air
and visions of my life flashing fast before my eyes.
That night I hid in a Burger King
dumpster as the sounds of other Mampies scuffling around outside
made my blood run cold.
They were everywhere: stalking,
eating, dancing , cursing , spitting and sitting on everyone's
face in every hotel across the island.
As the sun rose over the horizon,
I opened the lid of the dumpster and looked around me. The Mampies
were gone. Asleep in their various corners...on top of their
victims or in pools of their own alcohol-induced vomit.
I dusted a half eaten Whopper off
my shirt and made my way back.
Wondering...
What the hell did they do with
poor Winston?
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