Patrick the prankster
IT WAS a moonless night. Except for the single 15-watt electric bulb that allowed for poor visibility, all else beyond its weak glare was black, or, as my mum would say, “Black like Mary backside.”
The birthday party was in full swing when I got into a brief conflict with Joshua. We were friends for as long as I can remember, but yet he was always able to rile me easily. It was while the sweets were being handed out that he did just that.
My cousin, Elsa- the-ugly-one was about to hand him a few sweets, when he reached past her extended hand and grabbed a handful. She tried to stop him, and this sent the tray flying. It landed  with a loud clatter on the floor. In an instant, there was a melee as hands and feet competed for the fallen goodies. Joshua got into the act too. I was so surprised by the speed of the entire incident that I just froze. By the time I caught myself, the floor was ‘sweet-less’, and a few of the bigger kids had bulging pockets; the smaller ones stood around looking as dazed as I was feeling.
One person caught my eyes. Two pockets bulging with booty; his mouth churning; and the delight on his face left no doubt that he had enjoyed it, and may have even designed it by his actions. This was too much for me. I had missed out on my favourite treat and knew that that was all there was to come. Walking through the other kids, I stopped in front of him and punched him in the teeth. A glob of toffee and spit with the first trace of blood flew from his mouth onto the floor, and he stood there watching me with tears streaking down his face and blood on his gaping mouth.
A group of babbling and giggling children crowded round enjoyed his discomfort and embarrassment. I turned away feeling satisfied with myself, and walked right into my Mum. She stood there, hands akimbo, glaring at me with a mixture of anger and shame. Suddenly, my ear exploded into pain as she grabbed one and strode from the room with me howling in her wake.
There was a roar of delight from the audience who seemed eager for this type of entertainment. I was hustled into my room and the door clicked behind her. Only thing was: She was in there with me. I knew what was coming and tried to explain my action. She ignored my lame excuse about Joshua knocking the tray from Elsa’s hand and scattering the sweets deliberately with his boots. No sign of mercy or hesitation showed on her face.
Obviously, she had already heard from Elsa who fled at the first sign of violence. I wondered what she’d do if she saw what was taking place now. Mum had trapped my legs between her own and held my head down with one hand. With her free hand, she was delivering some of her infamous flogging, with pauses to express her frustration and anger.
“Ah fed up talking to you now!” Whack! Whack! Whack!
“Yuh must hear; stop this fighting.” Whack! Whack!
“Yeah! Aah! Ah gon hear yuh from now.” Whack! Whack! Whack!
“Yuh always saying that.” Whack! Whack!
“Ow! Sorry fuh meh. Stop now, nah.” Whack! Whack!
She let me go, and the belt fell to the floor. She remained sitting on the edge of the bed looking at me with some exasperation.
“Boy, what ah gon do wid you, eh?”
With my butt on fire, I was desperately dragging it along the floor at the other end of the room, seeking some remedy for the pain and burning emanating from my rump. I kept my peace, knowing that any wrong response could mean a repeat performance. After a while, she got up and left the room, leaving me whimpering in the corner.
The party continued without me. The sound of laughter and frolic mixed with music from the old record player only served to make me feel worse. By now, most of the pain had subsided, and what remained was a dull throbbing ache, which, from experience, I knew would take a while to depart.
I looked out the bedroom window to the front of the yard and saw some kids run a little way pass the edge of light and then quickly back into its glow.
They were engrossed in the game, and nobody seemed to miss me. I began to feel angry and resentful. This was not fair. I had been wrongfully punished for defending the family honour. What was a man suppose to do?
It was already eight o’clock, and mum had distributed all the goodies. All that was left were the games and frolicking. As the noise level increased, the kids became more adventurous and made short darting runs in the dark towards the back of the house, and just as quickly withdrew in glee as though daring fate.
Standing at the window in the dark, I watched as they extended their incursions into the darkness. The next thing I knew, they were running freely and unafraid to the back, which was in total darkness. I had been secretly delighted at their timidity of the dark, but as this evaporated, my delight turned to irritation. I threw myself on the bed and contemplated running away. Nobody really loved me! Now I was feeling sorry for myself.
As I brooded alone, haunted by the sound of merriment outside, an idea began to take shape in my head. The more I mulled on it, the more I liked it. This was a way to get back at them for laughing at me and having fun when I couldn’t. A group of children ran pass my window laughing, as the catcher, who tried to tag them, chased after them.
This game, called ‘Catcher’, was my favourite. Someone is elected ‘the catcher’. Everyone else is given a chance to run, and then ‘the catcher’ goes after them, trying to catch one of them. Whoever is tagged becomes the chaser, and the game begins all over again. I had played it many times, and loved to be chased.
The idea that had formed in my mind began to recede, and I felt slightly ashamed of entertaining such an outrageous scheme. I drifted back towards the window and looked out, just in time to see the kids dash pass below.
The chaser paused at the edge of the light, in no hurry to catch up with the others. He reached into his bulging pocket and withdrew a couple of sweets, which he deftly popped into his mouth. His satisfaction was unmistakable; Joshua was the reluctant chaser. This scene destroyed any resistance I had built up against the idea of revenge.
Turning from the window, I walked to the closet where my clothes were kept and opened it. I reached to the end of the line of the hanger and took down my ‘altar boy’s’ gown, which I used to serve at mass twice per month or according to the rota at church. The use of the white gown tonight would have little to do with church, and most certainly would meet with the disapproval of the priest and his Big Boss up there. With a perverted glee in my heart, I clutched the gown and climbed nimbly through the window.
Sliding down the drainpipe, I alighted on the ground and crept deep into the shadows, where I threw the gown hurriedly over my head. The wind pushed at the gown, and it billowed out behind me. Feeling a bit scared, I was in two minds about my next move, when there was laugh and the sound of running footsteps. I stooped and watched as they rounded the corner of the house and headed for the darkness. Joshua led the way, shouting and daring the chaser to catch him. They were in a tight bunch as they approached my hiding place.
My mouth was dry with anticipation, and my stomach knotted and relaxed in direct relationship to my erratic and nervous breathing. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out directly into their path, hands extended like Christ on the cross.
The wind played havoc with the long sleeves, and the gown billowed out like the full sail of an ancient galleon. The flap, flapping of the gown, coupled with my pathetic attempts at making ghostly noises did the trick.
I am not sure whether they heard or saw me first, but the effect was beautiful to behold. Joshua was at the front and tried to turn while still moving in my direction. The others ran into him and they all fell in a pile of writhing hands and legs. Screams and howls reached out to the night skies, and panic ensued. It was marvelous, as though choreographed for comic opera. Bodies fled towards the front, leaving one person behind. Yeah! You guessed right!
Slobbering and slithering backwards on his rump, he made some gurgling, slurping noises as he retreated. His jaws hung agape, and crushed toffees and dribble oozed from his lips onto his shirt. I was  in ecstasy. The chaos out in front would have been worth seeing, but my thoughts were now on survival. I hastily disrobed and scaled the pipes on my return journey, a feat I had grown accustomed to by now. Stuffing the grown under my bed, I jumped under the sheet and pretended to be asleep.
Footsteps approached my door, and it was thrown opened. The light came on, and I threw myself into the full act of heavy slumber. I heard the door close ominously behind Mum, and I braced myself for the worst… again. She pulled back the sheet and sighed as though she had the world on her shoulders.
“I wish your father were here,” she murmured. “Why, Patrick?”
I lay inert, hoping she’d fall for it.
“Patrick!”
I turned over as I recognized the familiar danger signs in her voice. I looked away sheepishly and wondered why is it that I could  never fool her. She read me like a book every time. Glancing at my feet, I saw with some shock the evidence that had condemned me. In my haste to get into bed, I had forgotten to remove my boots. I was guilty as charged.
My name, as you know by now, is Patrick, and I am what my English teacher calls a mischief-maker. Whenever there is trouble, you could bet your life I would be smack dab in the middle of it. Somehow, I seem drawn to it like steel to a magnet, or it to me. Situations seem to develop wherever I go, and, with a little help from me, turn out to be quite amusing. In some cases, others do not share my sentiments, but… What the heck!
At home, I was the cause of tears, exclamations, disclaimers, colourful language and the recipient of regular thrashings. Despite all this, I could not stop myself whenever a tempting scenario arose. My Dad, who was my best pal, had died two years ago. Since his departure, I had changed. The only thing that seemed to interest me was having fun and playing pranks.
Two days ago, my Mum had chided me for hurting my sister. “You are ten years now, Patrick. It is time to grow up!” 
I knew from experience that I couldn’t do anything without her approval. I was thoroughly supervised and felt that growing up was out of the question. Anyway, I was in no hurry. I loved playing pranks, and I was pretty good at it, if I may say so myself.
Being the only boy, I felt responsible for my three sisters, even though one was a year older than I. We had a great relationship and plenty of fun. Occasionally, a little prank would sour our friendship, but that never lasted too long. I remember once giving them quite a fright. Mum and gone out and I knew she would be home late.
Joshua had come across from next door and we were sitting in the living room playing Ludo and Snakes and Ladders. I was down on my luck and had lost every game. Mind you, I am a sport, but all the games? That was unacceptable. On top of all that, Joshua was in one of his heady moods. His luck was running high, and he won game after game. He made fun of me, and my sisters joined in. As I continued my losing streak, a plan began taking shape in my distracted mind.
I got up and announced that I was going to visit my friend Brian who lived four doors away. They gave me a hot send-off, and I left with the taunts of ‘loser’ ringing in my ear. As soon as I cleared the gateway, I made a dash for Joshua’s gate, knowing that if I was detected, it wouldn’t seem unusual. Entering quietly, I sped to the back and hopped over the fence back into my own yard.
The kitchen was in darkness, and I had little difficulty gaining entrance. I was careful to make no sound that would give away my presence. Concealed in a cupboard, I began to make the most awful sounds my imagination and vocal cords could produce. I had no clear-cut idea what a ‘jumbie’ sounded like, but decided to make it up as I went along. The game was in full swing, and the sound of laughter and chatting was clearly audible. I redoubled my efforts.
As the noise rose above their chatter, the players froze and listened. The sound began again. All eyes went to Joshua, because he was the only boy, and he was expected to be brave and check on the source of disturbance. But he was having none of it.
They whispered to each other in fear and puzzlement, but none dared go into the dark kitchen. Suddenly, the sound reached a crescendo and it seemed to the listeners that a legion of ghosts was in the back of the house.
Abandoning game and house, they fled to the safety of Joshua’s home, with him at the head of the pack. There were screams of, “Jumbie! Jumbie!”
They crept back, with Joshua at the rear of the column. As they poked frightened heads around the doorway, there were exclamations of surprise and recognition of the source of the ‘jumbie’.
“I suspect it was you!” I tried to look puzzled. “Don’t pretend! You were de ‘jumbie’; you frighten we!”
My face reminded clueless. “What? I just came back from Brian; I don’t know what you’re talking about.” This bit of explanation did not make any impression on them.
“Ah gon tell Mummy when she come home, too.” This from my smallest sister, Marcy, who was now in tears.
“But I didn’t do it,” I pleaded, hoping they’d relent.
“Patrick! Inside! Patrick!”
It was Brian calling for me. Talk about poor timing.  Before I could react, Sandra dashed outside and returned shortly with a triumphant air.
“Brian, nah! You didn’t even go by Brian. Ah gon sorry fuh yuh when Mummy come home.”
That sobered me up.
Desperately, I tried to make up. I swept, washed and dried dishes, and was unusually well behaved. That time I got off. There were many other minor incidents — missing schoolbags, meat missing from the plates of those easily distracted by sudden exclamations like  “Look at that thing!”
But the one that I remember and cherish the most was putting a frog into Sandra’s hand. She had let out such scream that I thought it would surely kill the poor frog.
Racing to my other sisters, she blurted out my sin. They, in turn, screamed and dispersed, not because of her story, but because the frog was sitting calmly on her bosom. When she discovered this, she started shrieking and streaking.
I paid dearly for that transgression.