THE bright moonlight seemed to reach every corner of the small village of Silver Stream. The stream, which ran through the centre of the village, seemed to glitter in the brilliance it reflected. Dogs barked and howled, and night creatures were busy.Near the back of the village was the home of the Gouveia family. They were the only Portuguese people living in the village, which was predominantly inhabited by peoples of East Indian and African descent, and those of mixed African and East Indian descent, commonly referred to as ‘Douglas’. Everyone knew everyone, so there were no conflicts.

Paul and Beatrice had been living in Silver Stream for four years. They had one daughter, Mary, and were expecting their second child. Paul was a minibus driver and Beatrice an accountant; they lived simply, but happily.
One good thing about the Gouveias was that they loved to plant; their yard had an assortment of trees and vegetables. At the back were the coconut, cane and several coffee trees, which were Paul’s pride and joy.
You see, Paul’s grandfather had planted the coffee, and spent plenty of time caring for it. Months before he died, he had hung a hammock in the shade of the coffee trees, and would spend most of the day there, reading or snoozing. After his death, the trees had been generally neglected.
The door of the small cottage swung open, and Mary emerged into the moonlight, making straight for the latrine. You could detect some urgency in her movement, as she made the last five meters in a dash. When she exited some twenty minutes later, she looked much calmer. As she strolled leisurely to the back door, her eyes traversed the yard, taking in every detail. It was beautiful in the light of the silvery moon.
Her eyes rested on the cluster of the coffee trees, and then her steps faltered and stopped. Someone or something was moving there. She peered, trying to make out who or what it was. Suddenly, she heard a loud rustling, which frightening herno end, and a tree shook as if being emptied of ripe fruits. She screamed at the top of her ten-year-old lungs and made it to the back door in Olympic-time speed. Once there, she ran swiftly to her mother, who was was charging out to deal with whatever the challenge was.
CRASH!
They both ended up in an untidy heap; Mary untangled herself and ran inside. Her mother followed, eyes flashing angrily.
“Why yuh screaming like a mad woman, girl!”
“A… a…a…jumbie under de coffee tree.”
“Nonsense!”
“Fuh truth; ah see it, and it moving ‘bout.”
“Show me!”
Now, Mrs. Gouveia was expecting her daughter to go with her to the source of her fear, but Mary was having none of it. She opened her eyes until they were large and round, set her jaws firmly, and refused to leave the sanctuary of the kitchen.
Beatrice sighed and headed out the back door to investigate. She thought that Mary had only succeeded in frightening herself to death. It must be a leaf or branch moving in the strong breeze. She stopped in the middle of the backyard and looked casually around. Nothing.
Now, Beatrice was forty-five, but kept that a closely-held secret: She was bigger that she wanted to be at over 200 pounds. Accustomed as she was to sitting at a desk all day, her movement had become somewhat sluggish.
SWOOSH!
Beatrice spin around! Nothing!
SWISH!
Beatrice pivoted the other way around. Still nothing!
RUSTLE! RUSTLE! RUSTLE!
Now all the coffee trees were shaking madly. Beatrice still remembers the jump to this day! As big, and as heavy, and out-of-exercise as she was, she jumped more than ten yards, and tumbled into the open door way. Mary shut it tightly behind her.
“See! I told you! Something bad outside, Mummy!”
Beatrice got up from the cold wooden floor and shook her confused head in amazement. There actually was someone or something out there. She peeped through a crack in the window-blind and surveyed the coffee trees. Nothing.
CRACK!
CRUNCH!
CRACK!
CRACK!
Someone or something was walking on the dry coffee beans and making the noise she was hearing. Beatrice grabbed Mary and retreated to her bedroom. They would wait it out there.
Paul came home after midnight, tired and frustrated. He had had a bad day on the road. Beatrice told him everything, and he listened and smiled. He would take care of this swiftly. Strolling purposefully outside, he set course directly for the coffee trees. He entered the shade and stopped. Silence.
Looking around, he realized how unkept the area had become. Dead leaves, dry coffee beans, and branches were scattered all around. He turned to go back to the house.
CRUNCH!
Paul froze. Maybe it was the sound he made walking on the debris.
He moved again
CRACK! CRUNCH!
This was not what he had expected. The noise was much louder that his lone footsteps.
CRACK! CRUNCH!
Paul was now officially scared. You see, after the last stop, Paul had pretended to walk but had frozen, with his feet inches from the ground.
He tried the trick a second time.
CRACK! CRUNCH!
That was enough confirmation for Paul. He took off like a CAL flight to JFK. Imagine his embarrassment when he rushed in and slammed the door shut behind him, panic written all over his face! This was quickly transmitted to the two people he cared about the most.
He had to go back.
Grabbing a torchlight and the Bible, he charged back to the coffee grove, and halting in the midst of the trees, he glared around him, daring anything or anyone to challenge him. Silence.
Paul smiled. He must have imagined it all. He turned around in a attempt to retrace his steps.
WHACK!
Something hit him across his back; it felt like a whip. He’d had a few from his grandfather, so the sensation was familiar.
PLY!
This one was across his legs. He turned angrily, swinging wildly at nothing.
“I not afraid of you! Get out of meh yard”
It was if a safely valve had been released. Lashes rained down from every direction, including above. Paul howled in terror and made a run for the door. Coffee pods, beans and branches assaulted him, hastening him on his journey. Now he was not ashamed to tumble into the back door, and have his wife shut it quickly behind him.
In his haste to escape the beating, he had dropped the torch and Bible. He would retrieve them tomorrow. He and his family retired for the night. There would be little sleep in that house.
Sometime during the early morning hours, Paul fell into a troubled sleep. He was asleep in the old sofa, when the lashes rained down on him. He put his hand up as a barrier and looked around for a place to escape. There was none. His grandfather was giving him one of the many trashings he had received during his lifetime.
”Dat is how you guh gat de yard looking!”
Paul’s brain reeled in confusion. “Clean up meh place…Or else!”
As suddenly as it had begun, the beating ceased. Paul came awake with a start. He now understood what had to be done.
The next morning, instead of doing the usual Saturday market shopping, the family cleaned the yard. Paul paid special attention to the backyard, and focussed on the coffee plants. By midmorning, all was done. The yard looked cleaner than it had for months.
That night, there was peace in the house. Next day, Mary announced to everyone at the breakfast table that she had spoken to ‘Grandpa Joe’. He told her he was he happy about the coffee, and could sleep better there. Paul understood. He made a silent promise to keep the coffee grove clean.
Written By Neil Primus