Alvin, Kenny, Vickram and Sunil were a good working team. They were good friends and worked well together. They worked hard and drank hard. For the last three years they had been working with Mr. Hamilton making concrete blocks. They were efficient and business was great.

On Saturdays they worked until noon. After packing away their equipment they would drink, play music and enjoy themselves before going home. This was their happy hour. After all they had plenty of money in their pockets. Then Alvin died.
The man was in his mid-thirties and had never complained of being ill. His wife and two daughters were devastated. So were his friends. His funeral was a sad, moving affair. Many tears were shed.
The day after the funeral work resumed. But it was not business as usual. Something was missing. There was no longer laughter and friendly banter. Work proceeded in silence.
Kurt was the nine-year-old son of Mr. Hamilton. After school in the afternoon, he would come and chat with the crew. They were accustomed to him and humoured the boy. That is, until he began to act strangely.
It all started two days after Alvin’s funeral. They received a large order, so as was customary they stayed back and worked late in order to complete the job on time. Kurt arrived and chatted and played making his own little blocks and mounds.
Suddenly the child got up and walked to a tamarind tree in the back of the yard. He stood looking up into its branches. He then returned to the crew with disturbing news.
“Look something up in de tree watching we!”
It was just getting dark and the tired men were not prepared for this, especially so soon after the passing of their friend. The boy was so intense about it that they went to see for themselves. It was already dark and the entire tree was shrouded in deep shadow. The entire tree seemed to hold menacing dark shapes. They were so uncomfortable with this new development that block making was abandoned for the evening.
Next day work continued. There was an air of unease in the worksite because of the strange utterance of the boy. As they worked furtive glances were flashed at the tree. Nothing unusual was detected. They soon settled into their new working routine.
Then Errol joined the crew. He was fat, chatty, lazy and loud. As they worked he prattled none stop.
“Is how Alvin dead?”
“We ain’t know. De man jus fall down an dead.”
“He did sick or wat?”
“No! Dat man always wukking. He never sick out.”
Work progressed much slower than with Alvin. Errol was also a big eater. His child mother gave him lunch to take to work every day, yet everyday he would buy food from Ms. Dolly. His eating was almost legendary.
The Saturday after Alvin’s funeral, the crew decided to do something special in his memory. Instead of just drinking, they would cook and sleep over at the site. There were already four hammocks that were used whenever work was light or someone felt tired or sick.
Saturday turned out to be a blast. There was plenty of rum, vodka, cook-up, curry and roti and fried banga as cutters. Music boomed none stop and they ate and drank without reservation. By evening they were all drunk and filled to bursting point with food. It was a joyful crew that took to their hammocks that night.
Mosquitoes were on the war path. These insects were sometimes as big as houseflies but with an “attitude.” Sting after sting, swelling after swelling, nothing could wake the boozy bunch. They slept on.
Errol felt someone shaking him awake. He twisted sideways in the hammock and tried to go back to sleep. Again he was shaken. He pushed the hand away and back to sleep.
Ply!
Errol got a slap that made his ears ring. He sat up rubbing his cheek. A tall man stood at the foot of his hammock. It was dark and he could not see the face clearly. Thinking it was Mr. Hamilton, he decided not to cuss and get on bad.
“Good night skip. Tek a drink.”
He pointed to the liquor and the man helped himself.
“Yu got fo wuk harder!”
“Yes boss, a gon try harder.”
“Me friends dem can’t do most of de wuk!”
“A know boss.”
Errol was slightly puzzled by the last statement. Why did Mr. Hamilton call the others his friends? It was none of his business.
“Yu want some food boss?”
“Yes. I hungry bad. A ent eat since Monday.”
Errol pointed to the plastic container that still held plenty of food. His guest began to eat noisily.
“Yo got music?”
Errol nodded. He was becoming more and more suspicious. Music at 1a.m.? The man did not hesitate. He put in a CD and turned the set up. Music filled the small worksite. The booming noise slowly penetrated the deep sleep of the others. One by one sleepy heads popped up from the warmth of the hammocks.
“Why yu playing music now?”
“Boy da is Alvin favourite song. He like it bad.”
As these words registered with Errol things began to fall into place. Now he understood why the man sounded so strange. As he tried to focus on the face of the dancing figure, the man retreated to a darker area. Errol decided to be bold.
“Who is you?”
The others sat up and looked around. They saw the dancer in the shadows and their sleepy eyes lost all their sleep. Now, Errol had never seen Alvin but the others recognised him right away. There before their eyes was a smiling, dancing Alvin. He was dressed in the same white suit that he had been buried in.
When the others tumbled out of their hammocks screaming, Errol was the slowest to react. He fell heavily to the ground and hurt his knees. By the time he got to his feet, the other three were sprinting up the road shouting at the top of their voice.
“O Lawd Jumbie!”
“Alvin come fo we!”
“Jumbie Alvin!”
Errol had eaten much more than the others so even though his fear was as real as theirs, he could not move as fast. He trotted slowly onto the road running in their wake as fast as his supple body could manage. Then someone or something poked him in the ribs and a familiar voice gave him the speed of desperation.
“Boy why you so lazy!”
Errol increased speed.
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
The voice was coming from just over his shoulder. He could feel cold breath on the back of his neck.
Zoom!
Errol sped past the others and onwards to safety.

(By Neil Primus)