By Neil Primus

CARLOS had a ‘Big Ben’ bicycle. It was one of the oldest cycles in the village. He liked old things, so he took good care of it. The bike was always in tip-top shape.He lived in a sprawling village surrounded by sugarcane fields. His was a farming community; their crop was sugarcane. Most of the villagers worked at the nearby sugar estate. Carlos rode everywhere he went; he even rode down to the city. This took two hours, but he enjoyed the long ride. According to him, it was very good exercise.
Another thing he loved was rum. It was in one of the village’s many rum shops that he spent many late nights. His wife and children would chide him about his drinking habits, but this did little to convince him to stop.
Many a night, he could be seen weaving a wayward wobbly course for home. If riding was too difficult, he would get off the bicycle and push.
If pushing proved too difficult, he would abandon the old bike and stumble home. He never feared losing it, because it was the only such bike in his village; and as far as he was concerned, it was the only such bike in the world.
MOONLESS NIGHT
Late one dark, moonless night, Carlos drank enough for two drunken men. He decided to head home before he drank to the point of oblivion. Getting on the ‘Big Ben’ was his first challenge. He fell twice, but got going eventually. He went hither and thither along the dark road.
Rain began to fall, and he was soon soaked. The wind picked up, and now he was trembling and cold. Then he hears an unusual sound coming from the dark roadway he had just passed.
Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! (BOLD THIS)
He looked back and saw a man riding towards him. The man passed close to him, and he noticed the nice, shiny cycle.
“Good night,” Carlos said.
The man smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.
“I like your bike,” Carlos ventured.
“Me too,” was the cool reply.
“It’s a three-speed cycle, right?” Carlos enquired.
No reply.
“Looks in fine condition.”
The owner smiled, and passed Carlos.
Carlos looked at his retreating back, but got a terrible shock. Right before his two startled, drunken eyes, the man and bike disappeared!
JUMBIE JOKE
That was when poor Carlos realised he had been socialising with a ‘jumbie’.
Fear took over, and rum retreated. Carlos began to mash pedal like mad. His ‘Big Ben’ became a flying comet.
Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! (BOLD)
The sound was coming from the road behind him. This time, he did not look back. All he left behind him was dust on the lonely dark stretch.
Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! (BOLD)
The sound was closing in fast; Carlos increased speed.
Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! (BOLD)
It was getting uncomfortably close. The old man hit high gear; he was now flying along, fuelled by alcohol and terror.
Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! (BOLD)
“Like yuh want race meh?”
The voice was right beside him, and he could see the shine on the bike.
GRAVE ERROR
Carlos dug deep and gave one great burst of speed. He was moving so quickly that his drunken brain could not keep up. It was only when he had flashed past his home that he realised his grave error.
Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! (BOLD)
There would be no turning back for him. He kept going. It took a while for his foggy brain to realise that there was no more ticking behind him. Now, it was stopping that presented the next immediate challenge. He came to ground on the soft green lawns of the church.
His bike hit the bridge, and came to an abrupt stop. Carlos couldn’t. He went sailing off the ‘Big Ben’ and over the fence, in a dive that would be the envy of even the olympian, Michael Phelps.
He landed in an undignified heap near to the steps of the old church. He stayed down, groaning in exhaustion rather than pain.
“Yuh *?#! lucky yuh in deh in de chu’ch yard or else!”
Carlos started to whimper.
Meanwhile, at home, his wife was waiting up, worried about him as usual. Suddenly, she heard a sound outside.
Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! (BOLD)
“Wow! Like Carlos buy a new bicycle!”
She jumped up and headed for the door to let him in…