Easter was here again. While some of us went to church and others did not, nothing stopped the conversations absorbed from listening to adults as they gathered to contemplate the Easter holidays. Since this was not about neighbourhood gossip with its references to people we knew and no “call names” could disguise, we were partially ignored. The topic was Easter and the Church.

And so it went on—with the argument of how, or if, there was a Jesus and, if he was crucified and died, then how did he arise?
The boys continued to sand the pieces of board given to them as weekend tasks—boards that would be part of some exotic piece of furniture when skilfully assembled, upon approval by Uncle Hubert, who was one of the carpenter shop’s training team—Father.
The youngsters did not participate in the argument of ideas about the fate of Jesus and his resurrection, which the adults were engaged in with varied views. Their world was also more locked into coins to purchase comic books, kite paper, Cousin Maud’s black pudding, souse and pone, and still have a few coins left to turn over to the matriarch of the family.

“I want to know,” whispered Ronald. “But is wuh Jesus do fuh get crucified?”
“That is something I always wanted to know,” replied Compton. “If yuh build up the courage fuh ask Father Bransfield, we might get an answer.”
Leonard responded, waving his hand as if brushing away the mystery that had been unintentionally directed into their world of boyhood earning, and said with a schuups! (suck teeth), dismissing Compton’s suggestion, “If he did know the truth about that, he woulda been a big shot in the church. I think he just like we—he ent know nutting.”

None of the boys were aware that the adults had stopped talking and were now keen witnesses to their conversation, with some surprise.
Hubert, the owner of the workshop, inferred, “Well! Well! The boys deh paying attention to things, fellows! Let us big people explain… First—Jesus wasn’t an old man, he was—” weaving his hand to cover his friends, “not like us—he was young but older than you all. That was what may have been his greatest problem.”

Mr Ogle followed, “He was a reformer—wanted to fix-up things like corruption, plenty thief-man priest and ting like duh!”
“Okay, suh—he couture pon de high priest and dem, and deh get vex. But wait—he lie pon dem?”
“No, son. He tell them to be truthful. Suh deh plan fuh destroy he and all he instructed them to do.”
“But Dad,” asked little Pumpkin, “why God ent save he from the Romans?”
“Well, all I can say is that he had to seh the important lines of truth that the scriptures said he said.”
“What’s that, Dad? Tell us.”

“We should not even discuss this with you,” he hesitated, “but yuh got fuh learn, that not all dreams are made on clear pastures.”
“You boys want to know? Well—number one is One: that the Kingdom of Heaven lies within us; meaning we obey it or we betray it. And two: ‘Who is without sin, pelt the first stone.’”
The boys shook their heads in agreement, possibly indicating that they understood. But the men knew that only with growth would they truly understand that the Easter story is a conceptualisation of human nature at its most tragic expression—yet it explains falling and the self-redemption of rising again.

De lamentables