OCHO RIOS IN THE AFTERNOON
The next day Jason and Ver walked lazily through the slightly busy streets of downtown Ocho Rios, if you could call it that, just a string of shops and stalls with handcrafts and tacky tourist souvenirs. The sun was hot. They had an arm around each other, and Ver every now and then leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Jason, look at this,” Ver piped up, pointing to a big painting of a doctor bird, the official bird of Jamaica.
“I wonder if he knows,” said Jason.
“Knows what?”
“That he's the official bird of Jamaica.”
“Don’t be silly!”
“Sometimes I wonder,” said Jason, “If those aliens buzzing around up there in their flying saucers, or whatever, don’t have a symbol of a human being on board.”
“For what?” she laughed.
“As a symbol of stupidity and intolerance.”
“Only you would think of something like that,” she giggled. “Only you! Okay, Smarty Pants, I got one for you. Why do they call it the doctor bird?”
“Good question, Ver! Why? Why's it called the doctor bird?”
“I don’t know, and I never heard why. But I’m sure you can figure it out," she teased.
“In that case, wait,” he said, "maybe I can." Just then two tipsy tourists sweating bullets came stumbling towards them. Jason snatched her out of the way, just in the nick of time, all the while focused on the painting of the green and black bird set against the yellow background, the colors of the Jamaican flag, and its two extremely long drooping tail feathers.
“Got it,” he exclaimed. “It’s called the doctor bird because of the two long tail feathers resembling a stethoscope!”
“What?” said Ver. “You know you could be right!”
“Of course, I am. What else could it be?”
“Oh, be quiet! Your head is big enough as it is, don’t go getting conceited,” said the girl, pushing out her lips in make-believe pout.
“Here you go, Masta. Here you go, M’am,” said a smiling higgler squatting in his makeshift grass hut of a stall, pointing to the carved masks adorning the front of his make-believe native shack.
“You know, Ver,” said Jason, as they walked by, "these tourists really believe the people in the countryside live in grass huts and make traditional native carvings."
“Maybe they do. So what?”
“So, doesn’t that bother you?” said Jason.
“Why should it?" said Ver.
“Isn't that demeaning?”
“What are you saying? They have to make a living. Don’t they?”
“But that way?”
“Why not?”
“You know, Ver, this whole tourist industry business, this putting yourself on display and sort of acting the fool, caterin
“Yes, but –“
“Yes, but nothing. Let’s talk about something else. What about the show at Hotel Inter-Continental tonight? We are going, aren’t we?”
(From the forthcoming novel THE JAMERICAN by Arthur Lewin + Wendell Scott)