Woman! Ya tryin’ to kill muh?
It was just another bright and sunny day. The island breeze stirred the leaves of the coconut trees making them sing their sweet shushing song. Hermina couldn’t enjoy the music nor could she enjoy the view of the rolling hills and tranquil, light blue sea. She was so mad, that the anger rose inside like a bonfire engulfing her tiny-frame. She could spit galvanize nails. But one must respect one’s elders. That was one of the first rules the children in Barbados learned!
“Try to hide it,” her reasoning mind spoke. “No. Fix she!” came the internal voice of vengeance. Her head was too hot. She needed to calm down.
She headed to the orchard, between the guava trees and found it – the big mango tree. She climbed up, holding on to the low branches and perched in the cradle. The cradle branch held her in a comforting embrace and then the tears came. 
Aunt Stacy had given just given her a whipping. A whipping with the old cou-cou stick for something that she didn’t even do. She didn’t break that lamp. The kerosene lamp that stood on the cabinet for years. She didn’t even touch it. Her sister, Lorenta had gone with her fastness and taken up the lamp. Her chubby fingers held the glass shade of the lamp, but she was too young to know to support the bottom of the lamp. The bottom had separated from the top and “CRASH!!” Broken glass and a kerosene spilled onto the floor.
Aunt Stacy was out when it happened and she left Hermina in charge. Though the glass had been swept up and the kerosene cleaned, the pungent odor still lingered in the room. Aunt Stacy noticed it immediately when she returned.
“Hermina! Lorenta! Come heh!!” She bellowed.
“Yes, Aunty,” the girls respectfully reported.
“Wha happen to me lamp?” the question came, but a reply was not really expected.
The girls looked at each other and down at the ground; they remained silent. They knew the wrath was gathering and storm clouds were sure to follow.
“Aunty, it was she!!” Lorenta tore the silence with a whopping lie. “She was playing in de house and it brek.”
“No!! I din do it!” Hermenia, tried to defend herself.
Protests were useless. Tears rose to join stammered pleas, but it made no difference. The cou-cou stick arched through the air, accompanied by words in staccato, blasted like bullets: “I… tell… you… not… to… play… in … de … house… an’… you… so… hard… ears! WELL!” Aunty took a deep breath, “wunna… hard… ears… won’t… hear – den… gon’… feel! Own-way… you… will… FEEL!” Each word a blow, Auntie continued to lambaste her long after her last words were spoken!
Sitting in the cradle of the mango tree, Hermina became calm. Her thoughts came clearly. She would go back to the house with her plan of revenge. Aunt Stacy would be cooking for Uncle Frank by now but leave the pot of rice unguarded. Quietly, she went back to the house. While Aunt Stacy’s back was turned, a small fist was raised. The contents were released and the pot-lid quietly slid back into position.
Later that evening, Uncle Frank demanded his food as usual, Stacy, gimme sum a dem peas and rice wid the stretch out corned beef sauce, and – pass the hotsuce!
A few minutes later, Frank’s voice was heard bellowing across the village, “Wuh laws! Woman! You trying to kill me wid salt!”
Story by Trudi; edited by Jeanne
Trudi Clarke-Peters is a new contributing editor to Bajan hotsuace. She lives in Barbados and is an English teacher inspiring her students to develop their writing skills. She is an outstanding young person with a passion for education and is a well-respected teacher at her school. We look forward to many more stories from Trudi and her students in Barbados