What Became of Him

My mom gave the book to me two years back.  If my mom gives me a book I ought to read it and I did not wait long to begin it after she handed it my way.  I recall I was down with a stomach problem in a hotel when I was mid-way through.  The cover of the version I was given had little circular pictures of innocent British children on it suggesting something sinister was afoot within “A High Wind in Jamaica” and of course there certainly is. 

I’ve a pal who’s a bit of Jamaican ethnomusicologist.  And I knew If I was to share it with anyone next it would probably be him.  So, as I recall, I asked him for his address and sent him a copy suggesting he’d enjoy the turn of the century staging of this twisted tale from his favorite island.  That was probably a year and a half ago. 

I got a note from him this morning saying he’d lost the book. He was now two-thirds of the way through and couldn’t find it.  He’d grown extremely frustrated.  Looked everywhere, considered getting a used replacement and then, after he’d given up, he located it in his downstairs bathroom.  Loosing books can be rough stuff.  I was in Taipei last year on the high-speed rail and lost “Herzog” by Saul Bellow in the back sleeve of the seat in front of me after departing the train in Taizhong.  There goes my train.  There goes my book.  I filled out a card and showed them my I.D. and was wonderfully able to pick up the book forty-eight hours later at the Taipei station. 

I thought about “A High Wind in Jamaica” for the first time in a while.  I explained to my friend that I still hadn’t gotten over the sudden, remorseless death of my namesake character in the novel.  All the children forget about John so suddenly until their mother asks them what became of him, when they are reunited many, many months later.  I checked and it appears that Welsh author Richard Hughes and I share a birthday, which certainly explains everything.

Monday, 4/23/18