Page 15 - Where the Dream Ends ebook

Lord’s Gate

The setting, seen by Harry, is as unlikely an end to the or-
deal that began six weeks earlier as could possibly be imag-
ined, and so it is with a determined weariness that he unloads
his and his wife’s belongings from the van and together they
begin the trek up the road to the house on the hill under the
watchful gaze of the cow and the residents of Lord’s Gate,
several of whom are bathing in their undergarments at a stand
pipe just beyond the entrance. They view Harry and his wife
with a combination of curiosity and awe, like two wild animals
escaped from the zoo.
An hour later, sitting on the back porch sipping a glass of
iced rum with lime, watching the sun dip below the hills and
breathing a tad easier, Harry and his wife reluctantly return
to the proceedings of the past several days, looking for clues
to where they might have gone wrong, what they could have
done to alter the events that have left them in their current —
desperate, albeit rather comic — predicament.

“You don’t suppose it’s anything I said, do you?” Harry asks
his wife, who is directing her attention to a yellow, low-fly-
ing single engine plane weaving in and out among the banana
fields spraying a white substance that covers everything in its
path.
“What kind of poison do you suppose he’s spraying?” she
says aloud, momentarily ignoring his question.

Below the spot where Harry is sitting, a goat complains,
its rope twisted around a tree. In the distance, a van races
along the narrow road that passes over the mountain carrying
passengers into town, its radio blasting the latest soca tune, a
pre-carnival refrain called “Piece-a Me Brass” that laments the

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