Chapter 12 prequel eleven gilbert

The mirror spoke to me: My boy, women will fall at your feet.I'm wearing a blue uniform, look left, right, front, back, look like a god and the uniform doesn't even fit right.But what's wrong with being a heroic member of the RAF with a bulging stomach and tight underarms?Lock up a few thousand Jamaican men in uniform for a while, and march them up and down the hill using the old Duke of York drill, with only women on their minds.Dream about women when you walk up the hill, and dream about women when you walk down the hill.Not so with the troops that traveled with me to the United States.Not Hubert, not Fulton, not even Val, not James, not even me.Because the last energy of each of us is focused on food.All we fantasize about is meat we can chew and eat.

This is war.There are dilemmas I'm ready for: bullets, bombs, casual death, but I'm not ready to think about beef knuckle stew, no prawn curry or salt and pepper soup, which can literally kill someone.I'm not ready yet.I'm also not trained to eat pan-salt food with the sole purpose of ruining the flavor and texture of the food.It should be regarded as a miracle in the world that the British can build an empire, because the British soldiers only eat soft things.I thought it would be fighting that would make me regret volunteering, but it turned out to be those boiled potatoes and boiled vegetables.These dishes were placed on the plate, gray and limp, as if someone had eaten them.Why do British people always cook in this way?Fortunately, they kept this poaching method as a state secret, and did not insist on prohibiting the people of the colonies from frying and cooking.

I grew up in a family with ten children.During the meal time, as long as there is a moment of slack, half of the dinner will go to other people's stomachs.I learned to eat very quickly while guarding the plate with one hand.But at the sight of this British dish, I sit back, chew slowly, and secretly hope that my countrymen will steal my meal.I haven't seen a war zone yet, but who knows where I'd point my gun if the enemy troops were frying some fish or dumplings? I am telling you this now so that you may have a better understanding of what a disenchanted but greedy Jamaican was treated when he arrived in the Virginia military zone to be a guest of the United States government.The silver plate was divided into compartments so that the food wouldn't mix and contained bacon, eggs (two decent eggs!), salami, fried tomato, fried potato, toast, a banana, and an orange.Milk oatmeal is packaged separately in small bowls.Before I even sat down, my hands were wrapped around the plate of food.Only when I'm sure Nao Roong's second, third, and fourth meals aren't the daydream of a deranged patient do I disarm.I swear that breakfast brought a lot of people to tears while eating it.Heaven, it was unanimously decided that America was heaven.Bathing at a water level of fifteen centimeters is comparable to the Caribbean sea water I love, and there is more than the first meal. The same, no, it is a more satisfying meal, making the word heaven like a champagne cork, popped out of our mouths.

Now, brethren, listen up.This is how the American military officer began his speech.He sat casually at the table, the only white person in a room full of Caribbean volunteers. You people, pay attention!Our British Master Chief, Corporal Byster, warned us as we waited for the American officer.He has something to say to you, and you are guests here, so pay attention.alright. The angled square jaw on this American officer's head is not uncommon, especially on an officer's face, but, square skull!Lianwaer said in a low voice: Hmph, Mommy still squinted when she gave birth to him.My smile made the officer fix his blue eyes on me, and only on me.

You are now Uncle Sam's guests. We rested in peace (some even smoked), our bellies were full, and we looked forward to a few more days in the land of the free.Some people will say at the same time: Yes, sir, um, um.Jamaicans have this tendency. This kind of thing surprised the officer for a moment, and he straightened his back before continuing: Here, all the equipment related to you is open for use.He paused here, waiting for a more energetic response than the nod and grin he'd received.You can use the movie playground, all the catering equipment, things like that. Where are these things placed?The brothers on the island whispered to each other.

In the camp, you must obey the orders of your master sergeant and abide by British military law. As long as the British don't cook, who cares about military law? But I am not the only one waiting for this first pause to end, during your stay the space for movement is limited to the camp. The sounds of breathing in and whining through the gaps of the teeth came and went.Tsk tsk tsk sounded like firecrackers everywhere in the room.No one did not frown. The officer had to raise his hand to calm the room full.Because tut tut Note, folks, your own Master Chief could go into more detail about this decision, but the main reason was to minimize the risk of contracting disease.The British military has made it quite clear that any serviceman who contracts the disease here will not be allowed to proceed and will be repatriated immediately.

That doesn't appease us.Everyone is already full of lust.Even though I've come this far and don't want to be deported, war is such a disappointment.No bumpy breasts, round buttocks, slender legs, no one knows how long we will be confined in this camp, and how long we will be without women.a week?a month?American girls can't see me in uniform Oh man, this is serious.The room was buzzing.The officer had already thrown out his hand and made a fuss of the whole team. I know, I know, you are all disappointed.He raised his voice, but you are in this barracks, guests of the United States of America, and have free access to the barracks.Everyone here is ordered to make sure that you are treated with the utmost respect for a black Confederate during your stay by Uncle Sam.Now he's yelling: You'll be with white military personnel.Do you kids know how lucky you are?You will not be treated as black.

Perhaps Cousin Elwood was right.Boy, it's the white man's war.Why are you dying for white people?Sacrifice your life for Jamaica, yes.Have your own country, yes.That's worth fighting for.It's worth it if blacks don't do more than sweep the floors in the Governor's Palace, and let the Negroes at Tate and Ryle do more than cut sugarcane.I will also join you.But do you think winning this war will change you and me? Ape, I looked it up in the dictionary, it was a term Hitler and his cohorts used to describe Jews and people of color.I got punched in the head when the meaning of the word jumped out of the page and attacked me.Similar to humans, but more primitive, like apes.Double whammy.Because I'm black and my dad was born Jewish.

My dad told the nine kids the same thing over and over again.He often talks about it, so when he says it, we can all follow the script.Remember, you could have been Jewish.As far as he was concerned, such a thing was the worst curse of anyone.He has curly black hair, light olive skin, and is a circumcised Jewish believer.He'd tell us this when he was still a little bit coherent (about four glasses of rum and half-drunk).After six glasses of rum, he cried out about his coming-of-age ceremony.Eight cups, and we'll hear stories of our ancestors selling salt.Near the bottom of the bottle, he'd berate estranged Jewish moms, dads, the Talmud, the synagogue, and that stupid hat, in the midst of slurring and frantic flailing.He would shout: Thank you Jesus Christ for letting me see the light.It was the Great War, and he had first seen the light in the fields near Imperia.He insisted the matter was beyond dispute.Jesus shared cans of fish with him, lent him writing paper, and no one else recognized him as Jesus.He used to rant about how drunk I passed out after I became a Christian because of my friendship with Jesus Christ.

He no longer celebrates Yom Kippur, Hanukkah, Rosh Hashanah, Passover.The Jew with the golden cross was finally expelled from his home and from the community of Mandir.Many people turned away from him, so he made a bitter statement: I can tell if a person is Jewish by looking at his butt. My mother, Louise, accepted him and happily boasted about her almost white husband.My dad works as a business supplying furniture to shops in the north of the island.And as a husband, he gave my mother children: first two sons, brother Lester and me, then seven girls.Seven sisters! My father was a fanatical reformer and was very serious about Christianity.He walks his family to the Church of England church every Sunday.Why not drive?He will say: Do not labor on the Sabbath.

After the service, the children lined up in a row, and the mother said softly: no swearing, no blasphemy, no speaking in tongues.We watched as Baba weaved among the local white worshipers: grabbing their reluctant hands, making jokes that weren't too funny, shoving some on their backs when they were about to turn their heads away One shot, flattering and flattering white people who stood indifferent and ostentatious in front of him. The photo in the newspaper was of a German Jew.He had a cloth star pinned to his dirty coat.He walked along the street, humbly huddled.The Gentile shot him a look of disgust that Lester and I knew all too well the kind of look we see at Sunday services.My brother was fanatical about jihad and wanted to fight it.The Royal Air Force asked him: Are you of pure British descent?Lester replied: Just come and draw my blood.But no one believed him.He went home with a heavy heart when he learned that his country only asked members of the white race to fight the battle and was rejected by the RAF.Father thought of Yipurui and shouted: No way!No way!And the American factory would instead use my humble, huddled brother. Cousin Elwood couldn't understand.Your dude's skin color doesn't suit them, they won't take it; now they change their minds, you're going to lick their cold ass again.Tsk, you should fight the UK, not join the UK.stay.They're under attack now, and we're going to win.There may be some truth in these words, but I am ready to defeat this superior nation theory.Because my dad is Jewish and my brother is black.I told Elwood: If you don't win this battle, you can be sure that nothing here will ever change. Now, as I understand it, what this horned officer is saying is that we West Indians, as subjects of His Majesty King George IV of the British Empire, are, as far as we can see, of a lower complexion.We were allowed to live with white military men, but lower class black Americans were not.I am puzzled.Without understanding, we are puzzled.We Jamaicans know that we are the largest island in the Caribbean Sea. We think that we are an evolved race in the world. It is better than those small islanders. No matter which direction they go, the world is only a few miles big, and if they go any further, they will fall into the sea.But even the most retarded little islander could detect that there was something wrong with the situation.When visiting the camp, the guide would tell us with a smile on his face: Look, your fellow black Americans don’t do anything.If you are full, you will be idle, and if you are hungry, you will finish the workload that is just enough to eat.The same goes for the animal world.But it is different for you brothers who are British.When you're ushered into an all-white movie theater and handed out chocolate bars and shared cigarettes, those people will say: I am loyal to the flag of this country, but you will never see a white person who is not self-respecting go to war with a black person.In the chaotic ball, I can't help but persuade to dance black blues jazz and jacuzzi Let it go, man, let it go!They would face our black faces, press close to our black skin, and say: We don't mix blacks and whites here, because it will reduce the combat effectiveness of the troops.You black Americans were not born to fight. Apparently our hosts have tried all sorts of solutions to their black people.There's only one way that works in this country, especially in the military, and that's quarantine.Apparently everyone likes to treat black and white like this.They have a name for it, no, it's not superior race theory, it's Jim.Crow law. The U.S. military wouldn't let us leave the Virginia battalion.I quickly learned that we were lucky.Because we West Indians, thinking we're invincible to no one, may unconsciously wander around and say hello to white people who may hang us from the nearest tree just because we spend a day with them.And what about my brother Lester?With no uniform to be recognizable, how would an American know he was a British person of color?Perhaps with a badge pinned to the coat?But what shape badge to use?The word heaven no longer comes out of our mouths.We may be back in the turmoil of British affairs, but I'm not the only brother who would be happy to leave America on this trip. Frigates, light gunboats, battleships, troop carriers, and destroyers lined the Newfoundland horizon.Forty ships, maybe fifty, stretching for miles, like an admiral's illusion, all assembled for one mission: to escort us across the ocean.What a spectacle!Hubert was dumbfounded for a full ten minutes.When he finally spoke again, his voice trembling, said: How beautiful, how deadly.At the moment of majesty, the sentence is short, but it is wise. Once we sailed, obeyed orders, and were captives on board, Corporal Byster began his speech.The Londoner is smug and tells us colonial troops all that England has taught him for twenty-six years.As far as I am concerned, I find it very interesting.Did you know that the fog in London can be so thick that you can't recognize the hand in front of you?I don't know.But many brothers knew it and yawned like a crocodile so that Corporal Byster could understand. Don't think in the UK like in the US, there will be rice, beans, spicy things or food.He warns us.I don't know that kind of thing, and I'm not happy to be reminded.You are going to a war zone. I started yawning. Britain has fought for a long time, and everyone is tired.There is also a shortage of supplies.You have to get used to this.You can stop hoping for bananas.He told us with a gloating expression.Then, without warning, our targets traveled to the RAF Volunteer Unit in the UK and felt something explode.When the explosion happened, I wasn't the only one who jumped up and started to fight.At that time, I was not the only one who clenched his fists and wanted to kill someone, because that impetuous and stupid little officer, Corporal Byster, once again looked down on our colonial troops and told us brothers: Don’t think you guys are going there to have a carnival party.White women don't hang out with people like you.