Chapter 14 Thirteen Gilbert

Mr. Joseph, a little brother told me you could drive.Sergeant Wang Ba said to me. report, no.I answered. You think I'm going to look this guy in the eye with joy and say yes, that little brother is right?Watching him appraise and wonder, watching him look up to the sky wondering Is it possible there are niggas who aren't dumb?I don't have time to show this kind of magnanimous brotherly love.This is a personal battle.The guy who says no, Air Force Staff Sergeant, I can't drive is an all-or-nothing liar. Come on, let me explain.my mother louiseJoseph finally realized that her married husband provided bread to the family only when he was sober (usually not more than three days in seven days), and decided that her nine children would eat cake instead.A new business was born, run by my mother and her older sister, Aunt May.Whether it's plain or trifle with wine and fruit, they make the best cakes in Jamaica.Only Jamaica?Not only, it may be the best in the entire Caribbean, or even in the whole world.There are cakes for all kinds of occasions, Christmas, Easter, weddings, birthdays, naming ceremonies, anniversaries, and once sent to the Governor's Palace to commemorate a dead dog.

In front of sober dad, mom emphasizes that baking cakes is just a hobby.She told her dad: It's nothing, I just make some small cakes in the kitchen to make some extra money.Behind the drunken father, mother and Aunt Mei are running a successful business, handling orders, delivery, overhead, material shortages, labor disputes, and maintaining income up to the tax deductible amount.Everyone except my alcoholic dad knew my mom's cake business was bringing in more money for the family than her husband.And my Aunt May always made fun of smart moms and even workers for giving birth to themselves.The seven sisters bickered, jostled, and giggled in the kitchen, mixing, baking, cooling, and packing, while Lester and I were Mom's trusted delivery men.

I have been driving since I was ten years old. I heard you started driving when you were ten years old.The jerk went on. No, Air Force Staff Sergeant.That's someone else. It was the cake that got me and Lester to go to St John's, a private school, when we were fifteen.It's cake watching us get educated away from the idea that driving and delivery jobs are not for educated people.Chance called Lester to America, leaving me a frustrated prisoner in the driver's seat.I had dreamed of going to college to study law and get a degree, but I came from humble beginnings, and my dreams of flying high transcended where I was, and I saw my dreams wave me goodbye with grief.

Aunt May suggested an evening school.Gilbert, your face stinks so much that I can't even eat.go Go. Going to night school in the city, God, I'm such an ungrateful fellow.dedication?obligation?family?Responsibility, talk to me about responsibility.Like my capricious brother, I don't know how to be grateful.Mom kept swearing at me for six days, until the seventh day, when she knew she had lost, she snapped back to her usual mellowness and said, Son, why don't you teach your sisters Doreen and Pearl to drive?Then you are good to go. Elwood lived near Kingston.When he saw my childhood playmate coming, he rubbed his hands, dizzy with excitement.He told me: You can help me and my mother here, and we will feed you.

I told him: OK, then I will go to the night school to attend classes in the evening. We toasted the arrangement with a cake my mom made for me.The quid pro quo sounded good until Elwood showed me his van the next morning.It's metal here, rubber there, but it's mostly God's blessing that keeps the body from falling apart.Gilbert, look at that car, you deliver my product.It was a cannibal truck, and I used to get my head stuck under the hood and strap and push and knock and poke to keep it going for another day.I didn't have time for night school at all, the only law I learned was the Law of Burning Engines.

Wireless operator and shooter, flight engineer.With cake-baking superior education and exemplary results in various exams, the bombast sat in the recruiting office in Kingston and told me that by the time I got to England I would be training to be a radio operator-cum-shooter, or a pilot engineer.I will become an important member of the squadron, second only to the driver in terms of status and authority.Those officers assured me that with such a service record, it would be no problem for me to continue my studies after the war was won and I returned to civilian life. According to reliable sources, I heard that you can drive.Sergeant Wang Ba insisted.

Report to Air Force Staff Sergeant, not me.There are no cars in my hometown, sir.This lie is overdone, which shows how bad things have become.However, the sergeant believed that his West Indies Volunteers were uncivilized in every way, so the lie was worth trying. Commander Lieutenant Butterfield addressed our group of West Indians: Ladies and gentlemen, the second front line is ready, what we need most now is someone to assist the ground staff.Some of you, in fact most of you, who have volunteered as aircrew, will need to be reassigned for training.We need ground crew and you must be reassigned to ground crew.So many had to be redistributed, so many that when they asked us to look down, the surrounding light seemed to dim.Little islanders, like Oscar.Turok, who wanted to fly into the sky on metal wings, with glorious medals on his chest, but after leaving his home island, he found that he was holding a broom in his hand.James was supposed to be a navigator, he was supposed to fly overseas.pilot!The bastard sergeant said with a sneer, pilot, you must know that you are already overseas.

Report Air Force Staff Sergeant, I want to serve in the front line. This is the front line, the homeland front line. Report to Air Force Staff Sergeant, I want to be on the battlefield. Go tell those East Londoners that this is not a battlefield.The conversation ended, James was sent to receive radar training, Hubert was in charge of the secretary, and only the college graduate was lucky.He didn't do as well as we did on the skills test, but he was lighter-skinned and became an aeronautical engineer. The hand of the Almighty God wrote a table in the heavenly book, recording in detail the rich and beautiful things that His people may create on earth: the father of philosophy, the composer of heavenly sounds, the first-class pilot who soars in the sky, The romantic lover of a proud girl.Now I know: in Gilbert.There were only two words written next to Joseph: Driver.All efforts to clear, replace or embellish this title are in vain.I knew I was going to be with the engine again.

Report to Air Force Staff Sergeant, they say radio operator and gunner, or flight engineer. This is war, Mr. Joseph, not a store.Just car transport, listen to me, pilot. Watch, watch, watch it all repeat itself.Yes, sir, driver.The things I've been trained to do, the things I've been doing since I was ten years old.Perhaps Elwood was right when he warned me: Be careful, Gilbert, and remember that the English are liars.