New excerpt from The 6... This story is based off the book of Genisis and concerns the topic of angels and mans relationship to them. Again, set in the caribbean and Trinidad, primarily, it's a tale about the incompleteness of man and the works that are needful and continues to be done in the name of the one we call, God.

The 6...
by Mark James

...y trajo alegría con él.
From Cuba he did travel, having errand there too. Broad nose and beard covered his face, and on his head, a straw boater hat. A happiest one and always a smile etched across his face. Like a skipping stone, over green and blue water that had many moods, he hopped and jumped and landed. One to the other and down the chain of archipelagos: Dominican Rebublic, St. Croix, Barbuda, Grenadines, Tobago and settled in Brasso Seco Paria. He slept awhile and ate and swam at Church Rock and practiced his speech. Acclimation. Five miles, he journeyed from Pointe L’eglise, to Turtle Rock and onto Blanchisseuse. Greetings and smiles more, he received them warm and with hellos, patois in sound. After a night of drinking babaash and eating oil-down a smiling woman named MaeMae gave him a parcel of more food and drink and a change of clothes; saying "Ba-bye," she threw him a kiss and sent him on his way. Arima, thought he, and was named Anghel.




Peace and blessing bredren, sistren...good morning...and so long.
Of me, of pleasantness. The world was changing and the elders did not know what to do or say about the youth. Grandmothers and grandfathers had done the best they could. No more community. What was mine was mine and what was yours, keep to yourself. If neighbor saw child misbehaving in the street she no longer disciplined, but shook her head and turned his back and kept lips pressed tight together. Of smile, and greeting, instilling a way, then falling short. Generation that followed did not allow them say or input in their lives, despite the mess that lay about young feet like wind-strewn garbage and the foolishness that clutter thoughts: a glare, and a sharp tongue lashed like whip and made the body shudder.
He heard them be disrespectful, and mean it.
"Shut up! I look like lil gurl to you. I is big 'oman!" A young Natalie, or Candace, or Alecia, once so sweet and not so rude.
And Mama and Papa knew that innocence was gone and a new torture did start.
Of humility, of grace and mercy, do not be afraid...Anghel did not meet many smiles and warm hearts in Arima. Heavy drinking, void of joy, and black boys on corners and not in school. Imitation and ignorance was the new ambition. Jail, and dub-song spewing profanity and disunion accepted now. Outcry from the innocent and lawmakers and government officials alike, asked for a heavy handed approach and solution. None came. Violence spread to schools once great now run-a-mock with barbarity. Neighborhood once safe for child to play in the street make parent come outside, beckoning them inside as the sun hid her face behind the moon. They did not listen to Anghel, "What d'hell you so happy 'bout?" They questioned, not caring for response. A boy wanted to stay out and play but parent pulled and rung his ear as a result of his disobedience. As the boys' cries made way for whimpers and snorts, Anghel tried to remember the people on the north coast from where he had come. Drinking and dancing and percussion gave song to the air, alegria, alegria. Then news came.

Wear something red, was the popular cry
And like pavements and streets
They were filled with envy
Because by morning light
They were covered with our blood
I tell you, not one soul here escaped the frenzy
You know sometimes you're a gambling king
And wild is the joker
And sometimes the sight of the moon
Just riles up the lost, the hungry, the mad
These are troubled times
That we have down in Trinidad... (Hoosay, David Rudder)

Signs were present. Anghel saw into the coming day and days, discerning the tearing down and the pulling apart and the hatred that would bring it about. He did come to bear joy and peace but now knew that he was sure, on task, and ready. Sweet T&T, God bless your waters and your sands. It was 27th, July 1990 when the news did come and many were shocked and mouths held agape for long and many minutes all over the land. Spreading like wildfire, televisions reflected images of men of Jamaat al Muslimeen, and Yasin Abu Bakr had word for every staring eye, every listening ear: calm, he said, and do not loot. No heed. Fade to black. Screens unwilling to tell the news and radios in no mood to broadcast. A coup d'état is what it was and the Red House, seat of Parliament, bled a second time since 1903 first brought protest and fire. Sixteen dead. Forty-two injured. This time around, those held hostage ran and shielded their heads from falling glass and lash and held arms up like shield to block shouts and demands and enemy fire. Having seen destruction before, the House braced and warned each corner stone, column, entablature and wedgwood, but the men inside did not heed. God bless the waters and the sands, (Twenty-four dead?). Bless the children of men, them that do not understand each other and choose to go unconscious. Together we despise, Together we abandon, was the new national motto. Devotion had a new face.

...Above the bloody asphalt
Strange dogs were barking, deep in the night
Under the crescent moon
I say the drums were silent
But somehow the rhythm continued
Oh what a sight... (Hoosay, David Rudder)

And memory did confess and pavements and alleys heard, and remembered, and then condemned it too. A past, catching up, and sacrificing for erstwhile misdeeds. Some called it Curse. Some called it Restitution or Reciprocity, come to get what she was promised. 6 days, and it was over, this illegal seizure and attempt to overthrow government had backfired, leading to surrender. Port-of-Spain appeared war-zone. The vandalism apparent and penetrating on site. Anghel had journeyed the length of the east-west corridor, now on Abercomby Street standing in front of the House and what was left of it, made him feel like singing, and he did, and people wondered about him: Must be madman or drunk. Melody: "Don't despair, do not be afraid, I come to give guidance and carry you out..." He sang, the man who before had a smile traded it for song and put himself on full display. "Oh sweet, sweet Trinbago, bless your waters and your sands. Who hears you, who feels you, who sees you naked now, no judgment..."
Stray and mange dogs howled from a distance, as if in response to Anghels' vocalized cry. Coming to see what all the fuss was about, villagers from Petit Valley, Maraval to El Socorro and San Juan, poked their heads out from doors and windows; shifting eyes filled with question and concern appeared through drapes of curtains to see if it was safe. The curfew would stand. In time, civilians gathered in Town to see if this thing really did happen. Anghel still sang, and after they wondered about the man, they wondered about the military men with big guns that walked every corner and fenced every building worth protecting with their bodies. This war seemed over and the bane would lift. Set in motion, the repair did start and the man who sang in the streets appeared on newspaper fronts. People far away wondered, but those who knew of him understood what their minds would let them understand. Smiles in repair and mouths upturned.
Headline: Singing Man Helps Restore a Nation.