Ezekiel, Yuma’s Native Son

It was a sultry November night and the non-rhythmic water drops were falling gracefully from the sapodilla tree nearby to their final resting place. Moments earlier Herman was almost gasping for air as the spiting raindrops darted through the branches; raindrops that made their entry into the night as though they had a standing appointment with the settlement where he lived. If circumstances were different, he would have welcomed the children's favorite rain nursery rhyme; " Rain, rain, go away, Come back another day; Little Johnny wants to play, Rain, rain, go away." The rain had just passed and the air was staled with its post storm aroma mixed with the unpleasant scent of the wet dead leaves, rich black soil and the droppings of creatures that grazed the area earlier. In the distance Herman could hear the faint sounds of crickets playing cheerfully in the mangroves near the edge of the Salina. For the moment, this offered a melody of peace and calm that helped to relax his mind as he pondered what he would do next. Crouched tightly in a fetal position with his legs locked as if someone had poured dilly sap between them fusing them together, and his arms interlocked tightly around them, Herman braced his georgie bundle firmly between his chest and knees to ensure that they stayed as dry as they possibly could from the drips above. His pupils, piercing through the leaves above, were awakened to the mystical stars surrounding the half moon as if God himself was winking at him and saying don't worry sonny boy, I have my eyes on you. Still, he could only wonder, what he should do now, cradled in the fever grass, under the sapodilla tree flanked by silver palms. Then all of a sudden he could hear the sound of footsteps gently compressing the damp leaves. The sound grew louder almost in harmony with the water drops from above as the slender silhouette gracefully appeared closer and closer to his resting spot for the evening. Who could it be at this time of night, his mind raced with curiosity as it must have been at least 9 o'clock and that was late for family island people. Slithered Sun had fallen long before, and everyone had gone to bed a long time ago in Mortimers, the deep south settlement in Long Island, The Bahamas. Harriet, `Harri' for short, is what Herman usually called her but he was so startled to see her that he must have felt it necessary to call her full name to make certain that she wasn't one of the local settlement sperrid the old people always talked about. "It sure is good to see you Harriet Dean," Zeke said. 'Zeke'was short for Ezekiel. Ezekiel was his middle name but everyone in the settlement called him Zeke; perhaps they were just too lazy to say Herman much less Ezekiel. "Boy you sure done made poppa mad this time," Harriet said. "I know Harri," Zeke replied, "but you just don't understand. I just can't explain what happened on that trip to Crooked Island. You should have been there." "Anyway Zeke, momma sent this for you." "What is it Harri?" Zeke asked in amazement. "It's some sweetened lime water, johnny bread, and a piece of fried shad, Ben caught earlier in the Salina. Momma say she sorry she can't come, but don't want to make poppa any worse mad than he alr eady is. Zeke you know he done been proud of you since the day you were born." "I know Harri. I know," Zeke whispered