Lucky 1
It is said that Time Corps officers are unique, that the Empire has a positive talent for seeking out those who have spit in the demon's eye and lived to tell the tale, and all before attaining the age of majority. I used to think my childhood story was unique, exceptional. Hearing those of sister officers, I realize I got off easy, I'm a wimp compared to most here.
Without further ado, I take you to the little backwater where I grew up, Skeldon, Guyana. End of the line, you could not get into Suriname for love or gold for obvious reasons. They don't want you showing up in Holland, already got enough dopers there.
My father had finished the minimum Grade 3 required, did fresh water fishing for market. My mother, elementary teacher, that took Grade 12. Tensions with that much difference in education? Oh you bet.
His drinking did not help. Rum was dirt cheap, he could drink four larges (26 ounce bottles) in a night. Lotta the men could, the tropical sweat metabolism.
Our corner of the world was almost empty, but the rules were set by the crowded coastal belt, the narrow strip heading east from Georgetown, the capital. Hemmed in one one side by the sea wall, being 5 feet below sea level, and on the other by thick jungle, there was nowhere to expand. So the 2 child rule was very strict. After two, both husband and wife got the operation.
My elder brother had died in a mini-bus accident, so that left me the only child.
Next to me in Kumar Elementary sat Sanjeev, another only child. His older brother, a merchant sailor, had died in a bar rumble in Sri Lanka.
Sanjeev was exceptionally weak in arithmetic and therein lay my chance. You see, his father, already old and unwell, looked forward to the day he could hand over the video rental store.
It had 2 sections: family (Bollywood) and adult (porn). It was a goldmine, made them among the richest in town.
Everyday I'd walk home with Sanjeev. We'd sit out on his balcony, his mother would bring ice-cold lime drink or lemonade and I'd help him with math. Well sort of. I did not want him to get too good at it or he would not need me. After all, he'd need math to run the store. If he got too good, he'd marry someone a lot better-looking than me. So despite all my help, his math never progressed much, but his dependence on me was coming along just fine thank you.
Trust my father to insert the monkey wrench into the gears. A few days after I turned 10, it happened. Ramroop's Rumshop, like all others, sold by the bottle. You could buy large, half or quarter. He had plastic glasses he would loan to you and ice he'd sell you. Most nights when the door closed, a couple dozen customers would simply adjourn to the road in front. These late night encounters produced a surfeit of widows in town.
My father got into an argument with another man much like himself, Grade 3 education and growing vegetables for market. This man, though, was into obeah (magic).
I'm guessing both men were sufficiently blacked out to not recall events, but enough witnesses were sober enough that the town heard the story.
My father attacked with a knife. The other, have done a tour of duty with Guyana National Service, easily disarmed and pinned him. He is reputed to have said, "should kill you, but don't want no trouble with cops. So, put a curse, your line will die out. That daughter of yours won't be able to have a child."
Did he actually put the curse or only say so? Mattered not, from that point, I was history in Skeldon.
Sanjeev dropped me like a hot potato. He would not talk to me or even look in my direction. Schoolmates went way outa their way to avoid me.
You see, some proclaim themselves to be westernized, modern. But to defy an obeah man? Not on your life, only a white would be so silly.
Elementary stopped at Grade 6, nothing further in Skeldon. So I was now in the unenviable position of 2 more years of school, a total pariah, then four years hanging around home until I was legally old enough to be on my own.
As for the 2 years, I will not bore you. Much is said of the loneliness of command, but this was much worse than that.
But then I defied the odds, passed the grueling entry exam into President's College for Girls in Georgetown. A live-in facility, Grade 7 to 12, you got all board and room, tuition, books and uniforms.
A month after I started school there, our family made the national news. My father shot my mother with a centuries-old pistol he owned and yes the ballistics test matched. He was then burned to death in a fire which was deliberately set. There is only one question the Guyana Police Service could not answer: intent? Was the fire to kill himself? Or maybe the fire was to destroy evidence, and in his drunken state, he didn't escape it?
Again, immaterial, I was a legal ward of the state. In theory the vacant lot in Skeldon was worth $100. In fact no one would buy it, afraid of the jumbies who would be hanging about after the fire.
I became one of the tiny minority who never go home on school vacation. You were only allowed out the gates in supervised group activities, and no, not to be nasty. Good reason, the huge crime wave in Georgetown, they were protecting us.
With bags of free time, I soon discovered my passion was history. There was a large and up to date library and I did a lot of reading.
Now being one of the orphans confined to the place almost guaranteed an extra 6 or 7% in marks, just that much more time and focus.
My good marks got me an invitation to sit the Empire Officer Corps Entry Exam, 2 parts, 2 hours each. The first, multiple choice, math questions, word usages, geometric figures and such. I heard after that only 1 in 1000 ever finish, the sheer quantity of it. I finished.
The other, I filled 9 pages of white space answers and did essays questions which covered both sides of six 8 1/2 by 14 inch foolscaps. I had writer's cramp for 3 days, but I was in, that's all that counted.
I will not bore you with my year of Sandhurst-type military academy. It's been done, and to death. I spent 2 days being questioned by a panel of teachers on my reading habits. Between my photographic memory and the huge amount of reading I had done at President's College, I quoted verbatim long passages covering obscure periods in history. And so it was, I was detailed to Time Corps.
In the Schwabian Alps of southwestern Germany is a pleasant little town of medieval flavor called Blaubeuren. You take the train to Ulm, then the short hop west to Blaubeuren. Nothing secret happens there, so I am free to describe it.
I'm learning German, reason, all the best research materials are in German. Impossible to do Time Corps without at least a reading knowledge.
It is the ultimate in good comradeship. We practise our German in airy restaurants and bars, hike, study, movies and group visits to various sites.
Without further ado, I take you to the little backwater where I grew up, Skeldon, Guyana. End of the line, you could not get into Suriname for love or gold for obvious reasons. They don't want you showing up in Holland, already got enough dopers there.
My father had finished the minimum Grade 3 required, did fresh water fishing for market. My mother, elementary teacher, that took Grade 12. Tensions with that much difference in education? Oh you bet.
His drinking did not help. Rum was dirt cheap, he could drink four larges (26 ounce bottles) in a night. Lotta the men could, the tropical sweat metabolism.
Our corner of the world was almost empty, but the rules were set by the crowded coastal belt, the narrow strip heading east from Georgetown, the capital. Hemmed in one one side by the sea wall, being 5 feet below sea level, and on the other by thick jungle, there was nowhere to expand. So the 2 child rule was very strict. After two, both husband and wife got the operation.
My elder brother had died in a mini-bus accident, so that left me the only child.
Next to me in Kumar Elementary sat Sanjeev, another only child. His older brother, a merchant sailor, had died in a bar rumble in Sri Lanka.
Sanjeev was exceptionally weak in arithmetic and therein lay my chance. You see, his father, already old and unwell, looked forward to the day he could hand over the video rental store.
It had 2 sections: family (Bollywood) and adult (porn). It was a goldmine, made them among the richest in town.
Everyday I'd walk home with Sanjeev. We'd sit out on his balcony, his mother would bring ice-cold lime drink or lemonade and I'd help him with math. Well sort of. I did not want him to get too good at it or he would not need me. After all, he'd need math to run the store. If he got too good, he'd marry someone a lot better-looking than me. So despite all my help, his math never progressed much, but his dependence on me was coming along just fine thank you.
Trust my father to insert the monkey wrench into the gears. A few days after I turned 10, it happened. Ramroop's Rumshop, like all others, sold by the bottle. You could buy large, half or quarter. He had plastic glasses he would loan to you and ice he'd sell you. Most nights when the door closed, a couple dozen customers would simply adjourn to the road in front. These late night encounters produced a surfeit of widows in town.
My father got into an argument with another man much like himself, Grade 3 education and growing vegetables for market. This man, though, was into obeah (magic).
I'm guessing both men were sufficiently blacked out to not recall events, but enough witnesses were sober enough that the town heard the story.
My father attacked with a knife. The other, have done a tour of duty with Guyana National Service, easily disarmed and pinned him. He is reputed to have said, "should kill you, but don't want no trouble with cops. So, put a curse, your line will die out. That daughter of yours won't be able to have a child."
Did he actually put the curse or only say so? Mattered not, from that point, I was history in Skeldon.
Sanjeev dropped me like a hot potato. He would not talk to me or even look in my direction. Schoolmates went way outa their way to avoid me.
You see, some proclaim themselves to be westernized, modern. But to defy an obeah man? Not on your life, only a white would be so silly.
Elementary stopped at Grade 6, nothing further in Skeldon. So I was now in the unenviable position of 2 more years of school, a total pariah, then four years hanging around home until I was legally old enough to be on my own.
As for the 2 years, I will not bore you. Much is said of the loneliness of command, but this was much worse than that.
But then I defied the odds, passed the grueling entry exam into President's College for Girls in Georgetown. A live-in facility, Grade 7 to 12, you got all board and room, tuition, books and uniforms.
A month after I started school there, our family made the national news. My father shot my mother with a centuries-old pistol he owned and yes the ballistics test matched. He was then burned to death in a fire which was deliberately set. There is only one question the Guyana Police Service could not answer: intent? Was the fire to kill himself? Or maybe the fire was to destroy evidence, and in his drunken state, he didn't escape it?
Again, immaterial, I was a legal ward of the state. In theory the vacant lot in Skeldon was worth $100. In fact no one would buy it, afraid of the jumbies who would be hanging about after the fire.
I became one of the tiny minority who never go home on school vacation. You were only allowed out the gates in supervised group activities, and no, not to be nasty. Good reason, the huge crime wave in Georgetown, they were protecting us.
With bags of free time, I soon discovered my passion was history. There was a large and up to date library and I did a lot of reading.
Now being one of the orphans confined to the place almost guaranteed an extra 6 or 7% in marks, just that much more time and focus.
My good marks got me an invitation to sit the Empire Officer Corps Entry Exam, 2 parts, 2 hours each. The first, multiple choice, math questions, word usages, geometric figures and such. I heard after that only 1 in 1000 ever finish, the sheer quantity of it. I finished.
The other, I filled 9 pages of white space answers and did essays questions which covered both sides of six 8 1/2 by 14 inch foolscaps. I had writer's cramp for 3 days, but I was in, that's all that counted.
I will not bore you with my year of Sandhurst-type military academy. It's been done, and to death. I spent 2 days being questioned by a panel of teachers on my reading habits. Between my photographic memory and the huge amount of reading I had done at President's College, I quoted verbatim long passages covering obscure periods in history. And so it was, I was detailed to Time Corps.
In the Schwabian Alps of southwestern Germany is a pleasant little town of medieval flavor called Blaubeuren. You take the train to Ulm, then the short hop west to Blaubeuren. Nothing secret happens there, so I am free to describe it.
I'm learning German, reason, all the best research materials are in German. Impossible to do Time Corps without at least a reading knowledge.
It is the ultimate in good comradeship. We practise our German in airy restaurants and bars, hike, study, movies and group visits to various sites.
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 8:01 AM
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