The Dump

 By Shervin Ira Wood

The Chief Minister’s belly started to boil as soon as his heavy bottom hit the back seat of his white limousine. He shuffled the stack of papers in his lap and pretended that he did not feel it. His large stomach extended in front of him, even more distinctive when he sat down.

The Jamaican chauffer gently eased himself into the front seat behind the steering wheel. They slowly rolled out of the Caribbean Fish Restaurant’s parking lot unto the edge of the busy two-lane Western Road.

Cars from both directions came to an abrupt stop in respect of this car, the miniature Union Jack flag flying on the hood set it apart from the other traffic and the people of this small Caribbean island showed reverence to their first ever Chief Minister.

There was no need for a Police entourage to stop the traffic – the people just knew to stop. The Chief Minister’s car always had the right of way, just like the British Colonial Governor had in the years past.

He glanced at his watch and then looked at the notes that he had scribbled on his plain yellow pad during his long lunch hour. He usually ate his lunch alone. And today he had three servings of mackerel rundown stew, cooked in coconut milk and with dumplings, breadfruit and boiled green bananas.

 He loved pepper sauce on his food and today, as always he used an extra amount of the locally made ‘Hotter-Than-Hell Pepper Sauce’. His favorite meals were stew turtle and mackerel rundown. And like the other inhabitants of this small flat island in the Eastern Caribbean, eating gluttonous meals was a favorite activity.

His arguments were intact against the proposed sale of the garbage dump to the rich American entrepreneur. He agreed that the wealthy American had a clever plan for the 80 ft high mound of marl covered compressed garbage known locally as the dump.

 Who would have thought of such a foolishly brilliant idea to convert the most undesirable property on the island to the most prestigious attraction in the entire Caribbean? Ironically the developer’s name was Mr. Smart.

He reviewed his objections.

Most importantly Mr. Smart had already bought up the most valuable properties on the island. And historically it was a bad idea for one person to control too much of the economy.

Mr. Smart was however a good man and had made many donations to benefit the people and gave employment to a great number of locals. Some islanders resented their island being taken over like this, while others enjoyed the prosperity created by this development.

He shifted his overweight body in the back seat of the limousine. The boiling in his stomach continued and small stabs of pain shot through his whole lower body. The mackerel must not have been fresh he thought.

His second objection was that the proposed new site for the dump on the eastern part of the island would destroy the most pristine environment that remained. As the island had developed the indigenous birds and animals had slowly become concentrated in the eastern district. Locating the garbage dump there would destroy this last remaining natural habitat.

He glanced at his watch. The meeting was in 5 minutes but he knew they could not start without him. The limousine was halted because hundreds of fat American tourists were crossing the road. He glanced towards the harbor at the five large cruise ships that brought this daily congestion.

“A sweaty t-shirt on their back, a pair of shorts on their snow white legs, and five greenbacks in their pockets,” he said out loud.

This summed up his impression of today’s cruise ship passengers. Unlike yesteryear when quaint hotels had been filled with wealthy American tourists.

   The third of his four objections was that the best remaining source of underground fresh water was in the exact place where Mr. Smart suggested relocating the garbage dump to, and seepage from the garbage would contaminate this water supply.

His last objection was the fact that garbage trucks would have to drive through every district in order to reach the new dumpsite. The costlier than gas diesel, would make the delivery of garbage exorbitant.  He put his hand on his belly. The gurgling feeling was getting worse.

“We’re ready” came the voice of the Lady Minister of his party on his cell phone.

“You and Malden can just vote no”, he told her.

“I will do the presentation this time”.

“I am here now. Be up in a minute”.

            They were already assembled in the mahogany paneled conference room when he entered. The British Attorney General sat at on one side of the perfectly square debate table; Mr. Smart and his American trained Attorney sat at the other end, the two Coalition Opposition Ministers on one side and the two Ministers from his party on the other side.

            He sat between the two Ministers for his party. Malden his right hand man, sat to his right, and the Lady Minister to his left. Usually they made the arguments and he gave the swaying vote.

The two Coalition Ministers almost always opposed every motion, but three against the two nevertheless kept the decisions on the side of the Chief Minister and his party.

            The Attorney General called the meeting to order and Mr. Smart’s Attorney stood up and started her presentation.

“Our proposition today is nothing short of alchemy” she started, looking pleased with herself.

“We are proposing to change a one square mile heap of thrash into an eternal monument to the people of this country. We intend to create the most fascinating theme park in the Caribbean – if not the world”.

The burning pain in his belly was becoming increasingly worse. The stabs were lingering and the gurgling sound echoed loudly in his ears. I should have stopped at the restroom on my way up, he thought to himself.

 He knew it would be a breach of protocol to interrupt this important meeting. He hoped they could not hear the noises emanating from his enormous body.

“We will build a rectangular two foot thick wall of concrete and steel surrounding the perimeter of the dump with internal pilings supporting a flat three foot thick roof eighty feet above the ground.

On this flat roof we will build our theme park, with pavilions and rides for every country in the Caribbean” she continued. Her excitement reflected on the agreeable faces of the two opposing Coalition Ministers.

Flat-roof, he thought as he looked at his list of objections.

            Flatulence. That’s what the mackerel rundown caused - he decided. Then the idea hit him. Slowly he lifted his heavy left leg from the chair and gently pushed down with his stomach muscles and a tiny pocket of hot air silently escaped. He quietly sniffed but no scent came to his nostrils. The burning in his belly eased for a minute but returned with a vengeance. The gurgling continued louder than ever.

            “As you no doubt are aware the decomposing garbage in the dump emits gases and this smelly gas can be utilized as a fuel to power electrical generators. By putting walls and a roof we will trap this gas in the underbelly of our project and it will be pumped into special methane tanks and pressurized and piped to the electrical plants. A clever idea is it not”.

Smelly gas in the underbelly, what nonsense, he thought to himself as he slowly eased his bottom off the chair and gingerly released another much larger bubble of air.  He glanced at his yellow pad at his list of objections.  The stabs of pain were now full-fledged cramps with constant pain and fiery knotting in his belly. He sniffed quietly but there was no discernable scent.

”On the surrounding walls we will build face carvings to every leader of every country in the Caribbean – depicting from the days of the first inhabitants, through the periods of piracy, slavery, colonialism, independence and to the present.

You all have heard of Mount Rushmore in the United States – have you not? Well. We will call our theme park Mount Trashmore – paradoxically ironic is it not”

The opposing Ministers smiled in approval. The Attorney General had his usual bored, nonchalant, British above-it-all, demeanor.

“Country pavilions will exhibit the cultural highlights of their respective societies, including music and literature, culinary delights, beliefs and religious traditions – we will have country specific restaurants spread throughout the park”.

The fire in his belly was unbearable now and he squirmed in his seat.

 Afraid to breathe he tried to consciously control every breath. Afraid to move his body because his bottom might release an uncontrolled gush of air, he sat perfectly still and sweated profusely. He bit down on his lip and focused on containing himself.

“And finally our marketing plan. We will get the cruise ships to add the cost to every passenger’s ticket of not only the park entrance fee, but also the cost of transportation from our docks to the park. Every Taxi driver will have a job transporting tourists to our park and we will pay them a flat rate fee per passenger”.

Any questions?

“How much will you pay for our dump?” asked one of the opposition Ministers.

“Nothing. We will give you a new dump site in exchange” she calmly replied.

Silence filled the room as she sat down.

            The pain was excruciating now. He tried to breathe without moving. Sweat rolled down his face, his dark shirt was wet and it clung to his thick body. The gurgling in his belly deafened him and he dared not move a muscle. He sat in silence.

            “Those in favor say aye, those against say nay,” instructed the Attorney General.

            “Aye” said the two opposition Ministers in unison.

            Malden nudged him in his right side causing his body to jump. The Lady Minister to the left rammed her high heel backwards into his left shin.

            “Oiy” he gasped as he suddenly lurched upwards in pain. A loud barrage of explosions of air and hot bubbly liquid exited his body. He felt the wetness fill his pants and drain down his legs and his socks were wet. A foul smell entered his nostrils.

            “The ayes have it. The offer is approved, concluded the Attorney General.

            The Lady Minister reached over and picked up the pad with his list of objections and started fanning her face with it. Then she put it back in front of him and stood up.

.

The Attorney General and Mr. Smart and his Attorney looked the other way and hurried out.

The opposition Ministers sniffed loudly and exited the room, their faces enamored with smirks.

Malden appeared confused, pulled out his phone and started punching numbers as he and the Lady Minister made it through the door.

            He sat alone and in silence in the warm wet stench and looked at his list of objections on the yellow pad.

            Mackrel rundown, he thought.

With Hotter-Than-Hell Pepper Sauce.

But the pain in his stomach was gone.