New life

Feeling liverish

Zenga Longmore

political leader. If she can only manage to lend a shriller note to those gurgles, I can even see her rising to the dizzy heights of Housing Director for Lambeth.

But the main drawback of 'flu is, as you'll appreciate, the people who try to make you better. Take Aunt Evadne, for instance. Not related by blood, she lives in the block opposite mine, so When Olumba told her of my plight, how horribly simple it was for her to march straight over, saracee in hand.

'I've boiled it all up, so drink it now while it's still hot. Stop your foolishness, 'oman, and drink.'

Saracee, a Jamaican herb, tastes rather like boiled paraffin with a dash of stinging nettle. 'Neath the shadow ' of Aunt Evadne's warrior-like form, I was compel- led to down the bitter brew. Instantly I was transported into a strange and terrible world. As if in a dream, I went to answer a knock on the door. One of next door's. hippies stood slouched on the doorstep.

'Stop that kid making noises, man, you're keeping us awake — hey, don't you ever take that wee-erd dressing-gown off?'

'I'm ill.'

'Yeah man, I can see that, your aura's kinda like changed colour. Want some Jesus drops'?'

'Certainly not!'

Only when slamming the door did it occur to me that I should have invited him in for a saracee on the rocks.

By the time Olumba cattle home with a dusty bottle labelled 'Tincture of oyster's liver', I had decided enough was enough. There was nothing for it but to get better. As Olumba so rightly said as I crawled out of bed, uh. Na fine ting pass all! Jubilation!'

Of course, if it hadn't been for that horrid little old man in the park I never would have fallen sick in the first place. I had wheeled Omalara to the nearest pond to feed the ducks and swans. Whilst myriad birds flocked around us, I experienced that glorious Francis of Assisi feeling that al- ways accompanies the act of putting last week's bread to good use.

'Do you read the Bible?' asked a little manikin with a long white beard. I blushed. He's going to tell me, I thought, that I'm an angel.

'Yes.'

'Well, have you read where it says "Consider the lilies of the field and the birds of the air. They neither sow nor reap, yet our heavenly Father feeds them?" ' 'Yes,' I said guardedly. Surely he's not about to say I'm . .

`So why do you have to do His work for Him? Put that bread away at once!'

Too staggered for words, I reeled home to the accompaniment of the mocking laughter of fellow park-goers. Climbing into bed, I remained recumbent, oblivious to the gurgles of Omalara. In fact, if it wasn't for Olumba's tincture of oyster's liver, I would be there yet.