New life
For the love of Laverne
Zenga Longmore
`Friends all!' he shouted into a mini- megaphone. 'Me want to draw to your attention my wide selection of herbal cure for all ailment and condition. Some ask if I is a medical doctor, a bush doctor or a damn charlatan, and I answer them saying, all three. Here are herbs from Jamaica just like your obeah mudda use to make. Also here are wonder-working charms and roots, sent straight from me root doctor partner in Floriday, USA.' So saying, Claw fished a slim mouth- organ from his jacket pocket, blew a tri- umphant blast, pocketed the instrument, winked at Olumba, and continued his spiel.
`See that fine baby girl, Omalara? [Omalara looked up with a startled cry] She owe her health and figure to the fact that her mother used my Holy Bath medicine in the tub, an' her father, a distin- guished scientist and minister of the gospel [Olumba gave a still louder cry] long ago put my tincture of myrrh and frankincense in him mint tea. Yes, brother, here is a bot- tle for 50 pence!' Another skirl on the mouth-organ, and he burst into song.
Never trust a Brixton woman, 'cause she's bad as she can be.
She use gunpowder just to sweeten her tea.
`Friends, are you troubled with gettupitis in the morning? Drink one bottle o' Royal Liniment an' you won't sleep again for a week. Gamblers, are you plagued with bad luck? You want High John the Conquer Root an' a dash of Essence of Power. Money is the root of all evil, an' here is a sprig of the root!'
So persuasive was Claw's new dynamic sales pitch that hands stretched forward from the throng, waving notes and receiv- ing potions. An old lady who complained of corns was given an amulet containing the twenty-third Psalm. But the most popular of all his wares was Oil of Love, dabbed behind the ears and on the nape of the neck, guaranteed to make anyone you choose fall madly in love with you. Seeing a policeman in the middle dis- tance, Clawhammer snapped the case shut, climbed down the ladder and reverted to bush-tea salesmanship. Slowly the crowd dispersed. `Clawhammer, how could you?' I ex- claimed. 'You, always so righteous and honest, reader of Tolstoy, now setting your- self up as a quack doctor!' True-a-true, but what can I do? My wife Laverne is one expensive gyal to keep, y'know. After I finish in the market, I got to run home, change into evening dress an' run to the Harlem Heaven club for my night doorman job. All for the love of love- ly Laverne.' `Wait a minute, Jammo Boy,' put in Olumba, a thought having struck him, 'Do you keep a strict account of how many bot- tle you sell-o?'
`In me head, yes.' `How many bottles of love potion you s'pose to have now?' `Exactly 12, look! What's this? Only eight left! Who coulda tief four bottles? Used all at once, them could cause a serious infatu- ation.'
There was a pause as Olumba and Claw's eyes locked. Both at once they shouted `Laverne!'
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