Time draws by slowly. The evening is uneventful.
Tarah is sitting by the front door on a low stool. She is
thinking over what her mother has said about the
hurricane of 1935; then she shudders at the thought of so
many people being killed.
Mr. Bane has other thoughts as he peeps between half
closed eyes. He silently concludes that his wife was naïve
enough to expect a hurricane of some silly tale told by her
mother, perhaps to keep her quiet like a little girl, or
discourage her from playing outdoors in the wind and
rain. As the midnight hours arrives, Mr. Bane breaks the
gloomy silence.
“As you see, midnight, no hurricane,” he laughs, a
deep-belly kind of ridiculous laugh.
Mrs. Bane retorts defensively “well it’s better to be
prepared than to be not ready and wind and rain come
smashing up everything and you don’t know what is
going on.”
“But I want to see the wind and rain, like how they
does show it in the learning channel,” Tarah says with a
smug smile on her face, making the dimples in her cheek
stand out like two holes on either side of her mouth.
“Anyway,” replies Sheila-Anne, “you and your father
does really get under my skin.” She begins to walk
around the room checking to see of everything is in
order, then she sits on the sofa and sighs, “well my dear,
we might as well try to get some sleep.” She tries in vain
to stifle a yawn. “Perhaps your father is right, dem
weather people always predicting.” She nods in the
direction of her husband who is already asleep in his
armchair.
Dawn breaks under the ferocious winds, a low
atmospheric pressure has created ideal conditions for the
deadly vortex that has developed into a category four
hurricane—a very dangerous storm. Roddy, Sheila-
Anne and Tarah listen to the extremely high winds
accompanied by torrential rains that are now pouring as
if all the waterfalls in the world had been diverted over
the Bane’s residence.
Roddy, who seems to have slept off the effects of last
night’s carousing is houting above the screeching
scenario. “All you,” he bellows “get buckets, bath
tub…anything to put where dat leaking,” he advises.
“This really looking bad,” says his wife. Roddy nods in
agreement, his mind now sober, but rather confused not
knowing what to do in the present circumstances. Roddy
has never experienced anything like this before. He turns
his head abruptly to what sounds like someone trying to
yank off the entire roof. Roddy Bane is a well built man,
having gotten plenty of exercise from handling loads of
lumber at his work place. He considers himself fearless,
afraid of no one; but at the moment he feels a painful ache
in his chest at the mounting concern for his dear family.
Up to eight inches of muddy rain water flows freely on
the floor. An earthy odor permeates the air. Outdoors the
gale continues to blow from every direction. Suddenly,
Mrs. Bane screams, “Oh my God.” Through the open
front door she recognizes Tarah’s girlish figure
crouching against the weather as she attempts to record
the scene on her camcorder. “Tarah!” shouts Mrs. Bane
with tears welling in her eyes, “get back inside.”
Her order passes in vain. Tarah’s fascination with the
phenomenon has her trapped within its magical grasp.
Meanwhile, Mr. Bane himself is at the entrance in a trice.
He too shouts to his daughter. “Tarah!” he yells, cupping
his thick hands around his mouth, “what do you think
you are doing?” “Come inside,” he commands her.
At that frightening moment, to his horror, he sees his
daughter being lifted clean from her feet and being
hauled several metres along a slippery lawn before she is
lodged in a low-cut hedge that acts as a fence along the
perimeter of the front lawn where she nows hold on to
prevent herself from being blown further, as well as for
the fear of the loss of her life, her camcorder now carried
aloft by the powerful currents tumbling and smashing
before her eyes. Roddy is almost dumbstruck, he gapes
unbelievably as Tarh is obscured from sight by the screen
of leaves, dirt and other debris hurled between them.
“What!” exclaims Sheila Anne, “do something” she
shrieks, tears now streaming down her face.
“God helps me utters Roddy, as he bites hard into his
lips, “I’m going to get her,” he adds, his hands trembling.
“Hurry Roddy!” screams his wife again, the strong
wind blowing her hair into her face. They gaze for
moments as Tarah wedged among the branches of the
shrub some forty feet away, stares back at them with a
look of utter surprise and terror in her beautiful brown
eyes.
ALBERT WILLIAMS Reporting 