{{ contest.story_page_sticky_bar_text }} Be the first to recommend this story.
Get Free Copy

97 free copies left

This novel is limited to 100 free copies due to its part in Inkitt’s Novel Contest.

0
Free copy left
You can read our best books
Peter_Jarrette would love your feedback! Got a few minutes to write a review?
Write a Review

TRINIDAD: ROCK HARD & FRUITY

By Peter_Jarrette All Rights Reserved ©

Humor / Adventure

Blurb

TRINIDAD: ROCK HARD & FRUITY ~ The True Stories Under a tropical sun are many shadows. Rock Hard and Fruity dissects island life and explores the sexual climate in a tropical idyll. It eyes up topical issues of race, social structures and social exclusion. It’s got hills, bush, beach, sex, stalkers, bitches, booze, badness, corruption, cars, crashes, and at least one Carnival.

Chapter 1 CARIBBEAN CUSTOMS: MONKEY, SEX AND SMUGGLING ON ARRIVAL

Frau threw her forty-year-old monkey on top of Sex and ran out of the customs hall to throw up in the nearest toilet. The thick, wet, heat of the tropical night hit us full on as we stepped out of the British Airways jumbo and onto the tarmac. There was to be no relief. It was no breezier at the top of the aircraft steps, where we paused trying to draw a cool breath that wouldn’t come, than it was on the dark spongy stovetop of concrete below. We moved with the two hundred plus passengers from our flight, along the warm tarmac past other huge airliners that landed just before us (and their full complement of passengers and crew), towards the open plan arrivals hall and the unbearable officials at immigration. Frau, her forty-year-old monkey and I had endured an eight-hour flight from London’s Gatwick to Port of Spain’s Piarco on little else but rum cocktails, baby sized complimentary bottles of champagne and Extra Strong Polo Mints.

The heat, the crowd, and the Polo Mints proved too much for Frau and by the time it was our turn with the customs officers, she began to grow faint. She collapsed; briefly, on our ton of luggage just as an officer opened the first bag. I grabbed to steady her as the officer continued, unconcerned with Frau. In the bag, Madonna’s soft porn, metallic covered book, ‘Sex’, was sitting face up on top of a pile of folded white shirts. Customs has tough policies on porn, but it depends on the discretion, or repression, of the officer you get. Frau found her feet and threw the forty-year-old monkey she held, into the suitcase on top of ‘Sex’ and raced out of the hall to be sick. The customs officer looked at the forty-year-old monkey that landed in front of him, pushed it aside, along with ‘’Sex’ and seized instead on the white shirts. He counted them; twelve. He looked up to me, and very seriously asked,

‘Are these shirts for your own personal use?’

In the customs hall they looked for anyone with a lot of anything, whatever it may be. They expect you’re smuggling in goods to sell on for extreme profits, and if you’re Trinidadian, you usually are. I have been at the mercy of these guys before. I’ve rarely known what it is to just arrive, answer something, present your documents, open your bags, shut them and go. Not here. Here they are serious. They mean to be thorough. They seized a gun that I had tried to bring in once before. It was confiscated. All sorts of duties were levied. It was not released from their scrutiny for four days. It was nighttime too, when we came through then, and hot, like now. I was arriving from Montreal with my older brother. I was covered in his vomit. He barfed on me over Antigua. The gun was a cheap plastic replica James Bond 007 toy from Woolworth’s that fired white plastic bullets three feet. It was 1966. I was eight years old, in short pants.

The officers in Piarco’s custom’s hall captured me then and they captured me now, with twelve clean white shirts, and the sweaty one I was wearing. You have to take customs seriously, especially if they are bored or it’s a slow night. They can hold you at the desk for as long as they want, and they do, a lot. It wasn’t like it was a slow night, what with five or more jumbos having all touched down within minutes of each other. What was slow was the customs process. You got the feeling that if they moved faster the chips would fall off their shoulders.

The Polo mint backlash that grabbed Frau unawares in the customs hall snuck up on me too. The customs officer took his time as I tried to remain patient. I just wanted some fresh air. I was sticky, tipsy and tired. To customs I must have looked seedy enough to smuggle anything. Fatigued and blurry-headed I stood by and watched customs go through each of our ten bags. After a quarter of an hour of shirt baiting by the customs officer I was released from the hall, with Frau’s monkey and our messed up bags. I went out to Frau who I could see coming out of the ladies loo. She had finished retching in the toilet, leaving her grilled chicken coach-class in-flight meal to make what it would of the airport’s sewer system.

We made our way out towards the throng of people waiting at arrivals. Standing in front of all the locals was my mother who had seen Frau flit from the customs hall to the ladies loo previously. She walked forwards, towards Frau, with a look of concern and held her firmly by the shoulders; staring straight into her eyes to see just what state she was in. Mum would already know my state having had a lifetime of collecting me at airports. Frau wasn’t yet returning to any colour recognizable as human and we both smelled of stale champagne and flat rum and cokes. Frau could be forgiven considering the excitement of arriving in such an exotic place. However when Mum detected more than the top notes of Polo mints on our breath she knew we were both just trashed.

Standing to the back of the crowd, was my father and my aunt, Joy. Taller than most around them they stood surveying the backs of people’s heads sternly, almost policing them out of our way as they waved us over to them. Dad led us to the parking lot, to a two-car convoy, my aunt’s car and his. Dad loaded bags into both cars saying that he thought we were mad to be giving up our flat in London to come down here.

Mum and Dad had long since kept two homes, one in America’s mid-west and one here. Joy had lived here forever but was readying to finally emigrate to America. When Dad was here he wasn’t touring the United States and Canada with the major league baseball team he was broadcast producer for. When Mum was here she was touring the round of parties and lunches with her friends. Dad tended to repairs and Mum tended to her garden. Dad rummaged around in his workshop out back and Mum rummaged around in the shops. Frau was rummaging around in the back seat desperately trying to lower her window so she could barf, again. Her frenzy made worse by the fact that we were sealed in. At night, in Trinidad, in the dark tropical countryside between the airport and Port of Spain, apparently, we were now told, you have to lock everything, and put up the windows.

The road that leads from the airport to the main highway looks menacing enough in a midnightblack sort of way. In the day it is more welcoming, fringed with tiny village homes, some on stilts with assorted livestock wandering the yards. The highway from the airport runs past all manner of agriculture. There are tracts of land tended by independent farmers who are mainly of East Indian descent. Stalls sell just-picked pineapples, fresh cut sugarcane, and now ketch blue crab brought in from the never far away sea and mangroves of the northeastern peninsula. At night however, Dad insisted, this scenic view, obscured by the humming blackness, was another beast. Third world bandits lay in wait along the highway in stolen cars with guns and cutlasses waiting to rape and rob people from first world countries en route to their four star hotels. He was right, they sometimes do.

Scattered along and up onto the foothills of the mountainous Northern Range, running parallel to our speeding sealed convoy, were the lights of distant dwellings. After some brief pleading Frau was allowed to have her window lowered. Frau stuck her head out but she didn’t hurl. Instead she felt almost better for the cool air that she was finally gulping for the first time since landing almost two hours ago. We heard the crickets in the fields that we sped past. You could occasionally pick up far off thumping beats of bass heavy music rolling down from the nearer homes on the hills. Our convoy travelled past the endless agricultural tracts of land. Joy, in her car with Mum and half our ten huge bags in front with Frau, Dad, me and the rest of our luggage right behind. Frau had her head sticking out the back window at a right angle, lips flapping, teeth exposed, sneering in a maniacal ‘g-force’ grimace. She managed not to spew, but she probably managed to freak out any rum soaked, ganja crazed, crack-heads lurking in the dark waiting to run us off the road and pillage my consignment of white shirts. I wondered if we had done the right thing in coming here. Surely I would feel differently in the daylight in the familiar surroundings of our home… surely.

We arrived at our compound, surrounded by high walls and a gate. The homes in our suburb of St. Claire were all fortress like. It was a leafy suburb as they say, except you could only see the top leaves of the tress behind your neighbour’s walls, for the most part. They should call it a walled suburb. It made you feel the opposite of safe. It made you feel like a sitting duck. Instead of pulling up to our white wrought iron gate, Dad and Joy circled the block three times and switched approaches on the fourth, until they were sure we not followed or were in danger of ambush. Concern for my shirts grew. Once we were inside the compound, we eventually climbed out of the cars and Frau and I wearily made our way up the steps to the front door and waited as my father went through the routine of alarm codes that would allow us into the house. I don’t know if Frau was as apprehensive about our move to Trinidad as I was by now, but when we walked into the front room and found my Grandmother watching a Bollywood film on TV, volume blaring, I think she started to have second thoughts.

Get Free Copy
0
Free copy left
You can read our best books
Next Chapter
Chapters
1. Chapter 1 CARIBBEAN CUSTOMS: MONKEY, SEX AND SMUGGLING ON ARRIVAL
Further Recommendations

AASTHA SHARMA: really...one of the best novel i've ever read...a very touching story....really loved it...thanks for writing such a masterpeice...the struggle of the narrator but still remaining satisfied is the thing that i liked the most...another nice thing is the concept of talking with god...in short i wou...

graceeming: I LOVE this book, it has the setting that I just love and the way the characters are built through the whole story is something else I love. I 100% recommend this to anyone, you'll be surprised about this. I was, and this is my go-to book.

Lydia Walters: I really enjoyed this novel. It gives us a view of what could be if we really tried.Also that there's nothing wrong with loving our LORD and our fellow humans. couldn't wait to get to each new chapter (mission). Thanks, Joe!

hridhyaraj: I am only able to read till the bonus chapter of boyband...please someone tell me what happens after that.... I can't wait to know what happens next. does aqueela and jt get back together? what about Troy? I feel pity for the guy...and where does Emma and Xavier move to? I'm just flooded with ...

Jennifer Kane Martin: I am a high school teacher, and the dialogue and inner thoughts are PERFECT. However, the lack of capitalization, punctuation, and the typos are distracting. Don't let these get in the way of a potentially good story.

Laraine Smith: You are a true artist! You should do this for a living! I love the imagery here! It is magical! You are magical!

aoifecollopy22: I loved how the author had the conflict come back later in the story. Also how they passed time without going over anything. That really helped move the story along. This kept my up for a few hours. YOU SHOULD READ THIS

Jasmine Chow: As I read this story, I was reminded some what of Terry Pratchett, especially some descriptions of politics and economics. The sci-fic setting is quite intriguing. Writing style is quite lovely and grew on me slowly. I was also slightly reminded of Mark Twain, especially his book A Connecticut Ya...

CookieMonster911: The story overall was an adventure that is appealing to any age. The way the characters develop adds a more human characteristic to the novel. The writing style itself is amazing because you can learn every character's thoughts and emotions. The awkward love triangle and jerk moments adds to the ...

More Recommendations

nakhvavaishu: just loved it...u cant put this book down once u start reading...from the very first page it is an emotional rollercoaster....the way author has described the undescribable😉 chemistry between our very own jay n aqueela its just way tooo awesome...i just felt the love n mischievious bonding betwee...

rudyoxborough46: An action-packed, mystical adventure awaits anyone wishing to read this novel. I’m amazed at how well you’ve managed to flesh out the characters in this book, and I hope to read more of your work.I’ve read books about goblins and elves and all that mumbo-jumbo before, and most accounts of these c...

Dru83: This is the second or third time I've read this one and I just love it. It has just about everything you could ever want packed into one scifi story. It still has some parts that are a little rough in terms of grammar, punctuation, and word usage, but it's still an awesome story. I love how detai...

Giuliana Cassetta: My face is full of tears, I never cried like now with a book or even a movie. I loved every single chapter. I truly don't know what to say, I'm out of words and my eyes hurt from crying. Such an bittersweet story, it's so wonderful. One of my favorites for sure. Keep it up!

re8622: The Last Exodus quickly grabbed my attention. Almost as soon as I started reading the story, I couldn't put it down. I found that the ideas the author put forth were very thought provoking given the turmoil we have seen gradually rise over the last several years. I felt that I could understand th...

About Us:

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered book publisher, offering an online community for talented authors and book lovers. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books you love the most based on crowd wisdom.