Osmund James, Contributor
SIX rent-a-dreads and four Euro-tourists women are smoking, dancing, drinking and laughing in front of a small cook-shop and bar on a neat lane in Negril.
But the dreads suddenly lose some of their pep at the sight of three robed Rastafarians, with long locks uncovered, striding into the lane. The overcast weekday mid-afternoon sky moans darker.
The nine dreadlocks are all long-time residents of Negril town who know each other well. But it's been many years since they've exchanged words or looks that aren't loaded with anger and bitterness.
The three robed dreads are brothers - 45-year-old Thunder Dread, 34-year-old Lightning Dread and 21-year-old Fire Dread - sons of an old Rasta fisherman and three different mothers.
The three brothers now come to a fuming, glowering stop opposite the rent-a-dreads and Euro-women.
The rent-a-dreads become almost motionless under the intense glares of the robed dreads. The Euro-women go rigid. Onlookers edge closer. Music ceases from within the cook-shop and bar. Dark sky laments yet darker.
In a hard, sharp cutting voice, Thunder Dread declares: "The nation talkin' 'bout the article published in newspaper yesterday featurin' the empty words of yu man-whores and sodomites pretendin' to be Rasta to get money from stupid tourist women. Well, Rasta will not be mocked any longer by yu six wolves. The spirit send I-and-I to make an example of yu six."
Tension
Here begins an eternal, little silence, during which none of the rent-a-dreads and local onlookers thought the robed dreads intended using physical violence.
These three robed dreads were known by all to be as non-violent and humble as their dreadlocked fisherman father.
So it isn't strange that, during this great, little silence, two of the rent-a-dreads silently tell themselves that perhaps there is a God, but not the God of the Bible.
The other rent-a-dread nervously wonders if Jah has sent the three more upright dreads to damn them. The tourist women cringe behind the rent-a-dreads; local onlookers and the rent-a-dreads feel certain the robed dreads didn't have guns.
Lighting Dread end the silence with a resonant shout of "Jah!"
Thunder Dread, Fire Dread and some onlookers shout: "Rastafari!"
Fire Dread shouts, "Jah!"
"Rastafari!" comes the rejoiner. Then with locks flashing, Thunder Dread shouts, "Thunder!", and Lightning Dread intones, "Lightning!" and Fire Dread, his locks flashing, cries out "Fire!"
Immediately from the east comes galloping a bone-shaking roar of thunder.
Onlookers move away from the rooted rent-a-dreads and their frozen Euro women.
Then several bolts of lightning strike out of the east straight into the petrified rent-a-dreads and their women. Their clothes and hair become blazing fires. Flesh smoulders.
Cries of horror and the stink of burning flesh fill the world. But not a sound from the writhing smouldering victims.
The three robed Rastafarians flash their locks and shout "Jah and His Son Rastafari!" and "Rastafari is Jah's Son and Rasta is Lord of earth!"
