Born in war, brought up in poverty caused by
isolation, one could hardly expect a child of the forties to know very much.
Never having left the island, I often wondered what the outside world was
like. While tending my flock of goats on the flanks of the mountain, I often
gazed at the other islands, and really wondered of there were people living
out there.
In those days with no airport, no electricity, no television, no motor
vehicles, few radios, no newspapers and very few magazines coming from the
outside world, one had to rely on the tales coming from the old sea
captains.
Often in the afternoon I used to hang around the breadlines listening to the
men talking about their experiences in faraway countries. I would let my
imagination take flight, but could only come up with images of that which
surrounded me.
Breadlines were gathering places usually along an old stone wall, where men
sat in their regular spots and discussed the events of the day.
In the village where I lived, Windwardside, there were only two breadlines,
and the faithful commuted from one to the other, depending on which one
offered the best conversation. One of the most colorful characters of these
breadlines was John Selix, known as Nix (a brother of Big Jim), whom the
white members tolerated because of his simplicity and because he was the
scapegoat for many pranks which took place in the course of the evening.
However, as the years passed, Nix became more of a patriarch of the
diminishing clan of breadliners. When he grew too old to walk and the first
Jeep arrived on Saba, his former white colleagues rigged up a rocking chair
to two long poles, and brought him on their shoulders from English Quarter,
to see the pride of Saba, its Jeep. In disgust Nix looked it over and asked
them to carry him back home to die. His quiet world had been shattered by
the noisy Jeep, and he wanted no part of it.
Another regular breadliner, Clement, changed his breadline because a black
man had been sitting on the boulder which he had occupied for years, and
Clement felt that this was carrying integration too far. Until his death,
many years later, he never returned to that breadline.
It was at one of these breadlines that I overheard the men talking about the
new Frigidaire at the hospital. How it had taken four men to bring it up
from the Bay, whereas Big Jim would have brought it up on his head, without
changing his 'wad'. They laughed at the fact that Virginia wrapped her hand
in cloth before removing anything from the Frigidaire for fear of catching
cold. I noticed though, that a number of the men kept silent, and notably
those who had not been off-island. Things went through my mind representing
cold, rainstorms, winter winds, the top of the mountain, but for the life of
me I couldn't come up with something that would give me a cold if I did not
wrap cloth around my hands before opening it. We had cupboards at home, but
they were generally warm inside. This had to be a big joke, since as a
matter of fact one closed up a house to keep it warm inside. How could one
catch cold opening up something? This story had to be nonsense, and had to
be investigated.
The talk of the day at school the following morning was the new Frigidaire
at the hospital, and I seemed kind of stupid for not knowing that it looked
like a box and was painted white. Douglas even knew that it was kept in the
kitchen, and volunteered to carry me down that night so that I could have my
first look at the fridge.
When we arrived at the kitchen that night, Virginia was strutting round her
domain, proud as a young rooster, bragging about her new toy called a
Frigidaire. Douglas pointed it out to me, proud that he had seen something
before I had. I kept staring at it, not daring to ask Virginia to open it
up.
It had looked like any old mahogany press, only that it was painted white
and had but one door with a big metal handle. We didn't have to prod
Virginia much to open it up, because this had been the greatest pleasure of
her day, to be able to show off her Frigidaire to the many curious villagers
who had come around wanting to see it.
After wrapping up her arms in cloths (the breadliners were right after all,
though I saw nothing in it to laugh about) the icebox was opened for
inspection. It was lined with shelves, and with smoke coming out of it
especially through the small inside door at the top. From my safe position
outside the door I kept looking at it and kept wondering how a smoking press
could give one a cold.
Virginia then asked us if we would like some ice. Of course at that age one
was reckless enough to try anything, and just imagine the story we would
have to tell our friends at school the next day! So we timidly said yes.
After pulling out a metal thing that looked much like a small breadpan,
Virginia handed us each a piece of transparent white rock.
For a moment I looked at it in my hand and thought: 'Who does Virginia think
she's fooling?'
Suddenly the rock started to get hot and to leak, and with a yell Douglas
and I threw those leaky rocks on the pavement.
With nothing to thank Virginia for we rushed up the hill to brag to our
friends the next day that nothing they could think of was 'hotter than ice'.
After all, we had seen it. Had felt it. We were the experts.
It took a number of years before ice-cream was introduced to me, and before
we got our own refrigerator at home. By that time I had been abroad and was
accustomed to a refrigerator, though still not fully versed in how something
hot produces something cold, and something cold seemed hot.
To this day, each time I see a refrigerator, that night at the old hospital
comes back to my mind, and I still marvel at the workings of a Frigidaire.
