What's in a Nickname

What’s in a Nickname
by Austin Mitchell

Benjie peeled the roasted breadfruit with the big knife, the skin of the fruit falling near his feet. Princess was putting the roasted codfish into the
rundown. Joshy and Leppy were also peeling breadfruits. In all two dozen of the fruits would be peeled to feed the more than twenty workers on the estate. Balvin was stirring a zinc-pan full of lemonade. Crafton was sitting on a dried tree limb. Nearby, Stagga, a huge, man standing six feet four inches and weighing in excess of two hundred and fifty pounds, had finished peeling his two breadfruits. He normally roasted his own breadfruits and salt fish but would take some of the run-down as he was now doing. He also mixed his own lemonade in a huge cheese pan.
Stagga sat down and began to have his feast. He showed no signs of fatigue from his sexual exertions last night.
“So how was last night, Stagga. You want better food than that to keep up with that kind of work,” Leon told him and Stagga burst out laughing.
“You know this is only lunch. This morning Neda cooked some good food for me.”
Clinton took his food from Princess and came to sit beside Stagga.
“I saw you moving through last night, Stagga. Now that you aren’t at Backra Wells’ place again you seem to be doing well for yourself.”
Stagga took a long drink of his lemonade before replying.
“Clinton, I’m trying to set up a little plot, planting some ground provisions. My woman, Neda, takes it to the Linstead market to sell.”
“So she doesn’t quarrel with you or she doesn’t know about those other women?” Clinton asked.
“Most nights I tell her that I’m out playing dominos with you guys.”
They saw Hepburn Binger riding past on a donkey. He had been a former driver (slave flogger). It had been said that he only wanted to take a fancy to your woman and then he’d try to cripple you with his whip. Some of the workers gave him some wicked looks. He had crippled Laddie and Booker could hardly walk.
Stagga, Leon and Clinton were glad that they had escaped Binger’s whip. All three had striking women and felt that they would come under the man’s whip if slavery was still in. Binger lived in Mango Ridge where he had a small holding. He was not well liked in the village.
Binger was also a wrestler. One of the reasons why he was not well liked was that he had deliberately broken a limb for any opponent who dared to challenge him. These matches usually took place on Emancipation Day but for the last two years Binger had no challengers.
Binger sold charcoal. He chopped down trees on the estates and cut up the wood to make his kiln. They could see the bags of coals on the donkey he was riding. He still carried his big whip which was maybe one of the reasons he had never been attacked by any of those, who had suffered at his hands.
Stagga took up a big stone wanting to throw at Binger.
“Don’t bother with that, Stagga,” Leon said and Stagga threw down the stone in disgust.
“Saw him beat Caston, busted him, couldn’t walk for days and look what he did to Laddie and Booker,” Stagga said taking up back his food plate. He jammed the wooden fork into a large slice of breadfruit and dipped it into the run-down before putting it into his mouth.
“That man is a brute, he broke Cuffe’s arm and nearly broke Big Lloyd’s neck. Nobody wants to wrestle with him,” Princess said.
“Cow-dung,” Leon hissed under his breath. Binger had been given that nick-name ever since he and Melvin Watson had fought and the smaller man had somehow managed to rub his face into the cow refuse.
All of them laughed remembering Miss Lucille’s set-up when Binger had chased several youths calling him his nick-name all over the village.
As soon as he had swallowed the last piece of breadfruit, Stagga shouted out Binger’s nickname. Binger wasn’t out of earshot and stopped his cart. He tied the donkey rope to a nearby tree and came up to them with his whip in hand.
“Which one of you called me so?” he demanded. Binger stood on the soles of his feet, ready to spring into action, his whip coiled to strike.
Even without his whip all of the men knew that they would be no match for him. Even Stagga despite his size knew that he was no match for the man.
“Mister Binger, is not any of them call you so. You’re a big man, what’s a little nickname going do to you, kill you?” Princess asked.
“It’s one of them call me so and they know that I don’t like that name,” Binger stubbornly held his ground. He looked the men over.
“It’s you, Stagga, I’m sure it was you. I know your voice. Get up so that I can beat the hell out of you with my whip.”
Suddenly Leon grabbed his machete and sprang up.
“Hit any of us with that whip and I’ll limb you like I was chopping a tree.”
Clinton had also grabbed up his machete and Balvin and Crafton had picked up huge rockstones to throw at Binger. Yet Binger wasn’t backing away. Benjie had picked up a fork while Leppo had a digging bill. Only when Binger saw the array of weapons arraigned against him did he back down.
“I know it was you, Stagga, but I’ll catch you alone one day and I’m going to turn your black skin white.”
Stagga grabbed the fork from Benjie and shouted.
“You think I’m afraid of you, Binger. You are always going around the place threatening people with your whip. I just want to have something in my hand when you come after me the next time.”
Binger rode off fuming. He would get even with those men. He prayed that he could meet each man alone, then he would be able to use his whip on him or even wrestle and broke some part of them.
A month later and Binger caught Stagga alone and attacked him. Stagga threw some rocks at him, hitting him down. Binger had to spend about two months in hospital. Stagga had suffered some blows from Binger’s whip before he let fly the rocks. He spent a month in hospital. Both men were charged with wounding and causing grevious body harm. Both claimed self defense, were fined and admonished by the court.
Two weeks after he was admonished by the courts Binger attended a nine-night for an old lady who had died and had been buried last week. He had attended both her set-up, funeral and turning out and now he was at her nine night to sing some songs, drink cocoa tea and eat fritters.
Binger was enjoying himself at the nine night which was packed with people when he heard somebody shout.
“Cow-dung, Hepburn Binger, is what me do you?”
“Mooh, mooh……………….mooh.”
Binger uttered some bad words and immediately went for his whip which he had left on his donkey.
Binger uttered a cry of amazement when he grabbed hold of the whip. It had been cut in about six parts rendering it completely useless and he didn’t have his machete with him. He thought of getting a piece of stick but dismissed the idea and returned to the nine night in disgust. An hour later he heard the same voices mocking him and he started after them. He saw a man running and he gave chase. Other voices joined in the mockery and Binger started after them too. They were young guys who were mocking him. He ran after them on the main road, through the bushes, the night was dark and he couldn’t identify his mockers as they were younger and therefore faster than him.
Binger returned to the nine night tired and disheveled. He would refresh himself before he rejoined the singing. He would ignore his mockers. Enquiring after some food he heard that only soup was available and he gratefully accepted two cups before he rejoined the singing.
That morning as Binger labored home on his donkey he knew he had been foolish to have lost so much energy in pursuing his mockers. He had only made himself a laughing stock. He would ignore them from now on. For after all what’s in a nickname? The End. Please visiy my blog at:http://stredwick.blogspot.com