Oxy Moron, Contributor

It was late 1978 and life was rough. Food was scarce and what was available was 'married' to something else. If you wanted a pound of flour, you had to buy a roll of steel wool. Sugar was hooked up with scouring pads. Rice tied the knot with kerosene, chicken back to sanitary napkins. Salt fish was declared persona non grata and took flight. A funny-tasting brown rice, bulk milk powder and coarsely textured cornmeal were plentiful though.

Long queues were at supermarkets as desperate people lined up to see what they could salvage. Everyone was feeling the pinch, and in real Jamaican grit people had to tun dem han' and mek fashion. Jimmy Jackson, an elderly man living alone in a humble one-bedroom board house in the hills of Clarendon, was forced to be creative himself.

His yard was overrun by many fowls, but one by one he had to eat them. Only one remained, and that was Jack Spannier, his pet rooster. Jack Spannier had been with him for more than five years. It was small and wiry, and many of his feathers had fallen out. It had a long, red neck bereft of any covering.

Killing Jack

Jimmy vowed never to eat Jack Spannier for he was such a faithful companion. Jack Spannier, however, was doing much better than Jimmy, as it had a daily diet of insects, small garden snakes, lizards, mice, centipedes, etc. It was a powerful crower, and you could tell when its stomach was full.

One Saturday morning, when it walked up to Jimmy, who was sitting at his door, to greet him as usual, Jimmy grabbed it by its long neck. The bird struggled, but Jimmy tightened his grip on its throat. It's body fluttered vigorously for a while, until Jack Spannier was still. Jimmy Jackson whispered, "Sorry, Jack my boy, but things tight."

After plucking Jack Spannier's few remaining reddish black feathers, he gutted it. The knife took forever to pierce the ageing flesh. After spending an hour to cut Jack Spannier to pieces, he seasoned it with thyme, pimento, scallion, garlic and onion. With that done, Jimmy made a wood fire over which he put a wrought-iron pot.

When the water came to a boil, he put the pieces of his former best friend into it. "Nothing personal, nothing personal," he said as he submerged Jack Spannier, bit by bit. Before he put the cover on, he dropped three big, rusty nails into the water to tenderise Jack Spannier's meat.

After the first hour passed, Jimmy poked a piece of the meat to see what progress it was making. The fork bounced off the bird with a lot of force and that was what happened for the entire day. Luckily, he had gathered enough firewood. A few more rusty nails were added but Jack Spannier wouldn't budge.

Unbearable hunger

About six o'clock, when the hunger was unbearable, Jimmy decided he was wasting no more time with Jack Spannier. It was time for his cock stew. The three dumplings in another pot on another fire had been waiting for hours to join the rooster.

Jimmy was now sitting on a low stool at his door. In a plate in his left hand were Jack Spannier's remains and the three dumplings. Every rubbery piece of Jack Spannier took minutes to chew, and his jaw got tired halfway through. Yet, he persevered.

Finally, the last piece was in the plate and, out of respect for his friend, he refused to eat it. He then got up to fetch himself some water, all he had to drink. He retook his seat and rested his head against the side of his house. Oh, what contentment.

After about five minutes of reflection on the departure of his pet, his stomach felt a little queasy. He got up to get a pepper, which he ate whole. But that didn't help. His stomach was now churning and he began to break out in cold sweat. He rose from the stool and hobbled towards a mango tree as his frail body shook.

Just as he reached the base of the tree, he felt Jack Spannier and the dumplings travelling up through his system. He bent over, pressed his hands against the tree, held his head down as he convulsed and waited for the regurgitation of the tough and vengeful Jack Spannier.

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