Monster's Chef by Jervey Tervalon Read Free Book Online Page B

listening to Rastaman Vibration , fantasizing that I was trapped in a beautiful Babylon, when I saw her by the pineapple sage, sniffing at red blossoms, shooing away bees: a very pregnant blonde who looked almost comic, that thin with such a belly! I waved to her and she glanced up. She looked alarmed and hurried to the private entrance of the mansion that the hired help could not, under any circumstances, use. As soon as she disappeared a powerfully built black man appeared. He wore baggy linen pants and a white shirt so tight that if he flexed his muscles it would burst. He turned and looked at me; his face expressed nothing.
    But I got it, another indication of this “lay of the land” warning: Don’t even look in the direction of Monster’s wife.
    Or you might have a brother man come calling.
    I WANTED TO TELL MANNY the groundskeeper what had happened, but I didn’t know if I could trust him, or anyone at Monster’s Lair.
    Once or twice a week Manny came by the kitchen for fruit juice. I enjoyed his visits, and the distraction from the monotony of doing very little. He watched happily as I cut watermelon and put it into the processor with sugar and a little lemon.
    I served it to him in a frosted glass, and he seemed to be genuinely impressed.
    â€œIt’s good,” he said, “almost like what you would get in Mexico.”
    I had returned to chopping carrots when I saw him glance at me.
    â€œYou like working here?” he asked.
    I shrugged. “I can’t say I like it, but I’m almost used to it. This place . . . I don’t know what to say about this place. It’s so quiet; sometimes I go a whole day and not say a word to anyone. I’m not sure why Monster needs a personal chef. He hardly spends any time here. Hear he’s in Poland trying to get an amusement park built. There’s really nothing much for me to do. Sometimes I get stir-crazy with hardly anyone to talk to. It’s like I’m serving a prison sentence in solitary confinement.”
    Manny nodded.
    â€œYes. They paid for us to come to work, but there isn’t much work. But for me it’s good. I’ve worked hard all my life and now I get paid well to not work too hard. The drive home, it’s hard, the drive to Lompoc, but I don’t mind. I don’t like to stay here nights. My wife doesn’t like to be alone, so I only stay when the weather is bad and I don’t trust the road,” Manny said, and looked nervous for a second and then continued in a barely audible voice, “I try not to stay here after dark.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Manny didn’t answer and refused to meet my eyes.
    â€œBut as long as you’re not here at night, you’re okay with the job?”
    â€œI make good money. I’m able to put aside money for retiring. I’ve already had a home built in Baja for when I retire. I can’t complain about this job. It’s been good to me.”
    â€œYou work over there in the forbidden courtyard?”
    â€œForbidden courtyard, that’s what you call it?”
    â€œYeah, it’s a joke to myself. What goes on over there, what do you see?”
    Manny smiled broadly. “You signed that paper. We’re not supposed to talk about what we see.”
    â€œBut I’ve yet to actually see anything. Other than a couple of quick stops, Monster has been gone for most of the time I’ve worked here.”
    â€œGood for you. It’s nice when he’s not here. When he is, Security is too bravo . You don’t need these to work here,” Manny said, pointing to his eyes, then to his ears.
    â€œEars either,” I said.
    We laughed, and then I stared at him for a minute, hoping that maybe he’d let something slip.
    â€œThose young boys are everywhere. They uproot plantings and break things, but you can’t talk to them. No, Security won’t let you stop them from doing a thing. He wants them to do