This one’s for B...mechanic, friend

I WROTE the column below a few weeks ago and saved it for a rainy day, never guessing how rainy the days would get. I offer it now because the floods swept through the places I wrote about in this column and because it reflects the good people who endured this hardship.

I need another week to deal with the loss of Shadow and share my feelings. In the meantime, this is a tribute to the extraordinary people I have had the privilege to live among in central Trinidad. When I first came to Trinidad 35 years ago, they helped me to get on my feet. It must have looked like some covert mission.

“Stay in the car,” B whispered as he quickly closed the door. “If they see you, it will be trouble. They will raise the price.” I hid behind Patrick French’s biography of VS Naipaul while B, my mechanic, a genius and kind soul, searched the Bamboo for car parts. B had dragged me everywhere imaginable behind God’s back on that Saturday. First, we replaced my tyres.

“I’ll never find this place again,” I said. “You don’t have to. I’ll always go with you.” After we bought the tyres, B took apart the faulty brakes that had my Cube jumping down the road. For an hour he tried to clean the part and keep it from sticking so the car could function once again. Finally, he gave up.

“We have to go to the Bamboo,” he said. “Can’t I just buy a new part,” I asked. “No, new parts will cost about $1,500 apiece. I can get them much cheaper in the Bamboo. I think I can get used parts for about $200 apiece.” But will they last? I mean wouldn’t it be better to buy a new part? I don’t mind. I have a credit card. (Like I need more bills to pay).

He shrugged. “Old parts, new parts – either one could last a day, a week, some months – maybe the lifetime of the car. There’s no guarantee. It’s like you asking me how long you’re going to live. Nobody knows the answer to that.”

“It’s already so late,” I said. “I told you this would take the whole day,” B reminded. “But I don’t have the whole day. I’m really busy. Everything moves faster in town.”

“Everything moves crazy in town,” he said. “It’s so hot,” I grumbled. “But nice breeze,” he said. “I guess.”

“You know you are getting grouchy in your old age,” B said. How ungrateful, I must have seemed. I looked up from my book to see B pounding away at some brake part, trying to separate it from another car part. It took some time, but finally, B headed towards the car, parts in hand.

“I got both parts for $300 total,” he said proudly. “You can’t go wrong with that price. Hold your bill.” On the way back to his garage, B decided to take a detour to show me where he lived. “Now you know how to get to my house,” he said. After he fixed the brakes, there was a long test drive and finally, eight hours later, B finished. Once again, charged a ridiculously low price to fix my car. Every time I ask, “Are you sure that’s all?” he shrugs and says, “I like what I do. And you do so much for people. Someone should do something for you. And don’t buy no tyres in town again,” he warned. “I tell you, anything you need, come out here.”

“Here” is a whole other world where life is slower and simpler and good people like B set out to help you – not cheat you. As he sent me on my way, I thought about how much I always dread going so far to fix my car. I fuss and quarrel, but in the end, I always feel like I’ve escaped the rat race. I feel rested and renewed, and my faith in people is restored. A few days later, I called B to thank him for fixing my car. “My car works like a dream,” I said. “Right, right,” he said. “Good.”

“And I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed spending the day with you. I always do.”

“Well, you gave me enough trouble,” he said. I wanted to argue, but B was right. Maybe next time, I thought, I’ll do better. The problem is, I always make that promise.

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"This one’s for B…mechanic, friend"

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