Bridgetown, Barbados, July 23, 2010  -- I have been reflecting on the circumstances which have necessitated my rapid return to Barbados on July 21,  having departed the island only three weeks previously – on June 30, following a three-month visit; and it reignites within myself the debate about whether life inspires and stimulates art, with art merely imitating life; or does art perform in a surreal realm of its own without depending on life’s events for inspiration?; or, thirdly, are life and art immutable? 

Because of the reason I have come back so quickly, and two other events that have come to my knowledge within 24 hours of arrival, it was essential that I revisit Gene Montague and Marjorie Henshaw’s  outstanding work “The Experience of Literature” (Anthology and Analysis) to refresh acquaintance with W. Somerset Maugham’s remarkable piece of  original writing (art) which he called “Death”. 

At the time they published, through Prentice-Hall, Inc., in 1966 (the year my twin daughter and son were born), Gene Montague was Lecturer in Literature at Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Marjorie Henshaw was Assistant Professor of English at Arizona State University.  

And thus spoke Maugham (as part of his broader work “Sheppey”) about the absolutely mystifying oddities of life and death that have in part brought me hustling back to Barbados:  He wrote – 

“Death:  There was a merchant in Bagdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, Master, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now lend me your horse and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there death will not find me. The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. 

 “Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?   That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Bagdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.”  

Here, to me, was Maugham’s close observation of the inexplicable peculiarities of life expressed brilliantly in the art of his writing. 

And now back to the point of  my return to the island so soon after departing. Had Death encountered my good friend Jeremiah Hezekiah “William” Samuel at the marketplace in Bridgetown, Barbados, during the month of June, 2010, She/He (for some reason I cannot fathom, Maugham feminizes Death) would have been similarly startled as was the case at the marketplace of Bagdad, for She/He had in Her/His schedule a July 8 meeting with Mr. Samuel in far away North Carolina, southeastern USA. What Death would not have then known was that Mr. Samuel had already finalized arrangements for a return air trip and vacation in the place of their scheduled meeting. And they did meet there.  

The embalmed body of Mr. Samuel, a former employee of the Caribbean Development Bank, was flown back to the island for a funeral service and burial on Saturday, July 24, with family, friends, colleagues and acquaintances attending. His life, framed on the basic principles of Christianity, was split almost equally between four countries. He was born in Antigua & Barbuda, first migrated to Guyana, then to England, and then to Barbados - in each of which he spent more than 20 years. 

There are two other incidents involving the shenanigans of Death which have come to my knowledge in just a day following my arrival for Mr. Samuel’s funeral – which arrival was a feat in itself, given the crush for airline seats (in and out) by overseas-based Barbadians returning home for the colourful summertime Crop-Over Festival which has its origins in historical celebrations to mark the completion of both the sugarcane harvest in the fields and manufacture of raw sugar in the factories.  

The first incident affects our neighbours-next-door who have been long resident in Canada, but maintain a holiday residence at the top of our street. They too have hurried back to Barbados, mourning a dear one whom Death might have accidentally jostled in Toronto and been likewise startled, knowing that listed in Her/His schedule was a meeting, also during July, in faraway Barbados. As things turned out, the target arrived by air fit and well, was enjoying the Crop-Over activities, and had had his early morning swim in the Caribbean sea for a perfect start to the day, when he was struck and killed by a vehicle on the heavily trafficked Spring Garden Highway near Bridgetown.  

Death strikes wherever, but seldom in the circumstances and location of the third occurrence that has come to my notice within the same 24 hours; and for the fairly small group of people who witnessed the descent of Death’s heavy hand, it might have ruined their Crop-Over celebrations somewhat.  Details of the incident were relayed by another overseas-based Barbadian, at home for Crop-Over, who was both a witness and participant when Death struck.  

She and friends had gone for a night of dancing to a popular nightspot in the capital city which specializes in romantic and sentimental music from the 60s, 70s and 80s – mostly attracting the middle-agers. They were having a great time together with “fantastic oldies” when a stranger came up and requested to dance with her. He was well mannered, well dressed, and so they danced. A couple 'numbers' later, conversation stopped, and as they danced she sensed him tightening his grip on her and more of his body weight against her. That she thought to be unbecoming and not acceptable, for they really did not know each other; so she disengaged his arms and moved backward; upon which he fell to the dance floor. Helpers immediately administered resuscitation measures, but to no avail. Death - Her or Him - which has the prerogative of determining date, time, place and manner, had unerringly kept another appointment from Her/His diary of dispatch. 

Further, in my quiet conversations with myself, I am not quite sure within what context to place the death of my own dear Mother-in-law Doris Mayers at her Brooklyn, New York, home on July 9.  As has been her practice over the years, she had spent winter 2009-2010 in homeland Guyana, enjoying a mixture of rain and sunshine and all the things (the sights, the scenes, the sounds) about Christmas, New Year and Mashramani that are unique to her country. 

During my week's visit there in mid-April to attend Jesuit priest Harold Wong's funeral, she and I had several extended conversations about family and financial matters affecting a 90-year-old and the need to return to Newton (near Boston) where Charles and Oneeka usually lavish attendance upon her. She promised she would come in August to join the family on the annual vacation on Martha's Vineyard.  However, during those conversations, it never occurred to me to inquire of her whether any stranger, woman or man, had ever jostled her at the Bourda Market, more than a mile distance from her home, to which she walked almost daily to purchase fresh fruit and nutritious local vegetables. 

It seemed that in our innocence, or ignorance, as we were planning for the Vineyard, Death's Diary already had an appointment entered for her at a New York location. Doris Mayers returned to the Big Apple from Guyana in time for her 90th birthday party on April 20... During the first week of July she got a virtual health all-clear for the vital signs during her periodical medical check... but she died suddenly a week later. Death laughs in all faces. 

So... much as some who are artists may wish to contend that it is life which imitates art, there is so much about the span of life’s landscape that the brush cannot recreate, nor could words and images represent.  Nor horses…  nor  planes…  nor sweet music can mess with Death’s rigidly scheduled appointments.