The queen’s ducks

A longing for roast duck puts some West Indian students in trouble Rebekah Lawrence confesses

  • Illustration by Shalini Seereeram

“You are definitely going to get us into pure crosses. I ent hanging around here wid you.” Mina was adamant in her disbelief when she realised that Darren was serious. Janelle was laughing hysterically. She couldn’t believe it. “Darren, yuh is a real bush rat, but dat cyan work right here so in Cambridge.” She was shaking her head and laughing, not really taking Darren seriously.

We had just come back from a salsa party at Wolfson College and had a long walk back. At around 3 a.m., we were taking our time. We could sleep late tomorrow, it would be Saturday. Strolling over St John’s Bridge, the town of Cambridge was graveyard quiet. A few lights were lit over at Queen’s College. For us, it was the end of the Friday night lime, the only real time we got together. So we were wallowing in it, walking and chatting, joking. There was silence all around, except for the ducks below, calmly swimming about in the river Cam. The most we heard was the puttering of the water and the grunts (no, they definitely do not quack) of the ducks.

Roonie was listening and watching us. He had this eager look on his face as if he could barely wait for the next move.

“I telling all yuh, roast duck for Sunday dinner would be sweet,” Darren declared, serious as a judge. He took his knapsack from his shoulder and began to make space. Janelle stopped laughing and nervously began to look around.

Roonie piped up after his silence. “Dem ducks belong to the Queen, you know. Some special fine you will have to pay if we get ketch tiefing de queen ducks. I believe dem is some rare ducks too, endangered, yuh hear. A £5,000 fine if you touch even one hair pon she ducks.”

“Don’t fret on dat man, I gwine do dis quick and quiet,” Darren assured us.

Mina was really getting mad now. “You really tink you in the bush back in Guyana. Here nuh, I en sacrificing no studies to taste no freaking queen duck.”

But Darren beckons to Mina, pleading, “Oh Goooooowd, don be so. Trust me nuh. It will be sweet. I will make it soak in the seasoning for all of tomorrow.” He sounds desperately persuasive, while digging in his bag and pulling out what looks like a yarn of string.

Janelle starts to giggle.

“What now?” asks Mina, throwing her arms in the air. Janelle turns to her. “Is jus he seems so prepared for this hunt. Yuh nuh see de bredda walking around wit string in ‘im bag? If yuh ever see mi dying trial.”

Darren seems a little perturbed that he hasn’t managed to convince us. He tries again. “Dis duck going to be sweet,  man. I got some Guyanese pepper that my cousin sent up for me from Guyana. Real pepper you know, not de kind that Sainsbury sells in the ethnic foods section. Plus, think carefully about it, it is a rebellious act against the state.”

Janelle steps in, “So, you intellectualising a duck kill now. Rebellious act against the state, my ass. And what if we get caught? What are you going to tell your people back home eh? Dat we get kick out ah Cambridge because we kill the Queen’s duck? Dat doesn’t sound like a worthy cause to me. Dat sound like we would be the laughing stock, a story that would be on verandah steps for generation to come.”

Darren declares impatiently: “Look how far all you carrying dis ting. It will only take 30 seconds. One duck will do. I ent planning on killing all four.”

Mina pipes up: “No need to explain all that. I am not waiting around for that.”

“Neither me,” says Janelle. Darren looks at Roonie, hoping for at least one partner in crime. Roonie shakes his head, “Sorry, boy, I ent in dat either. Forget the Queen and she £5,000 ducks. We can cook up some curried channa and chicken an ting with some buss up shut.”

He pulls Darren by the shirt, away from the bridge. Darren resists. He keeps staring at the ducks. We all start walking away. Darren is left alone. Each of us walking in silence, looking back every so often to see if he has decided to catch up with us. But nothing. We walk in complete silence for a few minutes.

More minutes pass and we all getting nervous. Darren just stooping and staring. A few minutes pass. Darren rejoins us.

“Tomorrow, my place for dinner at 6, okay?”

“We’ll be eating in fine style,” says Roonie. “No animal in the Guyanese jungle cost as much as £5,000.”

“Yeh, but dis jungle here real different though,” says Janelle.

Yes, this jungle different in truth.

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