(Fish out of water…)
CCLE: A Personal Journal - Part III
By Ruel Johnson
Guyana Chronicle
August 3, 2003
Friday, June 20th
After a night of snuggling under a thick comforter, I wake to the air conditioner’s monotonous drone.
This morning I am ready for the shower. I methodically adjust the handle and test the water until it is at a suitable temperature.
I undress completely and step into the tub. At some point during my shower, in attempting to lower the pressure, I scald myself..
Just out of the shower, I discover that the heavy curtains at my windows are adjustable…
Being cold and naked and looking out from the windows of a room on the ninth floor of an upscale Toronto Hotel proves to be a remarkably surreal experience…
(A fleeting assessment)
I head back to the place that I have determined will be my breakfast place for the duration of my stay. I finally read the sign which says “The Alfresco Café and Deli.” The street signs tell me that I am at the corner of Dundas and Elizabeth Streets…
I order a sandwich and a cup of coffee. I head outside again into the chilly, thin-aired morning. I sip the coffee and almost spit it out at once. I head back inside and am directed to a basketful of sachets of sugar. I take three and pour them into my coffee.
It is at this point, when I do not detect an iota of difference in the taste, that I fantasise about a sickeningly pre-sweetened cup of coffee from Campsite.
I settle down, pen and complimentary “Metropolitan” stationery in hand, to observing the scene around me. I put my observations under the heading, “An area of starkness”. I note that…
…there are so many shiny new SUVs, I feel as if I’m at a ministerial convention back home.
…two out of every five passers-by are Asian. And most of the businesses in sight seem to have Asian ideograms as well as English signs.
…the population seems an aging one; most of the people passing by are above forty.
I look over what I have written. A perceptive Naipaul I am not. I have learnt nothing. To crown off the feeling of mild literary inadequacy that begins to overcome, a taxi passes by and the middle-aged driver sticks his head out of his car and yells in an ostensibly Caribbean accent, “Young man, you can’t write.” I put way the pen and paper and head towards Yonge Street.
(The Joys of Shopping)
I end up walking too long. I have forgotten that I was to have met Stella at 9.30. Walking along Dundas back to the hotel, I see a worried Stella approaching me. She chides me for not leaving a message at the hotel. After she calms down, she hands me a jacket.
We turn back and head in the direction of the Eaton Centre mall.
Stella expands on the previous day’s shopping lesson. I follow her around, notebook in hand. I feel acutely aware that I am practically broke whenever we near the women’s section.
After a while she has to go home to meet some friends. I promise to meet up with her and Michael at six o’clock to catch a movie or something. I go back to the hotel and change in time for the “Publishers Networking Luncheon”. Someone has seen it fit for me to speak at the most pricey event at the Expo.
(Whaddoyoumeannervous?)
Nancy meets me at the luncheon with spiral-bound copies of my manuscript. There are several publishers, mostly small press. Among them, however, is the global dwarf but regional giant, Ian Randle Publishers represented by none other than Mr. Ian Randle.
Me and Nancy Rickford at the Design Exchange
By far the biggest person here is Harold Fenn, a plain-looking but neat little man in a grey suit. Fenn gets up and delivers a curt but effective presentation. I learn that he is not a publisher but a book distributor, one of the largest in Canada.
As he is speaking, I am being aided by Nancy in ‘writing’ a title page on my manuscripts which someone at the Consulate has neglected to include.
When it is my turn, I go up to the podium and open my mouth. I know I am mouthing something about self-publication in third-world countries which obviously goes over well with the audience. I am relieved that whatever I said was intelligible
When I get back to my seat I finish a glass of red wine in one gulp. Paul Keens-Douglas congratulates me and then hands me his card. A small good looking Indian woman who was sitting next to me hands me her card and points a camera at me and flashes. I learn that she is Kris Rampersaud, editor of Trinidad’s Sunday Guardian. Later I receive Ian Randle’s card as well.
By the time the luncheon is over, the card holders in my wallet are all filled.
(Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset…)
I spend the rest of the day at the Design Exchange building on Bay. I get to greet people through the efforts of Nancy Rickford. I can never get comfortable with introducing “Ruel Johnson dot dot dot of the dot dot dot” but Nancy plays the part of my publicist well enough to compensate for this. I occasionally run downstairs to see when the place is getting dark.
After a while, Nancy invites me to one of the CCLE readings held near “The Lake.” As we step out of the building into the light of the sunset, I ask her what time it is. She informs me that it about quarter to nine. At night, I remember Stella’s worried face.
The bar where the reading is being held is hot and stuffy. After a while, I leave with a Consulate employee named Ned. On the drive back, Ned asks me to look up some old clippings on his brother, a former champion athlete.
We spend about an hour at a Caribbean bookstore then Ned buys me a roti and curry from a Trinidadian food shop next door and he drives me back to the hotel.
I settle down in bed and order a pay-per-view movie. Before I go to sleep, I notice the blinking indicator light on my phone. I check my messages and see that Stella has called. I make a mental note to call her and Michael whenever I get up…
(To be continued)
