Me, Psychic?

It was a sunny Saturday, just before noon. The women were busy washing clothes in zinc wash-pans out in the court-yard, as they told stories and listen to music in the air.

At the age of seven I was only doing the weekend cleanup for gram-ma. When I heard the gate open and close(about 12yds. away), followed by foot-steps towards our cottage with a knock on the door.

Excited to see who this visitor was, I hurried to open it, but no one was there.

So, I asked gram ma, and the women close by to find if they noticed anyone coming in from the gate, when suddenly, we all heard the knock on the gate (second time for me). It was a messenger with a telegram of my uncle Hartman's Jr. who recently died.

Uncle Hartman Jr. was very young, but he suffered from a finger the size of a giant plantain. That was a result of an allergic reaction. My grandmother was obviously shaken by the news. I felt nothing.

That is one of the reasons I wondered why I had no emotional attachment like other people.

For a short spell, everyone exclaimed that I was psychic, to have heard the messenger before he even came with the delivery!

My modesty, allowed little attention to the praise.