Chapter 14: (v.4) The Crown

Claude: Pratap,

August 10,

1910?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: First,

Claude,

I want to show you what I did last night around non-mainstream English.

Claude: Wha’choo got?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: As you remember,

yesterday, I showed you my meditation text:

that held a piece near and dear,

as they say . . .

in mainstream English,

non-mainstream English,

and non-mainstream English in the form of Pratap’s diacritical marks as adapted on my computer.

Wyatt: I have seen Hebrew and Arabic.

The sentences for learners look similar.

Pratap didn’t invent that.

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: No,

of course not.

Anyway,

I used the same process on the classic American documents of the

“Preamble to the U.S. Constitution,”

“The Gettysburg Address,”

“The Emancipation Proclamation,”

“The Introduction and Preamble to the Declaration of Independence,”

and the first five amendments to the “Bill of Rights.”

Here is my work.

Claude: I cain’t read all that now!

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: Oh, there’s more:

I took the first two documents in the vernacular and put them into Pratap’s ‘un-

layers’ . . .

the entire text marked with just one type of diacritical mark at a time and then re-done for each and every different type of mark in the master as taken from what I already showed you.

Claude: So, you made un-layers on the non-mainstream?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: Like Pratap,

I made un-layers;

unlike Pratap,

I put the un-layers on the vernacular.

Wyatt: Pratap invented un-layers as a teaching methodology.

Nobody else has un-layers:

they look too labor intensive.

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: Un-layers work because they flag down high-speed readers and let them catch sounds and non-sounds alike . . .

at a glance.

Un-layers are worth the effort.

Claude: Why non-mainstream?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: Not unlike Pratap,

I am in a fever over the pidgin,

which by the way,

is the Chinese word for

‘business’ . . .

Pidgin English in China meaning ‘business English’ with the foreigners,

which was English at the surface level and Cantonese or Mandarin Chinese in the underlying structures.

Claude: Why a fever?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: The language in literal terms has been shaped by blood,

sweat,

and tears . . .

from people who were stripped of everything they knew—

their clothes,

their homes,

their land,

their families,

even . . .

for 250 years / 10 generations . . .

their wages—

except for this language.

The pidgin can’t help but have soul.

Whom would that not fascinate?

Claude: Done?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: No,

thank you.

I have dipped into Pratap’s handbook and lifted some of his stories.

Claude: You done the same to them?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: Here they are.

Claude: More?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: Yes.

I have posted all these things on a self-publishing site called Booksie under the pen name Sunil Pratap.

Claude: Any hits?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: Some.

Claude: What’s the point, Seck?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: Make it official!

Claude: Make what?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: The pidgin.

Claude: You means ’bonix?

Amberina Meritonimo, Jr.: Yes.

An official language of the United States . . .

along with English,

the same as French in Canada,

Scots in Scotland,

Irish in Ireland,

and Welsh in Wales . . .

so that those people who use the vernacular in exclusive terms can participate in the political economy.

Wasn’t the war between the states united about economic freedom,

too?

How’s a person well-versed in the vernacular,

in particular,

as a writer ever going to find sanction among mainstream readership,

whether that be at a public or private level,

governmental or corporate,

university or medical?

There needs to be linguistic equality;

otherwise,

if the vernacular becomes repudiated,

the persons who use the pidgin shall be dismissed from whatever is the circle of activity,

unless that circle is so tight that persons of the non-mainstream dominate the arena,

to wit,

professional basketball and professional football . . .

in the United States.

What do you think the lingua franca is in those areas?

Claude: Pratap,

August 10,

1910?

Group: Aye!

Pratap: I left Gaza City Harbour by water taxi,

which took 3

hours to reach the hospital ship . . .

outside Jaffa.

In the near-darkness,

the first mate,

Mr. Lewis,

met me on the back platform of the ship and showed me to my room reserved among the staff quarters.

Though hungry,

I did not go for food in the wardroom.

Over getting fired,

I was still quite upset:

self-pity about losing the job;

anger that I was forced out by an ultimatum;

and fear that I had—

in moral terms—

done something wrong.

Also,

even though I could recognize the ship The O’Mallew under the veneer of the ship the Die Lieben,

everything I saw felt unfamiliar.

As a result,

I felt unsociable and wanted to stay alone in my room.

Over time,

I began my last letter to you,

which gave me a second look at my very exotic experiences in Gaza City:

longboard-surfing,

apricot-picking,

bat-sighting,

howdah-sleeping,

camel-riding,

expatriate-living,

and camel-hump-dining.

The intensity of the experiences in Gaza City made the usual seem unusual and foreign back at the ship.

I needed to debrief,

and my letter to you did that.

I believe I suffered a cultural shock,

of a sort,

which may take me time to recover from.

Claude: Carrie Lynn,

how you?

Carrie Lynn: Brother,

I have not felt well . . .

in a long time now.

Claude: Sorry to hear that.

I say a prayer for you.

Carrie Lynn: Thank you,

Claude.

Claude: Pratap,

August 10,

1910?

Group: Aye!

Pratap: I awoke before sunrise the next day and where welcomed,

went up to the bridge of the Die Lieben before walking the decks of the ship.

My, oh, my . . .

the entire Holy Land and Palestine looks gorgeous with the morning sun at its back.

Afterward,

I went back to my room to ruminate on what lay before me:

England,

Scotland,

and Ireland . . .

before my return home to the United States.

Also,

I checked to make sure I still had my notarized international identification from Oregon and

my traveler’s cheques . . .

in my privacy belt . . .

under my shirt.

There,

too,

I had the names and addresses of persons to look up in the British Isles.

Before I left the bridge,

Captain Brooks said that the Die Lieben had received a message from the port of Suez that my steamship,

Homeward Bound,

would reach Jaffa at 2 p.m. that day;

he also said there would be plenty of time for the tender to get me to port if I wanted to stay after lunch for the speaker meeting at 1 o’clock.

I said I would.

I did arrive in plenty of time before the ship reached Jaffa,

and I did manage to attend first the speaker meeting,

which again was to confront patients with what is often thought of as the most terrifying activity—

public speaking—

as a means of making their nerves stronger through the exercise of courage.

The speaker,

who landed 5 points from the staff for his performance,

said he was an American native who had come to the Holy Land 3 years earlier and in the last year found himself hospitalized with mania,

his being on the ship for 3 weeks.

I was given permission to take notes,

though some of his language I found difficult to transcribe.

The following is what I got:

“Good afternoon,

you all,

my name is Jackson Turnup,

that’s turnup with two ‘u’s.

My story begins in Kentucky of 1848 . . .

62 years ago.

I lived in one place . . .

outside Louisville . . .

my whole life,

until I moved away to college.

Both my parents and my younger brother and sister lived at home with me.

My school record and deportment were poor,

and only got worse as I became 11 and 12 years old,

which was when me and my runnin’ mates started to run liquor crost the Ohio River:

we would buy still liquor from an adult,

re-bottle the liquor with water,

and ferry the bottles over the state line for a 100 percent return.

When the war years came,

we were still too small and young to fight,

so we kept runnin.'

But my mother would get quite upset when I was before her and intoxicated,

so my father did not demand—

which I think was key—

yet requested that I leave my runnin’ mates to their own devices.

I took my father’s request to heart and attempted a break . . .

until tested . . .

when I tergiversated and sought to buy my way into the good graces of my old friends.

But one was way ahead of my machinations,

and when he sold me a bottle,

there was dirt and moss in the fluid,

which I discarded.

Then I decided I’d had enough and went back to school in earnest,

where I nestled in with the smartest of the smart and graduated in the top 10 percent of my class.

Just by chance,

my father’s parents had come into some wealth and my father said they would pay the bill if I wanted to go to college,

where I did well enough over 5 years to enter graduate school in American history,

which I taught as a professor my entire career.

I can’t say enough how lucky I feel that I wasn’t a high school drop out or even an 8th grade drop out:

I owe my good life to my parents,

in particular,

my father.

That’s my story,

and I’m going to stick to it.

I’m Jackson Turnup,

that’s turnup 2U.”

Claude: Pratap,

August 10,

1910?

Willamaina: May I interrupt?

Claude: Sure . . . go ahead.

Willamaina: Brother,

does that story related by Pratap about Jack Turnup say anything to you?

Claude: No,

why?

Willamaina: What about the possibility of not graduating from

8th grade?

Claude: I done grad-yate.

Willamaina: Just by the good graces of at least one kind man.

Frankie: Whoa . . .

I gots do hear this.

Claude?

Claude: Momma work me hard in 6th grade . . .

when -thare -wuz -juss’ one teacher,

but at middle school thare -wuz so many diff’renn’ teachers that Momma couldn’t keep commun’cation up wit’ all a them,

so I fell thru the cracks,

so do speak.

Frankie: What that mean?

Claude: I stop doing homework,

ann’ wit’out homework,

I couldn’t do no classwork.

By 8th grade,

bin kick out almose’ all my classes.

Frankie: What ’bout the fine man?

Claude: He -wuz the lass’ math teacher leff’,

ann’ he tole’ me ‘no mess,’

or I be out a the class.

Frankie: So,

you made a mess!

Claude: I did,

ann’ Mr. Paulson come over to me ann’ -ax if I -wuz the one ’spons’ble.

Frankie: Did you tell the truth?

Claude: No . . .

but he accept my answer ann’ dit’n kick me out a his class.

I couldn’t grad-yate wit’out that class.

Frankie: What you done?

Claude: Me ann’ Kay ann’ Pat gather hunnerds a red lady bugs amongst thousann’s at the white birch trees down at the Quebberman’s corner house,

ann’ I brung the bag to school ann’ give it to someb’dy else for do bring into class.

I knows some ot’er kids rat on me.

Frankie: Anything do say for yourself now?

Claude: Yaeh,

the guilt over my lying to that k.eye.nn’ man got ser-yous as I got older,

so I calls Mr. Paulson’s house ann’ his daughter,

my classmate,

answers.

She says Mr. Paulson he die,

but he would a forgive me if’n he bin alive.

I liked to make a mon’menn’ to that man.

He dit’n have do accept my lie,

you know;

but he must a knowed from his daughter that I grad-yate in her class from high school.

He had a choice do make ann’ I glad that he banked on me do make good on my unspoken promise,

which I done in grad-yatin’ from both middle ann’ high school.

I still got my middle school diploma.

Claude: Whoa, Seck, -whare you -bin?

Amberina: A late appointment.

Claude: For what?

Amberina: Neurodevelopmental issues.

Claude: In English, please.

Amberina: After three visits,

Andy told me that I am on the autism spectrum.

Claude: That -dozen’ make no diff’rence to nob’dy.

Amberina: The diagnosis makes no difference,

on the one hand,

and all the difference in the world,

on the other.

I’m ready to go out and be a success and pursue happiness . . .

outside the proverbial shallows and miseries of life.

Claude: Prove that.

Amberina: Andy spoke to me volumes about myself: 

even though immersed in strife—

because of my principles—

I don’t like conflict,

which I never knew.

Also,

he said making best friends is very difficult for me,

and that I am lost in total when intimacy presents itself.

In addition,

he said that bullying in the workplace happens all the time.

Moreover,

I don’t like being touched.

Furthermore,

I am quite a sensitive soul when confronted with the painful experiences of others.

Further still,

I can tolerate great pain but not trivial affairs,

which undo me.

I found his sessions quite validating,

and with that validation,

I am ready to move on to other chapters in my life,

such as developing a corpus translating mainstream English to the non- mainstream and then explaining the work in un-layers,

both as a pedagogical tool for non-mainstream readers and a hueristic for the acceptance of the vernacular by mainstream readers . . .

in an effort that Ebonics be accepted as a language that is official in the United States along . . .

with English.

Claude: Your diagnosis done all that?

Amberina: I believe so . . .

as by my understanding autism is as quotidian and ubiquitous as dirt.

In other words,

my abnormality makes me normal,

which I have always wanted;

in still other words,

though I must still take medications,

I can all but leave my psychiatric diagnosis behind.

Claude: Who Andy?

Amberina: He is a certified autism spectrum disorder specialist who has a Ph.D.,

supervised clinical work experience,

and passed the Autism Competency Exam,

which is not the examination and interview he administered to me,

which was the Autism Spectrum Screening Questionnaire.

There,

I scored 49 points out of a possible 54,

with 13 points suggesting the possibility of autism.

Andy said I met all five criteria in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders V.

Those axes are as follows:

Social deficits,

Restricted patterns of behavior,

Early onset,

Life impairment . . .

including occupational,

the above not explained by intellectual disability,

as I understand the criteria.

Some of the details I like best are insistence on sameness and inflexible adherence to routines,

highly fixated and restricted interests that are abnormal in intensity of focus,

and hyper- or hypo-sensitivity to the senses,

such as apparent indifference to pain/temperature.

-Dom’nic: Why are standing against the far wall, Claude, to read

Pratap’s letters?

Claude: I’se ’genst the wall do make my back strait. Could

some’dy please cut the overhead -laught on?

-Dom’nic: I have got it!

Claude: Also, I wann’s do maek a pitch that after the -ann’lar

solar ’clips we -jine toget’er one lass’ time for a mill. I spring for

Caesar salat, sourdoe bread, ann’ I bile some shrimps.

Willamaina: That Saturday night?

Claude: Yes. The equinox gone now.

-Dom’nic: All those in favor say ‘aye.’

Group: Aye!

Claude: Pratap?

Group: Aye!

Pratap: I jumped on the tender for Jaffa after the speaker

meeting and joined other passengers onto Homeward Bound a

short time thereafter. I was told on embarkation that the

voyage would be a fortnight, 12 days at sea and 2 days in port.We sailed south for 3 hours to hold freight . . . apricots from

Speare Point. The Gaza tug was there, as were two boats, one in

which Paul Speare stood: Paul had told me the process for the

ship’s crane to raise the apricot beds one at a time; four cables

would attach to the crane’s hook at one end and an eye-hook

on each of the four sides of the bed . . . with an aluminum

spreader between the cables that was larger than the beds to

keep the cables from crushing the shelf-systems, Paul’s team

affixing short ropes between the spreader and the cables by

bowline knots. The work done, Paul waved off, and I waved

back. Then, the ship turned north, and our voyage began.

Unless an emergency does occur, I shall skip a week of writing

and write again after we land in London. In the meantime, be

well, Finn.

My love to all,

Pratap

P.S. The actual date of this missive is Friday, August 5th, 1910,

the earlier date notwithstanding. As I am wont to do, I started

my Thursday letter on the Friday before . . . unaware that I

would choose to write not past the start.

Claude: Pratap,

August 18th,

1910?

Group: Yes!

Pratap:

The Goring Hotel

Room 312

15 Beeston Place

London, England

Thursday, August 18, 1910

Dear Finn,

A short time ago the Homeward Bound docked at the Port of

London, and I taxied to The Goring Hotel—a state of the art

establishment: room lieu and central heating—a short distance

from Buckingham Palace.

The cruise was pleasant: Mersin, Turkey; Piraeus, Greece;

Naples, Italy; and Barcelona, Spain—all before the Homeward

Bound came to the Rock of Gibraltar, when everything changed

with a tide of British tourists, the Rock having more than five

beautiful beaches and caves on the monolith, the territory

having been a British overseas terrain for almost 200 years.Whereas before ‘Gib,’ I had the luxury of an open dining area,

afterward almost all the empty seats were taken, which was

when I met the Bridgestones, who offered me a seat at their

table for six, their having five members to their family, the two

parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bridgestone, and three teen boys, Tyrone,

in his first year of college, Charles, a junior in secondary school,

and Max, a fresher in secondary school. After our first meeting,

they saved me a seat each meal thereafter. At the table, the

boys’ loquacity belied their teen-hood as they spoke of their

activities on 10 days’ of vacation: fishing, hiking, swimming,

rock climbing, spelunking, sun-bathing, and lounging with their

parents. Mrs. Bridgestone—Colleen—insisted that I see the

Dorset Downs and overnight at their cottage—called

Tumbledown—in Spetisbury, where the river Stour branches

and runs in parallel streams before rejoining itself outside of

town. Mr. Bridgestone—Kevin—is career military . . . in the

army, and he agreed. So, in the 11 days I have in England, my

start shall be tomorrow at the south-central county of Dorset to

see the chalk downs there.

My love to all,

Pratap

Claude: Seck, if’n you leaves behine’ your psych sich’washun,

you going do some boom’rang ann’ go over de edge on us?

Amberina: I shall still take my medications as prescribed . . . as

well as practice prayer and meditation; take inventory of my

part in those heavy situations that cause me self-pity, self-

blame, and resentment; make amends for weighty issues, even

monetary amends, if necessary; study far and wide, sharing

what I learn; for trivial issues in which arise self-pity, self-blame,

and resentment, take part in a cognitive behavioral support

group such as Recovery, International; attend counseling

sessions; journal in a diary.

Claude: That don’t sounn’ lakk’ you leavinn’ nut’in behann’.

Amberina: I wish to leave my psychiatric issues behind as a

limiting factor. I chose to have no children in my first marriage—

which was a deal-breaker, as they say—because of my concern

around my children inheriting my mental illness; I would not

make the same choice now. I have had an excellent

neuropsychologist tell me that though I have signals of mental

illness, he said those signs stand on a very small scale. Before

my first diagnosis, I had visited or resided in 10 foreign

countries, yet after that diagnosis and for the following 39

years, I would not step foot out of the United States; I do not

share the same perspective today and look forward to visits

overseas. I may fall and break, but then again, I might not.

Claude: Why ain’t you in your co-d’pendenn’ pr’gram?Amberina: For reasons I did not nor do not understand, the

business team decided to close the meeting: as a member of

the business team, I was the only one who voted to keep the

meeting open. The experience felt as if force were being used.

The situation felt ‘icky.’

Claude: Why not juss’ go to a diff’renn’ meetinn’?

Amberina: As far as I could tell, there was nothing to indicate

that the whole experience would not happen repeat itself . . .

twice or even thrice, so I left with a hole in my program. That

hole shall be filled after I return to Contra Costa County in less

than a month.

Claude: Any thing else, Seck?

Amberina: Yes, here are more papers on my emulation and

extension of Pratap’s work—“The Wall,” “Rollercoaster,” and

“Second Base.”