In World City by I. F. Godsland Page A

the same. He think, not me man, and then he go and score some shit which he sell on, and what he do? – Eh? – What he do? All he do is go buy himself some World City trash like he seen in that shopping mall he broke into one time. Bewitched is what they is and you know something, young Dion? – You know something? – Your gran’ma who thought she knew the name of every fockin’ devil there is, she don’t know the name of the fockin’ devil that doing all this. She ask of the devils she know, and when she ask, she expect an answer. And most time she get an answer. Like why the bananas don’t grow so well this year, or why Philippe’s goat sick, or why Patrice don’t love his old lady. All that stuff, I get answers for. But when I ask why young Anthony down at Massacre take one look at some shiny thing he see on the cable and go to Miami to get his balls shot off because he trying to do some too tight deal that he think’ll get him that shiny thing, that I get no answer for. What devil got a hold on people’s heart so they want World City? Eh? What devil is it that got peoples so tangled up in the made world? I don’t even know what he want, this devil. All I see is what him doing. And what him doing? Joining peoples up so they all talk the same. Making up made things so they all want the same. Making up pictures so they all look the same. And all I see is things. Made things. What this devil that he want everyone in the world all tangled up in things?” A pause and a chuckle then, “Maybe this devil a thing. Maybe he big an’ shiny. Big ‘n big. And maybe this devil he just like to be making things. He like making things like he got the whole world making things, every soul in World City a little devil, makin’ ‘n makin’, just like the big devil, just like in his image. Heh, maybe this devil, he what them priests call God.”
    She took a deep pull on her pipe then muttered with all the sourness she could muster, which was considerable, “Anyway, he won’t rest till every fockin’ banana’s got a label on it. Your daddy crazy wantin’ to take you to World City.”
    *
    After that, she went back to taking him on walks as if nothing was happening. Dion followed, still learning. His father was away a lot, ‘On important business,’ his mother said. Then, one evening, Dion’s father came in and announced, “Whitlam’s sure he can pull it off. He’s got the top people coming here to ask him to back off. Coming here – can you believe it? Whitlam’ll get everything he wants. He must do, else they wouldn’t be coming. He’s paid me up front for the move to Europe. He says we need to start packing now.”
    Over the next few days, Dion watched as his family’s possessions disappeared into boxes and were taken away in vans. And he watched as his grandmother continued about her daily round as if nothing was happening at all. And he listened as his father, finally losing his temper with her, shouted out, “Stay here if you like, but don’t expect me to find you another place to stay. Don’t think that when work starts here, one old woman hanging on to the door handle is going to get in the way. I’ve got agents in place who’ll throw you out without so much as a by-your-leave when I’m gone. You know that once I’m gone, you’ll be just a squatter.”
    Dion began to feel anxious for her. “What are you going to do, Grandma?” he asked. “You’re not just going to sit here and get thrown out like he said, are you?”
    They were walking a familiar track around the base of Morne Diablotin, his grandmother completely silent. At his question, she stopped walking, paused, then faced him, first confirming she had his attention, then speaking clearly and firmly. She said, “Listen, Dion, and you listen hard. Because you not going to