Not all the old men are Rastas, but the majority are. They range from, I’d say, forty to seventy. There’s never fewer than three. They wait the night with one another. They don’t fall asleep. God doesn’t have to wake them and say, Could you not keep Me company in My madness? Jamaicans don’t do small talk. At first this is a bit uncomfortable because Irish people are always filling the gaps. I find myself in silence in fish-filled vans making deliveries, just like I did with my grandfather.
