I alone, I alone.
The waiters sat by the upper-deck exit. This left the lower-deck exit. I might make my way below, a speedy search for lost coins, lost bags and other properties. But this would be futile.
Life was beyond me. It had never been sweet. Adequate luck was all I sought; the occasional discarded, half-eaten jellied pork pie. But ah me, the stuff of dreams. I saw the waiters. One dozed. Had I tried a fly move they would have been instantly alert. Instead I called: Hullo!
They looked across.
I have discovered money! May I now settle the bill in full?
Yes, they said.
The difficulty is that it represents three quarters of my entire life savings.
Ours also sir, we are a poor people.
On a previous occasion and in a different location I had landed in a new town at the start of a new life with funds whose extension was negated by one coffee and a cheese and pickle sandwich. I thought to narrate this to the waiters. They would have been interested.
Nothing was to be done. My pockets were not vast. I brought forth the money and concluded the transaction. The waiters nodded me towards the exit.
Lubbers yawned as I stepped down the gangway. Apart from the boatstaff I was last man ashore.
I strolled the nearby streets and alleyways, familiarizing myself with the landmarks. Evening approached. I returned to the promenade and a small coffee stall, but it had closed. I moved to a pub and eavesdropped conversations, sipped long on water, hoping for reports on temporary abodes and immediate job prospects.
Then it was closing time. The barman was upturning chairs on to the tops of tables. The pub doors were open. I had to leave. My bag was at my feet. I lifted it and walked.
Later I settled myself on a bench, and tried to doze. But a hurricane appeared as from nowhere. I returned to the nearby streets and alleyways, seeking a likely place, a place of repose. Enter Officers with Flashlights.
Tomorrow the sun would shine, cooking the tar on the roads, upon which feet might squelch. On the walk to the beach an agreeable suffering. Of course posing along the hot sands, flicking grains of sand onto people’s skin, stepping across brown curvy bodies, whither a one may rise and follow, an heiress searching for the simple unmanacled life, the sensual masculine animal to lead her and show her that which exists for the bolder imaginations, and how to take it without disturbing other souls, to spend that fortune wisely, seeking only happiness at a cost other than rippling waves, and so on, into the water. Enter Officers with Flashlights.
Ach well.
One day I would gaze back upon this escapade wistfully. Yes me hearties, this yere were the point my whole life did change.
I sipped at the mug of water. A uniformed fellow had brought me this mug of water. The Gaoler. He looked ages with me and was self-conscious, almost embarrassed. In another life we might have gone to the same school or else been a pair of coconuts on the same tree, if one believed in reincarnation. Some of these beliefs embraced the world of objects; former or future lives might include lower vegetative states. Fanciful but appealing. Coconuts too have a life. They hang beneath a clear sunny sky, sipping their own palm wine, gazing upon a placid sea.
The sex life of coconuts.
My ferry fare back to the effing mainland had been paid by the island authorities. I would have accepted half of that sum roundly and in the palm of my hand. It would have enabled me to go forth on a full stomach to seek work and sustenance. I would have accomplished the mission. Never no more would I have been a burden on the island citizenry.
Honest!
In the name of God’s teeth it was surely bad sociological economics to deport me to the effing mainland. In days past such offers were surely afforded the more exotic beggar. And I was of that ilk.
Date of departure: April.
I aimed a kick at the palliasse but did not perform the action. Instead I flopped into the corner that had become my favourite. I once considered joining the regular army as an escape from reality. Now here I was.
Why had the Accompanying Officer not allowed me to shave and get my hair in order?
I belonged to that class of fellow whose existence antagonized a particular kind of older male. The Court had been composed of these Older Males. A ‘smart appearance’ was always of the essence. Thus had the Court Official stared upon me, lips curling, nostrils flaring. He coughed three times before speaking, which denoted a grave conclusion:
Pieces of shit do not have the power to speak.
All aboard!
These and similar musings. I lay on a palliasse in a cell six feet long by six feet wide, or was this too a part of the dream? Would I awaken from this?
In the outside world people enjoyed living. The sun shone. The salty island air, the salty freshwater.
In the town dungeon, a young man of sound limb awaits a ship to points north.
Points north. I stopped talking, for I had been talking, not to an imaginary listener but to myself, hands clasped behind my head. Not a time for reflection. That too had passed.
The grey ceiling. Trails across it. These trails were silvery. Snails climb walls and cross ceilings. A snail with sturdy suction soles. The world be its oyster. No dungeons in snailworld.
justice for one
They were marching already when I fought my way to the meeting point up the hill. Now there were voices all around, and of every kind. I was blundering about not understanding what I was to do. How did they know and I did not?
Somebody tried to sell me something or give me something I was unsure which. Somebody else asked me a question. I was not sure about that either. I could not decipher what they wanted to know or even understand what they said. Was it even myself they were talking to? I heard someone saying: Shit he’s drunk out his skull.
Me? I was not drunk, not drunk out my skull. Shit man I was not drunk at all. What the hell were they on about? I asked them but they paid no attention. They had made up their mind.
This is what people do, especially in this part of the world. A woman said, We’re going this way.
What way? I said but the woman had gone, whoever she was.
A typical life experience. Women go away: it could be the title of a Spanish movie. Probably it is already.
On all sides folk were walking past. They moved quickly. Some were coming so close I felt a draught from their body, going to bang into me. Somebody said, The army are there and they are waiting for us.
I shouted, I beg your pardon!
Take your hand off my arm, cried a man.
Sorry mate, it is so damn dark and all that smelling smelly shit; what is that smell? said another man, somebody with a hoarse voice. He had quite a kindly voice, and he added, Better get out of here … And then he grasped my wrist.
Hey, I said, dont do that. Whereabouts are they anyway?
Down the hill.
Are there many?
I dont know friend, somebody said there were hundreds.
For God sake!
I know. And coming in our direction! Then the hoarse man smiled. He actually smiled.
Did you say our direction? I said.
He only smiled at me. He was no longer holding my wrist, and I had that sense he was about to vanish from in front of my eyes. I wanted to keep him here, just like hold him back, not let him escape, he was escaping. How come I couldnt escape but he can! That was me, that is what I was thinking. Jesus, our direction, how come?
Instead of answering he glanced at another marcher, another woman; this one had a band wrapped round her forehead and some hair falling over its sides; her cheeks were smudged and the blood was there. He jerked his thumb in my direction, shaking his head in a gesture to her, about me, as if I was somebody to avoid. But I was only wanting to know why they were marching from that direction. I shouted: How come? Surely that’s the question.