If it is your life (24 page)

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.

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.

What do you mean? muttered the woman. I dont like the way you are saying that.

But if they’re marching from that direction! I said. Then I stopped and shrugged. She did not care.

I could see another couple of people looking at me; they too were suspicious. I shook my head at them, as if I was just seeing them for the first time.

It was dreadful. But what could I do except walk on. This is what I did, yes, I kept walking. Of course I did. So that was it. Much was explained, even to predictability. One of the folk watching stopped directly in front of me. Another woman. There were many women, yet I could not pass her without making a nonsensical comment. I stopped walking to do it. The earth is good. I said it into myself though perhaps my lips moved. I wondered about myself. It was a surprise I had any self-respect at all. I asked the woman what was wrong, if something was wrong and she replied. You will not get far.

Sure I will.

Not the way we’re going. She put her hands onto my wrists and tugged me forwards.

What the hell are you doing? I said.

She smiled. My attention was attracted to her shoulders. It was not a time for physical attraction. Her shoulders were beautiful. At the point where the
machine gun opens up on you, on you, your attention is drawn to the curve of a woman, a woman’s shoulders. My God, almost I was crying.

Saddened by something. I saw it in her. This was a thought she had had, and in connection with myself. But not sex, it could never have been sex, to have been with me, lying with me, it could never have been that. Shit man. No. Never. She was pointing in the same direction the crowd had marched. Okay. That is the way ahead, she said, that is a proper march.

Yes but that is also how the crowd is advancing. Do you wish me to follow the crowd. Is that an elitist thing to say?

She was gazing at me.

Do you think it is?

She thought I was mad. You do, I said, I can see you do. It is a terribly elitist thing to say.

Now she avoided eye-contact. Just keep walking straight, she said, and stay to the rear.

I shall miss the action.

Is that not what you want? The difference is you will not go wrong.

Oh.

Yes.

So that is the difference?

Yes.

I said, But how do you know what I want?

But I looked at her shoulders when I said it, and I did that so she would notice. It was almost disgusting. I think it was disgusting.

She shook her head. Perhaps she was ashamed of me.

I smiled. You think you know me but you dont. You dont even know when I am being sarcastic.

She turned her back to me, and resumed walking. I managed not to go after her, nor to call after her. There are times for being funny, this was not one of them. I saw a man spit on the road. It was in regard to me! He was spitting against me!

Shit. What had I done to deserve that. Talking to the woman with the beautiful shoulders. Perhaps he thought it demeaning, that it demeaned us all. He also walked away. Then the chanting began:

Justice for one justice for all.

I looked for the woman but she too had gone.

So many people, they just started chanting, and these slogans. There was nothing wrong with these slogans. I tried to say the words aloud and succeeded. I was pleased. I said the words again. I was laughing, just how I could say them, just as good as anyone.

We all were marching. Armed forces march and so do people. We marched over the brow of the hill. I knew the terrain.

I listened to the slogans and knew them as fair. These were good words, except the way I said them they sounded different, they sounded as though different, as if in some way singular, they became words to actually decipher, as opposed to a slogan, the sort that one marches to. I tried to pick up that latter rhythm, the way everyone else had it. Justice for one justice for all. Great rhythms, great slogans but could I do it? Or was
I only emulating the passion of these other people? As a boy I missed the beat – I always missed the beat. Now here it was again, half a line behind, I was half a line behind, behind everyone else.

Justice for one justice for all. Nothing wrong in that. I walked briskly on, one foot in front of the other. A peculiar sensation overtook me. I could no longer see things clearly. People and objects blurred, was that a building or was it a jumbo aircraft? Where the hell was I was this a city street or was it a country lane? was that a herd of animals or what, what was it? Over now some yards distant somebody was – her, it was her again, it was that woman, one of the women, it was one of the women, which one was she? She was watching me. Hey! I waved to her but she ignored the wave; she was still watching me, and then not.

Beyond here were things. And what things! Things that were guaranteed to scare me. Some folk were heroes. This woman was one of them. Obviously she was. And the man who seemed her companion. I saw him too. Both were heroes. It could not be denied. Their actions were heroic. Mine were not. The very idea! I smiled. Beyond the current conglomeration I could not perceive one entity, not one single entity, not one, not that.

It was where they were walking, it was down a hill, it is where they were going. And everybody shouting different things, slogans and laughter, somebody, trying to start a new chant, people were. And now the army were into view. Everybody knew it, there was a shiver now
and some folk threw down cigarettes and trampled them and others again opened their packets and got out another and snatched at them with their lighters.

If it was for men was it for women! I asked the first person next to me, a middle-aged woman in her forties or maybe fifties.

I beg your pardon?

Is it for men, or is is it meant to be women as well? I’m not keen on women being here.

I dont know what you are talking about.

But what does it all mean? I said. I never ever work it out, I was never able to.

What did you say? The woman seemed irritated.

Dont take it too seriously, I said.

A couple of younger fellows rushed past now, arms laden with stones. That meant the army right enough, there would be a pitched battle. That was how it went. History showed us this. It did not require demonstration upon demonstration and does not entail actual changes in how we live our life. I had to go with them, I shouted and ran ahead.

Things had been desperate for the last couple of days but I had to be at the Agency for 11 o’clock. The usual crackdown. That is what they call it, officialdom. Fucking officialdom man I hate it, I detest it with a vehemence, total vehemence. And I had to prepare. It is up to you how you approach the whole thing but if you dont try you dont succeed. A good thing was the woman that worked there. She had her own little place. An office I think, quite comfy as I recall, a desk and chairs, and just so warm, maybe too warm. You felt like telling her to turn down the heating system. But in a lot of these quasi-government places the heating gets controlled by a central body and you dont have any power to turn it down because they keep the fucking temperature the same all over.

These bureaucrats man they would do it everywhere if they could get away with it. Imagine they ruled the world, you would get the same temperature in Greenland as the Mali desert.

She was a bureaucrat too, the woman that worked there. No point denying it.

At 9 o’clock I entered the mall and into a large department store. I was starving but the choice was mine.

It was dead quiet. Monday morning I suppose. In the gents’ outfitter section I squandered the remaining cash on an individual underwear pack comprising socks, boxers and tee-shirt. Preparation requires that. In the mensroom they had paper towels: excellent; that is what I hoped. Nobody was around so off came the shirt for a wash; I soaped and rinsed the armpits, doused the head with warm water, had a shave. Then to hell with it, whipped off the socks and washed my feet in the basin, squeezing the soap through the old toes, oh man, such fucking heavenly bliss man what a sensation, what a truly amazing sensation. One felt like a Lordship. Yes your Lordship?