Caryl Phillips - The Lost Child

The man from next door has on his smart jacket, and he starts to talk now, and he says that I dance about naked in the garden, which is also a lie. I’m thinking to myself that this man must be sad and lonely to have to make up stories like this about a woman who hasn’t done him any wrong, but I know that I’m not supposed to say anything, so I just stay quiet and listen to one lie after another and I try and work out for myself just what is happening. Then things get really out of control. The old lady stands up and says that she tried to be courteous to me, but apparently I don’t have any decorum. One of the magistrates speaks to her directly now, and he asks the woman if I’ve ever harmed her in any way, and she shakes her head. He asks her if she has seen me wandering about naked, and again the old lady shakes her head, but she seems confused. Then she repeats herself, this time very slowly, and insists that I don’t have any decorum, as if this was some kind of crime.

I feel the hand of a policewoman squeezing my elbow, and she tells me to get up in a sweet voice like she’s my friend or something, and one of the magistrates asks me if I understand the gravity of the situation, and so I nod and say yes, but I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. I haven’t mistreated anybody or damaged any property, so why can’t they just mind their own business? The same magistrate starts to ask me about my actor friend, calling him Mr. Francis, and he wants to know how we know each other, and so I tell him that we met in a pub by the community centre, and I leave it at that. Has he ever troubled you? What business is it of his? But I tell him no, and he asks me if any other men have touched me since I’ve been in the flat, but before I have a chance to tell him what for, he wants to know where I get money, and if any men have ever given me any money, and I say no, then no again, then no in a louder voice, and now the sound has gone again, and I can’t hear what they are saying, but I’m talking and my arms are flying about in front of my face and I’m still talking, and I’m trying to get my arms to stay still, but I can see from how these people are looking at me that I’m not making any sense.

The policewoman is in the back seat of the car with me, while an older woman in a blue jacket and white frilly blouse is twisted around in the front passenger seat so she’s facing me. She keeps asking about my family, and if I have anybody that I would like her to get in touch with, but all I want to know is where is this car taking us. Again she starts up tormenting me with the family talk, almost begging me to tell her if the man who owns the house is my boyfriend or just somebody I see from time to time, and she asks me this as though whatever I say will be alright by her and won’t cause any problems for anybody, but I can tell by just looking at her that this ignorant woman has never read a book in her life, and so I don’t say anything and I close my eyes.

After I stopped turning up at the library by the shopping centre, there was nothing to keep me in the city anymore. I was banned from both my son’s school and the house he was living in, and the social worker had told me that I had to give him some space. So I thought, I’ll give him some space and I’ll move to London for a few months and let everything settle down. But before I took off for London, I had to sort something out. As I walked down the cul-de-sac, I saw him bent double over his car, mercilessly polishing the bonnet with a yellow duster, and behind him the sprinkler was taking care of the front lawn with its absurd, robotic rhythm. I came right up next to him, and when he looked up, I could see it in his eyes that he wasn’t sure. I’d weathered a bit since he’d last seen me, and I’d also chopped my hair really short. Jesus, I’d been through a lot, so what did he expect? He seemed lost for words, but I had no intention of standing there playing silly buggers with him, so I just asked him straight out to give me something of my mother’s, a brooch or a necklace, as I was going to London and I wanted to take a part of her with me. Monica, he said. Please, Monica. But I cut him off and told him that it was wrong of him to do what he’d done and not tell me that she was ill, or even let me know where she’d been laid to rest, but he didn’t say anything; he just held on to his cloth with both hands and stared. And then he told me to wait where I was, and he disappeared inside the house. When he came out, he handed me her slender gold watch and three five-pound notes and told me that this was all he had in the house, but it was to help set myself up in London. I looked at him but said nothing, for he was a small man now. I hope, he said, then he stopped. I thought, God, he’s not going to bawl, is he? I hope that you find what you’re looking for in London, he said, and I hope that you know you’ve always got a home here, but then he dried up. He just kept staring at me until I couldn’t take it anymore, and so I turned and walked away. And this woman in her ridiculous frilly white blouse wants to know about family?

I sit at the back of a room with a group of women, and we’re all watching the BBC news on a colour television set that’s stuck high up on the wall. The place is like a prison, but it’s not a prison. It’s also cold, even though it’s summer outside, and the room is lit with ugly fluorescent tube lighting. When I got here, they took away my clothes and then told me to take a shower. When I finished, they gave me this nightdress to wear. It makes me look undignified, and I have a feeling that this is the idea, but at least it’s clean. I asked for a belt as the thing is hanging off me like a tent, but they let me know that no belts are allowed. I then had to open my mouth and stick out my tongue, and they gave me a tablet that started me going all fuzzy, then tired, and then the coloured nurse said that I would soon be asleep, but I’m still sitting here watching television although I’m not sure what the man on the news is going on about.

The nurse has a deep cleavage, and she should cover herself up more. She asks me whatever did I eat to make myself so sick, but before I can reply, she pushes my head down into the plastic bucket and tells me to let it go — you’ve got to get it all out — but I haven’t eaten anything all day, so there’s nothing to come out. I’m trying to tell her that it’s the bloody tablet that’s made me sick, but I know she doesn’t believe me. She gives up and slowly gets to her feet. I watch her wipe her hands on the backside of her uniform, and then we look at each other for a moment before she starts to talk. They put you in this isolation room because you’re a top risk, Monica, but it’s up to you. If you want to do something irresponsible, then go right ahead, but you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself. I don’t say anything, and we continue to eyeball each other. Look, she says, if you want to put something on your stomach, just press the bell, love. I hate to see you like this. Really, you need to pull yourself together.

Apparently the library trolley comes around every morning. The volunteer woman stands by the door while I look at the books that are piled on top of it without any order of any kind. Everything’s just random, and then I notice that the woman has put a hand on her hip. Don’t you like reading then? She’s smiling now, like she’s got one over on me, but it’s easy to tell that behind that wide forehead of hers nothing has been imprinted. You know, it helps to pass the time if you read a bit. There’s one there on royal gardens, you might like that, for there’s lots of pictures in it. It’s quite popular actually. I look at Miss Librarian and wonder what her problem is. How dare they call this thing a library trolley? Book trolley would be better, for all it contains are scattered books that people have left behind, and I don’t get the sense that this woman gives a damn whether you ever return them or not. I pick up the glossy book on royal gardens and realize that it would have helped if my actor friend had brought me a book or two to the flat. Now that would have made the time pass a little easier.