Caryl Phillips - The Nature of Blood

The virulence with which my father-in-law delivered his parting volley stung the assembled throng. However, she who was newly my wife remained steadfast in her loyalty and chose to ignore her father's foul words. I turned to the doge and asked that my wife be allowed to accompany me to Cyprus, and she who bore that name pleaded that this might be permitted. The doge, recognizing the passion between us, acceded to this request and suggested that my wife might travel to Cyprus in a day or two, in the company of an officer of my choosing. We both thanked the doge most sincerely and took our leave, in order that we might occupy what little time remained. At noon I would set sail for war, but before my departure I intended to place my wife with an officer whose ship might be expected to arrive some time after I had secured the island of Cyprus. However, before applying myself to the task of seeking out a suitable officer, there still remained an hour or two for love.

The boatswain, having completed the examination of his rigging, presents himself before me and then answers my enquiry by informing me that, to his knowledge, Cyprus still lies some way distant and beyond the horizon. He confirms that this storm will indeed make our journey both longer and more treacherous, and then this good man advises me to take shelter below deck. I thank him for his concern and assure him that I will soon join him, but, as night falls, my mind is now populated with thoughts of my homeland. Alone on these seas, and with none of my kind or complexion for company, there is nobody with whom I might share memories of a common past, and nobody with whom I might converse in the language that sits most easily on my tongue. I know leadership to be lonely and painful, especially in times of war, but this is a quality of isolation that I have never before experienced. I have no doubt that the presence of my wife would help to alleviate some of my present misery, but I can only speculate as to the degree to which she might mollify the more fundamental pain in my heart. From the depths of the ship, a junior man, a man of impeccable manners though not yet hardened in the heat of battle, appears before me. He suggests that perhaps we should turn back before we are enveloped in darkness, for some among the crew fear that the storm will be both brutal and prolonged. I look at this man and try to do so with kindness, for he does not understand. One cannot turn back. There is no turning back. To do so would be to embrace disgrace. I cry, 'Let the storm do its work!' And then I remind him that we are soldiers. We have a task ahead of us. To turn back is impossible.

VENICE: A city that lies on approximately one hundred and twenty islands in the Adriatic Sea on the north-east coast of Italy. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the independent city-state built a colonial empire that extended throughout much of the eastern Mediterranean. During this period, Venice was renowned for the beauty of its art, the majesty of its canals, and the economic and political power of its governmental system. The city began to fall into decline in the late sixteenth century, although the city's art treasures ensured that Venice maintained its reputation as a place of great cultural significance. Today, the city relies largely upon the tourist trade for its continued survival. It suffers from polluted air, contaminated water, and is periodically subject to serious flooding.

GHETTO: It is generally thought that the word ghetto was first used to describe the section of Venice where, in the sixteenth century, Jews were ordered to live apart from Christians in a 'marshy and unwholesome site' to the north of St Mark's. The Italian word ghetto means 'iron foundry', the Venetian Jews being forced to live next to the site of a former foundry. Ghettos are generally subject to serious overpopulation, and they exercise a debilitating effect on the self-confidence of their inhabitants.

During the night, the elder of the two men hanged himself by attaching his white scarf to an iron hook on the boxcar wall. Some of the men tried to stop him, but he began to punch and kick with such force that eventually they let him be. Eva turned her face away and blocked her ears. His friend, the other man with a beard, removed him from the hook And then again, silence. Eva looked at a woman who slept with her mouth open and wondered how she managed not to choke, for the smell was unbearable. Was she truly resting? Dreaming perhaps? And then again, the train stopped. The boxcar was near the locomotive, so Eva was able to listen to the engine die. Silence. The world remained silent. And then, some hours later, a roar and a shudder, and once again the locomotive tugged against the weight of the train. Eva wondered if she would be strong enough to survive the rigour of what she feared was to come. She looked at her parents, who now clung to each other in a way that she had never before seen. Their faces had taken on a clenched weariness that she imagined could not be shed with sleep. And then she noticed a girl of her own age, perhaps a little older. It was her time of the month, but she could no longer hide the blood. More than any of the others, Eva felt for this girl in her moment of humiliation. Lying in straw sodden with faeces and vomit, all classes and social distinctions had disappeared. She watched as a young boy, like the rest of them crazy with thirst, licked the sweat from his mother's fevered arm. As fast as the wheels turned over, they all searched for clues that would help them to explain their present condition. And then, undernourished and tired, their minds eventually slowed to a pounding numbness, while the wheels of the train beat on.

A long-drawn-out whistle. Then a loud crash and a judder. The darkness begins to echo with barked orders. Then the doors to the boxcars roll open. Plumes of smoke spin into the night air. Somewhere in the distance, fires are burning. Most cannot stand without support. There is no time for questions. Men clamber in, odd-looking characters in striped shirts and black trousers, and they begin to kick people out and on to the platform. How is it possible to be so angry with people who have done you no wrong? And now, a sweet aroma slamming into their defeated faces. They stand and look around. Bright lights flood the dark night sky. They shuffle, unburdened by belongings which they have been encouraged to leave behind. No, I must take this with me. Have you no compassion? A single bullet answers the question. People step over the body. Children look unblinkingly at the river of blood flowing across the platform. An ever-blooming flower. Shuffle. Shuffle. Restive dogs on short leashes leap vertically into the air. Hungry. Angry. Pathetic people clinging meekly to the remnants of their lives and wondering if, through hard work, they might earn the right to live. And now the official greeters, men who are made of skin and bone. Faces hollowed, skulls grotesquely visible, temples sunken in, ears standing out. Men who are acclimatized. They cast sidelong glances, they wish to speak, they know too much, their tongues have been removed, they have dared to survive this long. They address nobody in particular. You are eighteen and you have a trade. Give the child to its grandmother. Give away the baby. And now, at the end of the long platform, a uniformed man who possesses the gift of supreme confidence in himself. He waves first one way, and then the next, first this way, and then that, with no regard for affiliation. Destiny is a movement of his hand. Perhaps a quick question to make sure. Looks can deceive. How old? Healthy or ill? The old, pregnant, young, short, infirm. This way, please. Walk quickly. Roll up. Roll up. Already, a loudspeaker is blasting instructions to remove all clothing. Remove artificial limbs and eyeglasses. Tie your shoes together. Surrender any undeclared valuables and claim a receipt. Children go with the women. Where are we? The thin and the handicapped, this way, please. All gold rings, fountain pens, and chains. Roll up. Where is God? Where is your God? An old woman talks quietly to herself, as though out walking in pleasant hospital grounds. The blunt end of a rifle crashes against her forehead. Melting before this brutality like snow in the sun. Roll up. Roll up. A uniformed adolescent kicks an old man. Then he laughs. The old man stops and stares. I am your father. He reloads his weapon. I am your father. Each time he fires the young man laughs louder. I am your father. And then the young man removes his pistol from its holster and shoots the old man in the head as though he were a sick dog. I am a bookkeeper. I am a carpenter. I am a dentist. To the left. To work. Only later will they appear in the Register of the Dead. I am pregnant. Her name will appear nowhere. Not even counted. She joins the right-hand column (five abreast) that wheels towards cleansing. A belt of rubbery flesh for a waist. To the right, please. Hang your clothes neatly. Remember where. Put them on the hooks. Here is the towel. Here is the soap. Here is the towel. Here is the soap. Undress, please. You are going to heaven. Sanitary belts are ripped off. Blood everywhere. Shame. Shame. Now! These men without the breeding to look away. Shower. For the lucky ones, no gas. Thank you, God. Uniforms. Barbed-wire everywhere. With electricity. Everywhere barbed-wire. Sky above. Where is God? Where is your God? Mama and Papa are to go one way. Mama squeezes my hand and whispers. Everything will be fine. Papa looks at me and speaks the same words with his eyes. And then it occurs to me. He has known all along. Since the time in the cafe, the couple opposite us, furtive lovers, and the waitress bringing wine and coffee for father and daughter. And then Leyna. Papa knew then, the day of his friend's funeral, that one day he would have to say these four words to his youngest daughter. Everything will be fine. But now the time has arrived and Papa has no words left. He turns from me and wheels to the right. Mama's eyes are full of tears. A woman pushes me in the back and I stumble forwards and in a new direction. And then all about me I hear voices, at first quiet and nervous, and then stronger. We stare to our right at those who continue to wheel towards cleansing. May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified Amen in the world that He created as He willed. May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days, and in the lifetimes of the entire Family of Israel, swiftly and soon. Amen. May His great name be blessed for ever and ever. May his great Name be blessed for ever and ever. Voices are raised. Everybody continues to stare to the right. The chimneys bellow smoke. A sweet aroma. We breathe deeply on the air that will enable us to live. We fill our lungs and stare. Plumes of smoke spin into the night air. A red glare. The smoke whispers the truth, but, at this moment, none wish to listen.