Caryl Phillips - The Nature of Blood

She followed me across the water. In fact, she follows me everywhere. I have had to learn to tolerate her. I arrive somewhere, then she arrives moments later. I leave for somewhere, then moments later she, too, leaves. At first I used to panic and cry, but she would not listen. The other girl has a jagged slash of lipstick around her mouth, red like blood. I have tried pleading with her. I have said, 'Please, I have done nothing to you. Why do you torment me like this? Can you not just leave me alone?' But she will not listen to me, and I still hear her padding along behind me. Whenever I turn, I see that pitiful face. I thought that maybe on the ship across the water I could fool her. I could pretend to be her friend, then, when she tried to nudge up close to me, I might give her a push and topple her over and into the sea. This was to be a new land, a new beginning. I didn't want her to follow me here. That would not be fair. But when we arrived, there she was, dressed in those same rags, standing behind me, waiting for me to decide my next step. Nobody else notices her, even when she tries to reach out and hug me, nobody sees. Stay away from me! I scream. But nobody sees her, nor do they hear her whispered promise that she will live with me as long as I live. I know that it was she who ate the butterfly on my shoulder. Stay away from me! I scream. But nobody sees her.

The orderly brings me a pillow and a visitor. Gerry. It has taken Gerry all day to show his face. He sits on the wooden chair to the side of the bed. Beyond him, the curtains are drawn back. My head is propped up on the new pillow and my arms lie outside the white sheet. He is a smaller man without his uniform. He has brought me a chocolate cake, and a knife with which to cut it. He can barely look at me as he tells me that he feels some shame. His voice drops a note. He was confused. He wanted me so much. Men do awful, unforgivable things in war. I listen. He does not mention the letter that I signed with his name. Perhaps he is not such a bad man. But it no longer matters. I want to ask him: Gerry, is this England of yours any place in which to plant tender shrubs? Of course, I do not ask him. I simply watch him. Has he forgotten the well that a generous word can sink? Say something, Gerry. Eventually he stands. 'I have to go.' I say nothing. 'Eva, I asked about your sister. Nobody knows anything. I don't know what else to do.' He looks as though he is going to cry. For a few moments our eyes meet, then he lowers his head and turns away. Does the sight of me frighten him? I now weigh more than sixty pounds. Not much more. But more. I watch him leave. The poor man. The poor, sad man. And now the doctor comes in. He takes the chair that has recently been vacated by Gerry. He begins quietly. 'Would you like to see him again?' I shake my head. 'Now, Eva, are you sure?' I do not want to see this Gerry again. I am alone. I look at the doctor, but he fails to understand. I am alone. He waits a few moments, then hauls himself to his feet. 'Tomorrow, then.'

It is night. I hear the sound of coughing from another room. The other girl, with the swathe of red around her mouth. She is still here. Waiting. I look at her and wonder why this sad, unhappy girl persists. The coughing stops. I know that somewhere, buried deep inside me, is a place where I will be able to lay down in peace. And this other girl will not be able to follow me. But until then? Can I ever be truly happy? Dear Bella, without you this is not happiness. Mama. Papa. I do not know in what strange land you are buried. Or what stubbled growth or building defaces the earth above your precious bones. But I am tired. And I want to come home. For us, the hinge of generation will not move. That morning, walking to the train station, with our suitcases. A human river of shattered lives. Passing houses that had become our prisons and our tombs, the train door opening with a grating sound, one pail into which we must all relieve ourselves, stopping for hours for no apparent reason, the morning mist rising from the fields, the smoke. Mama. Papa. Dear Margot. The smoke. Once again, I hear the sound of coughing. The other girl is looking at me with sadness in her eyes, so I reach over and take first one hand and then the other. Don't worry, I say. Everything will be fine. Please. Don't worry.

HE had been watching her for a long time. She sat alone across the room, her face an impassive mask, while the other women swirled and dipped in large gestures of exaggerated joy. The hard afternoon light had long since faded, and the room was increasingly dominated by shadows. Because she was sitting, it was difficult to tell whether she was tall or short, but this woman was beautiful. He could not take his eyes from her. When the other women were passed over, they lowered their eyes and remained seated as the music played. One or two among them would occasionally betray a look of frustration, but this woman, who nobody asked to dance, simply sat as though she was indifferent to people's attitudes towards her. Once more, the music stopped and partners were hastily exchanged, and he watched as, again, this woman was ignored. She uncrossed then crossed her legs.

(Together with my parents and my brother and sister. (In our village, nobody had ever seen a light bulb or a telephone. Of course we were unprepared.) We lived as farmers and weavers. Out in the desert, you flashed your lights to attract our attention. And then you herded us on to buses. Now I can smile about it. We had never been on such a thing as a bus. And yes, it was frightening. At dawn, we discovered that we were travelling through a desert that was littered with the skeletons of camels and goats. People looked around. Not everybody was here. It was impossible to take everybody. Relatives were being abandoned. And then on to the embassy compound, where we were stored like thinning cattle. Grazing on concrete. And from the embassy to the airport. We just let it happen. I was lucky, for my parents, and my brother and sister, were relatively healthy. But many people were weak with malaria. It is true, many people were dying.)

Some of the men travelled in from nearby kibbutzim, but the majority lived in the city. They were elderly, mainly bachelors or widowers, but among them were those whose loveless marriages had long ago turned stale. A few among the young women were prostitutes, but the greater number of them were students, or unemployed actresses, all of whom were paid a small sum by the management to dance for a few hours each week. The management's chief source of income were the men, who were required to pay an annual membership fee for their weekly flights of fantasy. Other activities were continually promised, such as outings to places of historical interest, informal dinners, and lectures by prominent speakers on issues relating to the culture and arts of the country. However, in the two years that he had been a member, he was not aware of any other club activities, beyond these weekly dances each Wednesday afternoon.

Ten years ago, after his retirement, he had decided to sell his city-centre apartment, for he imagined that the profit would ease his remaining years. His new apartment, a twenty-minute bus ride from the centrally located club, was comfortable although somewhat noisy. In the beginning, it was the construction teams who disturbed his peace, for they seemed eager to work around the clock. These days it was just people's children, always shouting and playing at all times of the day and night. A little over two years ago, he had nearly died. It was after his recuperation that he decided to join the club, for, with neither work nor family to occupy him, he had finally admitted to himself that he was lonely.

Eventually, he found the courage to cross the floor and ask her to dance. Without saying a word, she stood and eased her slender body into his arms, allowing him to hold her in a manner that was both respectable and intimate. People were watching. He steered her backwards and into the cluster of dancing couples, in the hope that they might attract less attention if they could edge their way towards the middle of the floor. However, her dancing seduced his attention with its grace and surety of step, and he soon forgot his cowardly plan. He hardly noticed when the music stopped, but, as she turned to walk away, he found himself clumsily reaching out and touching her arm. The music started and he stepped towards her, and once again they began to dance.