Caryl Phillips - In the Falling Snow

‘Come on in. I’ll get out of your way and let you get some sleep.’

He gestures towards the bed, and she inches past him as though determined that they should not make contact in this narrow space.

‘I’ll come and wake you at the end of the afternoon. I’m sorry for asking again, but are you going to work?’

She shakes her head. ‘This is not possible.’

He watches as she places her clothes on the floor beneath the window and then, still in her jeans and sweatshirt, she slides into his bed.

‘Sleep well. There’s a switch on the lamp so you can turn the light off whenever you’re ready.’

In the afternoon, he tries to do some work. He has been listening first to the Isley Brothers, and then to the O’Jays, for he has a notion that he can frame part of his book by looking at family history, particularly at singers who have children, or siblings, who are also singers. He decides now to turn his attention to Nat King Cole and Natalie Cole; Cissy Houston and Whitney Houston and, of course, Whitney’s aunt, Dionne Warwick. He takes out a sheet of paper and begins to make a flow chart that is soon full of dates and arrows. Three hours pass by pleasantly enough before he readily admits that his doodling is nothing more than a diversion. He confesses to himself that he needs to return to his more orthodox structure if he is ever going to make any progress with this book, and so he gathers up his pens and various bits of paper and packs them away neatly into the bottom drawer of his desk. He lowers his desk chair with a quick turn of the handle, and then promptly raises it again having decided that the higher he sits the more attentive he is to his work. It is getting dark now and he realises that he should wake up the girl. However, before he does so he will make her some soup as he imagines that she must be hungry. He puts on Miles Davis’s Sketches of Spain and turns up the volume so that it begins to fill the room. He then goes into the small kitchen and pops the plastic lid off a carton of vegetable soup and tips the contents into a deep blue bowl. He sets the microwave timer for three minutes, which guarantees that the soup will be extremely hot, and then he prepares a tray on to which he places a white paper napkin, a spoon, and a few plain crackers. By focusing hard on his book he has managed to avoid dealing with the awkwardness of Danuta’s presence in his flat, but as he listens to the mechanical hum of the microwave, which dominates the lilting strains of Sketches of Spain , it is clear to him that he now has no choice but to confront the situation and discover just what is going on with the girl.

He nudges open the door to the bedroom with his shoulder, and she slowly turns and opens her eyes.

‘Time to get up, I think.’

He sits on the edge of the bed and holds out the tray. At first she does not take it. She stares at him as though trying to remember who he is and why she is in this bed. Then she pulls herself upright and arranges a pillow behind her back.

‘Thank you,’ she says, as she takes the tray from him and balances it between her stomach and her slightly raised knees. ‘You are a kind man.’

He watches as she lifts the spoon to her mouth, and he is surprised how detached he feels, for he neither wishes to touch her, nor to share his bed with her. Strangely enough, he simply wants to protect her, for she suddenly appears to be painfully young and liable to be exploited. He can see now that her navy blue sweatshirt is actually filthy and he is tempted to suggest that she wears one of his, but he decides to be patient.

‘Would you like some coffee or tea? Or a glass of wine? It’s pretty much that time of day.’

She shakes her head and continues to lift the spoon to her lips.

‘So you’re definitely not going to work?’

‘I cannot go to work. It is not good for me to see Rolf. I told you, he is angry with me because he says that I have not been fair to him.’

‘Does it have anything to do with me?’ She looks at him but does not reply. ‘Perhaps he thinks that something is going on between the two of us?’

‘I told him about you, but he is not angry with you, he is angry with me because I do not want to be with him.’

‘I see. So you were with him, and now you’ve decided that you don’t want him for a boyfriend and he is upset.’

‘Perhaps.’ She puts the spoon down on the tray to the side of the still half-full bowl of soup. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot eat any more. Thank you.’

He takes the tray from her and watches as she lowers her knees and leans back into the pillow.

‘Rolf has never been a boyfriend to me. It is what he wants. It is in his head, that is all.’

‘It sounds like he doesn’t cope too well with rejection, and maybe he just needs to get over it.’

‘I am sorry, but I do not understand.’

He wonders if he should throw the soup away, or perhaps reheat it later when she has gone. After all, she has hardly touched it.

‘Let me just put this in the kitchen and I’ll be back. Are you sure you don’t want any tea or coffee?’

She shakes her head and pulls up the duvet to her chin.

‘I’ll just be a minute.’

As the kettle boils he realises that he has to say something to the girl. What if Laurie wants to come by? Or Clive Wilson was to drop by to apologise? This is crazy. He should never have allowed her to sleep here, not even for a few hours. And then there is this Rolf, who sounds as though he is capable of doing anything. Danuta is an adult, and she should check into the hostel and start to sort out her life. He can always visit her, or meet her for coffee or lunch. They can go out in the evenings to the cinema, or simply get together for a drink. He knows that she doesn’t think much of the local pub, but there are other places that they can go to. They don’t have to go to the Queen Caroline. He decides to make himself a cup of instant black coffee, which he knows will taste bitter, but he doesn’t want to leave her by herself for too long.

He sits carefully on the edge of the bed, this time a little closer to her as she is no longer balancing a tray and trying to eat. Why does she not go back to Warsaw and her family? She has a job there in a kindergarten, and her English is already good enough. How much better is it going to get if she stays in England for another month or two? After all, she can always come back again later, when things have calmed down a little. She’s not an idiot, and she must know that there are plenty of other solutions to her present predicament with this Rolf. He is beginning to feel used, and as he stares at her troubled expression he reminds himself that he owes her nothing, and that he can’t risk unmooring his life for her. She shouldn’t expect this from him.

‘Don’t you have any other friends? People that you can talk to about what’s going on. I mean people here in London?’

‘I do not understand.’

He takes a sip of his coffee, then balances the cup on his right knee and holds it with both hands.

‘I think you should talk to somebody about the situation and maybe get some advice. Have you thought about going back to Poland for a while?’

‘I do not have the money to go back to Poland. How do I go back?’

‘Well, I’m just saying, maybe you should talk with friends and explore all of the options that are open to you. That’s just one of them.’

‘But how do I go back to Poland? And why should I go back?’

‘No, Danuta. I’m not saying that you should go back, I’m just saying that it is something that you might want to explore. If you need money for an air ticket I can lend you the money.’

‘You want to buy me a ticket to fly to Poland?’

‘Look, all I’m saying is that if you think you should go, and if you don’t have the money, then maybe people can help you. That’s all.’