Caryl Phillips - In the Falling Snow

‘The foreman looked upon me as though he’s looking at an animal that he thinking of buying. He turn back to face my friend. “Bloody hell, Ralphie where do you find them? This one’s got no meat on him. He’ll probably melt if we put him anywhere near the furnaces. Thin like a piece of liquorice, he is.” Ralph already tell me that this man don’t have any prejudice like most of the others who, according to Ralph, say they don’t want to work with us because we’re too friendly with their women, or they claim our hands are too rough, or they can’t share the same lavatory with us, or they frighten that when the tea break come we might use their mug, or they say we blow our noses when they passing by and we won’t take off our hats indoors, but I already know the truth is they just can’t tolerate being close to a coloured man but they will take us as a last resort if no Englishman will work for such low wages. However, Ralph tell me this man is a good man, and Ralph squeeze my arm and laugh and promise the foreman that he will make sure I eat plenty Yorkshire pudding and roast beef, but I not laughing and I looking hard at the English man and remembering what Ralph tell me about these union men who like to talk big about the importance of the empire, and everything is brother this and brother that, and I only been in England for a few weeks but already I have to leave two jobs because these people like to trouble your mind because in one breath they talking all this brother foolishness with a smile, and with the same smile they tell you it is better if you only bring English food to eat at break because some people don’t appreciate foreign muck and if they don’t like your name, or if they find it too hard to pronounce, they quick to call you Jim or Sam or something that is supposed to make you know your place, and Ralph tell me that these are the same men whose children like to dress up in the drainpipe trousers and fancy jackets and carry flick knives, and when they go out “nigger hunting” they wear motorbike chain necklaces and carry iron bars and starting handles and talk about “Keep Britain White” as they leave the pub and begin a “nigger run” for the night, but they always make it back before last orders and laugh about how many spade heads they crack and somebody will sing “Bye Bye Blackbird” and the landlord’s bell will ring out and if they catch you on the street after the pub close then they going pelt milk bottles and bricks at you and the “nigger run” begin again right there and then. So I’m standing up straight and Ralph is feeling my arm and talking stupidness about roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and I look at the man and I want to ask him if he have any Teddy Boy sons, or maybe a daughter who he teach to spit on the ground for good luck when she see a coloured man, but I don’t say anything and the man run his big hand across the top of my head and he tell Ralph that “at least we won’t have to prescribe Amplex for this one” and if he can find a pair of overalls into which I don’t disappear then I can start work on Monday and he shake my hand and tell me welcome to the factory and promise me that if I keep my nose clean and my head down they going treat me just like everybody else. Ralph is jumping from one foot to the next and he say “thank you” and I looking at Ralph and wondering what the hell is going on inside the head of my friend because he carrying on all skittish and telling the man that he never see me without a book and how I always studying, and I want to tell Ralph to relax because this is a factory job and as far as I can see book learning don’t have nothing to do with working in an iron foundry. After all, it’s Ralph who tell me that work start at eight, but nothing is done before nine except reading the newspaper and smoking, then at eleven everything stop for tea, then again at one for lunch, then tea again but this time with cake, and then people go home at five, so the thing is not like real work, and I don’t think a man’s brain have anything to do with this job, but I don’t say nothing although inside my head I begging Ralph to stop off his talk about me and the blasted books.

‘A week later I find myself sitting in front of a man who is looking upon me with a strange smile on his face and his two feet propped up on a desk. Underneath one shoe is covered in mud, and the man is stroking his short beard with his right hand. Then the man stop doing so and drop both hands together in his lap and begin nodding as though answering a question, although as yet I don’t say a thing. The man is wearing a thick brown jacket and I’m studying the pieces of leather on the cuffs and elbows because I never look upon a jacket like this before. Then I find myself gawping at the shirt and tie and pullover, which bulk out the man’s small frame, for this is the first time in my life that I see anybody wearing so much clothes inside a building. Eventually the man stop dreaming and he reach into his breast pocket and pull out a pipe which he hold carefully in the cup of his palm. His fingers poke about in an envelope of tobacco and he begin to push a clump of weed into the bowl of the pipe before putting the thing in his mouth and lighting it. He haul up some smoke, then he take the pipe from his mouth and begin to use the thing to point. He ask me, “So to what exactly do I owe the pleasure of your visit? The department secretary said that you wanted to see a professor.” He smile. “Well, I’m afraid I’m not a professor, I’m merely a lecturer, but I hope I’ll do.” I thank the man and tell him I want to register at the college to take classes, but if this is not the right place then I can come back at a more convenient time and speak with a next person. I don’t tell him that the ignorant woman at the front desk ask me what I want, and when I say I want to study she look surprised and tell me that it is half-term but she will see what she can do. However, she tell me like she want me to know she doing me some kind of big favour. After a few minutes the woman come back and say, third door on the right, and that I am lucky because this morning Dr Davies is in the office and he have a few minutes to spare. I put down the magazine that I holding and thank the woman, but she don’t have no time for me. “Well go on,” she say, “he won’t bite.” Dr Davies swings down his feet from the desk and he lean forward and ask me if I have any idea of what subject it is that I wish to register for, but I tell him that I don’t know, and I looking good at this man because I not sure if he on my side or if the man just amusing himself. “I’m sorry,” he say, “I seem to have forgotten my manners. Would you like a cup of coffee or something?” I shake my head, but then I remember my own manners and say “no thank you,” but the man continue to stare at me. I tell him that I pass all my school exams, but not so high that I can take the scholarship, and then I confess that maybe I want to try for law. The man is listening with a kind of pretend smile on his face so I decide I better tell him everything. I tell him that I work at the factory with my good friend, Ralph, but I can work in the day and still plenty of time to study in the evening. I try to convince the man that I ready to take the college exams or whatever it is that you must do to gain entrance into the place. The man wait a second or two and then he ask me all calm and easy if I can truly work and study at the same time, and I tell the man the hours at the factory are eight to five but I don’t have to go to the pub after work with the other fellars because I prefer to study. Dr Davies look pleased, and then he tap his pipe on the desk and push in more tobacco and light it up again. He say that he hope I don’t mind that he is asking, but why it is that I think so many of us are coming over. “Opportunity or adventure, or a combination of both?” I look at Dr Davies and wonder if this is some kind of examination question. The man look kind enough, but a part of me is ready to get up and go and find Ralph. I watch him begin to smoke the pipe, and then the man tell me he favour Commonwealth migration, particularly as it seem as though we prepared to make a big sacrifice and abandon our lovely sunshine. He say he understand the situation because his sister is a nurse in Ceylon, and before this she is in Nigeria. “But look out of the window,” he say, “look at the blessed weather. Who would want to flee paradise for this, for heaven’s sake?” I know the man don’t really be talking to me so I just watch him and wait for him to turn back and look me in the face, which he eventually decide to do. Dr Davies ask me if I have any family in England, but before I can answer the man is talking to himself again. He rest down the pipe and sigh. “You’re all so bloody young. Remarkable really, but you’re all just kids when it comes down to it, just kids.”’