Caryl Phillips - A Distant Shore

I don’t know what expression crossed my face, but the look obviously registered something with him for he felt compelled to go on.

“You know the canal we’re talking about?”

“What happened?” I knew that I was whispering, but I couldn’t find my breath.

“Well, there was some bruising to the head so we can’t rule out foul play. But as I’m sure you appreciate, we don’t want to jump to any conclusions for there isn’t necessarily anything suspect.”

The woman leaned forward and lowered her voice.

“I’m sorry. We thought it best to come and tell you ourselves as people said you knew him.”

It was after the police had gone that Carla came to see me. I hardly ever have anybody come to my door, so to have two visits in rapid succession was disturbing. I got out of the chair and imagined that it was somebody else wanting to tell me about Solomon. Young Carla stared up at me with sad eyes, and so I asked her in. She wiped her feet and then sat down somewhat heavily in the armchair that I had just vacated. She did so without taking her eyes from me the whole time, which made me feel nervous. I asked Carla if she’d like some tea or coffee, but she just shook her head and then, for the first time, she spoke.

“It’s about your friend. The black guy.”

“Solomon.”

“Yeah, him.”

I looked at her and waited for her to go on, but she said nothing. She lowered her eyes and stared at the space between her trainer-clad feet. “What’s the matter, Carla?”

“I really shouldn’t be here. Paul will kill me if he knows I’m here.”

I sat now, and it was my turn to watch her closely.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Carla twisted herself around and reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a letter. As she handed it to me, she looked up.

“I found this and it’s addressed to the black guy. They’re out of order, Miss. I’m not stupid. I know what they’re like.” Carla paused. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

“You’re sorry about what?”

I looked closely at Carla, who was now leaning forward so that she was sitting on the edge of the armchair.

“They’ll kill me, Miss, if they find out I’m here.”

“Who’s ‘they,’ Carla?”

“Paul and his mates. Paul’s my boyfriend. They’re just stupid bullies.”

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

“No. Course not.”

“Have you put yourself in danger?”

“I don’t think so.” Carla looked puzzled and then she sat back in the armchair. “What do you mean?”

“Carla, where did you get this letter?”

“I nicked it out of Paul’s pocket. I told you, they’re bullies. They’ve been writing stuff like this for a while now. They think it’s a laugh, but I’ve told them it’s bang out of order.”

I looked at an agitated Carla, who was clearly ready to leave now.

“Did they harm Solomon, Carla?”

“I think they just wanted to frighten him. But I didn’t want any part of any of it, Miss. None of it.”

“Any part of what?”

Carla stood up now. She began to fumble with the zip on her jacket.

“Miss, maybe you should go to the police, but you can’t tell them anything about me.”

“Perhaps you should go to the police, Carla. Unless, of course, you’re simply making the whole thing up?” Carla flashed me a look that was initially disbelief. Then I saw her face change as she became angry. “Listen, Carla, if you’ve got something to say, then please say it. We shouldn’t be falling out. Not over something as serious as this.”

“We’ve not fallen out, Miss.”

I looked at her as she finished zipping up her jacket.

“I mean, I brought you the letter. What else do you want me to do?”

“I want you to tell me the truth, Carla.” For a moment Carla looked at me as though she was going to storm out, and then she sighed and shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but they told me to fetch him, so I did.”

“They?”

“Paul and his mates, Dale and Gordon. I knocked on the black guy’s door and asked him to give us a hand pushing Paul’s van as it wouldn’t start. He was okay about it, but when he came out they jumped him and tied him up. That’s when I didn’t want nothing to do with it any more.”

“But did you help Solomon?”

Carla lowers her eyes. “No, Miss.” She pauses. “They drove him down to the canal, then out towards the quarry. They just wanted to have some fun, but when they opened the back of the van to let him out, he went nuts, Miss. He’d undone the ropes and he started to attack them like a madman. It was scary, and he was shouting and carrying on, and then he had a go at Paul. The others grabbed him and then Paul bricked him.”

“He did what, Carla?”

“They were by the quarry, Miss. Paul picked up a stone and smacked him on the head and he went down. Then they all started to brick him, but it didn’t take long before he wasn’t moving no more. Miss, I was scared. I didn’t know what to do, but Paul said it was self-defence and they’d be okay. But the others didn’t want to know, so they decided to push him in to make it look like an accident.” Carla looked up at me. “Miss, he was terrifying. I thought he was gonna kill them, honest. They’ll never say anything, but I could see that they were scared stiff. He kind of went mad, Miss, talking about how he was a bird that could fly, and he kept mentioning you.”

“But Carla, they murdered him, and you helped.”

“I know, Miss.” Her voice broke and tears began to roll down her face. “I’d best go now.”

“What’ll you do, Carla?”

“I ain’t got much choice now, have I, Miss?” She paused. “Paul and his mates are off on holiday on Monday, so I’ll have to tell the police before then.”

“And you will tell them? Everything you’ve told me?”

“I will, Miss. I told you, I promise.”

I watched as Carla left the room, and I decided to leave her alone. There was no need to see her out. I waited for the door to slam shut, and then I looked at the grubby envelope with Solomon’s name and address painstakingly scrawled in capital letters.

When I wake up it’s dusk. I’ve fallen asleep in the chair by the fireplace and slept the afternoon away. Obviously the half-pint of Guinness took hold of me. I look out of the window and see the green car standing alone. Without Solomon, Weston suddenly seems like a strange and empty village, and it feels as though a whole lifetime has passed since the day that Solomon came calling. I have a doorbell, so it was unusual to hear somebody knocking at the door. In fact, it seemed a bit rude, so I opened the door somewhat gruffly. I saw Solomon standing there in his Sunday best, his hands clasped in front of him as though he were about to pray. I’d seen him cleaning his car, of course, and I’d noticed him walking about, especially in the evenings, but I couldn’t for the life of me work out what he thought he was playing at, knocking at my door like this.

“I saw you at the bus stop yesterday. And before this, in the rain.” I looked him up and down and waited for him to go on. However, I realised that he wasn’t going to say anything further until I said something to him.

“Yes,” I said. “I was going into town. I go once or twice a week.”

“Yes, I know. I have seen you as I have driven past. But I am not really sure if I should stop.”

“Stop where?” I wrinkled my forehead.

“Stop to ask you if you would like me to drive you into the town. After all, we are neighbours. I am the night-watchman for the Stoneleigh estate.” He gestured all around him. “This is my job.”

I nodded. I knew who he was, but he was being a bit strange, so it seemed best to say nothing more. I thought about just closing the door, but then he spoke again.