Caryl Phillips - A Distant Shore

On the way back to the bus station I see a few of them. They are staring as though there’s something the matter with me, but I try to ignore them. Really, they should be ashamed of themselves with their hands out, begging for decent people’s money when there’s no reason at all why they shouldn’t be working and earning their own. I’m retired and I don’t have anything to give to them. And even if I did, why would I? They should go and get a job. I tell this to one of them and he just laughs and shows me his yellow teeth. Like an animal, he is crouched in a doorway. They’re disgusting, dragging themselves and the country down like this. Just behind the bus station I see a large group of them gathered around an oil-drum which they’ve set alight. It has bits of wood sticking out of it, and they are huddled together and vigorously rubbing their hands and stamping their feet. It makes me feel angry just to look at them.

“What you looking at?” says one of them. It’s a woman, which somehow makes it worse. She looks and sounds like a gypsy, with her black hair, and her black eyes, and her grimy black hands. Sheila and I have always been scared of gypsies and Mum had told us to run away if any of them ever spoke to us. They are nasty, and they like to take away people’s children, everybody knows that much. So I don’t say anything back to this woman, but when she spits in my direction I feel my blood beginning to boil. It’s awkward, for I’m not dressed how I want to be dressed. There isn’t much dignity to a crumpled jacket, but I’m not going to let this stop me from speaking my mind. But I don’t know what to say.

The policewoman says that they found Dr. Williams’s phone number on the referral card in my bag. That’s how come Dr. Williams finds himself at the police station, sitting across a table from me, nervously kneading his hands together as though he’s making bread. I still don’t know what I’m doing here, but I suppose that something bad must have happened. I’m just waiting for either Dr. Williams or the policewoman to speak, for I know that one of them will have to explain to me what the gypsy woman did. After all, I’m covered in bruises and I’m still bleeding.

“Are you all right, Dorothy?” Dr. Williams is looking at me, but I can see that he is worried. I stare back at him, but what am I supposed to say? I don’t know if I’m all right. I don’t even know what happened.

“What time is it?”

The doctor looks at his watch and then he arches his eyebrows. “It’s getting late. Nearly eleven.”

“At night?”

Dr. Williams nods and I stare first at him, then at the policewoman, then back at him.

“I don’t think you’re well, Dorothy. Shouting and brawling with homeless people, well, that’s just not you.”

I remember something now. She spat and I spat back, and then the shouting started, and then I struck her, and the police arrived. Maybe this policewoman was one of them, but no matter how long I stare at her I can’t remember if she was there or not. The policewoman looks at Dr. Williams as though asking for his help, but why? I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just looking at her and trying to work something out, but that’s how it seems to go these days. I can’t do anything right at all, can I?

I turn to Dr. Williams. “I don’t want to be in this police station.”

He is smiling at me, but I need something more than this. I’m afraid smiling isn’t good enough any more.

“I don’t want to be in this place! Can’t you hear me? I don’t want to be in this place!”

“Dorothy, I think you need to spend some time convalescing in an environment where you can get better, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

I look closely at him, but his words make no sense. I know I’m sick. I still have problems sleeping, but unless there’s been some serious change that he hasn’t told me about, then I should be going home. That’s where I belong. I shouldn’t be at this police station talking about convalescing. Perhaps I’ve got Sheila’s cancer, but I’ve been managing with it all right, haven’t I? My jacket is a bit crumpled, I can see that. In fact, it’s dirty, but it just needs a wash and then everything will be fine, won’t it? It will be all right. I’m all right. It occurs to me that if I just stare at Dr. Williams then I can make him believe me when I say that everything is all right, but he simply looks back at me and the longer I stare, the more I begin to feel like a fool.

Apparently I am convalescing. They always keep a light on somewhere. In the corridor, or on the other side of the room. I confess, I can’t sleep properly. I’ve told them this, but they said that if the tablets and the hot milk don’t help, then they can always give me the needle. But I’m not sure that they really listen to me. When I went to the seaside I didn’t sleep. It took just over an hour to get there, and as we entered the town I saw a big field with maybe a hundred caravans set down on top of thick concrete slabs. In the corner of the field there stood a row of rusting tin sheds that I presumed to be the toilets and showers. Kids were drinking from standpipes, and recent rain had turned the whole place into a huge sea of mud. Once I got off the bus there was nowhere to go, so I lugged my suitcase into the bus-station café and found a seat in the far corner. I noticed a sticky mess of honey on the table where it had not been properly wiped off, so I was careful not to put my elbows up. A pregnant young girl came across and stood with pocketed hands. Before I could say anything she announced, “We’re all out of buns, but we’ve got cellophane-wrapped fruit cake and sandwiches.” I just wanted tea, and when it finally arrived it did so with a clatter. I sat in the bus station for a while and had one cup of tea after another and watched the pregnant girl, who was clearly stupid with confidence. She ashed her cigarette into a tea cup that was similar to the one that I was drinking out of, and then she started to gyrate to imaginary pop music as she stacked the saucers on top of the side plates. I felt my arms fold up across my chest, like the sleeves of a shirt after it’s been ironed, and I stared at the creature.

Eventually it got dark, and little Miss Know-it-all made it clear that she needed to close up the café. She gave a deliberate yawn in response to my question, and then pointed me towards a small hotel that overlooked the promenade. It had one of those signs outside that advertised the name of the hotel, then beneath it there were two hooks where they could hang a sign that said “vacancies” or one that said “no vacancies.” I was lucky, for the sign said they had “vacancies,” but judging by the dismal state of the place, I imagined that on most days they would have vacancies. The woman asked me if I’d like dinner in my room or in the dining room with the other guests, but I saved her any bother by letting her know that I didn’t want dinner, full stop. I wasn’t nasty about it or anything, but I felt that I had to make myself clear so there would be no confusion on her part. She asked me if I wanted a hot water bottle, as mine was an attic room and it could get a bit nippy, but I let her know that there would be no need for a hot water bottle. Fatigue had begun to cloud my mind like a thick fog, and I didn’t want to be disturbed.

The room smelled of mice and unwashed clothes. There was a single bed, a severe upright wardrobe, a pine dresser, and in the corner a metal chair over which a white towel was draped. There was also a paraffin heater, but it didn’t look like anyone had used that in a while. The bed felt warm and clammy, as though somebody had recently crawled out of it, and so I reached for the towel, which was as rough as sandpaper. I spread it on top of the brown bedspread, and then listened. I heard feet pass my door and then fade away down the corridor. A door opened and then closed with a powerful echo, and I turned and glanced in the mirror on the dresser. I was tired, and I looked terrible, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep in a single bed. For most of my adult life I’d associated them with not being grown-up, and they always made me feel like I’d stepped back into an era that I remember being anxious to leave behind. I kicked off my shoes, and then lay on the towel and looked up through the unadorned skylight. There was no bedside lamp or radio, and I now understood that I would have to survive till morning staring at the black night through this skylight window.