Caryl Phillips - A Distant Shore

“My book.” Gabriel pushes the book back into place.

“Oh, you’re a big reader then, are you?”

“Sometimes I write things down.”

“Well, that’s handy. Helps you to remember, right?” Gabriel looks at the man, but he says nothing. The man continues. “You know, if you’re so much of a reader, we can go and get some mags and get busy.” Gabriel looks puzzled, but the man continues. “You know, the guide mags. Buy ’em for half the price that we sell ’em for. Keep the rest.” Gabriel has no idea what this filthy man is talking about, but he does not want to give him the wrong impression.

“I am poor. I do not have any money.”

“None at all?” Gabriel shakes his head. “Well, sometimes they might trust you if you’ve got a friendly face.” The man looks closely at Gabriel. “You know, you’ve got a lucky face. Anybody ever tell you that?” Gabriel shakes his head. “I used to think I was lucky till I was had up for drunken driving twice in one week. That’s when my luck ran out.” He laughs now. “It ran out all right, and the bugger’s never come back to me.”

Gabriel follows this man out of the park, across a wide road that takes them an age to negotiate, and then through a succession of streets that seem to dead-end into each other, until they come to a tall office block, which is clearly their destination. There are other “Jimmys” both going into and coming out of the building, and Gabriel begins to panic, fearing that this man might be about to trick him out of his money. He pushes his hands deep into his trouser pockets and clutches the single note and loose coins, and then he reminds himself that, if necessary, he will fight this man, and any others, who attempt to treat him ill. Once they pass inside the building, Gabriel relaxes, for the man appears to know exactly what to do and there are many others present. His new friend approaches a woman who sits behind a desk and he hands her a fist full of coins. The woman counts the money, and then she begins to count ten copies from a bank of magazines that are piled up in front of her.

“How are you today, my love?”

Jimmy grins. She looks at Gabriel and then she looks back to Jimmy. She gestures with her head.

“Friend of yours, is he?”

The man says nothing as he tucks his magazines under his arm. Gabriel, however, notices scorn in the pout of the woman’s lips.

Once they return to the street, Jimmy’s eyes blaze. “Fucking bitch.”

Gabriel is taken aback by this outburst, but he says nothing to the man, who now hands him half the magazines.

“It’s best if we find two different places. We can meet up this evening and you can give me half the money and you keep the rest for yourself.” The man points across the street to an empty doorway. “You take that spot. Hold the magazine up and just say, ‘Only a quid’ or something like that. You understand the money, don’t you?”

Gabriel does not understand the money, but he thinks it best not to trouble his friend any further so he nods and says, “Yes.” Jimmy points towards the other end of the street.

“I’ll be somewhere down there if you need me. I might be around the corner, but I’m around.”

With this said, the man walks off, and Gabriel watches him until he is swallowed up by the pedestrians and disappears from view.

Left by himself, Gabriel crosses the street and stands in the doorway as instructed. He holds the magazines aloft, but none of the passers-by seem in the slightest bit curious and none of them will meet his eyes. And then, after nearly one whole hour of enduring people looking through him as though he did not exist, Gabriel decides that he will find his new friend and regretfully return the magazines. He will thank him for his kind offer of help, but explain that he is in search of a friend, Bright, and he must focus on this one task. Gabriel rolls up the magazines and carefully places them in his jacket, but as he prepares to move off he notices that a man has stopped in front of him, and the man is looking at Gabriel as though he has suddenly recognised a long-lost relative. The man seems to be incapable of speech, and so Gabriel speaks first.

“Do I know you?”

The man now points his arm at Gabriel, like a gun. “I am not sure. Perhaps. I think you are from my country.”

Gabriel waits for the man to say more, but the man seems incapable of further speech. Gabriel says the name of his country, and suddenly the man is overcome with emotion and he looks as though he is going to cry. He opens both arms wide.

“My brother, I cannot believe this. I have been here in England for so long and now I am finally with a countryman.” He laughs and offers his hand to Gabriel. “Emmanuel. They call me Emmanuel.”

Gabriel shakes the man’s hand, but an excited Emmanuel seems reluctant to let go.

“Come, let us go for a drink and talk about what is happening.”

“Right now?”

“Do you have anything else to do? Please, you will come with me. There is plenty of time for selling of papers. And besides, now is not the best time while everyone is at work. Come, please. This is just unbelievable.”

Emmanuel leads the way, taking left turns and right turns in quick succession, and Gabriel hurries after him, too embarrassed to explain to this excitable man that his injury prevents him from rushing like this.

At this time of the morning the pub is half-empty, but Gabriel is fascinated by the velvet-clad wooden chairs and the dimly lit chandeliers, and the torn curtains. In the dark, smoky atmosphere a few people are reading the newspaper, but most are simply alternating between drinking and staring into mid-air. Emmanuel suddenly looks embarrassed.

“Have you any money, my brother?”

Gabriel reaches into his pocket and takes out what is left of the money that Katherine gave to him. Emmanuel takes the single note and the few coins and he points to a seat.

“You wait there. I will bring the beer.”

Gabriel does as he is told, but he keeps a wary eye on Emmanuel, who goes to the bar and says something to the barman. The barman pours the beer into glasses and hands them to Emmanuel, who offers him some money and then waits for the change. Gabriel notices that Emmanuel pockets the money before bringing the two large glasses of beer over to where Gabriel is seated awkwardly with his knees steepled in the narrow gap between the chair and the edge of the low table.

“The nectar of life,” says Emmanuel, as he sits. He raises his glass. “Cheers.”

Gabriel holds out his hand.

“You have money for me?”

Emmanuel laughs. “Of course, but we are having more drinks. Do you not trust me?”

Gabriel tries not to sound too threatening, but his tone is clear.

“I prefer to have my money in my own pocket.”

Emmanuel laughs and puts his hand into his pocket and pulls out a handful of coins.

“You can count it, it is all there.” Gabriel cannot tell if it is all there, but he immediately pushes the coins into his pocket. Emmanuel takes another deep drink of his beer, and then he takes out a crumpled cigarette packet and raps it on the table top as though an actor in a movie. He offers the packet to Gabriel, who politely holds up his hand, but Gabriel is unable to stem the volley of questions. He watches the blue spurt of an ignited match as Emmanuel lights a cigarette and then blows out a huge circle of smoke. And then Emmanuel continues to fire off questions, and he asks his new friend how long he has been in England, and why he came, and how he arrived, and if he came alone, and Gabriel carefully answers all of Emmanuel’s questions, but the more this man asks, the clearer it becomes to Gabriel that he is not going to reveal anything of himself to Emmanuel. His countryman drains his glass of beer and bangs it back down upon the table.