Caryl Phillips - A Distant Shore

“Come along, Muriel.” Mr. Anderson is eager to escape the rain and he extends his protective arm around Mum’s shoulders. He replaces his shapeless cap on his head and he looks closely at me. I can see that Mr. Anderson is engaged in a struggle to control his many emotions. He is a very alert and active man, but at this time he is weak.

“Take care, lad. You mind yourself.”

The priest and I watch Mr. and Mrs. Anderson walk across the muddy grass towards the concrete path. Once they reach the path Mr. Anderson takes his arm from around Mum’s shoulder and he guides her arm through his own. He pushes his hands deep into the pockets of his blue raincoat and they walk carefully towards Mr. Anderson’s van. The priest clasps my shoulder, zips his Bible into a plastic pouch, and then he moves quickly in the direction of the church. Understanding the priest’s departure to be a signal, the two men beneath the trees throw down their cigarette stubs, pick up their shovels and wearily approach the graveside. They wipe the rain from their eyes. I take a step back, but I am not yet ready to leave Mike. In the distance I witness the illumination of the headlights. An indicator light begins to blink, and then Mr. Anderson’s van passes out of sight. Soon Mr. and Mrs. Anderson will be in Scotland and they will be able to participate in what Mum keeps calling “the rest of their lives.” I feel joy for my benefactors, and I hope that peace, prosperity and happiness will attend them for the remainder of their days.

This morning I officially started my job on the estate and, as is the case with most of the good fortune that has been visited upon me, I have Mr. and Mrs. Anderson to thank for the blessing of this appointment. But now they have departed and I am on my own, standing by Mike’s grave with his car keys in my hand. It is appropriate that rain is falling from the skies, and that I do not possess an umbrella. The disappointing conditions remind me of when I first encountered Mike, standing in the rain, wondering if anybody was going to pay me the compliment of rescuing this stranger. I told my saviour that my name was Solomon and that I was not from the Caribbean, and he nodded and began to enjoy some laughter. Mike did not appear to be like the other English people that I had encountered, but I did not say anything to him about this fortuitous fact. I simply allowed Mike to talk and I listened. Whenever he asked me a question I was always polite and careful about the manner in which I responded. I told him that I was from Africa. That I had come to England by myself. That I had been residing here in England for some weeks. I told him that I did not possess a trade or a job, and Mike listened to me. I did not tell him that I was a soldier. That I had killed many men in battle. I did not tell him that I used to be known as Hawk. Mike shared with me the news that Ireland was his mother country, and that when he first arrived in England he too was not in possession of a trade, but now he drives lorries a very great distance. But only in England. What Mike desired was to experience the extremely long driving jobs that might take him all over Europe, and he lived in the hope that he might one day realise his dream. I looked out of the window and allowed Mike to concentrate on his driving skills. The rain was pouring down out of the black English sky. So he too came from another country? This was difficult for me to understand. At home it was relatively simple to distinguish a man of a different tribe or region, but among these people I was lost. Mike resumed his conversation, and I continued to listen, but my lack of knowledge of the ways of the English caused me to be fearful. I worried about my book, for when I last examined it some pages were disfigured with black mould. I understood that the book was probably once again wet and I imagined that the mould may well have returned, but this time with more vigour. I closed my eyes and trapped my fear inside myself. This was an inappropriate time for me to inspect my belongings.

After many minutes of darkness, Mike began to slow down his lorry. I opened my eyes and watched him turn off the wet road and into an area that was brightly lit in the manner of a small city. I stared at the lights, and at the great number of cars and lorries that were parked in this city. Mike turned off the engine of his vehicle and then he looked at me.

“Fancy a quick bite?” Mike did not wait for me to reply. Immediately he opened the door and fled into the rain, leaving me little choice but to do the same. I ran after him and towards a building where we found shelter. I told Mike that I did not possess money for food or drink, but he slapped me on the back and announced that he would take care of everything and that I should go and sit among the English people. For a moment I did not go anywhere. I stared at him, for I remained frightened. What was this man going to do to me? What did he want? Mike looked puzzled, and then he pointed.

“It’s all right, Solomon. You can go and sit. I’ll get the stuff.”

I sat at a filthy plastic table and watched as Mike picked up a tray and joined a long line of exhausted men. Those seated at neighbouring tables stared at me with great fascination, and even though I looked away I could feel the weight of their eyes. I prepared myself. Should there be trouble then I would fight, and I wondered if perhaps Mike would join me. He was a large man, although somewhat overweight, but he would make a strong ally.

The food made my stomach turn and I was convinced that I was going to embarrass myself. Mike appeared to have an infinite capacity for food, and in order that I should not make him feel uncomfortable I made a great effort. I took another bite of the hamburger, but this food was not suited to my stomach.

“Do you eat meat? I should have asked you.” Mike now seemed worried that he might bear some responsibility for my discomfort, but I assured him that I accepted meat and I took yet another bite of the hamburger. I looked out of the window and could see that a great deal of traffic continued to flow in and out of this small city, and I listened to Mike drinking his mug of tea. He was enjoying loud mouthfuls and then blowing on the tea to cool it down. My head was hurting, and I knew that I could neither finish the hamburger nor take the tea. Perhaps Mike sensed this too, for he was now quiet. I decided to excuse myself and visit the toilet. This would give Mike the chance to leave me, if this was what he wished to do.

In the toilet I was sick, but once I had emptied my stomach I felt much improved. At the sink I discovered that the water supply was both hot and cold, and it appeared to me that there was no end to this supply of both hot and cold water. I washed out my mouth and then I looked at myself in the mirror. A tired man’s face stared back at me. This was not the face of a thirty-year-old man. England had changed me, but was this not the very reason that I had come to England? I desired change. When I returned to the plastic table, I discovered that Mike had taken my tea.

“I hope you don’t mind, but it didn’t look like you wanted it.”

I did not mind at all, and I also understood that Mike had taken the tea to spare me the indignity of having to waste the drink. He appeared to be worried, but I reassured him that I was happy for him to satisfy himself.

We restarted our journey and to my shame I was immediately conquered by sleep. When I opened my eyes the rains had ceased and the first rays of dawn were visible to the east of the busy road. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand and looked quickly all about myself.

“Have a good sleep?” Mike started to laugh now. “Looks like you’ve been through the wars. You were out like a light.”

I apologised to him for my rudeness, but this only caused him once again to laugh. And then he asked me if I knew where I wished to be set down, but I had not yet thought of a place.