In Our Mad and Furious City

by Guy Gunaratne

  NELSON

  The day gone and the night spilling into the dark. See the road lamp blink, blink on Latimer Road, tall and orange round, shaping the long line. I was out and tired of it. Standing by the short corner with a box full of pamphlets, waving a hand at the foggy air, under the nose of them people who give me bad eyes as they passed. It was early evening now and I been out since morning on the same spot shilling. Them shops had begun to close, window shuttering down, people catching the bus home. But what about me? I thought about Maisie as I stood. I had not received a reply to my letter, the one I sent a month back, and was feeling a pinch of guilt for it. I had not saved a penny for she ticket here. And I miss she touch. After all this trouble it would have done me good to hold Maisie near.

  I pack up my box. I was resentful for my own lot. Sour at how my Association brothers had decide to put me out on corner-boy duty. They had flag me as somebody who could not be trusted, not after I refuse to pose against the police. I had a too soft heart, they said, and so I was in a temper at myself. I should have taken a beating, a belt to the lip, I thought, the same way Curtis had. I should never have called the bastard pig a sir.

  I walk fast along Whitchurch Road. Everybody said it was about to kick off anytime. All it take was one drop. So how far I was prepared to walk depend on how many white face I see around. The patch was split by then, from road to road, a hopscotch territory like that. The whites on one side and the colored in another. I remember that the closer I come to the Grove, the louder the sound of island music hum in the air. That was a funny thing in the misery. We had known the police and Teddy boys was spoiling for it, so we play the music extra loud so that they know we alive. That was how I know I was safe when I come close. I hear we own music.

  As I turned into Clarendon Road I hear the sound of shouting near Chapman’s. Something was off I see. A busy crowd had gathered around the front door. Association people scuttling into the back where it had a clearing up to a park square. My mind stopped wandering then and I quick my pace up to it. Out front I see that Keith Jacob having a smoke. He was afar watching them all getting rile over something.

  What happening here? I ask.

  Keith looked at me and him eyes was fire red. He took the cigarette out him mouth and looked back at the scene.

  You not seen it?

  Seen what?

  Then he looked at me and the leaflet box I was holding. He had a sorta suspicion, it seem to me.

  Where you been all this time, boy?

  They put me out on the corner near the station road.

  He dismiss whatever he was thinking and point over to the back alley. The people was running through there now.

  Go have a look yourself if you want see it.

  I looked over and see there was some further commotion by Treadgold Street on the corner of the children park. Keith went off shaking him head and kissing him teeth. I took no notice of him. I turned instead and walked over to the crowd. Plenty people all over. Them faces was dark, mad with some alarm. I did not know what they had gathered around for but the closer I come the more my chest tight and I feel it curl into my jaw.

  They was looking up. All of them. Trying to push in past the trees looking at something up there. I push into the middle of the road and I follow them eyes up to the black lamppost. The lamppost light was shining yellow. Above it was leaves unsettled by the breeze and there, below the light, strung up with thick rope, the slumped body of a dog.

  I feel a clotting in my gut. The dog hung like a bloated sack, stiff and twisted, the tongue hanging out the side of its gaping mouth. I hold a hand to my neck. I stared at it. Lord, I thought, there was people cheering at it. Throwing stones at the body and holding them fist in the air like the sight of a dead dog was a victory. All I saw was the animal’s fixed black, bulging eyes swinging in the air above me.

  So they had gone and strung up a dog. So they had gone and done that. One of them Teddy boys’ dogs. From the same pack what must have torn up Dicky Boy’s face. So a cruel dog. A dog under the leash of everything we hate. Yet all I could think about was the little dog I kept when I was young, the dog I played with and loved when I was a boy. And I feel shame as a man for not hating the dog as much the other men did.

  I walked quickly back to Chapman’s. Was like I got a punch in the stomach. I hear all the chatter of the others, the ground-up pride for this thing that they have been done. It sounded like one of we had snatch a prize off the enemy, put it on display for everyone to see. I was sick at that. They had kidnap and killed it. Strung up some poor animal. For what? So we can say there, look, retribution for one of we. Some dog.

  Chapman’s bar was lit up inside, busy with people. The whole place was now fix into the Association quarters, to serve the cause, to act as a safe house for the end. All them black and brown faces, soft in wispy smoke and watering eye. See the change in them too. Laborers like I, angry island bodies holed up and fix together to defend a spit of road. The dead dog would bring a clash, they was saying, and we would be ready. I see women cutting up sheets for bandages and others given barbed rods and metal grips. Banners being sewn. People bringing in wood to build some sorta barricade. These was hungry, gnashing faces. Hungry for some kind of confrontation. Any kind, it seem to me, to find a pot to spill we blood into. And who was I among them? Some wretch who was too island-soft for this place to begin with. I stood there watching on, invisible from the middle of this camp, as they all prepared for a calamity.

  You boy! Come help me with this thing.

  It was Jimbroad who catch me in a mist. He was holding a box crate full with brown glass bottles. I took what he give me. I helped him stack them boxes against the door. Then suddenly, as if something snap inside of me, I took hold of Jimbroad’s arm. I hold it tight and pull him toward me.

  Jimbroad, I said, I think I must leave.

  What you saying to me?

  I want go. Now, this minute. I can’t stay no longer. Jimbroad stared at me a moment. He saw I was being serious, that I want abandon the cause for good. But he brush me off him shoulder.

  Where you want go? he ask curt suddenly, like a schoolteacher.

  Just away Jimbroad. I can’t get pinch for nothing. I have Maisie—

  Boy, look around you. You blind?

  He looked at me then as if I was being foolish, like he chide me for doing some minor thing. But this man was not my blood. I see it in him face then. I feel it in my heart that none of this was for me.

  But for what we do all this? The dog—

  The dog? Is that it? You rather it be black man strung up outside? You not want leave, you want be a coward is what. You want be invisible man. But let me tell you Nelson, a colored man’s presence in this country is already a violation—

  Jimbroad, please, I do not want to hear all that now!

  I was boiling with anger at him. Anger at how he speak down to me. Make me feel small. Jimbroad step closer then, with a look on him face as if he know what was in my heart and he want snuff it out.

  Listen to me Nelson. You young. I know you want bring your girl here. But look around yourself. You think this is a place to bring love? You can see for yourself.

  I looked at all the bodies passing through the place. To a man like Jimbroad and the rest, I was just some young fool who want run away a coward. He put him hand on my shoulder. Jimbroad’s voice come soft then but filled with the same pity and sorrow.

  Anyhow boy, you know how much it cost for a boat ticket back? Believe me, you’ll be working for years if you want see she again. You must grow up boy, grow up fast now.

  Jimbroad pick up one of them crates and point me to the upstairs. I bring the crate into my arms. A sharp smell hit my nose suddenly. I looked down and see how all them brown glass bottles was fill up with a clear liquid. Smell of paraffin or some sorta lighter fluid. Jimbroad turned around then and went on packing box after box of the same brown bottles against the wall. Must have been hundred of them bottles stacked to the ceilin
g. I could not say nothing. But I know that my heart could not hate the way the others could. They was right, I was too soft, but I did what I was told. I took the bottles upstairs. On the way up I see that outside the sky was getting dark. And I hear the drums begin to pound.

  DEFILEMENT

  SELVON

  Suttan tells me he’s good for it. Suttan like a force in him, half Jedi, half Irish poet, ennet. He’s no longer a sideman in my eyes, that’s the thing. So I move with him. We come out Kilburn High Road, pass the blue-green mural that reminds me of islands I never been to. We cross underneath the railway bridge and into Maygrove Road toward the studio.

  Who knew Ardan had it in him, truly? Small bredda like him with a pen. We turn the corner and see the square sign of the studio up ahead. Been there couple times to link Missy and Rene and the rest so I know my way in by the side. I glance at Ardan’s face and see it staring, mouth hanging and slightly shook.

  Better not fuck it up yuno, I say jokingly. He lets out a nervous laugh like, yeah better not. He steps behind me as I push open the door with my fist. Both our feet brush the carpet as we enter. I glance about and the place is all polished floor and wood beams above. Spotlights in corners. The difference between the scaggy road outside and the conditioned space indoors is obvious. All the money on this side of the walls, ennet.

  See the big man behind the desk look up at me and nod. Ardan follows me down the corridor toward the desk. Big man is wearing an old-school Channel U tee.

  We’re here to see Missy, I say. Big man nods again and stumps his fingers at the keyboard. I see Ardan with his hands in his pockets, small and invisible in the hallway. He’s staring at the ceiling as if he’s been placed in a maze and the only way out is up. That’s the way I feel about the Ends, still. I think about him and the place we’re in now. The way this day began and how weird it is that we’re now here in a recording studio. Me looking to get heads from Missy and him about to blurt bars to whoever. We ain’t that dissimilar, ennet, me and him. I do my running thing and he does his music. Except now I think about it, I ain’t never felt about anything the way myman feels about his music gas. He’s standing there like he’s reached Valhalla or suttan. About to go onstage and impress whoever he needs to get his nut. I probably don’t even know what that feels like.

  He steps over to me.

  Blood, this place looks proper, proper legit. How am I supposed to do this? They gonna have me in front of bare suits or suttan? And what about Max?

  I look down at the dog. He’s sitting with his tongue out and switching his beady eyes between me and Ardan as we talk.

  I don’t know bruv. Missy will tell you, ennet. Stay tranquil cus. I’ll take the dog.

  I’m thinking maybe this dog will crimp my style with Missy but I’ll just have to tie him someplace before I get busy with her.

  Suddenly Ardan stiffens.

  I turn and see Missy walking toward me, shoulders shining under the orange light. I lick my lips and smile. She’s looking at me reserved tho, professional as if she’s trying to keep it on the DL. She don’t want no one to know what mad freakery she’s been texting me all day.

  Hello boys, she goes. She says it with her voice delicate and light and her face and eyes half-hidden in shadow.

  Wa-gwan Missy. I try bring her into my side but her left hand grazes my bicep away. She’s a little cold. Must be because we’re not alone. I point at Ardan, who is watching me, waiting for his cue.

  Yeah, so Missy this is the guy. His name’s Ardan and he’s a beast. Trust me.

  Missy smirks. She looks at Ardan. At his creps, his Tesco bag, and his worn brown hair. He looks like a right mongrel.

  He don’t look like no beast, she says.

  Ardan looks at me to say suttan. As if I’m his interpreter. I shrug.

  Trust me, just get him on the mic, ennet. You’ll see.

  She smiles as if she feels sorry for him. She’s holding a clipboard and loose yellow papers under her arm. She flicks through them looking for an opening.

  Okay, okay. You need to wait though. There’s a canceled slot in like, ten minutes.

  We both look at Ardan who’s looking peak at the suggestion.

  Ten minutes?

  We both see he looks like he’s about to shit himself. I’m stepping in like it’s an intervention or suttan.

  Course he’s okay with it. It’s cool Missy, honestly, I say. Missy give me a look and takes Ardan by the shoulder.

  Look hun, Jamie is busy yeah? If you ain’t prepared enough or something then best not waste his time, get me?

  See Ardan’s face in the soft black. His paleness against the warm light and eyes fixed on Missy. Makes me think of him on the concrete ground before I pulled him up. I think of him in the corner of the boxing ring, giving up too easy and shallow breathing, and then again, small and afraid sat in the bus shrinking away from his moment. He’s like that now with the terror alight in his eyes. I try thinking of suttan to say to him, get him to bunn that punishing fear that’s holding him back. He needs to be that other Ardan now. The monster bredda that pounced on the boy on the bus. That pistol-tongued kid with the bars. I can’t think of anything to say to him. My jaws tighten and I just throw him my arm to touch him. To just shake him and move him on.

  Blood, don’t be a pussyo, ennet.

  I say it like I’m annoyed. Lazily, like I ain’t aware of the weight on him. As if me and Missy don’t see the fear hung around his neck like an anchor.

  Ardan looks at me now. His eyes bugged and terrified. He opens his mouth like time’s up.

  Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll do it, he says. Ardan switches from me to Missy, his face set and focused. I break a smile like, yeah gwan myman.

  Yeah? says Missy, cool, good. Come with me.

  Missy walks off and Ardan hesitates and glances back my way.

  You comin’ Selvon yeah? he says and instantly my smile fades. He wants me to be there and cheer him on. My eyes move to Missy and her arse in them black tights, her legs swaying like on stilts in them high boots. I feel the pulse in me, the blood thicken. I see Missy turn around and the curve of her hips. She looks at me, waiting for my answer too. I think about the last text she sent and my world spins.

  Nah man. You go. I’ll wait.

  I say it and don’t even see Ardan’s disappointment even though I know it’s there. Missy is all I see now. She looks back at me with them eyes.

  You and the dog can wait in my office. She says it in a tone that makes me rise. She turns in them boots and I push my tongue against the wall of my mouth like, yes. Finally.

  I nod at Ardan who is still staring at me like his ropes are cut and he’s alone. He hands over Max’s leash and I take it.

  See you in a bit yeah? Good luck.

  I say it and move to the other side of the reception desk, down the hallway toward where Missy was pointing. Don’t look back. Ardan will be good, I think to myself. He just needs to go in the same way he did on bus. Anyway. Suttan else on my mind. I pull Max along with me.

  See the door with Missy’s name on it, white letters. I open the door like I’m under watch, slowly, and try to make the lock click silent. It’s dark inside except for a standing lamp sending soft yellow light into a corner of the room where IKEA furniture sits lit. I stand still. Proper air-conditioned in here and warm. I’m flexing my fingers. I quickly see where I can tie up the dog in the corner by the coat rack. He does what I need him to do, obedient and quiet. It’s as if he knows I ain’t playing around.

  I glance around the room now and all I see through my lust-drawn eyes are supple ledges and scenes of porno ruin. Blood. Fucking raging now, images of her body, her skin, her wet mouth flood my mind. Maybe we’ll fuck against her desk. Press her against the wall. She’s going to walk in and I won’t skip a beat, fam. I try look through the rippled-glass window to see if I can make her out in the hallway. Nuttan. I feel my heart pound in my chest and the touch of the cloth against my flesh. I slide my hand into my boxers
now and feel it beg against my thigh. I taste saliva in my mouth, drained in my heat. I need her. I can smell her. The desk makes a noise in the heavy silence as I lean against it. I face the door with my legs spread wide, conscious of the image I’ll make for her. My hand drowns into my dark stroking. Feels strong against me. Waiting for the girl Missy to come release me from myself.

  My thumb finds short shaven hairs, shaved for her like she will be for me, surely. Frozen film of her throat when my fingers were deep behind her lace. The one time under the stairs, she and I, when I had her hands on my piece, grinding against her while her brother was in the next room. Images dissolve now and I see a shadow through window. Her steps sound nearer the door. I wait, my mouth open, and my feet press against the soles of my Nikes as if I’m waiting for the gun. Soon as she walks through the door I’ll have her, ennet. The handle turns and the door opens, I slide out my hand and hold the edge of the table. She says nuttan when she enters. Just a glance at her watch when I grab her arms and twist her against the cold wall.

  We don’t have much time babes. She says it in a gasp as I reach under her shirt and run fingers over her bra. Comes to me in waves. The room has gone to black and all my raw sense is touch and sound and taste. I lick her neck and wrench my teeth into her skin, my face lost in her hair, perfumed shoulders, and her strangled, quiet moans. She pushes me away but does it burning.

  Listen, listen. We ain’t got time for this now Selvon. Your boy’s about to go in, he’ll be out any minute.

  I don’t hear her, all I have is my own fire. I look at her face as if I give a fuck about anything she says. Give a fuck about Ardan. Give a fuck about anything except the fury in me. I grab her hand and crush her fingers around my swollen notch. She lunges for my mouth and takes my tongue in hers. I release my hand from around her rippled arse and I thread through her hair around the back of her head. I push downward gently and lean into the wall behind her. Her lips release from mine and her breathing falls fast down my neck toward my chest. My palm follows her down to my knees and I bite my bottom lip, leaning now fist against forehead. See her small frame under the arch of my body. See her mouth gorged wide. She takes me in with her twisted tongue and instantly my chest loses its air. I depress into the wall as if I’m already folded. My eyes screen black and the room is suddenly present again, real and soundless except for her down there, her drowning fat face. My eyes open wide at her puffed cheeks. Her nostrils flare and I give in to the coiled sensation of my head hitting the back of her throat. Short rolling waves of pleasure. She has her pink fingernails cutting my thighs as she does it. Her head rolls back, her hair a swarm. I don’t feel it in my gut, not in my lungs or my heart. Only in the thick flashes of me wet with spit from her mouth. I close my lips tight as I watch her. I see nuttan except the working, mechanical motion. She is not enough. I’m searching the room with my eyes. The still, quiet office. The chairs. The table. Max in the corner uninterested and looking away. The paper, calendar, and coat rack and potted plants. I look at the hazed window where across the hallway Ardan is probably finishing up in front of the cameras. He is over there giving everything of himself and here I am taking all I can. But I’m losing it.