“Can’t you lot just fucking shut it with your puking and carrying on?”
Gabriel climbs to his feet and crosses to the door of the cell. He prepares to launch yet another appeal for a doctor, but his neighbour’s outburst has won the night warder’s attention. The boots swing down off the desk and the man walks slowly towards Gabriel. The night warder is a tall stocky man, and his dark uniform, and the jangling keys that hang from his belt, suggest a severity that is betrayed only by his boyish face. He stops short of Gabriel, who watches as the man places both hands on the bars of the cell next door. For a moment the night warder simply stares. Gabriel imagines that, faced with this display of authority, his loud-mouthed neighbour will now be backing down, for he is sure that this man is a coward. The night warder continues to stare, and then the neighbour speaks, but this time in an almost helpless voice.
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t get no fucking sleep with them going on like that.”
The night warder leans forward. “I told you to be quiet, sunshine.” He pauses. “I’m trying to watch the telly.”
“How can you watch the telly with all that fucking puking? It’s disgusting.”
Gabriel watches as the night warder lifts one hand from the bars of the cell and points directly at its occupant.
“I don’t want to hear another word, right?” The night warder does not blink. He repeats himself. “Right?”
Gabriel hears a short grunt, and then the creak of a bed as his neighbour sits back down.
Now that he is satisfied, the man turns towards Gabriel. He speaks as he walks. “He’s not getting any better then?”
Gabriel steps to one side so that the night warder can look in and see for himself.
“What’s the matter with him?”
“Please, I have seen this type of illness before. It is like malaria, but it is something more than this. I think Said is dying if we do not find a doctor.”
The night warder peers into the cell, but he seems reluctant to get too close. The pools of vomit are beginning to congeal, and the smell is ripe. The man pulls a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket, and clasps it to his face with one hand, and he points with the other.
“It would help if you cleaned up that shit.”
“Please, Mr. Collins. Said needs help, that is what I am telling you.”
The night warder looks from Gabriel to Said, and then back to Gabriel. His brow furrows, and he understands that a decision is being forced upon him.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Gabriel is quick to react. “Thank you, Mr. Collins. And perhaps some water for Said while we wait for the doctor?”
The night warder says nothing. He turns on his heels and begins to amble his way back towards his desk, all the while keeping the handkerchief pressed closely to his face.
Gabriel is once again enveloped by a silence that is disturbed only by the night warder’s television set. There are no windows to this cell, but Gabriel knows that it is night time. Beyond this prison there is England. Three days ago, when they first locked him in this cell with Said, Gabriel began to doubt that he would ever again see England. As his cellmate began to speak, Gabriel could see that the man was ailing, for his hands were shaking and his eyes were damp with fear.
“They say I robbed an Englishman and his wife on a train.”
Gabriel waited for Said to tell him what had actually occurred, but Said simply shrugged his shoulders.
“It is not exactly how it happened.” He thought for a few moments and then continued. “Yes, I was on a train and I was talking to some English people. My English is good. In my country I am a teacher. I practise hard with my English. I was talking to some English people, for I am not afraid. I know that when the train gets to the town I will ask for asylum at the police station. That is the way. I am a human being who has paid over United States dollars three thousand, everything that I have, to come from my country in a small space under a truck. From Iraq I travel like this like an animal, but maybe worse than an animal, but I do not care for I know that in England they will give me money and some kind of voucher and let me work. Everybody wants to keep out the Muslim, but in England freedom is everything. They can change the law, but you cannot change the culture of the people and so I am not afraid. British people are good. I have friends who tell me the truth. I do not hate Americans, but they are not gentlemen. Why should I be afraid?”
He looked at Gabriel as though expecting an answer, but Gabriel said nothing.
“And then an Englishman and his wife they asked me if I would watch their bags while they go to the restaurant car, and I say yes, of course, yes. And then they come back and look at their bags, and the woman says that I have taken their money and she runs to get the man in the red jacket, the train manager. But why would I come all the way from my country to make a new life here and then take their money? I cannot go back. I sold my land and animals to pay for my journey. I have nothing to go back to. My wife and family are with my brother and waiting for me to send money so they can come to England. I have two hands, I can work. One day I can buy a television and a radio. A fridge. A carpet. Maybe, one day, a car. I have two hands.”
Said showed Gabriel his hands, but his hands continued to tremble and Gabriel noticed the beads of sweat on Said’s brow.
“The police,” he said. “When the train stopped, the police, they come for me. I told them, I have lost everything. My family, I have left my family behind. Despite my education I cannot feed my family. I am no longer a teacher. I am here to begin my life again and I have the appetite to do this so they must help me, yes? I told them I have a case to present, but they do not listen to me. I tell them, please do not send me back to my country. Not there. The policemen they ask me, what happened to you in your country? I told them that I cannot talk of this or I will lose what little appetite I have left. The policemen looked at me, so I ask them, is it true? Is it true that in England you can smell freedom in the air? That it is a different air? But they will not answer me. I say, I have smelled a little of the air and it is good, but why are you putting me in this prison? I do not want these filthy trousers, or this grey T-shirt that another man has worn. I will not wear your slippers. England is not my country. I have done nothing. I am not a criminal man. I have never been a criminal man. I have two hands, I can work.”
Gabriel asked his new cellmate if he was all right, but Said shrugged his shoulders.
“I am cold, but I have no money to see a doctor. And now maybe I will never see England again. But have you noticed? The light in England is very weak. It depresses me. They have taken the sun out of the sky.”
Said looked forlorn, and so Gabriel suggested that he try to sleep. Gabriel squeezed his friend’s shoulder, and then he climbed onto the top bunk and stretched out. He listened as beneath him Said continued to cough and splutter. Sadly, for the past three days, his cellmate’s condition has only deteriorated.
And now the night warder arrives back at the cell, and he javelins a wet mop and then tosses a roll of paper towel through the bars.
“Here, clean up this shit, Gabriel. It will make everybody feel happier.”
Gabriel looks down from his bunk, but the night warder is already walking back to his television set. Gabriel climbs from his perch, and he picks up the mop and the roll of paper towel and he begins to clean up the floor around Said’s prostrate body. His friend continues to breathe in a rasping whisper, and although his eyes are still open he appears now to be incapable of focusing on anything. Gabriel bends down and he places the roll of paper towel underneath Said’s head so that it becomes a squashed tubular pillow. During the past three days, the story of Said’s life in Iraq has become increasingly improbable and riddled with contradictions, but Gabriel has been a patient audience. He readjusts the roll of paper towel under his friend’s head, and listens once more as Said struggles to make himself heard.
“Please,” whispers Said. “My brother and my children. You must t
ell them.”
Gabriel takes his friend’s hand and squeezes hard.
“Said, you must continue to allow hope to grow.”
“Please, you must tell them.”
And then Said’s eyes fall shut. Gabriel leaps to his feet, scattering the mop to the far side of the cell.
“Mr. Collins, it is Said. Please, we need a doctor.”
The night warder abandons his precious television set, and he moves quickly to the cell. For the first time Gabriel can see concern on the face of the man. The night warder speaks to Gabriel, but without taking his eyes from Said.
“I’ll call the doctor, but they do everything in their own sweet time.”
The night warder leaves Gabriel marooned with his friend. According to Said, his brother is still in Iraq, but at other times he is in America. And sometimes Said has a wife, and at other times he is a bachelor. But he always has children, a boy and a girl. Gabriel looks at Said until he cannot bear to look any more, and then he slumps down to the floor and rests his back against the bars of the cell.
It is the sound of keys in the cell door that alerts Gabriel to the fact that he has fallen asleep. A tall, thin man ignores Gabriel and steps quickly into the cell. The night warder follows him. The man puts down a brown leather bag, and he kneels beside Said. Gabriel stares at this reed of a man, who now stands and turns to face the warder.
“He’s been gone for some time.” The night warder looks shocked, but the doctor is ready to leave. “I suppose we’ve got some paperwork to sort out, right?”
The night warder waits for the doctor to stride from the cell, and then he locks back the door. Gabriel clambers to his feet.
“Please, Mr. Collins, you cannot do this. You must take him away!”
The night warder does not trouble himself to look at Gabriel. He calmly escorts the doctor back in the direction of the television set, and Gabriel retreats to the furthest corner of the cell and huddles his body into a tight ball. He slides to the floor.
Eventually, the day warder arrives. He is a short, but powerfully built, man who looks as though at one time he might have enjoyed a career in professional sport. He stands by the door to the cell and looks contemptuously at Gabriel.
“So what’s the problem then? What are you wailing about? He’s dead. He ain’t gonna bite.”
The man in the cell next door starts to laugh.
“You should make him eat him. Fucking noisy cannibal.”
The warder steps to his right and looks into the neighbour’s cell.
“And you can shut it, you stupid little cretin.”
Obviously these few words are enough, for immediately there is silence. The warder steps back and looks at Gabriel, who now realises that the impossibly thin doctor is standing with this man.
The doctor peers into the cell, and then he simply instructs the warder to “open up.” Gabriel climbs slowly to his feet. The doctor whispers something to the day warder, who begins to peel off his jacket.
“Well, sonny, what’s with all the shouting? You losing it up here?” The day warder taps the side of his head.
Gabriel stares at the warder, and then slides back to the floor and curls himself into an even tighter ball. The warder shakes his head in disgust and turns to the doctor.
“You might have to help me get him up and onto the bunk.”
The doctor puts down his leather bag and he now slips out of his jacket. Unlike the warder, whose jacket lies in an untidy heap, the doctor folds his neatly and places it on top of his bag.
“What’s he in here for?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“He’s not an illegal then?”
“Oh, he’s that all right, but that’s only half the problem.”
The warder takes Gabriel’s legs while the doctor grabs his arms. Gabriel begins to kick out, but he is powerless in the grip of these two men.
“Which bunk?” asks the doctor, who is now struggling to keep control of Gabriel’s flailing arms.
“It doesn’t matter. Stick him on the bottom.”
Gabriel continues to kick and wrestle, but they easily lift their malnourished patient onto the bottom bunk and the warder reaches into his pocket and pulls out four strips of rubber. He passes two to the doctor, and they begin to strap Gabriel to the frame of the bed.
“This should hold the bugger in place,” says the warder. He gestures, with his head, towards Said. “What about him?”
The doctor pulls his final knot tight and then takes a step back. He begins to slip his jacket back on.
“They should be here for the body before too long. But who knows.”
A terrified Gabriel watches as the doctor opens his bag and pulls out a syringe and long needle.
“Don’t tell me,” says the warder. “Cutbacks, right?”
“There’s just not enough ambulances. In some boroughs they’re using private cars.”
The doctor sits on the edge of the narrow bed and focuses on Gabriel.
“This won’t hurt, but you’ll feel a slight scratch.”
Gabriel squirms as the needle comes closer to his arm, and then he flinches as it breaks his skin. Finally the doctor pulls out the needle, places it in a plastic pouch, and then gets to his feet. Gabriel watches as the man picks up his bag, steps around Said, and then leaves the cell without saying another word. The warder seems somewhat surprised by the abruptness of the doctor’s exit, and he hurries after him, first slamming and then locking the cell door.
Gabriel begins to feel warm. He wants to rub his nose, but his hands are tightly bound. He feels a low sigh leave his body, and then he cranes back his neck and looks at Said. Gabriel concentrates hard and stares at his friend, whose own eyes are firmly closed.
Gabriel watches from the cupboard and tries not to breathe. First they will shoot Gabriel’s ageing father. He looks at his father’s tired face, his confidence polluted by the ordeal of having to protect his family during the prolonged absence of his adult son. They laugh as they make the old man lie flat on the ground with his arms spread out to his sides as though they are wings. There are six soldiers dressed in khaki fatigues with red bandannas around their heads. Gabriel soon learns that they all have nicknames. “Cassius.” “Jacko.” “O. J.” “Brutus.” “Big Dog.” “Smokin’ Joe.” But, unlike Gabriel, they are young men. Boys. As the bullets hit Gabriel’s father he jumps, but he does not fly.
Now they line up the rest of the family. “Big Dog” kicks Gabriel’s father until he cries out in pain. He is still alive. “Big Dog” asks him if he will not beg for mercy, like a man? Does he not love his family enough to beg for their lives? Gabriel understands that this is sport. The boys are playing with his father, and then “Smokin’ Joe” puts his gun to the back of Gabriel’s father’s head. While the others continue to laugh and taunt his father, “Smokin’ Joe” casually pulls the trigger and the skull explodes. Small pieces of brain fly in all directions, and Gabriel’s mother and two sisters begin to scream. “Big Dog” shouts in a fake American accent, and admonishes “Smokin’ Joe” for spoiling the party.
“How can you do this, man? Nobody gave you the order to shoot.”
Gabriel’s mother and sisters throw themselves across the body of the dead man. Gabriel is used to the sound of gunfire. The brutality is familiar to him. He looks on without emotion for he knows what is to come. “Smokin’ Joe” raises his voice, and as he does so he appears to grow in stature.
“Fuck you, man. This is business. I don’t have time for no games.”
The shouting among the men becomes louder, and then “Brutus” quietly steps forward and drags Gabriel’s mother and two sisters from the father’s body, and he forces them to lie face down on the floor. “Brutus” unclips his pistol and pumps a single bullet into the back of both sisters. He turns to his colleagues, but nobody dares to offer a dissenting voice.
“Are you all happy now?” They look somewhat sheepishly at “Brutus.” Authority has been restored. �
�We are not here to argue.” “Brutus” points with his pistol towards the two bleeding girls. “You want your food, then turn them over and take it. But be quick.” “Brutus” knows that the men are not interested in the mother.
“Jacko” is the last to mount the younger sister, but by now “Brutus” is losing patience. He claps his hands. “Enough.” “Jacko” clambers to his feet, and rearranges himself. His colleagues look on and laugh as “Jacko” struggles to make himself appear decent. Gabriel can see that his youngest sister has a thin ribbon of blood running down the inside of her leg, which pools near her ankle. She also appears to have lost consciousness.
“Finish them off,” says “Brutus,” pointing to the sisters, “but you can leave the old woman. She is no use to anybody.”
Two bullets from “O. J.,” the smallest of the soldiers, drum into each girl’s forehead. And then, as an afterthought, “O. J.” shoots Gabriel’s mother in the chest. An irritated “Brutus” shakes his head. The boys laugh raucously, but “Brutus” has seen enough.
“Come, let us go.”
As they leave, each man spits.
As darkness falls, Gabriel realises that he cannot stay hidden for much longer. He listens to the high-pitched chorus of insects, and in the distance he is able to discern the occasional human voice and the frequent staccato of gunfire. Gabriel knows that he will have to make the effort to leave this place, and so he opens the cupboard door and steps carefully into the darkness of the room. His legs and arms are stiff, and he walks with great difficulty. He stands over his mother, and although she is bleeding profusely he can see that she is still alive. She breathes loudly, as though her lungs are filled with sand, but Gabriel dare not remain with her for too long. He crosses to the door and slowly opens it, but there is no moon and the few stars in the sky give off little light. For a moment Gabriel hesitates, and then he begins to run. Out of the corners of his eyes he sees people huddled in doorways and lurking in shadow, but no voice is raised ordering him to stop, and no shot is fired.
A Distant Shore Page 8