Bright Side of my Condition ePub

by Randall, Charlotte

  I get away safe, stagger back to my hollow with my load. It’s the last night I’m gonna sleep with the gale blowing up my arsehole.

  In the morning, a dry and mild day, I plait and stitch and chop and soon a flap cover the entrance. It aint pretty but it satisfy me to think how such a dressing wud of beat me when I first come here. I do learn some things of use.

  When dusk come I walk back to the place Toper say he feed me. True to his word he appear with some cold spuds and a dried fish.

  ‘What? Where’s the hot food?’ ask I.

  ‘Aint cooked it yet. We dint get enough wood.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yer don’t need to be like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Smug.’

  ‘I hot it myself,’ say I striding past him. I stride into the camp and grab the tomahawk. I pile up some glowing embers on the blade.

  ‘What yer think yer doing?’ Slangam shout. Before he can collect his wits and get to his feet I stride off, straight from the camp into the wood they all so afeared of. They won’t foller me. I can walk through it and circle back to my hollow. It aint a big wood and I know there aint no strange beasts in it. They done me a big favour when they forced me into it. I stare Asmodeus and Titanoboa right in the eyeballs and they don’t stare back.

  Soon as I get to my cave, I pile up some sticks and light them with the embers. I put on bigger branches. I put a big stone on the edge of the fire. I leave it to get very hot and hook it out with the tomahawk. I smear the hot stone with some seal fat and lay on the fish and sliced cold spud. Soon I have a nice warm dinner that aint even charred. I wud like to wash it down with a vodka or berry gin but all good things come in their own good time.

  The night come on. I sit by the fire and think about cooking pots. I aint got no pots that tolerate hotness. It’s a big problem. It amaze me how I never think about such a thing before. What it mean for cooking and washing and all that. Them poor savages. I heared some heat a stone in the fire and then drop it in a pot of cold water, that way the container don’t need to resist fire. But I aint even got that kind of thing. I aint even got a container that can hold liquid at all. I jes got the cupped hands God give me and they aint fireproof neither. So I think about finding stones that got dents, or hollowing out some wood. Yair, for now I jes think about it. The summer’s warm and there aint no need to panic.

  When I go next day for my food, I hand the tomahawk back to Toper.

  ‘Jes as well,’ he sniff. ‘Them others was going to do a raid for it.’

  ‘I cud of chopped them up,’ boast I. ‘I wud take Slangam first, Fatty wud still of been manoeuvering into position, I cud of taken off Slangam’s head before he …’

  ‘Yair, alright,’ Toper say dry. ‘It’s a good phantasy anyway.’

  I pick up the basket of bird meat he brung me.

  ‘They won’t let me talk to yer no more,’ Toper call as I leave. ‘I have to come early and leave the food out.’

  I stop in my tracks. ‘What if a creature steal it?’

  Toper shrug.

  ‘So yer think yer go to Heaven jes for setting it out? Yer think that cancels starving yer dying friend?’

  He go bright red. The redness tell me it shame him to be reminded of his crime, but more’n that, it shame him it were me he confess it to. He go soft and confess his crime to the wrong ears.

  ‘Tell me, why yer think I got no right to enter a camp I spend nearly a decade making?’

  ‘Slangam say …’

  ‘Not him! What do you think?’

  He don’t reply.

  ‘Jes as I expect. Nothing. Yer aint got any more thoughts than yer had when yer steal yer friend’s food.’

  ‘I do,’ he shout. ‘I’m feeding yer, aint I? Them others dint want me to.’

  ‘It won’t last. Already yer give in to them. Food for my belly but no comfort for my ears?’

  ‘Yer ears don’t need it. That’s jes a extra.’

  I take my basket and walk back to the hollow. What do I care anyway? I don’t. If they think I sit in front of my fire fuming, they got it all wrong. I cud not be more happy to be free of their envies and vanities. It sure make me laugh out loud when I remember what I use to think in Norfolk, what fine men we cud be if only Fovo and Mincemeat weren’t bearing down upon us and corrupting us. How we wud all work together! how we wud talk and socialise! how we wud get into endless frolics! how we wud love each other!

  It all give me such a belly laugh.

  After I eat my food I go for a walk and collect more wood. The long evening is warm and windy, bright as a polished coin. I do love the long light that summer have here. I find a log and sit down to reflect.

  I use to be afraid of being alone. Course I don’t mean a day or two, I mean week after week, solitude as a way of life. I were always very afraid of it. It aint that I were afraid of what were inside me, afraid it wud come popping out and scare me, and it aint that I fear my own thinness. There’s as much in me as any man, as much matter for diversion and entertainment as any strutting poet have, even if it aint so fine worded. No, I weren’t scared of my own shadder or my own lack. I were afraid if I were invisible to other men, I wud grow invisible to myself. I wud jes fade out and become a living ghost.

  What do a living ghost do all day? What must he do if no other man have any expectation of him? There wudn’t be no musts. Seem he jes sit with his hands folded, and boredness that start like a breeze in the trees turn into a gale. He sit in the gale and no shelter come, the gale jes blow and blow through his ghostliness till it blow the last remnant of life right out of him.

  That were the fear picture in my mind.

  Well, I’m alone now and I aint afraid. And sitting with folded hands aint a option. Folded hands don’t catch no food, collect no firewood, repair no skins, claim no joy, make no future. Seem to me it’s in the doing that the being come.

  Summer carry on. All them birds and fishes have their family lives, first the eggs, then the fluffy childs, then the flying or swimming lessons, unless yer a albatross that take a long time to get yer feathers. I watch everything, also the sky and the sea, and the weathers that come and go, come and go, always so startling and rapid. But something happen to my brothers when I’m away from them, something change their thinking, I dunno what.

  When Toper give me food, do Slangam get in a rage, do he gnash his teeth and set his own guts aboil, start to shout, why do we owe him food when he don’t do no work? Do Flonker, bored of them idiots, needle and whine, we orta watch him, we orta not leave him to his own devices, whoever know what he come up with, dint he say he sneak around us in the deeps of night? Do Toper begin to fear that in my idleness the devil take me, the breath of evil start to purl like thick smoke from my little camp into his own, and God looking down don’t see his humble repentance?

  I don’t know. All I see is they come at me again, not even spying now, ringing me around in my own camp, shouting, gesturing, spitting. With the mad winds I don’t even hear them, only see their wide open mouths and violent gestures, they jes like a crazed pantomime on the horizon. I make myself a mask of wood and bone, and decorate it with some long plaity hair and bloody lips, and put it on whenever they come, and stand still like a heathen carving.

  How I wish they jes stay on the horizon!

  But Flonker start the cry that I gone mad, he start it on a still day when the wind don’t steal his words, and Slangam take it up for his own gain, and Toper join them in a hoarse whisper so God won’t hear his accusing. Yer gone mad, they froth, and it our duty to do something about it. I reply, where do yer get yer duties from? Only I don’t bellow it, it jes silent. They pull duties out of old corners of their minds that aint seen no light in years, ortas that aint got no provenance beyond a stumble, a what-have-we-here? Look, I find a orta! Why or when do I throw it in this dark corner, who cares, I now found a use for it and dust it off. Why do no one ever tell me what a splendid thing a orta is, what a marvellous tool, i
t’s armour and a weapon in one!

  Now it’s jes before dawn. They all coming for me, I feel it. I feel the ground shake. It shake with their stomps, the stomps of their sealskin boots I make with my own hands. I knowed it of course, deep down I knowed they wud unite against me. I went too far for what they cud bear. Laying their hands upon me, that’s how they cover their eyes and ears. They dint wanna hear how they cud remake their own lives, they don’t wanna see me doing it.

  Part Three

  ETERNITY

  1

  Do I ever really believe this cud happen? The hands let go and I’m in the air. Beneath me I see the penguins on the rocks and the bright blue sea. I’m falling slow, that’s a strange fact, but apart from down, there don’t seem no way back to firm ground. Two things strike me. First how slow the fall is, I’m almost hanging there, just hanging in the sky like a bird. Second how blue everything look. Not jes the sea but the sky. Seem soon as they let go, everything brighten up. A bright sun come up and then come out from behind them clouds we been seeing for weeks and set everything adazzle.

  Looking back towards the edge of the cliff, I see the felons that throw me. I see everything about them, how they stand, the looks on their faces. Maybe they’re as shocked as I were when their hands let go. For me the shock don’t last too long, but for them – well, who can tell? Slangam’s dusting his hands together like he done a job that get them dirty, and his mouth’s a grim line that’s certain it were a job that need doing. Toper’s clutching one hand with the other, look like he’s trying to stop it from praying, the right hand wanna pray but the left know the blasphemy of it. He also stand a little way back like he’s jes a bystander, maybe he fool himself but he don’t fool God. Gargantua’s looking down on the rocks, maybe trying to see if it’s sharp where I land, probably hoping the rocks finish me off if the fall don’t. And there’s a tear rolling down each flabby cheek.

  There’s something else I can see the men that throw me don’t know of. It’s a ship. It look pretty small at the present time, maybe someone think them sails is jes a flock of seabirds. It sail upon the painted ocean alright, but it aint a painted ship. Every minute I hang, it’s coming closer. Soon Slangam get to see if the dirt so easily dust off, Toper learn how fast blame spread to the bystander, and Gargantua discover it’s better to do right than cry all them crocadilly tears.

  Do I expect the penguins to look up at me? They don’t. They aint a fish that do much sky watching. They aint watching for anything huge to drop on them out of the blue. In this it seem they have the advantage compared to man. But why do I find it funny and not grim? Why do I feel so light and free?

  I’m falling so slow it seem like everything on land speed up. While I hang, the three murderers drop their postures and sit down a little way off from the edge, maybe in case it crumble. They aint speaking. They aint getting their story straight, and that’s a mistake because the ship’s skimming across the sea like a bird, it hardly touch the ocean. At the helm is Captain Coffin. I aint certain how I know his name, but it give me a laugh. Course I myself aint gonna get a coffin, though it look certain I get a death, most likely I go splat on them rocks and get et by skuas. Or if I’m lucky I fall into the ocean. But then the water freeze me up in a instant or a whale shark swaller me, and what I think is luck again turn into hubris.

  I’m glad Gargantua teach me about hubris. Just for that I owe him – if a dead man can owe his murderer. How do I understand my life if I never learn that word? Gargantua explain it to me but don’t know it himself. He jes done a big act of hubris. He think, I’m on a island, there aint no law, no jail, aint I a King at the very least? And this man I grab the legs of, aint he a madman that cud come in the night to club me like a seal? Yair, I cud do that, Flonker, but only because yer all been plotting against me and planning my throw.

  Never mind. Now I jes have to avoid any hubris myself before them rocks or the sea claim me. So I don’t start any preferring. Preferring when yer hanging in the air easily turn into negotiating. And aint that hubris to any self-respecting God?

  I’m sure enjoying the air. It aint rushing cold past my face like I expect, it’s gently fanning my cheeks like a houri with a palm leaf. Gargantua tell me a houri is a virgin yer get gave in Paradise so perhaps mine step out early and come to meet me. He say yer recognise her because she’s so pure and transparent yer can see the marrer of her bones through her flesh. That don’t seem attractive to me, it sound like a skeleton. He say she don’t piss, shit, spit or make snot, and all of that cud be attractive if he dint have to mention it. So let me enjoy the air and not think it come from a pissless, shitless, spitless, snotless skeleton that come to dance me off to Paradise.

  My murderers leave the cliff edge and walk back to the camp. They light the fire and Toper start to cook some fishes. They all look down in the mouth. Slangam look like he’s in a struggle to find how to begin the talking. When the talking finally come out, so also will come the excusing that’s been hiding sly in his throat. But it’s Flonker who finally break through.

  ‘Least we got enough sealskins,’ he say. ‘Got enough to sail home in a fleet.’

  The other two know what he’s saying. They aint short of a man for the work.

  ‘And what we gonna say to the Admiral of the fleet when he ask us what happen to the fourth?’ Toper ask.

  ‘Who know there were a fourth?’ object Slangam.

  ‘The captain that brung us here.’

  ‘Don’t men die on a island? Is a island so special every man’s preserved till he leave it?’

  Toper poke the fishes. ‘So what we gonna say he die of?’

  ‘French pox,’ Flonker suggest.

  ‘How do he get that here?’ Slangam ask angry. ‘Before we know it, the Admiral’s calling us sodomites, or saying we couple with them beasts in the wood.’

  ‘It aint going to be a fleet anyway,’ Flonker say exasperated. ‘More like a half rotted sealer.’

  ‘More like no one come at all,’ Toper mutter. Then he serve the fish and the question don’t get settled.

  After the meal they go off separate from each other. Flonker lie down under a bush and cry some tears now and again. No doubt it make him feel good, it make him feel virtuous. Like if he have a lot of soft feeling inside him, he aint like Slangam. And if he know some poems enough to quote, he aint like Toper, who just know them drinking songs. And so, when he fling me off the cliff, he aint like them, he aint a bad man having his own way, wreaking revenge. Nope. He’s a man that throw me for the common good. The common good’s a big idea yer get from a little learning. Yer do a bit of history, a bit of geography, and yer think yer find out what’s wrong with the world. Then yer get to fixing it. There aint no pause, no humility. No one tell yer how many times the world’s already been fixed before.

  Slangam walk to my little camp and take back the skins I claim. He pull down my flap and look angry that some skins been mutilated. He straight them the best he can and stride back to his stackings. He slam my claim on top of a pile and begin to count. All afternoon he count and recount what the island give him, long as he jes keep on counting his thinking don’t go nowhere that hurt him. And Toper jes walk in circles under the whirling sky and try to pray like a costive man trying to shit, but no prayer come. It bore me a lot and …

  Seem like I fall to sleep for a little while! That’s one of them strange things about this slow falling, yer can have a sleep in mid-air. I were having strange dreams like someone write a story about my life. But now I wake up, it seem the strange dreams is still there and I see, like the wise men and the sage always claim, my whole life gathering itself and getting ready to pass before my eyes.

  I look away quick.

  My murderers now come back to the fire. Flonker say his stomick is growling and he hector Toper about another feed. Toper shuffle round and find some food and rouse the fire and them three turn away their eyes from each other and don’t say a word.

  What a surprise I turn out a m
urderee! Maybe every man have a scene in the back of his mind of how he meet his end but I bet most see their dying selfs lying very old and frail on their own bed, the priest nearby to shrive them of their evil, the family all around bleating of their love. Even with this soft end they still see it as very terrible. How many see a nasty accident, or a axe in their backs, or being pushed off a cliff by the only men they seen for nearly ten years? And that’s only a small portion of what’s possible, there’s a great variety of murders. Some murders is jes about unimaginable and so secret in their plotting and result no one ever know of them. But for sure every murderee get a shock, not only at how it come about but that it come about.

  So a murderee I turn out. I admit I were very fearful when my enemies lay their hands upon me. My fear increase a thousand fold when they march me to the cliff. I thrash about so violent Slangam have to bark at them others to get a stronger grip, a murder aint a thing yer orta make a botch of. My fear reach a peak when they outdangle me. Do they let go, or is it jes a tease? Do they tease me with death jes to chasten me?

  They let go.

  It’s growing dark. I don’t like falling in the dark. There aint anything to see, just some stars. I know the sea heave below me but it’s so black it’s jes like more night, as if the night sky bend itself into the ocean and they become one. Instead of looking at the penguins or my murderers or the flying ship, I’m jes waiting for the dark to claim me, waiting for the last moment.

  Someone once tell me, I don’t recall who it were, but probably one of them gentlemen in a frockcoat that study the physicks, anyway, he tell me that every unschooled hobnail think water’s the best thing to fall into. He say every such man think when he hit the water it jes part like air. The victim think he only fall a little way into the drink before the thickness of water stop the fall and soon he come bobbing up unhurt. He think that’s when his real troubles start, how far can he swim and what teethy fishes are doing circles under his feet?