Tell No-One About This

by Jacob Ross

  ‘Questions start poppin up straightaway. Mebbe she was one o dem foreigners in a boat out dere with other people, and de storm drag dat boat from under dem. But how she manage to swim across dat kind o sea? Well, miracle does happen, not so?

  ‘My heart was goin like ah engine. I wasn frighten. I jus know I had to bring her in de house an dry her out. Which is what I do.’

  Mantos lifts his head and stares at the boy. The young man is hugging himself against the wind.

  ‘Don’ think I didn tell meself I was mad or dreamin. Dat mebbe my distress fly up in my head an make a woman out of air. But if it was distress, I was damn well glad to stay distress de rest o me life.

  ‘But she had weight, an voice an warmth. An when I carry her up de hill, de little light from de sky fall on her face and I see dat she was one ov us. I fix a bed on de floor for her. I do all dis in de dark, with de lightning dat come through de house from time to time. Don ask me why. It jus didn feel proper to light no light. And soon as I finish, before I could blink me eye, she gone to sleep.

  ‘Dat night I sit down on de floor an watch her for a while, wonderin who she was, where she might’ve come from, and how anybody could come out of dat kind o sea alive. I fall asleep sittin on de floor wit my head full up.

  ‘Next day de whole world look chastise – flat an mash up and turn upside down or wrongside out. Before I step out, I look on de floor to see if it was really dream I was dreamin. I was sort of hopin dat it was. Or at least, if I wasn dreamin, I was expectin dat whatever it was I meet out dere pass way wit de passin o de storm.

  ‘She was still dere lyin on de floor. Still sleepin. Now I could see her better, I see how dark an smooth she was. Hardly any hair. Cut low on her head like a boy. Her face – I never see nobody so pretty – was long an slim an quiet. A face you couldn read. Everyting bout her was slim an long an smooth. It had three little mark right dere.’ Mantos brushes his left cheek with his fingers. ‘Just under de bone, like three little fish you lay down one on top de other. I never see a pusson so perfect. Is dat what make me fraid, not de strange way dat she come, nor even how I was goin to explain her to everybody else. Was de perfectness of dat girl.

  ‘I think about it all day and I realise dat I had a problem. I couldn tell dem dat I bring her from somewhere else. I could hear dem wonderin, how come she didn speak no language dat nobody else round here know? How come dey didn see her de day before de storm? I think of hidin her, but it strike me dat I had to make her understand why first and I didn know how I was goin to do dat.

  ‘I glad I never try to hide her, because I realise afterwards dat she didn like to be cover up by nothing. Dat was one of de two tings dat was really bad for her. De other ting – what dey use against us in de end – was, well… I’ll tell you when I come to it.

  ‘On top of all o dat she was different. A pusson could look de same like everybody else, but you know – and you dunno how you know – but you know if dem come from somewhere different.

  ‘Anyway, she give me almos a week to think bout it, cos dat was how long she sleep – like she was sleepin off de toil o centuries, wakin up only for me to feed her, or jus openin her eye to say someting I didn unnerstan.

  ‘I hardly go out meself – only a coupla times for dem to see dat I was alright. Nobody uses to come to my place anyway.

  ‘People was out dere pulling deyself back together, but all I want was to sit right dere on de floor with my door bolt up and feed my eyes on her. Sometimes she catch me lookin and she look straight back – not offerin nothing, not askin nothing, jus lookin back at me.

  ‘Love, Sonny, love come easy when you empty an you needin it; it come easier when you got to tek care o somebody an it’s someting you been wanting bad and never expect to get. Love did come. And it was easy for both of us, cos some tings you don’ need no language for. But with it, with it come de terror of de outside. Perhaps she realise it – long before me – dat I was afraid to take her out into de day. To let eyes fall on her. Mebbe dat was why she allow me to keep her in dere for so long, comin out with me only in de night and only for a little while. Outside – I realise dat I always been afraid of it. Outside was where my mother used to go. Outside was where she went one day an never come back. Outside was a place dat hurt.

  ‘One mornin, must ha been a coupla weeks after she come, I decide to tek my boat, go out an catch some butterfish – she use to like butterfish. I tell er in my prettiest English, “Me, Mantos, going return soon.”

  ‘By then I know her name was Fatimi – leaseways dat was how I hear it. I went out, got my fish and hurry back, and what I see? She standin in de yard with my sheet wrap around her and she had a fire goin, a fireside same like we make, preparin for when I come home. I see her first, an den I see de crowd. Dem standin on de beach jus watchin an whisperin mongst demself, while she goin bout her business like if dey wasn dere. Watchin an whisperin like dem catch sight o something dat dey recognise but couldn’t understand.

  ‘I was so fraid, I could ha faint. Fraid without hardly knowin why, except it was de same feelin dat settle in my stomach when bad weather about to come. Dat same night I try to warn her, tell her dat I never want to see her near dem people, tell ‘er what dey done to me.

  ‘Dat day I see someting else. I see de mark on her right shoulder. Dunno how I miss it before, except perhaps was de first time I see all of her in proper daylight. A deep mark, like a burn in a pusson flesh. De way children would dig de letters o deir name on de bark of a livin tree. A mark dat had no place on pretty skin like hers. A big ‘L’ dat sort of tie up itself wit ah ‘C’ – LC.

  ‘From dat time, dey had their eyes on us. Fellas come to my house de way dey used to come to my mother. Only dis time dey come with jokes, with rum, with a basketful o fish dey bring for Fatimi to cook for us. But dem eyes was always on every movement dat she make. You could see de cravin, no matter how much dey try to hide it wid deir grin. Men, Sonny, cravin what another man got, just because he got it. Dey ask me where a man could find a pretty woman so? It have more like her where she come from? How come she never talk? I always find some way to slip past de questions.

  ‘De women had a different way. They make deir children come sometimes and try to talk to her, and all she do was smile. Sometimes she answer dem in dat funny, pretty voice of hers. But it was not words to dem, just sound dey didn unnerstan.

  ‘It continue, it continue – till tings get quiet and I thought dat mebbe, mebbe dem decide to leave de two of us in peace.

  ‘I was a happy man. Except dem nights when Fatimi tryin to say someting to me. I could hear de frighten in her voice, like it was de most important thing a pusson ought to know, but I jus couldn figure out what she was tryin to say. But I know dat it had something to do with de mark on her shoulder, dat almos everyting had to do with dat mark, includin why she couldn stand lyin down in the darkness o de house for long. Why she reach for me, sometimes, bawlin like de devil was in front ov her.

  ‘Times like those I hold on to her all through de night. It always lef me with a sadness – a deep-down, rockin darkness in me chest. I know dat if I find out what dat mark is, I would know all about dat girl – who she was and where she come from, and why she come to me.

  ‘De trouble start with Maisie Green. She was young at de time and I s’pose, till Fatimi come along, she was de pretties woman for miles around. Dem fellas didn have no eyes for her no more. An Mason Joe, de fella she hope to married, jus jump a boat one day and lef her with a full belly an a empty hand. Jealousy s’not enough to explain what happen. S’like de little stone dat slip and start de landslide rollin. She spread word dat dat girl was a mama malady – a demon-girl who come from nowhere. Proof was dat she couldn speak no language known to human. Besides, didn dey see de mark LC on her shoulder? It stand for Lucifer Cometh. And me bein a demon child meself, was only natral dat I should go out and bring me own kind here. She even blame her for chasin Mason Joe away. And when ole Miss Mertle Jones pass way dat same week,
she spread word dat Fatimi tief she soul.

  ‘Was de same ting when Rickman lose he boat on Trasher Reef – even if careless people been losin deir boat cross dere from ever since. And dat mark on her shoulder – she always went back to it – dat mark was suttingly de devil signature.

  ‘And den come de strike of seventy-four when de islan stop sudden, like a man who catch a stroke, and money didn have no value cos it didn have nothing to eat except fish for breakfast, tea an dinner. Hard times does harden heart, Sonny, and children ain’t no exception. It begin wit dem children throwin stones at her. I was never around when it happen. I was too busy huntin food. I tell meself dat it was a good ting, because I would ha tear all o dem little jookootoo rarse to pieces!

  ‘She keep it quiet – never tell me nothing till one day I come home and see her in de yard, her face swell up an her forehead bleedin. I look at her and I understand what happen straight away.

  ‘I went mad. I lose meself. Dis old rage dat been sleepin all dis while inside o me let loose and I couldn control it. I half-mash up a coupla houses, and start on dem boats on de beach, till something heavy knock me on my head an darkness fall on me.

  ‘Was de beginnin of a war between us. A war without no words. Mornings, I would get up and see a big cross paint on my door. Or salt spread out on de doorstep. And Maisie Green was always dere down on de beach, keepin her eye on us.

  We was in de yard one time, watchin dem watchin us. One o dem little chilren was playin with a tin pan, sort of knockin it on a stone and singing de way chilren who can’t sing does sing. An every time she do dat, Fatimi jump. De chile, not knowing what he doing to her, continue knockin dat pan harder on dat stone till my ooman couldn take de noise no more and she begin to scream. Mortal frighten she was. Mortal! It bring a grin to Maisie face and brighten dem pretty eyes o hers.

  ‘From den we didn have no rest, no day, no night. Everybody start knockin pan. Bucket too. Sometimes a piece o chain against a stone – like dat dey try to drive my ooman mad.

  ‘I know she couldn take it for too much longer, dat it would kill her; and so I begin wishin for another storm to take she back. She got sick you see, wouldn eat no more, wouldn even talk to me.

  ‘Was one o dem days o rain when you feel it never goin stop. I remember dat day so clear cos dat was when Maisie an some children decide to come with a big oil drum in front my door an beat it like dey gone crazy. I left Fatimi curl up on de floor, coverin she ears and shoutin. I should ha pay attention to dat shoutin, cos before she never use to shout, jus cry.

  ‘But all I was paying mind to was de murder in my heart when I unlatch de door to meet Maisie an dem chilren in my yard. I didn realise it before, but over dem weeks, something did change in Maisie. All dat hate she had inside rise up to she skin an leave a ugliness dere. She was not a pretty woman any more. She was just a ragged, red-eye woman with a coupla teeth missin, an I was about to kill her.

  ‘But I didn have no need to – a chip of de iron dat she been beatin dat drum so hard with just fly off and bury itself in her eye. I hear de scream and to dis day, I can’t tell whether it come from Fatimi or her.

  ‘Dem chilren fly down de hill and I watch dat woman holdin her eye and rolling on de ground till her father come and lift her up and tek her home.

  ‘Fatimi was easy when I come in. Not smilin, jus staring at de roof as if something just done settle itself inside her. Mebbe she had something to do with it. I dunno. Mebbe.

  ‘Was a little time afterwards she look at me an tell me – in de best English you ever hear, ‘Man, return soon.’ Exactly as I used to tell she when I leave to go outside. I figure dat she was trying to make me laugh, perhaps. So I laugh, and she repeat it, serious. ‘Mon return soon, Yantos. No cry.’ Which was another thing I used to tell her. ‘Don’t cry, Fatimi, don’t cry.’

  ‘She say de same ting later in de night. Late. Dat night she didn sleep – would raise she head from time to time as if she was lisenin out for something. Dere in front ov me was a different woman, no cry-cry girl dis time, but sure ov herself. Like what happen to Maisie make she realise something. I dunno.

  ‘I was half asleep when she got up – sudden so – de sheet droppin off of her de way a snake drop off it skin, and before I know it, she was runnin out in de rain down towards de beach.

  ‘Was a rising wind out dere and I could barely see. But between my shoutin and runnin like mad to catch up with her, I see de shadow bobbing and weavin ahead o me like something in de mind. I didn hear no water splash, no sound o wings, no nothing – jus my name soft, soft, like drizzle on a leaf.

  ‘And she was gone. Like dat!’ The old man’s palms explode against each other like a clap of thunder. The noise seems to awaken the youth. Mantos wonders if he has been listening at all.

  ‘I, I didn kill her, Missa Mantos.’ The youth’s voice is frightened and unsure.

  Mantos draws his shirt around him. ‘I know you didn kill er. You wasn even born!’

  The youth steps back from him. He is angling his shoulders as if to protect his body from the force of the wind. Only there is no wind now, just a stillness.

  They do not have much time up here. He knows this by the hollowness in his ears, as if the whole earth has sucked in its breath.

  A murky twilight has descended on the land. Inland, where there were mountains before, there is only the darkness of descending clouds. ‘We have to go down, Sonny. She goin strike us sooner dan I expect.’

  The boy smiles.

  ‘She’ll come tonight,’ the old man mutters. ‘Sure as dat storm comin, Fatimi goin to come.’ He lifts defeated eyes at the boy. ‘An she wouldn change – not like me. Age got no meanin for de ones like her. De ones dat come with de dust. De ones dat got away.’

  ‘You never tell me where she come from.’

  ‘De rockin darkness. I don expect you to believe me, but since you ask, I goin tell you. Mon return soon was what she say. Well after a lot o thinkin, I take dem words to Kanvi. You know Kanvi people, dem got a knowledge dat we ain’ got no more. A pussnal knowledge o de sea. De woman who show me de way to catch de dust was from dere. Had a fella dere name Winger who know everyting. Used to be a teacher there, who read till book knowledge drive im mad. I take dem words to him cos dey never leave mih head.

  ‘Fatimi was vex, you see – vex in a way dat frighten me, like she gone to prepare sheself to come again. P’raps dat was what she was tryin to tell me all dat time. An dis time – dis time! – dey wouldn mek her leave so easy.

  ‘Man return soon – Winger couldn believe me first time when I say dem words, specially when I tell im bout de mark pon she shoulder. He ask me for she name, de way she look, other words she say. I search mih head and I remember some: Jerry jef – tooky – nub. Mon nub Mantos – she always use to say dat.’ Mantos sucked in air, steadied his voice. ‘Winger tell me de language was a real one. Jerry jef – dat’s thanks. Mon nob Mantos – I luv Mantos. And was not no ‘man’ she say but ‘mon’. Mon mean me, mean I. Mon return soon. I comin back soon.

  ‘He tell me de only thing dat dis could mean, especially with dem three little fishbone on she face, was dat Fatimi was from de same place dat most of us here come from, on de other side o dese three ocean. And dat she come from dere direct.

  ‘No storm didn blow her over – de mark on she shoulder tell him dat; if anyting it pull her up from down below. You see, dat mark was de mark of a Inglish man name Luke Collinwood. Captin of a ship dem call de Zong.

  ‘Used to be a time when we wasn worth more dan de price of a cooking pot. Was like fish dem used to bring we here in de bottom of a boat across all dat water to sell. In a rockin darkness. Most ov dem never reach dis side.

  ‘Dat Collinwood fella must’ve watch de water, think of all dem days an distance he mus travel, and he decide was too much trouble. So what he do? He drop everybody overboard – de whole shipload – den he turn round an claim insurance. Dat chile – dat girl was one of em.

  ‘How come she reach
here after all dis time?’

  ‘I kin only tell you what dat madman Winger tell me. It got a road under de sea, he say, a road o bones dat join us to dat place cross dere where all de dust come from. An dat girl, mebbe she been walkin all dis time on de road o bones. It jus take her a coupla hundred years to reach.’

  A sheet of rain sweeps in on them from the sea, douses them, then passes abruptly.

  ‘C’mon young fella, we have to go. Right now!’

  He allows gravity to take him down the track, hears the boy’s feet behind him. A hard wind slams them against each other. They both fall over. Now they move in a rapid scuttle towards the houses. They cover most of the distance that way, pausing only to draw breath behind one of the larger rocks that stands between the houses and the sea.

  Mantos turns his eyes up at the hill. The few trees that have stood around the clearing are no longer there.

  ‘C’mon, youngfella, we almos home.’

  ‘No!’

  It’s as if the boy has thrown a rope around his neck and dragged him backward.

  ‘Now listen, Sonny, you…’

  ‘I stay here.’

  ‘You can’t!’

  ‘I stay, Missa Mantos. I wan to stay.’ Despite the wind, the awful noise about them, Mantos could hear his breathing.

  ‘You can’t, Sonny. Ain’t no place out here for nobody. Dat little wind is nothing. Dat wind is just a test. You come to my place I…’

  ‘I stay.’

  In the murkiness, the old man can easily imagine him there against the stone, like some wounded thing.

  ‘Now, Son…’

  Something explodes at the back of the rock and destroys the rest of his words. Mantos flinches.

  ‘Somebody have to meet de girl.’

  ‘She won’t be de same dis time. I tol’ you dat she change – not so? You could see it in dat wind. An – an perhaps she choose another place to land dis time.’

  ‘Ain’t got nothing you kin do to move me.’