Wall of Days

He is about my age and grey. He looks at me. It is not Abel. I don’t know whether I am disappointed or not.

All the same he looks familiar. Perhaps it is just the uniform but I think he may have been one of my generals in the wars. I ca

‘Good morning,’ I say.

Though not immediately, the man inclines his head in greeting.

I have been thinking of this moment for a long time, longer perhaps than I realise. I have pla

‘I am looking for the Marshal,’ I say. ‘Are you him?’

The man nods his head. ‘I am Marshal Jura.’ I feel disappointment but something else as well. I ca

‘I am…’ I begin, then stop. ‘I have brought this man here. I have brought him to you for your attention.’

The Marshal’s stare follows the direction of my gesture. ‘Yes?’ he asks. He is not rude but it is clear he wants me to get to the point and clear he does not immediately recognise either me or Andalus.

‘His name is General Andalus,’ I say. I watch closely for a reaction.

There is none. His eyes don’t blink.

‘He was once, perhaps still is, General of Axum. I found him within our limits. I have tried to interrogate him to find out his purpose but he has not spoken. Though I do not believe his intentions are hostile, he is nevertheless an alien and in breach of the peace agreement. Not only that but as it is Andalus himself, his presence outside Axum and in Bran is a worrying sign.’

I wait for the Marshal to say something. But he doesn’t. His face is impassive. He simply looks straight at me. I wonder briefly if he is consciously trying to appear as blank as possible.

‘He is a sign we must attempt to explain. His appearance is of great concern to me. If there has been a mutiny, we need to know. If, like here, there has been a peaceful regime change,’ I pause for effect but he gives no sign of noticing the irony, ‘then we need to know that as well. I have brought him here as befits my duty as a loyal subject of Bran.’

‘Andalus.’ It is not a question, simply a statement of the name.

‘Yes, Andalus.’ I stare back at him. There is a long pause and the Marshal breaks it first.

‘You have brought him?’

I wave my hand behind me without turning around and nod my head. ‘I have.’

He looks over my shoulder for what seems like a long time, then back at me, and says,

‘I see no one.’

I turn around this time and gesture towards Andalus who has moved off to the entrance to the courtyard. ‘Him,’ I say impatiently.

‘That man standing with his back to us.’

The Marshal looks towards the entrance, then at me. He pauses for some time. Finally he says, ‘You must go home, old man. We are due for rain.’

With that he steps back inside and makes to close the door. I am momentarily caught off-guard but I step forward before he can close it completely. I place my hand on the door and put my foot over the threshold. I am taller than he is. I speak slowly, evenly. ‘You do know who I am, don’t you?’

He pulls back from me. His expression changes, very briefly, to one of anger. He does not answer my question. Instead he simply says, ‘Go.’

‘I must speak to you about this man, about what he means.’ I still push against the door.

The Marshal looks to one side as if another was standing there out of sight. He seems to nod. After a slight pause he says, ‘Tomorrow.’

With that he moves my hand and closes the door. He does not do it in an irritable way. It is quite gentle in fact. All the same, I am a

I stand staring at the door for a minute before banging on it with my fist. It does not open.

I have no option but to leave and return at the appointed time. If the Marshal will not see me now I will find Tora and perhaps Abel first. I fetch Andalus, who has wandered towards the first set of doors, and lead him out of the courtyard.

I see people outside. A man and a woman stand staring at the entrance to the courtyard, as if waiting for someone to come out. When they see me they turn away. They begin talking to each other.

There are others in the street too now. Not many and most are children. They run after each other kicking up dust that then seems to hang in the air. I look around for the girl I saw before but she is nowhere to be seen. Amongst the adults there is no one I remember.

No one looks at me.

This is not what I expected at all. Not recognised in the street, not recognised by the new Marshal, who registered no surprise or concern at the news of Andalus. No second glances. I have not been accosted or arrested. I have not pla

The people start hurrying, almost ru

Once more I have the streets to myself. To myself and Andalus. I take him by the arm again and lead him deeper into the town. The rain makes it dark, stains the wood, turns the dust from white to brown.

I sniff the smell of baked earth released by the rain. I walk slowly past house after house. For some I can remember who lives, or lived, there. For others I ca

There are few plants, little colour. Here and there a door is painted red, yellow, green but little else.

I walk past the patch of ground where Tora’s mother had her garden.

The chair where she used to sit is gone. The orange tree is still there. In contrast to its surrounds, it is lush. I stop and stand under it. I feel the drops washed off its leaves land on my skin.

I have spent the greater part of my life walking these streets, smelling the rain, the wood, the dust, listening to the chatter of neigh bours in the streets. It is all the same, the buildings rising sometimes to three or four storeys, raised wooden porches, stairways on the outside, balconies. Each structure a masterpiece of engineering.

Nothing special to look at, seemingly flimsy and ramshackle but actually sturdy and each building a warren of flats and rooms. They are built close together, initially to provide a sense of security. The settlement grew from a few buildings huddled together as if for warmth into a sizeable town. But even in later years, when there was less need for security, when the town was well fortified and the wars were over, we carried on building in the same ma

As well as being the town’s Marshal, I was also its historian. I drew maps of its begi

The settlement and the island. Maps, notes, begi

Sometimes it is the things you know best that seem to change the most. Because you know them the best, in fact. You notice changes in your body – wrinkles, grey hair – before you note them on a lover’s, before you note them on a friend’s. This building with an extension, that with a new porch, another with different coloured curtains, yet another that used to be a ministerial house and is now an alms house.