Chapter 31 Thirty Gilbert in 1948

If Almighty God had told me Gilbert.Joseph, one day, you will be happy to see only two words next to your name on that achievement form: driver, then I will tell this god tactfully and firmly that he is crazy.But, as always, the Almighty vindicated himself with wisdom.Come on, let me tell you how it happened.Look at me, I don't wear the blue uniform of the Royal Air Force, but I am a West Indian in the best civilian clothes, and I look right and left, and I look like a human being.In my hand, I had a letter of introduction from the military labor exchange, about a job as a recruited clerk.I took the letter to the office of my potential future employer.

When I entered the door, an English man came to greet me, smiled at me, shook my hand again, and told me: Come in and sit down.A cup of tea was brought to me.All good signs, I consoled myself, got the job.The man picked up the letter and read it.Everything is in order.So, you've been in the RAF? Yes, sir. I also served in the RAF.Where are you stationed?Then came the conversation about that period, and then the man said: I was staying in Formouth myself.For the next hour I had to deftly switch positions and pinch myself to keep my eyes from closing, and this man understood me in every detail.I reminded him warily between his breaths that I had come to him on this errand.Is this job mine?

He said: Sorry, no. His explanation was that there were women working in the factory.I didn't understand what he meant, so I said I didn't mind.He smiled at that and told me: We have white women on staff.Put it this way: what if, during your shift, you accidentally caught yourself talking to a white woman?For a moment, the man sounded reasonable and thoughtful, and I thought what he was saying made sense. I assured him: I would be very polite to her then. But he shook his head, not wanting to hear my answer.If men catch you talking to their women, I'm afraid the whole factory will explode.They just can't stand this kind of thing.Although I really want to give you the job, but I can't.You must be able to see the problems that such a thing might raise, right?

Once my breath was calm enough to speak, I asked him why he hadn't told me an hour earlier.I was really full of resentment.He said it was because he wanted to show kindness to veterans. Another interview I was invited to, the man asked me if I was a Christian.I tell you well, within a few weeks of returning to post-war England, God has slipped past me like a ship just out of port.But I still say I am a Christian.The man started praying between the phone and the blotter and invited me to join.I need this job, so I bow my head and pray.At the end of a praise to the Lord, he told me he couldn't hire me because his partner didn't like people of color.He called out to God to bless me as I was leaving and I almost beat him to the edge of the sky for an early meeting with Almighty God.

In five, no, six places, the jobs I was applying for all disappeared the moment they first saw me.In another place, I waited with a letter, and everyone in the office went about their business as if I didn't exist.I felt them watching me up close, their eyes focused like pickpockets on their prey, but they didn't even notice my furtive blink.Someone came in angrily and said to me: What are you doing here?We don't want you.There are no jobs for you here.I'm going to contact that labor exchange and tell them not to send any more of your people.We can't use someone like you.go, get out.

The other girl in the office gave me a horrified look, boy, and I swear her hair stood on end like stiff fingers.Without saying a word, I walked out immediately.Do I have to see that look every day?Well, it won't be long before I'm convinced that something is wrong with me. After a few weeks of this folly, as Almighty God foretold, I, a retired RAF, have grown to love my full and permanent driver's licence.Boy, when I finally got my hands on the cold steering wheel, I was as happy as a birthday boy I found a job driving a mail truck at the post office.Ah, that bible.I may not have studied law in my home country, but I tell you that in the eyes of the British, a Jamaican is really lucky to get a job as a driver.

Hey you.shouted the foreman of the sorting room.As far as I can remember, this person called me by my name only once.The first time I stood in front of him, he opened his mouth and muttered: What the hell is going on?Confused, he rummaged through the documents of his boss and found that I was indeed the driver he applied for, so he said: Yes.You are Joseph, right?Yet since that early, near-polite exchange, hey, you've become his favorite address when he talks to me.I listened and scraped the ice off the mail van's windshield, hoping to force him to call me by my first name and treat me like any other driver.

He told me: Clark was ill. Burt.Clark.I once emailed Bert from Victoria for a few weeks.Regardless of the round trip, he insisted on telling me how to go every time.Turn left here and now turn right around the circle.Walk the same path every day, give the same instructions every day.He assured me that as long as the man was riding across the land on horseback with the mail on his back, he was working at the post office.But lately, his practice with me has gradually been mixed with uncontrollable coughing.Oh, I'm sorry, Gilbert, I had a bit of a sore throat today, but you're doing just fine.

I said: sick? right.Don't you know what it means to be sick?The head waiter's beard always seemed to have a bit of egg yolk clinging to it.The nasty ice made my fingers numb and I couldn't even make a fist. There is another person on a mission with you.go to work. From the direction of my mail car, the foreman pointed to the young man who was to be my partner.I watched him come strutly, with his hands in his pockets.He wiped his nose with his cuff and took the cigarette out of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger.Smoke drifted from his lips.He coughed and spat on the ground before changing to another cigarette.When he saw an acquaintance, he waved and smiled.At that moment, I wish I was in Jamaica.I longed for home like a drunk longs for whiskey.Only there can I be sure that when people see my face, there will be no special reaction: no gaping, no tongue-tied, no cursing, no looking away as if seeing something annoying; just like in the kitchen Meeting my own mother is as ordinary as it is.What kind of special wish is this, so hard to hope for!How elusive is the desire for indifference that others see me and think nothing of it.

The young man walking towards the mail car saw me and froze.I greeted him with a smile, but he suddenly wrinkled his forehead, two sharp parallel lines exaggeratedly wrinkled.He took the cigarette out of his mouth, opened his mouth wider, dropped the cigarette again, stomped on the ground and extinguished it, while looking around to make sure it wasn't his companion who asked me to play a joke on him.He pointed his finger at me and started yelling: What the hell is this? Others watching this funny scene threw a few mocking words from the air.Haha, it's really funny that their friend won the lottery.I didn't have time to mess around, so I told him: Come on, man, we gotta go.

I'm not going anywhere with you.After he finished speaking, he turned and walked towards the foreman. The foreman canceled my assignment. Why?I've been running this trip for weeks and never had a problem. Because I say so.He doesn't want to partner with you. But it's his job. I don't fucking blame him.I just said you're going to be in trouble. It wasn't me who caused the trouble. Negro, stop doing it if you say another word.You can go to King's Cross Station to collect the mail yourself, or you can clock out of get off work.understand? This is my first time at King's Cross station.Standing next to the loads and loads of mail packages that come off the train, I can't see which ones are going to be sorted by the post office.I don't want to take the wrong package from the railway bureau, because it will cause commotion. I asked a group of workers: what is mail?The four stood looking at me. One of them said: Did I hear someone talking?They looked as lazy as homeless people, leaning against the wall scratching their itch, and giggling at the man's jokes. Can you help me?I asked again.I didn't hear an answer, but they all looked at me with evil intentions and regarded me as an object to play with.They rolled their eyes, pretending they couldn't hear me.I ignored them and just picked up a bag. One of them shouted: Look, Hei Zai stole something from the railway bureau!I put down the pack and walked to the other pack.As long as I get the right package, I don't care about anything.As I picked up another bag I heard: Phew, my God, what is this nigga doing now? How many mailbags have I picked up, how many sneers have I heard when they say I took the wrong one? Can you please help me?I must ask them. One of them said: speak English. I told them: I speak English. Can anyone understand what this colored gentleman is saying?More laughter. Well, man, I can't afford trouble.Could you please tell me which ones I should take? One of them said: ok.The man pushed himself away from the wall and got closer to me.He looked at me with one eye, and the other wandered in his eye socket like a lost marble.I think maybe they're tired of me as a toy after all they've been playing with it for a long time.But the squinting man just said: If you answer me one thing, I'll tell you.His friend started giggling again, anticipating a good humiliation. But I politely replied: What's the matter? When are you going back to the jungle?Oh man, that's the funniest joke these four have ever heard today.When they heard it, they all laughed.Nigga, jungle.It's really funny.Two of them lit cigarettes.Man, I'm more invigorated than a tea break.The hands on the clock are still moving, and I pick up another pack.Hey, Hei Zi, you haven't answered me yet.When are you going back to your hometown? I stared straight into the man's true eyes.Dude, I just got here and I haven't fucked your wife yet. What did you say?what did he say?He turned to ask his companions, but they didn't hear him.Dry!Adoubai, what are you talking about? I told him: nothing. The man grabbed my post office uniform and pulled me toward him.Come on, beat him up.Egged on by his accomplices.But this man is an idiot.My hands are free to beat his nose until it breaks and bleeds.Or punch him in the stomach and make him choke on his own breakfast.I could pull his head back, choke his throat, and wring him out of his breath.Kick him in the groin with your knee.Hold him with your elbows.Headbutted his mouth and knocked out a few teeth.And it can all be done before his friend has time to touch me.He can't get a good grip.The man was skinny from food rationing.Come on, let's face it.I could knock him down with a blow, but if I had the guts to give this guy a friendly pinch on the cheek and a loving pat on the back, I'd lose my job in no time.Three white people watching the fun would make up a story like this: No one messed with the black boy, so he attacked the good gentleman.They will say: barbarians.And everyone will agree that we must never hire these niggers again, they are a real disaster and we don't deserve all the trouble for them.What else can I do, a Jamaican man?I hang my head. Dude, I didn't say anything.said nothing.I groveled cowardly until my obedience caused the man to let go.Now I'm going to wash my fucking hands for touching you.He told me to push me away.I stood there like a whipped dog, and he said: There ought to be a decent Englishman to do your job.I couldn't take my eyes off his feet, and he pointed with his chin: Over there, that cart.Now pack up and get out of here.I went about my business, cursing cannon fire booming all around me while mail packages and aching shame made me bend over. Let's face it.When I got home from get off work that night, I had completely forgotten about Hortens.Climbing the stairs, I only dream of being able to lie in bed and sleep.Perhaps dreaming of walking in the heat of the sun and munching on mangoes, or sipping sorrel confit on the front porch with Elwood.But as soon as I opened the door, I woke up suddenly.Hortens knelt on the floor in front of me on his hands and feet. I yelled: Get up!stand up!The angry voice was so loud that it bounced back at me from the wall.Startled, she jumped up, splashing the water in the bucket.She fussed with a rag, but I grabbed her arm.I wrapped my arms around her arms and pulled her off the ground.Startled, she stood up straight without struggling.I told her: Get up, don't kneel. Suddenly she looked at my face.Frightened, with tears in his eyes.She jumped out of my grip, her chest gasping for breath.What’s wrong with you? sorry.I told her I'm sorry.I backed off to show that I wasn't crazy.Let her know she is safe.But Hortens, I can't bear to see you kneeling. But I have to wash the floor.This floor needs to be washed. I can't see you kneeling on the floor so quickly.I didn't bring you to England to scrub floors on your knees.My wife is not allowed to kneel in this country.Did you hear that? So how do you want me to wash the floor? Whatever you want, whatever you want, Hortens.But please, please don't kneel on the floor.I beg her.