The Killing Floor

Need to get some sleep. Johnny is always smiling and say everyday is ‘excellent fabulous.’ He wear his shirt with the button done up to the collar and he always walk around singing, even when the rain kicking down outside and the sky a purple bruise. But me, I cannot keep the smile. Windrush, she take it from me. Lost it somewhere at the bottom of the sea.

Need to get some sleep.

This voice, it not my own. I learn, I speak, now I dream out it too. When I dream.

Last week I work 6 days in a row, full shift. 14, 16 hour. Almost I forget the sun is even working. Enter in darkness, leave in darkness. Out into the cafe, wash the day down in coffee and beans and then climb the stairs at the back up to the flat and sleep out the rest of the night. 2, maybe 3 hours. All I can spare. I sometime think I never seen England. Since me arrive, only move from to room. Seem my whole world a room fix with four walls. The sky, it fix with a ceiling.

Johnny get me the job. I work for a friend of his, Capris. I wear the gloves and the apron and they send the meat down the line to me, still all clinging to the bones. I take the two wires, one in the left hand, one in the right. I pin one in each shoulder and pull the switch, zap. It make the meat all so it ready to eat, soft and warm as a pillow.

Some of the men, they laugh and joke but each carcass I meet, I say “hello Mr. Cow, ready for shock?” Treat it with respect: his life not so different from mine. All the time the carcass keep coming so I have to work quick or maybe I get carried along with them.

I working there a few weeks, but I still fresh from the boat. Still dream of dust roads, still make the old talk. One day Johnny take me into the side.
He say ‘Dennis, Mr. Capris want a word.’
Well, first I feel afraid. I think - is this finish? Dennis I think, you come all the way and already you lose job? For shame, for shame.

So I follow him, out the greasy floor and up into the office. The other men, they see and some whistle or they start to laugh. They think I about to go. Maybe so, maybe so. Then they all go quiet. The shop floor is always Shout! Shout! Shout! and when we busy the sweat run down the walls like the ceiling raining. Not now. All quiet.

We come into the office and I see Mr Capris has a fan behind he desk and it point this way then that way then this way again. He even have a desk to rest the boots on and when I walk in that is how I see him; feet on the desk, one hand behind the head, one hand scratch at the balls. He a tall, thin man like someone take him as a baby and stretch him by the nose and hair. He have long brown hair and fancy clothes. I think, he walk like that back home, people see him call him faggot boy and chase him down in the pickup trucks.

‘Sit down please.’ he say, smiling. He point to empty chair. I sit. Johnny stay standing.
‘Smoke?’ he ask.
‘No...thank you.’ I tell him. Never the money. If I smoke, I don’t eat.
‘Shame,’ he says, ‘you look like you could use it.’
He means I look tired, I think. I do. I look in the mirror, I see my father come through, and he 30 year older than me. Earlier the day, my hands shaking. One carcass come round and I slip, catch my sleeve on the bone and almost get carried over into the slicer.

Capris, he still look me up and down.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Two week Mr Capris’ I say.
‘No Dennis, in the country.’
‘Two months’ I say. Officially. The truth is longer, but I only count from when the papers arrive.
‘How are you finding it?’ he ask.
‘All good’ I say. This is a lie. ‘Beautiful country, friendly people.’ This is also a lie.
‘’I like you Dennis’, he say, ‘You’re a hard worker. With that attitude, you’re bound to succeed.’
I think of the flat and the insects I share it with. The smell never leave.
‘Which is why I want to make you an offer.’
He smile. His teeth is all yellow except for one which is black all the way through, like a piece of coal fix in his mouth.
‘I have an extra shipment of meat coming through this weekend. Cheap meat, fast turnover. I wouldn’t normally ask, but Johnny said you might need the extra money. Do you think possibly -’
‘Yes, Mr Capris’ I say.

I so tired, I could sleep right here in this chair. Fan humming in my face, breeze on my toes. Like camping on the beach. Like sleeping on the porch at home with my brother.
‘Excellent,’ he say, ‘Excellent.’
‘Excellent’ say Johnny. He smiling too, but not at me. He only look at Mr. Capris.

------

One time, Johnny take me to a bar near the flat. It the best lime I find in all the city. Johnny tell me it like going home but the minute I walk in, feel like I back on the ship. Up on a stage a band is play, guitar and saxophone and a round face boy thump at the drum. See a floor full of people is dancing like they wild with drink. I see smoking and drinking and every person is smiling and laughing and they faces all fixed with smiles.

On a table in the corner, we take a seat with a group of fellars is making the old talk. Hurricane come to Jamaica, one say. Wipe the towns clean off one side of the island. I think it all seem so different a part of me not care. Not sure I feel sad for Jamaica at all. Things I miss is the people and the sun, but never the places. Them beat up huts and the old building the English build and leave to grow rotten and cold.

We make preten’ we not all so cold and start to forget. We keep drinking. I see Johnny leave with a sharp piece of skin and I realise I miss, more than all the things, the feeling of love.

-----

Need to get some sleep.

Friday come round and I think maybe they forget. Don’t mind if I lose the money. But Johnny catch me near the end of the day as I wipe off my hands in the changing room .
‘Here is the keys’ he says, ‘for you.’
He hand them to me.
‘This one for the door, this one for the machine.’
‘What about the meat?’ I ask. The cheap meat come in pieces, not like the carcasses. Ready chopped. Has to be fed into the machine in hands, straight into the throat.
‘Don’t you worry’, he say, ‘plenty to come.’
He leave and I get changed and away as soon as I can. The rest of the night gone so quick I don’t remember. Gently home and gently into bed.

Saturday, up early. I dress quick and head out. When I open up the factory door, all silent and still like a church before service. Switch on the lights and there is a hum like an organ starting, keep me company. I think maybe I can shout, make as much noise as I like.

I walk upstair into the office. I sit in Capris chair, put my feet on the desk.
‘Dennis,’ I say, ‘I laaaake you.’
Look through his drawers. Some cigarettes, some drink. Playing cards with naked ladies. All very thin, very white.

So, I walk down stairs and I see the machine is ready. Go into the freezers and find the meat waiting ready in boxes. They look mean, beat up. No sign where they come from. Unpack them and start to pile all into the machine. This the worst stuff. The lower parts, the privates, the guts. All pieces that bleed off and get wash away when the animal kill. From these, they make only two things: dog food and hamburgers. Some people, they feed their children and pets the same thing, never know.

The machine, I set going with the green button. Push the button in till it click then I sit back and wait. From here, easy ride. Every few minute I feed the meat back into the throat, maybe break up the lumps a little if they stick, but else I sit here and lime. Easy time.

I go back up to the office. I take out the naked lady cards and start to count them out, 1,2,3. Then I play the game I learn on the boat. You play to yourself. Time pass. If you lose or you stuck, you start again. Change the hand for something else. I like it. Soon I feel sleep creep up on me. I think maybe I can rest, take the afternoon for sleep and catch up a little. Time for me to do it while I here. Look down to the machine and see the meat is all done and working through. Be a time now before I needed again.

Sleep come easy, washing over like the high tide. I find I lose all touch. Nothing ache like it should. Dreams is happen. I know I still working but really, I don’t care.

Back on Windrush. All things is the same. Frighten, I remember. They has call me a stowaway but I want leave as much as anyone else. Way I see, all the work I has to do, I pay for my ticket ten time over. So I keep low, keep quiet. Come on board with my neighbour Sammy, pretend we brothers readying to say good bye but when the chance come hide up under the bed when the boat leave.
He say ‘No more play bold face Dennis, keep low.’
After a time I fixing for a cigarette and we walk out onto deck, find a quiet place and we get to talking and smoking. Only when I see the blue mountains so far off, I realise how much distance we has to go.

Food is all ticket so Sammy swap his with me. Some day I get food, some day Sammy does. After time some people get sick, from the way the boat rocking or the things they has eaten, so sometime I borrow they ticket for myself. Always ask all polite.

All this time I know there is others stowaway. We keep ourselves low down but I sometime hear other talking.
‘Criminal,’ ‘not fair at all.’
One thing they say, you tell a stowaway from he clothes. His shirt collar all dirty and he always dress the same. No bags. But some help us out, offer they clothes or wash mine for me. We all close like that.

One time they catch a girl, stowaway. She start to crying all ashame. Someone is saying maybe we should all get to help. So, some musicians get a band all setup, they has a concert in the middle of the night and they make enough money that we all buys her a ticket. She keep crying all through. Always, Windrush is like that. You scared maybe they find you, but you know is always others helping. Since I arrive I never been more alone. I carry Windrush with me, I think. Is like my father always say - sometime journey is better than the destination.

So, in the dream the scene change. I know exactly where I am. One time I can’t find Sammy and no-one sick, but my stomach all sore from rumbling. It get so bad all I can think is how much I need to eat. My stomach and my brain, they both in agreement. I see one of the passengers bought fruit with him and he selling it all in pieces but he want so much money, and I lose most of mine playing wapee with the crew. Seem not everyone want to help each other.

So, I down stairs to the kitchen and look for Curtis. Some time he help me out. I know him from a long time back. I rap at the door and after some time come, I see it face.
I say ‘Curtis, you have any food for me?’

He look up at me like he disappointed. Then he pick up a bowl and start run around and fill it with scraps and little pieces of all sort of things. Little meat, old vegetable. All sort of things. He hold it out to me and say ‘you want this?’
‘Thank you’ I tell him.
Maybe some of it dry and old and the lettuce curl up brown at the corner, but when I this hungry I eat anything. No matter. Not the last time I feel that hungry.

But now I wake up all quick. The machine call out. It is growling like a cornered animal. Go down and I see there is a smoke. The grinders, they are stuck. They twitching, not fixing the meat into small bits like they know to do. The throat is sicking up the meat in piles onto the floor. I think oh shit oh shit oh shit. First I switch it off then I sweep up the spill and stuff it back in at the other end. It was dirty already, I think. Not them know. Then I find the place where the block sit. Lift the cover and see a bunch of meats curl around a single tooth. I know I need to fish all out before she work again. Look at watch. Start to worry. Most, I miss my sleep.

Reach in and wrap fingers around. Grip and tug. Some the meat come loose and fall around my feet, splash my shirt but still a chunk left. Reach in and tug at it again. Lots of meat, tight pack, but something else at the middle. Something catch in the teeth, stop the grinder grind, make the throat sick up.

Something else is hard. I careful to reach in deep, but I worry the machine start without me touch it on, gobble me up like a monster eat a child in a story I know when I am small. Soon I pull it loose and in my hand I unwrap the meat like a boy open a present.

In middle of the meat is something small and metal. First I think it a screw, fallen from the machine. But I clean it against my leg, roll it up an down until it clean and sparkle in lights.

Seen it is a ring. A crack red ruby sit in the centre. Roun’ the inside a writing there.

‘To A.G.’ it say. ‘our future is unwritten.’

I sit down.