Excerpt from "A Caribbean Tale" by Rudy Gurley

Copyright © 2006 Rudy Gurley - All rights reserved

putting up relatives wasn’t the done thing. My uncle had been kind enough, though, to refer me to an old St. Lucian friend with a spare room at his Paddington home.
   I creaked down the wooden stairs on the heels of my would-be landlord, my face a mask of stark disappointment, my despair deepening with every step. Whether my decision to come to the UK had been one big mistake or not, was at this point up for grabs.
   On the dingy basement landing, I found myself having to manoeuvre my way cautiously through stacks of dusty, disassembled television sets, radios and other broken electrical appliances strewn across the floor that was covered with grime. More than once, I scraped against a smutty wall with layers of peeling, faded wallpaper, soiling my only jacket. I could smell damp, dust, and a stifling odour of gas that instantly constricted my nostrils, giving me a dizzy sensation.
   When my uncle had earlier declared that the landlord had ‘strange powers’ I’d passed it off as a joke, until I saw what happened next.
   “Watch that,” I heard the tall, lanky, dark-skinned old man say, as he came to a halt in front of a large door half-way down the long, gloomy hallway.

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