‘I have to ask,’ I say. ‘Do you know who I am?’

She looks at me with what I think is a smile on her face. ‘I have never known you.’

It is a rather strange reply. I wonder briefly if she might be flirting. I try again, ‘I don’t look familiar to you?’

‘I am sure I would not have forgotten you.’

I step back into the sunlight. I wonder how much I’ve changed. It seems I will have to seek Tora and Abel elsewhere. ‘I am sorry to bother you,’ I say.

She smiles and closes the door softly.

Andalus is where I have left him. I drag him to his feet.

It is now evening. Though I have not found Abel or Tora yet there is little more I can do tonight. I have nowhere to sleep and we need to find shelter. I am homeless in a town that should belong to me. We could head out into the orange groves but I do not want to find the gates closed again. I consider going back to the Marshal and asking for somewhere to stay. I also think of the woman living in Tora’s flat but that would not be appropriate. I decide to walk around the town to see if I can find an abandoned house or some other form of shelter.

I walk in the direction of the administrative complex. After a few minutes I remember an alleyway that might serve our purposes. Before the complex I turn off to the right down a narrow passage. It turns to the left and continues for a few metres before widening into a little courtyard. There are no doors leading into it. With no through traffic this could be the best place to take shelter, at least until I have sorted things out here.

Against two of the walls are piles of furniture and boxes. There is a tarpaulin, which I drape over some of them.

I take the stone from my bag and hide it in a corner.

Andalus crawls into the shelter when I motion for him to do so.

He lies down and pulls some papers over himself. As he crawls into the space between the canvas and wall I realise it is a very good hiding place. From a few steps back, as long as he makes no noise, you could never tell there is a huge man in the shadows. I tell him to be quiet, though by now I have given up expecting him to reply, and climb in after him.

I lie awake for a while listening to Andalus’s faint breathing. A whole day has passed in my town. No one has recognised me. No one has even looked twice at me or at Andalus, though he sticks out.

A big, pale mountain of a man amongst a people who are browner, earthier, closer to the ground. Even the Marshal, who should know better, did not react when he saw me. And, though I held back from saying who I was, he should have known. I am the one who brought stability to this town and it was only ten years ago that I was exiled.

You would know me. Do people have such short memories? Do they choose not to see? It is vaguely unsettling, though it is better this way than to be hauled off to the gallows screaming my story, my excuse, to whomever will listen.

And Elba? There is something wrong with it. There are only a few thousand of us. You do not forget someone who lived in the flat before you, who had the same job, who is the same age. Or was.

Abel and Tora. One who sent me away. The other who brought me back. I will find them.

7

It is just before dawn when I wake. Andalus has thrown his arm around me. What do I feel for him, this man, this spectre? Truth is, I feel less and less. ‘Feel’ is not the right word. In the beginning I felt.

I was frightened for a short time, then sympathetic, then angry. Until we left the island I veered between sympathy and compassion and loathing of his intrusion and his refusal to talk. The anger though was always tinged with guilt. Not only did I realise that perhaps what he had been through, whatever it was, had broken him but also I realised that he was my excuse, my passage off the island. His unwillingness to communicate, beyond the simplest of facial expressions, is useful in some respects. Perhaps if he had told the truth, blurted out his story, I would not have been able to justify leaving the island and bringing him to the attention of the settlement. His silence has been useful to me. I am not ignorant of my motives. But I must make him talk. And soon.

Lying in the semi-dark I wonder when I will first be recognised, acknowledged for what I am, for what I was. Who will be the first?

Who will lift his eyes over his bowl of soup and stare at me? Will his jaw clench shut, his brow furrow? Will the room grow silent around me, me oblivious, lost in the hot food and the wine, and will I look up to see row upon row of men with black eyes staring at their ex-Marshal? Who will be the first to pick up a sickle and advance on me, shout at me, cut me down?

Or will it be a gentler thing, a flicker of recognition in the Marshal’s eyes, a raised eyebrow and an ‘Oh. It’s you.’

Or will it be Tora who recognises me first? If I can find her then it will be her I am sure. She cannot have forgotten. No one forgets a man who shared your bed for near half a lifetime. No one forgets a man who provided for you. No one forgets a man who ordered your sole surviving relative to be hanged.

She forgave me for that.

She had to. It was written in statutes.

Besides, it was she who came to tell me of her mother’s incapacity, she who stood aside for the hangman.

I forgave her for that.

I had to. It was me who forced her to abandon her mother, forced her to betray one she loved.

I did not think much about why she had done it. It was what everyone did. But Tora was different. She was the one who had said

‘Rather die than be tainted by the murder of your own people.’ I should have asked her why. I should have thought more about why she did it, more about what was behind the unblinking eyes. So many things I should have done. I can only guess now.

I think back to when I held her that night, the first time she came to me after her mother’s death. Did she whisper something? Did she say to me, ‘She had suffered enough. She would have wanted release’?

I think. I hear something. It might be only the wind outside blowing dust through the streets.

It took her four days to come and tell me. Longer than she should have delayed. What was she going through in that time?

I cannot believe Tora would have been like the others. Not she.

Cold. Weak. I want to believe. I cannot not believe she would have had another reason, some explanation. I could not have turned her so.

Stripped her.

I throw off Andalus’s arm and crawl out of the shelter. He follows, yawning. I tell him to stay in the shelter. He does not move but also does not follow me when I leave the alleyway. I will take him with me later but for now I am better off on my own. I can move more quickly without him.

I will go to Abel’s house. If anyone can rectify the current situation it is he. I am curious to find out why he is not still the Marshal. Though it is an elected post, we did not have set periods for elections. Death or, it seems, banishment, were our reasons for new elections. When a people is faced with an issue serious enough to threaten their livelihood, they do not bother with nuanced political visions, they do not bother with who is more right, who is morally better. They require only a strong leader, a leader with a clear vision and awareness. They also do not need to waste their energy arguing with each other over trifles such as election periods. Our people are not used to change and Abel was perfect to come after me, to live on the legacy I created for many years.

Strong, forthright and a traditionalist, he should have been exactly what this town needed.

But people change. I have already seen evidence of this. Perhaps with the easing of the burdens they had to carry, they have more time to ponder, more time to be dissatisfied, more time to change their minds. I am sure though Abel would not have gone without a fight.