Night.

A Story by Ian Chris

A look at the cultural differences on an island could be unpleasant, exciting and nerve racking before multiculturalism became the norm.

Night.

The city was in partial blackout, the streetlights had not been turned on. because of the wartime policy of conserving electricity. The houses behind the discreet Aurelia hedges were wrapped in an atmosphere of exclusive respectability.

The young woman waiting at the bus-stop was not in the least bit nervous. in spite of the wave of panic that had been sweeping the city about the group of roughnecks roaming the streets after dark and assaulting unprotected women. She was a sensible young woman to begin with who realized that one good scream would be sufficient to bring about a dozen respectable house holders running to her assistance.. On the other hand, she was English, and fully conscious of the tradition that English women that they don't scare easily.

Even the slinking black shadow that seemed to be materializing out of the darkness at the other side of the street did not disconcert her. She was only slightly curious how that she observed that the shadow was approaching her. slowly.

It was a young man dressed in a conventional shirt and trousers, and wearing a pair of canvas shoes. That is what lent the suggestion of slinking to his movement, because he went along noiselessly-that, and the mere suggestion of a stoop. He was very tall. There was a curious look of hunger and unrest to his eyes. But the thing that struck her immediately was the fact he was black ; the other particulars scarcely made any impression at all in comparsion. In her country. In her country not every night a white woman could be nonchalantly approached by a black man. There was enough novelty in all of this to intrigue. She seemed to remember that any sort of adventure might be experienced in one of those tropical islands in the Caribbean.

"Could you give me a light ? the man said.

It is true the she was smoking, but she only just lit this one from stub of the cigarette she had thrown away. The fact was that she had no matches. Would he believe, she wondered ?

"I'm sorry, I haven't got a match."

The young man looked into her face, seemed to hesitate an instant and said, his brow slightly wrinkled in perplexity :

"But you are smoking".

There was no argument against that. Still, she was not particular about giving him a light from the cigarette she was smoking. It may be stupid, but there was a suggestion of intimacy against such an act, simple as it was, that, call it what you may, she could not accept just like that.

There was a moment, a hesitation on her part, during which the man's steady gaze never left her face. There was pride and challenge in his look, curiously mingled with quiet amusement.

She held out the cigarette towards him between two fingers.

"Here"", she said, "you can light from that ".

In the act of bending his head to accept the preferred light, he came quite close to her. He did not seem to understand that she meant him to take the lighted cigarette from her hand. He just bent over her hand to light his.

Presently he straightened up, inhaled a deep lungful of soothing smoke and exhaled again with satisfaction. She saw then that he was smoking the half of a cigarette, which clinched and saved for further consumption.

"Thank you ", he said politely ; and she was in the act of moving off when noticed that of instead of returning her cigarette to her lips she had casually, unthinkingly flicked it away. He observed this in the split part of a second that took him to say those two words. It was almost a whole cigarette she had thrown away. She had been smoking it with evident enjoyment a moment before.

He stood there looking at here, with cold speculation.

In a way it unnerved her. Not hat she was frightened. He seemed quite decent in his own way, and harmless ; but he made her feel uncomfortable. If he had said something rude she would have preferred it. It would have been no more than she expected of him. But instead this, quiet contemptuous look.Yes, that was it. The thing began to take on a certain definition in her mind. How dare he, the insolence !

"Well, what are you waiting for ?" she said because she felt she had to break the tension somehow.

"I'm sorry I made you waste a whole cigarette", he said.

She laughed a little nervously. "Its nothing," she said, feeling a fool.

"There's plenty more where that came from, eh "? he asked.

"I suppose so".

This won't do she thought quickly. She had no intention of standing on a street corner jawing with him-well with a black man. There was something indecent about it. Why doesn't he move on ?

As though he had read her thought he said ;

"This is a street, lady. It's a public place".

Well, anyway, she didn't gave to answer to him. She could snub him quietly, the way she should have done from the start.

"Its a good thing you are a woman," he said.

"And if I were a man ?"

"As man to man maybe I'd give you something to think about", he said, still in that. quiet even voice.

"In England, you would get beaten up for this", she said.

"This isn't England", he said. "I can see you are English. In this country there are only men and women You will learn about it". She could humour him. Find out what his ideas were about this question, anyway. It would be something to talk about back home. Suddenly she was intrigued.

"So in this country there are only men and women, eh ?"

"That's right. So to speak there is only you and me and there hundreds of thousands of us. We seem to get along somehow without fights and name calling and all that."

"Do you really think that all men are created equal ?"

"It don't seem to me there is any sense in all that. The facts show it ain't so. Look at you and me for instance. But that isn't to say you are not a woman same way as I am a man. You see what I mean?"

"I can't say that I do".

"You will, though, if you stop here long enough."

She threw a quick glance in his direction.

The man laughed.

"I don't mean what you are thinking", he said. "you're not my type of woman. You don't have anything to fear about something like that".

"Oh !"

"You're waiting for a bus, I take it. Well, there's one coming now. Thanks for the light."

"Don't mention it", she said with a nervous sort of giggle.

He made no attempt to move along as the bus came up. He stood there quietly aloof as if it was a sign his male strength and pride. There was something about that that was both challenging and disturbing. He had taken her supreme confidence in some important way.

As the bus moved off she was conscious of his eyes, the quiet scrutiny, without the interruption of artificial barriers, in the sense of dispassionate appraisement, as between man and woman, any man, any woman.

She fought resolutely against the very natural desire to turn her head and take a look at him. Perhaps she was thinking about what the people might think. And perhaps it was just as well she did not see him bend forward with a hungry movement, retrieving from the gutter, the half smoked cigarette she had thrown away.

End.