Somewhere below a chain was pulled with a distant clanging sound and water welled and gushed through pipes, the sound dying with a hiss. The faraway mutter of a radio played rhumba music.
Michael Adonis stared at the bluish, waxy face of the old man and it stared back at him, with the blank artificial eyes of a doll. He said, ‘Jesus,’ and turned quickly and vomited down the wall behind him, holding himself upright with the palms of his hands and feeling the sourness of liquor and partly-digested food in his mouth. He stood like that, shaking, until his stomach was empty. His wine-stained hand made a big reddish mark on the wall.
The bottle had dropped to his feet, cracked at the base.
He straightened, staggering with the sudden reeling of his head and then sobered with the shock. He stared back at the wreck on the bed and said, aloud, ‘God, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to kill the blerry old man.’ He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and tasted the wine on it, then rubbed it dry on the seat of his jeans. A flood of thoughts bubbled through his mind. There’s going to be trouble. Didn’t mean it. Better get out. The law don’t like white people being finished off. Well, I didn’t mos mean it. Better get out before somebody comes. I never been in here. He looked at the sprawled figure that looked like a blowndown scarecrow. Well, he didn’t have no right living here with us Coloureds.
He shivered a little as if he was cold, and lurched over to the door, holding onto the wall with one hand. He turned the knob and opened, looking out. His own room was a little way down the corridor. From the well of the stairs sounds drifted up: the radio was playing a smooth string number now, somebody laughed and feet thudded, a woman started scolding and a man’s voice yelled back at her until she quietened, far away the sound of traffic interjected.
Comes from helping people, Michael Adonis thought, as he stepped out into the deserted corridor. He shut the door behind him and then walked quickly towards his room, hurrying as if the old man’s ghost was at his heels. He reached his door and slid into the room, shutting the door quickly behind him. His head hurt and there was a sour taste in his mouth.