The Little Man (merged)

[Guest]

[Leroy the Legless Lady]

Danny phoned me up and said he’d found “a little man” hiding inside the wall in his front room. He said the little man looked “like an Arab or something.” He said the little man could speak, in a squeaky little voice, but that he couldn’t tell what the little man was saying because he was speaking in a different language. Danny said he didn’t know what language it was. He said the little man seemed scared. He said he’d used a hammer to knock a hole in the wall and that he thought this was probably what had scared the little man. I asked him what he wanted me to do about it. He said he didn’t know. I said I’d come over and have a look.

I went over and had a look. I found Danny kneeling in the corner of his front room where his telly used to be. He was staring at the wall. The telly and the glass table it sat on had been dragged out into the middle of the room, trailing loose wires. There was a hammer on the floor next to Danny and little bits of plaster. There was also a tube of something called RAT-EX.

“Danny,” I said.

He jumped up and spun around. “Fucking hell, Harold,” he said, when he saw it was me. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” I said. I nodded over at the hole in the wall. “Is he still there?”

Danny crouched back down in front of the hole. “Come and have a look for yourself,” he said.

I went over, crouched down next to him, and peered into the hole he’d hammered in the wall. At first I couldn’t make anything out. Then I saw the little man looking back at me. He was wearing a kind of white smock that came down to his ankles. On his feet he had a tiny pair of sandals on, with tiny little toes poking out from the ends of each one. He was also wearing a little purple turban on the top of his head. He was huddled up tightly against the back of the hole, his eyes flitting back and forth between me and Danny. He was about the size of a 275ml bottle of beer. He looked scared.

“Well, well, well,” I said.

*

“What do you reckon to that?” Danny said.

“Well,” I said. “He’s a little feller all right. You were right about that.”

I poked my index finger into the hole and tried to prod the little man, but he leapt away to the other side of the hole as soon as he saw my finger coming towards him.

“He’s scared shitless,” Danny said.

“How long’s he been here?”

“Fuck knows. I’ve been hearing these little knocking noises for a few weeks now but I just thought it was a fucking rat or something. Not this little bleeder.”

“How did he get in?”

“Not a fucking clue, mate,” Danny said. We both went on staring at the little man as we spoke. “I think he might’ve come down the chimney or something. That’s all I can think of. I know he’s hollowed this bit out for himself though, I know that for sure. This bit of wall here, there used to be a fireplace here but I got Handy Dave to knock it out for me a couple of months ago. He filled the chimney bit up, so I know this wall here was solid.” He knocked on the wall a few times with his knuckles. It sounded solid enough. “See?” he said. “This little fuck’s hollowed this bit out for himself.”

I looked at the little man. “How?” I asked.

Danny puffed his cheeks and blew out some air. “I wish I fucking knew, mate. I’ve had a gander round his hole, see if there’s any little tools or anything like that, but I can’t see a thing. He probably did it with his teeth. He’s got some sharp little teeth, the little bastard. Look at that.”

Danny held his index finger out for me to see. There was what looked like a tiny papercut on the tip of it.

“Little fucker bit me when I first put my hand in,” Danny said. “I thought it was a fucking rat at first. I was just about to spray some of that RAT-EX in when I saw it wasn’t a fucking rat at all. It was him.”

He nodded at the little man, who was still huddled in the corner. I could see him a bit clearer now, and I saw that he had a little goatee beard and that he looked a bit overweight – for his size, that is. He looked a bit like a Middle Eastern Jeremy Beadle to me.

“What’s he been eating?” I asked. “He looks a bit porky.”

“Dunno,” Danny said. “My fucking food, probably. There’s crumbs all over the place. He’s made a right fucking mess.”

I poked my head closer to the hole to get a better look. I couldn’t get my head right in because the hole was too small. The little man scurried a bit further away when he saw my head looming towards him, and when he moved I could see what looked like tiny breadcrumbs scattering the floor of the little hollow. I pulled my head away, then quickly went to poke the little man again, trying to take him by surprise, but he scurried away to the opposite side of the hole before I could touch him.

“Fast little bastard, isn’t he?” Danny said.

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“Oh eye,” Danny said. “I gave him a right fucking bollocking when I first found him. He couldn’t understand a word of it.”

I looked at the little man. “What’s your name, little man?” I asked him.

He looked at me, and he must have known I was talking to him, because he said something back to me, talking very fast in a squeaky little voice. I couldn’t understand a word of it, but I thought there was a certain defiance in the way he kind of spat the words out.

“Eeenglish,” I said to him. “Do you speak Eeenglish?”

“Shlom!” the little man seemed to say.

“Eeenglish,” I said.

“Shlom! Shlomshlomshlom!”

“Shlom?” I said. “What does shlom mean?”

“Fuck knows,” Danny said. “It’s a waste of fucking time, anyway. He can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

He looked at the little man and shook his head – a bit despondently, I thought. “What the fuck am I meant to do with him?” he said, turning to look at me.

“Don’t look at me,” I told him.

We both looked back at the little man. He blinked back at us.

“Come on,” I said. I gave Danny a little slap on his shoulder. “Let’s have a smoke and think about it.”

“Good idea,” Danny said. “I’d better cover this hole up first though, stop the fucker running off. I’ll go see what I can find. Keep an eye on him while I get back.”

“Will do,” I said. I waited until he’d left the room, then went to poke the little man again, but once again he leapt to the other side of his hole before I could get near him. He really was impressively fast.

*

We were going to use a bit of cardboard to cover the hole but in the end we decided to use some clingfilm instead. That way the little man wouldn’t be able to run off and we’d still be able to keep an eye on whatever he was getting up to. Danny put some little air-holes in it with a pin, which I thought was good thinking on his part. Then I rolled a spliff and we sat there smoking cross-legged in front of the hole, trying to figure out what to do.

“It’s a shame he can’t speak English,” I said. “That way you’d be able to ask him what he’s doing here. And where he came from.”

“And when he’s leaving,” Danny said.

“He might even have a family or something,” I said.

“He’d better not have,” Danny said. “They’d better not be living in my fucking walls, anyway, if he does.”

“Have you heard anything in the other walls?”

He shook his head, breathing out smoke. “The only noises I’ve heard were definitely coming from this wall,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

“He must be single then,” I said.

We looked at the little man. Now the clingfilm was up he had ventured a little closer to the edge of his hole. He still looked back and forth between Danny and me whenever we spoke, seeming to follow the conversation. He seemed as curious about us as we were about him.

“What if he’s one of them illegal immigrants?” Danny said.

“Nah,” I said. “I doubt it.”

“You never know, though,” Danny said. “I saw it on Problems Today the other week – this old lass found one living in her garden fucking shed. He’d been there about a year they reckoned, nicking vegetables from her garden. Said he’d kept it nice and tidy and everything. Not that that’s the point,” he added. “They’re all over the fucking place now.”

“I’ve never heard of one this small, though.”

“I know,” Danny said. “No wonder they can’t find any of the fuckers.”

“You could be in bother if he is, though,” I said. “Harbouring an illegal immigrant and all that.”

Danny nodded. “Maybe I should just phone the police,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said. “Leave it for a few days first, though. Have a think about it. See what happens.”

“You think?”

“Might as well,” I said. “See if you can teach him a bit of English. Find out what his game is.”

It was a joke, but Danny nodded. “Good idea,” he said. “Here.”

He passed me the spliff.

So that’s what he decided to do – he decided he’d keep the little man for a few more days. Maybe he’d be able to figure out what to do
about him then.

*

I called in at Danny’s the next day after work. I found him in the front room with the curtains closed, sitting cross-legged in front of the hole. There was a packet of cheese laying next to him, and a big yellow book laying open in his lap. When I came closer I saw the book was called Speaking English, for Dummies. The little man was standing at the edge of his hole, kind of leaning against the side, but he took a few hurried steps back when he saw me coming.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Not bad,” Danny said. He patted the floor next to him. “Pull up a pew.”

I went and sat down next to him. “What’re you doing?”

“Teaching,” Danny said. “Cop a load of this.” He cleared his throat. “Ready?”

“For what?” I asked.

“For this,” he said. He cleared his throat again and looked at the little man, who had taken a few steps closer to the edge of the hole.
Then he said: “Hello, little man!”

The little man looked at me a bit doubtfully, and then back at Danny. He didn’t say anything, but he seemed to swallow hard.

“Wait a minute,” Danny said. Then he repeated himself, a little louder this time: “Hello, little man!”

The little man glanced at me again and then looked back at Danny. Then I heard him say something, but I couldn’t make out what it was.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“Come closer,” Danny said.

I moved a bit closer, and Danny cleared his throat again. “Hello, little man!” he said.

The little man seemed to swallow hard again, and then, in a faltering little voice, I heard him say: “Air-lo, Don-nee.”

“Ha!” Danny said. He clapped his hands together and looked at me gleefully. “What do you reckon to that?”

“Not bad,” I said. “Can he say anything else?”

“Nah,” Danny said. “He’s a bit of a slow learner. It’s taken me all day just to teach him that.”

“Well, it’s a start,” I said.

“Yep,” Danny said. “He can wave as well, when he says it, but I think you must be putting him off. Wave, little man!”

The little man looked at me, a bit apprehensively. Then he held up his right hand and gave it a little wave.

“Ha!” Danny said. “Did you see that?”

“He waved,” I said.

“Now do them both together,” Danny said to the little man. “Both together. Hello, little man!”

“Air-lo, Don-nee,” the little man said. And then he waved.

“Good stuff, little man!” Danny said. “Here, have some cheese.”

He picked a tiny bit of cheese out of the packet and placed it on the floor of the little man’s hole. The little man looked at it a bit apprehensively at first, but then he took a step over, picked it up, and started nibbling on it.

“Bon appetit,” Danny said. “What do you reckon to that?”

“Not bad,” I said. “Guess he likes his cheese.”

“Little fucker loves it.”

“Just like a rat, after all,” I said. “Let’s have a smoke.”

“Here,” Danny said. He rummaged around in his pocket, took out a wrap of skunk and a pack of rizzlas, and passed them to me. “I’m gonna keep trying this.”

So I rolled a spliff and smoked it while Danny tried to teach the little man more words, rewarding him with a tiny bit of cheese each time. Then I got bored and went home.

*

[Leroy the Legless Lady]

The next day I called in at Danny’s again on my way home from work. I found him sitting cross-legged near the hole again. The big yellow book was there, as was the cheese, but this time the little man was sitting at the edge of his hole, his feet dangling over the precipice. I noticed he’d taken his sandals off. He stood up when he saw me coming and took a tiny step back.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Not bad,” Danny said. He patted the floor next to him. “Pull up a pew. Cop a load of this.”

I went over and sat down next to Danny. He cleared his throat. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” I said.

“Okay,” Danny said. He cleared his throat again, then spoke to the little man. “Hello, little man!” he said. “It’s Danny! What’s your name?”

“Air-lo, Don-nee,” the little man said. He glanced at me, a bit apprehensively, when he said it. “Oy em lee-tle man.”

“Did you hear that?” Danny asked.

“Not bad,” I said.

“He’s coming along, isn’t he?”

“Can he say anything else?”

“Yep,” Danny said. “Listen to this.” He turned back to the little man. “What do you want, little man?” he asked.

“Chez,” the little man said. “Bitta chez.”

“Bit of cheese, he says,” Danny repeated, taking a little bit of cheese and holding it out for the little man. The little man reached for the cheese, then stopped himself, looking at me.

“Go ahead, little man,” Danny said. “Get your cheese.”

The little man reached out, took the cheese, and started nibbling on it.

“Not bad,” I said.

“That’s not all,” Danny said. “What do you say?” he asked the little man.

“Tank yer,” the little man said. A tiny bit of cheese flew out of his mouth when he said it.

“Thank you for what?” Danny asked.

“Chez,” the little man said. “Bitta chez. Tank yer bitta chez.”

“You’re very welcome,” Danny said. He turned back to me. “So. What do you reckon?”

“Not bad,” I said. “He’s not such a slow learner after all.”

“Nope,” Danny said. “He’s coming on now, the little geezer.”

“We having a smoke?”

“Hm?” Danny said. He was gazing, admiringly, at the little man.

“A smoke,” I said.

“Oh. Yeah. Over there.”

He pointed over at the windowsill. I walked over and got the rolling gear and rolled a spliff and smoked it while Danny went on practicing with the little man. Then I got bored and went home.

*

The next day I called in at Danny’s again after work. I found him in the same place, and went over and sat down next to him. “So,” I said. “What can the little fucker say now?”

“Little man,” Danny corrected me. “And you can see for yourself. Say hello to him.”

“Say what?”

“Say hello.”

“Hello, little man,” I said.

The little man looked at Danny, as if for reassurance. “Go on, little man,” Danny said to him. “Don’t be scared. Say it again, Harold.”

“Hello, little man,” I said.

“Air-lo, Air-rold,” the little man said.

“Ha!” Danny said, clapping his hands together. “What do you reckon to that?”

“Not bad,” I said.

“Bitta chez,” said the little man.

“Hold your horses,” Danny said. “Here.” He passed the little man some cheese. Then he pointed at me. “Who’s this, little man?” he asked the little man.

The little man looked at me. “Air-rold,” he said.

“That’s right,” Danny said. “And what do we say to Harold?”

The little man nibbled on his cheese, and looked at me.

“Little man,” said Danny. “What do we say to Harold?”

The little man looked at me. “Fack oaf, Air-rold,” he said.

“That’s right, little man!” Danny said. He laughed.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“I believe he told you to fuck off,” Danny said.

“Bitta chez,” the little man said.

Danny gave him some cheese.

“Tank yer,” the little man said.

“What do you reckon to that?” Danny said.

“You taught him that? You taught him to tell me to fuck off?”

“Nah,” Danny said. “He just made that up himself. I don’t think he likes you.”

I didn’t say anything. I watched the little man eating his cheese. Then Danny asked me if I wanted a smoke. I said I did, and rolled us a spliff. I smoked half of it, passed it to Danny, and said I’d better be going home. I said I was taking Carla out for something to eat. It was a lie.

“Bitta chez,” I heard the little man say as I was leaving.

*

The next day was a Saturday, so I had the day off work. I didn’t go round to Danny’s. Carla wanted to go to see her parents, so we did that. I called round on Sunday instead, but when I went into the front room he wasn’t there. I called his name but got no reply. My first thought was that the little man had done something to him, so I checked the clingfilm-covered hole to see if he was still there. He was. He was laid out on the floor, snoring quietly. I went upstairs and called Danny’s name again – quieter, this time. I didn’t hear any reply, but I heard running water coming from behind the bathroom door, so I went back downstairs to make myself a cup of coffee while I waited. While the kettle was boiling I opened the coffee jar and found it was empty, so I had a look through the cupboards to see if there was any more. I found the spraycan of RAT-EX in the cupboard under the sink. I picked it up and went through to the front room. I walked over to the little man’s hole, knelt down in front of it, and flicked the clingfilm a few times. The little man leapt up immediately and looked out at me, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“Hello, little man,” I said.

“Bitta chez,” the little man said.

“Fuck off,” I said.

He watched me curiously as I peeled back the clingfilm, picked up the RAT-EX, and sprayed it carefully into each corner of the hole. He shielded his eyes with the backs of his hands as I sprayed, then brought them down slowly when the spraying had stopped and peered around his hollow, as if he knew something had changed but wasn’t sure what it was. As I put the clingfilm carefully back over the hole, I watched as he sniffed the air around him. Then I looked at him.

“Bye bye, little man,” I said.

“Fark oaf, Air-rold,” he said. “Bitta chez.”

Then he coughed.

I stood up, put the RAT-EX back in the cupboard, and went to buy some coffee from the shop. When I got back Danny was in the front room. His hair was wet and he was naked apart from a towel that he’d wrapped around his waist. He looked at me blankly when I walked in, as though he didn’t know who I was. He was holding the little man in his hands.

“He’s dead,” Danny said, in a toneless kind of voice.

“He’s what?” I asked.

“Dead,” he said. “Look.”

He held the little man out for me to look at. I saw him lying flat on his back across the palms of Danny’s hands. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was slightly open, and his face was a strange greenish colour. He wasn’t wearing his sandals.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

Danny nodded.

“How?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Danny said. He looked down at the little man and shook his head. “Fuck,” he said. “Poor little bastard. Dead.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

Danny looked up at me. His mouth was hanging open. If I didn’t know better I would have said he was about to cry. “I don’t know,” he said.

*

We decided to bury the little man in Danny’s back garden. Danny found an old shoebox and lined it with cotton wool. Then he placed the little man inside it, very gently, and put the top on. He put the shoebox on the kitchen worktop and looked at it for a long time.

“Ready?” I said, after a while.

Danny took a deep breath, let it out, and nodded. “Ready.”

He picked up the shoebox and we headed out into the garden. Then, when he got to the door, he stopped, and said he’d forgotten something. I watched as he went back into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took some cheese out. He broke a little bit off and put it into the shoebox, then put the top back on.

“He loved his cheese,” he said to me.

“Yep,” I said.

“Bitta chez,” Danny said. “That’s what he used to say.”

“Yep,” I said. “Ready?”

Danny took another deep breath, let it out, and nodded. “Ready,” he said.

We took the shoebox out into the garden. It was getting late in the afternoon and the sky was a watery red. Danny dug a little hole at the end of the garden and placed the shoebox inside it. Then he filled the hole very slowly with soil, and stood looking at the patch where it was buried. After a few minutes a light drizzle started.

“Let’s go have a smoke for the little guy, hey?” I said after a while. “It’s raining.”

“All right,” Danny said.

So we went and smoked a spliff. I was going to stay for another one, but the atmosphere wasn’t exactly the best, so I went home instead.

[Jay]

This, with part 2, is so strange. You have a very colourless style of prose writing, but I mean that as a compliment - it suits the strange happenings in the story itself. It'd be even better if drugs weren't involved in the story, just so that it had optimum plausibility, but I think that need for plausibility is just my sense of humour.

[Alex Austin]

I like this. Funny and unsettling. I'm not sure what you're getting at (although betrayal did occur to me), but maybe you're not trying to get at anything.  I could see this working also as a one-act play.