Stewart Devitt was born in Belfast, worked and played there and in Dublin, donning the jerseys of Instonians and Bective Rangers rugby clubs. An experienced training professional, specialising in communication and personal development, he lived in Auckland for 15 years and is now back in Helensburgh, Scotland, where he can devote more time to writing, a lifelong hobby, and pleasure.
A diminishing return
By Stewart Devitt
Twelve years have passed since I last cast eyes on Alfernando. I had always deemed him a little different from other acquaintances although it is inappropriate to go into greater details here. That I feel would be unjust to a man of integrity and indeed I must also acknowledge that we are all different in some way. I often wonder how others look upon me. There is a tendency still to keep inner thoughts hidden and we are perhaps too polite, or wary of offending, to express clearly and honestly how we feel.
Alfernando always seemed a strange name to me although I must admit to withholding my curiosity and asking about its origin. Calling him Alf became normal and this he accepted with usual good humour, occasionally smiling and with a shrug of the shoulders quietly saying, “Alf, Alf, of dear, what has happened to my heritage, where has Alfernando Van Muster disappeared to?” It was left at that, no more, no less. A point had been made and embarrassment prevented any follow up question.
Today’s meeting was unexpected; no contact had taken place since the end of the contract. Memories of our five earlier years spent in developing the encampment had found their way into the depth of my subconscious. I had been leader although when it came to the reality the local teachers, children and councillors showed more affinity, indeed affection, to Alfernando. Decisions made, when passed down, seldom were actioned without his agreement. A smiling acknowledgement or a gentle nod of the head indicated all could proceed. On the other hand, a bottom lip becoming tighter or covering the top one could result in questions, queries, concerns being raised as activity slowed down or stopped.
Issues arising were never resolved without his intervention or mediation. Sometimes he talked at such a speed that it sounded he was using a foreign language, unknown to the rest of us, and we were at a loss to understand the meaning. Yet the tribes adapted to this and obviously could follow his thinking. We questioned him frequently about this and again that charming smile would be prominent as he briefly explained, “It is a language of the little people, they understand it.” No further explanation was ever forthcoming and as things usually settled down after such discussions, we were content to accept the resulting benefits.
On my way here I had attempted to calculate how old he must be. When we first met, he looked very young although I doubt if all the knowledge and experience he displayed could have been accumulated in less than forty years. When documentation required details of age, he always left it blank and if pressed for more information repeatedly stated “If they want something just write ‘many moons’.” The smile again signalled no follow up questions and the response led to the nickname Moon Man becoming established, although it was never used in his presence.
It was my job to write regular reports on our progress and this important, if onerous, task had to be undertaken every month. After the initial period I suggested and encouraged the other three members to take turns in compiling the reports. My two close colleagues jumped at the chance whilst Alfernando was more apprehensive. Peer pressure however won through and he agreed to get involved. I read all reports before signing and sending them off and when it came to Alfernando I was initially taken aback. Written in clear and big lettering the page had been turned around so as the longest sides became the top and bottom. This in itself would have caused only a minor lifting of the eyes by my superiors; however, the writing started from the bottom left-hand corner, moving neatly up to the top right-hand corner. It was necessary to tilt the page round to the right to more easily read the report and a triangle of blank space was left on the page. When queried about this strange format the shoulders gave that little shrug and he said he had always written that way and had been taught to do so by his educators.
We laughed at the reaction back at headquarters if these reports landed on their desks. “It’s like an alien letter”, remarked Alan. “Written by a Moon Man”, added Charles. However, we acknowledged the quality of the reports, more precise and detailed than ours, so to save any embarrassment I always rewrote the report before despatching it. The procedure was repeated any time Alfernando compiled the report without letting him know.
On entering the room I immediately sensed an atmosphere of uncertainty. There were five groups, all in their own space, talking softly and occasionally glancing discreetly around to check what was happening elsewhere. One group consisted of two people and I instantly recognised them as Alan and Charles despite the years that had passed since we last met. It felt good to see them and our greetings were warm and friendly. Glasses of a reddish orange liquid were offered by a waiter who said the drink was specially selected by Alfernando. It had the strange sounding name of Goldrimson and apparently had been extremely difficult to source and came in very small individual bottles. It was not long before the spaces in the room disappeared as groups mingled together and began exchanging information on their relationships with Alfernando. It transpired all had at some time been involved in cultural or educational projects with him over the past 20 years and all had been surprised to receive the invitation to attend tonight.
Stories told indicated Alfernando was seen as a warm and friendly person if somewhat different and difficult to get to know; “his writing”, “his clothes”, “the way he speaks”, “the pills he takes”, “how old is he?” “where does he come from?” All these thoughts were interrupted as the side door of the room opened and there stood Alfernando, greyer in hair, looking smaller and slightly stooped although still with that discerning smile in place.
Moving towards a lectern under a spotlight and beside a large screen he began to speak effusively thanking everyone for attending and for allowing him to share their lives with him at various times. Now he said it was time to say farewell. He held aloft a box of pills, the image which was also projected on to the screen.
These he explained were Norwigg pills from his own country and he had been given them to use in a pilot experiment. The supply he had initially received had been considered enough for 5 years, sufficient the professors had said to gauge their suitability and assess health risks. There had been a miscalculation and the pills had in fact lasted 20 years and he had taken full advantage of this. Now they had finally come to an end and he must go home to report back. There may well be some retribution or condemnation for his delay and he believed articles had already been drawn up against him. He was prepared to accept his fate.
The effect of not taking the pills would be evident quickly now that he had been without them for the past forty-eight hours. The timing of this gathering had been specially arranged to coincide with his final withdrawal symptoms. As he spoke, he visibly began to shrink, slowly at first and when it seemed he had completely disappeared the sound system automatically switched on.
“Take care where you stand, I am against the bottom of the lectern. Put me in the box beside me and take me to the courier so I may return home”.
We could see exactly where he was from the image now projected on the screen and being nearest to the lectern I bent down, carefully picked him up, stood him on the palm of my right hand before placing him in the box which was lined with duck feathers and had pin holes evenly spaced around the sides. Sealing it with the tape provided we all looked quizzically at the address which simply said, Alfernando Van Muster, Pullilti, Near Van Diemen Islands.
The Galway Review 