They said he bled to death.
“He wrote you something while he was down there,” Cheryl said.
“He was always scribbling, that Barry. He’d write a letter to the Pope if he could get the address,” Stuart said. It was an old joke which made him tear up, thinking that Barry would have laughed at this one.
“He was hallucinating, they reckon. But still. You should read it.”
I thought you’d got through the wall, Stu. I didn’t hear you but heard a rock shift so thought you must be to my left. You wouldn’t answer me so I cracked the shits. I couldn’t turn my body but turned my face as far as I could, twisted my caplamp around to catch you. I figured you wanted to kill and eat me, that’s how stupid I was.
Wasn’t you.
My light went right through this thing. I could see it, though. Looked almost like a man, but stretched out like a piece of bubble gum or something. Or when you press blu-tak onto newspaper and get some print and stretch it out. Like that. He had long fingers, twice as long as mine. Dunno if you heard me scream but this thing freaked me out. It came at me and I would have pissed myself if I wasn’t already sitting in my own wet pants. It leaned forward and put its eyes real close to mine. Stared into me. I screamed my head off, no reason, just scared shitless. It came at me, touched my nose with its long finger, then it shook its head and drifted back.
I though, shit, it’s going to Stu, and I screamed louder. I wanted to warn you. But what do you do? I didn’t know what to tell you.
I don’t know if I’ll last until they find me. Tell my mates they did me proud and if you can find my mother tell her I’m sorry.
“Do you know anything about this long man, Stuart? Did you hear anything, see anything?” his wife asked him.
Stuart nodded. He spoke quietly. “I saw a man like that. I thought I must have imagined it. But maybe it was a ghost. Maybe someone died in there and he was looking at us, going, you’re not going to make it. No way. You’re going to die. Because he made me feel so bad I almost wanted to die.”
“That’s awful, Stuart. We’re so lucky to have you back.” He kissed her, as he did any chance he got. “Maybe keep it just between us for now. About this long man. Other people won’t understand it. Don’t tell the media types. Okay?”
“You think I’m crazy.”
“No, I don’t. But I know you and they don’t. Just keep it to the simple stuff, hey? Shouldn’t be hard for you!”
He discovered he was good at talking. Cheryl thought it was funny. “You’re a gabber now, Stuart. Couldn’t get ten words a day out of you beforehand!” She fixed his hair, getting him ready for the next press conference.
“Yeah, well, they’re always asking me for answers,” he said. He didn’t mind. It was always the same thing, so he didn’t have to think too hard. This one, the room was packed. They knew he was fully recovered and had some others to talk, too. The mine owner, who Stuart had never met. One of his rescuers. And some doctor, a psychologist.
They had a good go at the mine owner for a while about responsibilities and compensation, then they turned to Stuart.
“Did you always think you’d be found?”
“I always expected to be found. I’m a bit like that. I expect I’m gonna get good luck. Just that kind of person. All credit to the rescuers, though. I can’t believe those guys, still can’t believe what they did. We’ll be friends for life because of it.”
The rescuer next to him clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Was there any time you wanted to give up?”
He thought of the long gray man and the feelings of despair he’d left behind. They wouldn’t believe him if he talked about that, think he was mad.
“Nah. I just thought of my wife’s pot roast and that got me through.”
“What is it you’ve got? Why did you survive and not Barry?”
“I can’t answer that.”
The psychologist stepped in. “There are many reasons why people survive. For Stuart, he had thoughts of his family to sustain him. Barry didn’t have that, and studies have shown it makes a difference. Also, Stuart was less dramatic in his actions. Maybe he thought ahead a bit more, and maybe Barry thought he could get out of it.”
“You’re saying it’s Barry’s fault he was trapped? His own fault he died?”
“No. Not at all. But the fact is that Stuart thought it through and trusted the rescuers.”
“Do you think yourself lucky, Stuart?”
“Couldn’t be luckier,” Stuart said. “Luckiest man left alive.”
“I’m sure your rescuers will be happy to hear that. Do you feel any sense of obligation to them? Do you owe them anything?”
“Yeah, look they’re all spread out around the place, but they can come to my place for a feed any time they like. And you know what I really owe them? I owe them a good life.”
He and the rescuer shook hands, and the cheering of the audience went on for two minutes.
“What do you say to the idea that some people don’t survive because they may have died helping others?”
“Yeah, well, if I coulda helped Barry survive I would have.”
“What about his food? Is it true you ate his food?”
“Yeah, I ate his food. He couldn’t get to it and it was only going off. That’s not what killed him.”
The psychologist said, “It is true that often it is the survivors don’t help others. Especially in times of famine. Survivors are the ones who will take food from a child’s mouth.”
Stuart felt stunned. He wasn’t sure how the conversation had turned against him and what a hero he was, but it seemed it had.
“All I did was survive,” he said. “No one had to die for me to survive. I did it because I love my family, I love my life, and I wanted to get here on TV for the free beer I’ve heard about.”
With that, he had the audience back.
Afterwards, there was plenty of beer drunk. The crew took him out to the local pub and he was there long after they left. People had watched the interview and they all wanted to talk to him about it.
“If only we could bottle what you’ve got, there’d be no little kiddies dying of cancer,” people said to him more often than he wanted to hear.
“If only we could bottle it, you’d be a rich man.”
“If only we could bottle it, we’d save the world.”
They thought he had some magic power, that it wasn’t a willingness to drink your own piss and a great desire to have proper sex with your wife again, it was something else. Something they couldn’t have.
He took drink well but even he was feeling a bit woozy by around midnight. By three am, the pub was almost empty. He could no longer remember who he’d spoken to, so when a sad-faced man said hello, he nodded and went back to his beer.
“Hello, Stuart,” the man said again. His voice was soft. It had an amused tone, as if he knew more than other people, found something amusing. Stuart no longer wondered how people knew his name. Plenty of them did. He rather liked the celebrity. He’d always enjoyed making connections with people all over.
Stuart looked at him this time. “Do I know you?” he asked.
His teeth were bright, white and even. Clearly false. His hair, pale blonde, sat flat on his head. He smelt strongly of aftershave, the kind Stuart used to smell wafting out of the cars while he waited for the bus. His mouth drooped. Sad man, Stuart thought.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay. Bit tired.”
The man moved so that he looked directly into Stuart’s eyes. Stuart froze. This was how the apparition in the cave had looked at him. With this intensity. He was used to people staring at him greedily, but this was different. The sad face, the long arms. Long, long fingers.