Molton Aggregates Informal Statement #0022 by Michael Conley

I think we did everything we could possibly have done.

The rolled-up carpet was much taller than the man, and he was carrying it diagonally across his chest, with the top lolling over his right shoulder and the bottom curled around his left hip.  

Certainly, we spotted him nice and early, staggering down the long gravel path towards our booth at the barrier. We had plenty of time to remind each other of the required response: as per Director Hodges’ instructions, we were to stop any intruders at the quarry entrance and ask them to state their business. Then, no matter what that business was, we were to turn them away and make it clear that nobody was to enter the quarry under any circumstances, even with written permission.  

We agreed that Andersen would do the talking, and I would remain a silent but authoritative presence in the background.

If I were to criticize anything about Andersen’s approach, which, let’s be clear, I’m not, then perhaps he asked the man carrying the carpet to state his business a little too early. Andersen kind of shouted it at him as soon as the man was in earshot, but still quite far away, which in some way seemed to lend the man an advantage.

The man shouted back, without breaking stride, “My business is delivering this carpet I’ve got here.” I suppose the way he said it made us feel as though the question had been a stupid one, which put us on the back foot. Even at this distance, in the paleness of the moonlight, we could both see that it was a beautiful carpet.

It was at this point that I started to suspect there was a person hidden in the carpet, and I think Andersen did too. I thought it was clever how Andersen didn’t challenge him on it straightaway, but instead asked him if he wanted any help carrying his carpet, as a kind of way to let him know we were onto him.  

The man, slightly out of breath by this point, said, “No, you can’t help. Only I know how to do it without damaging the delicate fibres.” I suppose that response was fair enough: neither of us were trained in that sort of area, but again, the way he said it did discourage us slightly, as though he was the expert and we were just a pair of dumb big-handed apes who couldn’t be trusted not to break things.

There was a silence then — we could hear some night birds calling from the direction of the pines, and the heavy breathing of the man as he continued his slow approach. Andersen turned to look at me, but we could hardly strategise openly in front of him. I suppose I could’ve given Andersen some kind of signal. But what were we going to do, just outright ask “Have you got a person rolled up in that?”  Yeah, right. 

As the man arrived at the barrier, Andersen began the prepared response: “Under no circumstances is anyone to be admitted, etc etc.” 

The man stood in front of the booth, listening politely. He looked Andersen in the eye, then past Andersen’s shoulder, toward me. There was sweat on his brow and I could see the skin of his fingertips turning white where they dug into the carpet. Andersen finished his spiel and the man remained standing in front of the booth with the carpet.  

This is the only point at which my account is likely to differ substantively from Andersen’s: he swears he saw the carpet move, which I am certain I did not. He swears the carpet emitted a sort of strangled human yelp, whereas I am certain it did not.

I said to the man, “You know we should really make you unroll that. Just to check.”  

The man smiled. “After the week I’ve had?” he asked. That’s what decided it. Neither of us had exactly covered ourselves in glory that week either. Andersen hit the button to open the barrier, and if he hadn’t, then I would have.

From the comfort of the booth, we watched him make his way down to the bottom end of the quarry until he was out of sight. I think we did everything we could possibly have done.

………………..

Michael Conley is a prose writer and poet from Manchester, UK. His work has appeared in a variety of magazines, and his first collection of short stories, Flare and Falter, was published by Splice in 2019 and longlisted for the Edge Hill Prize. He has a pamphlet of poetry forthcoming with Nine Pens in May 2021.

Twitter: @mickconley.