Section Five
Dear Sis,
Long time no speak.
I've been trying to get all this stuff together but it's all a sprawling mess. Just like this city. Just like my mind at the moment. What it needs is a good editor. Just like this city and just like my mind at the moment, in fact, but I think that those two are beyond all redemption, and as for this mess I'm trying to convey, there are probably only two people who could do the job, and you are one of them. And you know who the other one is, I fancy.
I've heard she's coming out here. I should ask you to try to stop her, but I know it will do no good. I know when she's coming, and there's not much time, so please arrange to let her have everything. If she's prepared to accept it, that is.
God knows what she might find when she gets here. If she finds me.
I'm holed-up here, in a place of no light and much noise.
At night the police sirens keep me company and the sudden silence wakes me up.
Good friends are just about keeping me afloat but I honestly don't know where to turn.
It's all turned against me.
There's no alley I can turn up with comfort anymore.
It was all within my grasp but now it's all folded away from me.
I need to slip away but I don't know how.
I'm stuffed. I'm knackered. Sometimes I take a chance and stretch my legs out as far as the piazza where the stray cats howl and I sit on the steps and count the stray humans like me; parasites like me.
I seem to be walking these streets looking for a soul - my own, or any one else's - and all I see is people running around looking for a soul - their own, or anyone else's.
But don't worry. I survive. I slip from pillar to post. I stay one step ahead.
I'll be in touch soon.
Take care.
All my love,
John.
Message ends. She stopped the machine. -Oh, John, always looking for your everlasting soul. -God, I miss you and I hope to hell you're all right and I hope to God I find you, but you can be an appallingly pompous little shit at times.
She reached for the handle.
-Flush flush flushed with success our heroine returns to her place. "Excuse me. Thank you." And back to the seat, avoiding eye-contact with the Signora, grunting with pain slightly as she eased her leg past her. She changed tapes again, back to the Bach and pressed the start button with rather too much gusto. She took out the folder again and resumed her reading. She presses the stop button with a firm click.
She pauses a while, then turns and returns to her seat, looking at the carpet, not at me.
There are biscuit crumbs on her cardigan sleeve. I long to wipe them off. She looks up.
"Well, there you have it. Whatever he feels, he feels it for you still."
"Yes," I mutter, then
"How does he know ..." we both start simultaneously, look/feel puzzled, then lapse into silence.
"OK," I venture, "let's do this a word at a time."
"That"
"I'm" "You're"
"Going"
"To"
"Naples?" we roar, triumphant in the shared sisterliness of a dead-heat.
Then realise.
"Yeah, how the hell does he know?"
"Have you told many people?"
"The travel agent. Quite a few people at the University, including my flatmate. No-one else to tell, really. Not anymore. Hey, this is pretty damned sinister. What do you think?"
"I think that this is a bad idea. Janey, when you first came here, I didn't realise that you hadn't been in touch for while. So I thought that, even if he hadn't replied to me, he'd actually received some communication from you. As you say, this is pretty damned sinister."
The mild swear word sounds uneasy yet sincere on her tongue.
"Janey, I think he's in great danger and I'm worried sick about him. But I don't want to get you involved as well. If I'd realised, I wouldn't have asked."
"Well, it's none of your bloody business to decide!" I snap. Then, instantly, regret it. I reach across, hold her. "Hey, I'm sorry. Listen I'm sorry. I care about him too. And I'm shit-scared just at the thought of going to Naples on my own, let alone all this. But I need to do it. A woman's got to do what a woman's got to do. I need to do it for me as well as for him. I need to stop evading things, to stop going with the flow. But now I do need to do it for him as well."
Did I say all this?
OK, notebook. Guilty.
We just hugged each other as the light dimmed down outside.
Then I stood up. Swallowed my half-cup of cold coffee, picked up the sealed envelope - it rustled in my hand - I couldn't bring myself to open it and it's unopened as I write - put all my bundles in the rucksack, walked to the door, stood on the doorstep, shook her hand, kissed her on both cheeks, promised to stay in touch, then walked to the bus-stop.
Long time no speak.
I've been trying to get all this stuff together but it's all a sprawling mess. Just like this city. Just like my mind at the moment. What it needs is a good editor. Just like this city and just like my mind at the moment, in fact, but I think that those two are beyond all redemption, and as for this mess I'm trying to convey, there are probably only two people who could do the job, and you are one of them. And you know who the other one is, I fancy.
I've heard she's coming out here. I should ask you to try to stop her, but I know it will do no good. I know when she's coming, and there's not much time, so please arrange to let her have everything. If she's prepared to accept it, that is.
God knows what she might find when she gets here. If she finds me.
I'm holed-up here, in a place of no light and much noise.
At night the police sirens keep me company and the sudden silence wakes me up.
Good friends are just about keeping me afloat but I honestly don't know where to turn.
It's all turned against me.
There's no alley I can turn up with comfort anymore.
It was all within my grasp but now it's all folded away from me.
I need to slip away but I don't know how.
I'm stuffed. I'm knackered. Sometimes I take a chance and stretch my legs out as far as the piazza where the stray cats howl and I sit on the steps and count the stray humans like me; parasites like me.
I seem to be walking these streets looking for a soul - my own, or any one else's - and all I see is people running around looking for a soul - their own, or anyone else's.
But don't worry. I survive. I slip from pillar to post. I stay one step ahead.
I'll be in touch soon.
Take care.
All my love,
John.
Message ends. She stopped the machine. -Oh, John, always looking for your everlasting soul. -God, I miss you and I hope to hell you're all right and I hope to God I find you, but you can be an appallingly pompous little shit at times.
She reached for the handle.
-Flush flush flushed with success our heroine returns to her place. "Excuse me. Thank you." And back to the seat, avoiding eye-contact with the Signora, grunting with pain slightly as she eased her leg past her. She changed tapes again, back to the Bach and pressed the start button with rather too much gusto. She took out the folder again and resumed her reading. She presses the stop button with a firm click.
She pauses a while, then turns and returns to her seat, looking at the carpet, not at me.
There are biscuit crumbs on her cardigan sleeve. I long to wipe them off. She looks up.
"Well, there you have it. Whatever he feels, he feels it for you still."
"Yes," I mutter, then
"How does he know ..." we both start simultaneously, look/feel puzzled, then lapse into silence.
"OK," I venture, "let's do this a word at a time."
"That"
"I'm" "You're"
"Going"
"To"
"Naples?" we roar, triumphant in the shared sisterliness of a dead-heat.
Then realise.
"Yeah, how the hell does he know?"
"Have you told many people?"
"The travel agent. Quite a few people at the University, including my flatmate. No-one else to tell, really. Not anymore. Hey, this is pretty damned sinister. What do you think?"
"I think that this is a bad idea. Janey, when you first came here, I didn't realise that you hadn't been in touch for while. So I thought that, even if he hadn't replied to me, he'd actually received some communication from you. As you say, this is pretty damned sinister."
The mild swear word sounds uneasy yet sincere on her tongue.
"Janey, I think he's in great danger and I'm worried sick about him. But I don't want to get you involved as well. If I'd realised, I wouldn't have asked."
"Well, it's none of your bloody business to decide!" I snap. Then, instantly, regret it. I reach across, hold her. "Hey, I'm sorry. Listen I'm sorry. I care about him too. And I'm shit-scared just at the thought of going to Naples on my own, let alone all this. But I need to do it. A woman's got to do what a woman's got to do. I need to do it for me as well as for him. I need to stop evading things, to stop going with the flow. But now I do need to do it for him as well."
Did I say all this?
OK, notebook. Guilty.
We just hugged each other as the light dimmed down outside.
Then I stood up. Swallowed my half-cup of cold coffee, picked up the sealed envelope - it rustled in my hand - I couldn't bring myself to open it and it's unopened as I write - put all my bundles in the rucksack, walked to the door, stood on the doorstep, shook her hand, kissed her on both cheeks, promised to stay in touch, then walked to the bus-stop.
© 2006 by Adrian Benson
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