The Paper Lovers
Page 24
Mum
Dad
David
David, it turned out, was his brother, who had emigrated to Australia. What about his friends from college, she asked his parents. Was there no one else? Yes, they said, there were other people they could ask. Ryan seems to have forgotten he has any friends, his mother said, but they are still there, and they still love him. They would be proud of him. And so his parents handled the delicate task of inviting people who loved Ryan. Would Ryan be prepared to read some of his own poems at the launch? His mother thought that yes, if he felt strong enough, he would love to be able to read some his poems aloud.
The regular attenders of their book launches could be relied upon to provide additional audience. She invited some of her own friends. People from the sewing evenings came, wearing their latest creations. It didn’t take many people to fill the little venue, once they had cleared away the display tables and put out the chairs. There was already a buzzing crowd by the time Martin arrived. He came with his parents. It wasn’t that they were holding him up, rather they were standing either side of him, as if ready to be there if he should fall. He was still visibly the young man she had last seen dressed in a suit of paper, haranguing her customers. Yet he looked older now. Perhaps it was the beard, fuller than it had been then. He was thin, or thinner. She glimpsed fresh scars on his wrists.
Polly hugged him. He almost disappeared under the pressure of her embrace, and he gave a little sigh. She had pushed the air out of his lungs.
‘I am so glad you have agreed to read some of your poems. Are you pleased with the book? I can’t believe we haven’t met before.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ he replied. He was holding a copy in his slender, slightly trembling fingers, and he admired it again. ‘I never thought I would see it.’
His parents were nearby, close to the table where some olives and nuts had been put out. She acknowledged them and they smiled. They had a slightly dazed air about them, as if unable to quite believe what had happened and so quickly, from making a simple enquiry about a stray manuscript, to the launch of their son’s first book of poetry.
‘I’m so looking forward to hearing you read these,’ Polly said.
There was a calmness about Martin now. She wondered if he was on tranquillizers, or whether having his book published had had a soothing effect on him. The only moment of agitation was when he mentioned Arnold.
‘Is Mr Proctor here?’
‘No, he’s not.’
Martin looked disappointed.
‘He didn’t seem to have any hand in making this book. Mum and Dad said they only dealt with you.’
‘That’s right, Arnold’s gone away.’
‘Someone told me he is in Africa.’
‘Yes, I believe he is.’
‘You’re not sure?’
‘I am sure he would be very happy with the book we’ve produced. It will always be special to him. I know that.’
Later, Polly took her place at the front, before the audience that was now seated.
‘Thank you all so much for coming this evening. As you know, we at the Papyrus Press specialize in producing poetry pamphlets of the highest quality, both in terms of their poetry – and I think there can be none higher where Martin’s poems are concerned – and in terms of their paper. We produce paper specifically for the book. In that way, every one of our publications is unique, not only for the words they contain, but for the paper on which they are printed. I feel the Papyrus Press has been very lucky, privileged even, to have the opportunity to publish Martin’s poetry. When I first read his poems – I have to say I fell in love. They were poems by someone who had a very special feeling for paper itself. When you read these beautiful poems, and when you hear them later, you will see that Martin – I think some of you will know him as Ryan – thinks about paper in a way that is very original and very unusual. I’m not sure that I have met someone who thinks about paper so deeply. And so I realized that the paper we made for Martin’s book would have to be very special indeed. And so we made the paper from a very special pulp that incorporates real papyrus, grown on the banks of the Nile, which I have had imported specially from an Egyptian manufacturer – yes, you can still find it and indeed there are papyri still being made to this day. But despite the fact that the name of this shop is Papyrus, we have never used papyrus in our paper before. So I am glad to say that not only does Martin’s book represent a wonderful new addition to the family of Papyrus Press Poets, it actually legitimates the press and the shop by using the product after which it is named. What can be more wonderful and fitting than that, for a book made of paper, about paper, by people who love paper?’ There was a pause while the audience nodded agreement, and murmured interestedly. The poet was sitting a little nervously on the front row, ready to take his place before the audience. ‘And so now, I would like to introduce the extraordinary poet whose debut collection, The Paper Lovers, is launched tonight – please welcome, Martin Guerre.’
There was vigorous applause and some whoops from the back of the room as Martin shakily lifted himself from his seat, stepped to the front and then turned to face the audience. A silence fell. Then, in a hesitant, at times barely audible but beautiful voice, he read his poems.
Gerard Woodward is a prize-winning writer of poetry, short stories and a number of novels, including an acclaimed trilogy comprising August (shortlisted for the 2001 Whitbread First Novel Award), I’ll Go to Bed at Noon (shortlisted for the 2004 Man Booker Prize) and A Curious Earth. He was born in London in 1961. He is Professor of Creative Writing at Bath Spa University.
ALSO BY GERARD WOODWARD
August
I’ll Go to Bed at Noon
A Curious Earth
Caravan Thieves
Nourishment
Vanishing
Legoland
Poetry
Householder
After the Deafening
Island to Island
We Were Pedestrians
The Seacunny
First published 2018 by Picador
This electronic edition published 2018 by Picador
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
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Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-4797-6
Copyright © Gerard Woodward 2018
Design by Stuart Wilson, Pan Macmillan art department
Author photograph © Charlie Hopkinson
The right of Gerard Woodward to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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