The Cybergypsies

by Indra Sinha

  I go on the net to look for pictures. Dozens of websites flash up, touting Fu Manchu moustaches, beards, false eyebrows, wigs, bugs, surveillance items, pen-shaped cameras. There are recorders for taping telephone calls. Here’s something I really need, because I am due to do a long telephone interview with Don McCullin, also for an Amnesty ad, and can’t think of a reliable way to record our conversation. The internet sites also offer shock weapons for sale. You can get electric batons, just as in Martyn’s programme. One store offers a pocket-sized device, which looks like a shaver, but delivers a jolt of 300,000 volts. All these things are of course for self-defence. The quality of pictures on the websites is not good enough. If only I could get hold of one of these things, just long enough to photograph it. Then it occurs to me, why not just buy one? All it takes is a credit card.

  A few days later a package arrives from the States. In it is my battery operated call recorder, and a shiny black 300,000 volt stun gun. The vendor has enclosed an invoice for my accountant, marked PAID. On the invoice, someone has helpfully scrawled in biro, ‘For best results, use Duracell batteries’.

  Conversation with Don McCullin – part I

  Bear: Well, we’re rolling again and, er, so everything that you and I are saying now is going on tape . . . we were talking about the killings you witnessed in Beirut . . .

  Don: The old, famous cheery question is ‘Do you ever help anyone’? In Beirut they killed several hundred Palestinians one day. I saw some of them being killed, but there was no way that camera was going up to my eye because one man came up and he said ‘If you take any pictures you’ll be killed and I suggest you leave this area.’ When I started leaving I heard this music, this lute and they were celebrating a dead Palestinian girl about twenty years old lying in the winter muddy rainy kind of street. I thought my God, if I take this picture it could cost me my life. I looked over my shoulder very furtively and quickly and I thought I cannot walk past this, and I whipped that camera to my eye and took one frame and ran out of that place. As I was leaving I heard somebody pleading and then I heard this gun fire and I saw an old man just falling back, he was shot in the stomach at point blank range. I thought I must get out of here.

  Bear: I’m looking at the picture in your book as we’re talking . . .

  Don: You know, when you walk away from those situations you thank God you’re alive, you feel guilty about being alive because someone else paid the price for this mayhem and when you get back to your hotel room sometimes you’re in a deep shock and, you know, you go to your room and you’re somehow destroyed. Look, I’ll tell you something. I’m a tough guy but . . . um . . . I have often wept . . . That day in Beirut . . . they dragged these families out of a house . . . they got the men out first and then the families were brought down the stairs and as they came down they were looking at . . . at these two men standing in the stairwell with their hands up. Then the families were taken round the corner. I went with them, and I came rushing back just in time to see the two men being shot in cold blood at point blank range. I . . . I think I may have said to you before, the one thing I’ll never forget to this day, that one of them, he had an Astrakhan hat on and a kind of light raincoat, as he dropped he was saying ‘Allah, Allah, Allah’. It was as if the last air in his body was calling for God. And I went into the stairwell and you know, I went upstairs, up the stairwell and I gripped the rail and I said to myself, you know, take a hold of yourself, because this is only the beginning of . . . of . . . what’s going to happen here today.

  Bear: In your picture, I think they know what’s going to happen.

  Don: You walk round a corner and the most extraordinary things can be going on. Several corners and you see nothing, and then you walk round a corner . . . I went up to this man – I had spent the day with him before – this gunman from East Beirut and I said ‘What’s going on with these men?’ and he said ‘They’re going to get the chop’ and I said ‘No please don’t do this’. I said ‘You know, the press are here, everyone can see what you’re doing, this is wrong, please don’t do this’. He said ‘My friend, go away, it is none of your business’ and they took these men into the yard. I pushed in behind. It had been raining overnight and this old factory yard was all wet and damp and there was this kind of weird sky and we were all wearing blue ribbons tied to our arms so the people I was with wouldn’t shoot each other. I saw one of the men looking at a gunman who was loading a fresh magazine into his rifle – I’ve often tried to transplant myself into that man’s position. The shock of fear that goes through you when you think you’re going to be killed is just . . . unthinkable. It’s unthinkable. To see people about to be murdered is appalling because there is nothing you can do on their behalf . . . they plead, you know, with their eyes. When they see you their eyes get bigger, appealing to you to help, to get them out of this terrible situation and there is nothing you can do. You lose something of yourself when you see people die. I mean, when you see a man being shot in a doorway and he is looking at you and crying, you are naked. You are naked. You don’t have implements at hand to protect this man, help this man, shield this man. You know, one man dying in front of another man is a kind of naked experience, believe me. You don’t have any feelings of normality, you’re totally destroyed.

  Bear: No wonder people don’t want to feel these things.

  Don: The tragedy of my work in the past was I could never save the people I photographed. That was the biggest, probably the biggest negative side of the whole of my last thirty years in photography, photographing wars and revolutions. They needed to be saved but I couldn’t save them. Many of the people in my photographs are giving one last look at . . . the victims look curious as if they... they see something that I . . . as if they can help me... as if they think I’m the one who’s the victim. If you look at a lot of my pictures closely.

  Bear: You mean as if they’re trying to help you in some way?

  Don: They’re trying to co-operate, obviously and what they are trying to say is look at me, look what they have done to me, please tell the world what they have done to me.

  Bear: They wanted you to be their witness . . .

  Don: The dead leave their own statement and my photograph is their statement. It’s not their choice to give their statement in that fashion . . . But that’s the way . . . that . . . that’s the only alternative that’s left for them.

  Ecstasy and agony in squeaky voices

  Disappointed by my failure to shine at virtual sex, Lilith sends me a ‘spool’, that is to say, a recording of the time she met her ‘Vortex husband’, Pierrot. ‘Don’t snigger when you read it. The sex was better than my “real” marriage. Afterwards, ot nyevo ostalas odna tyen, the poor man was a shadow of his former self.’

  The spool, when printed out, fills thirty-three pages. She has given it to me raw, unrefined, as it originally appeared on her screen. This means that things she was in the middle of typing to Pierrot are mixed up with things he was typing to her. It needs decoding. The sentences, which look as if they have been blown to bits by a bomb, make sense to the practised eye of a Vorticist.

  >‘_ _ Lilith says “what do you like to do with it exactly?”. >Lilith grins in a rather mischievous manner.

  >whisper li sometimes like today I am very loving.... >whisper li but sometimes I _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ >Lilith says “...sometimes..?” >whisper li sometimes I try to stop people loving me >whisper li and afterwards I want them to love me more_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Lilith says “is that why Bilquis didnt marry you?” >shake >Lilith whispers in your ear “what does the other side do?”

  >em whispers li_ _ _ please forgive me......

  >_Lilith says “you can’t have any habits more...interesting...than Pompadora’s”.

  >Lilith says “you dont EAT people?”. >shake You shake your head in disag
reement.

  >em takes the little bottle and carefully fills Lil’s belly button with sweet smelling oil

  >Lilith says “you don’t kill them?” >whisper li_ _ _ _ n no – >Lilith shrinks a little from the feel of cool wetness_ _ _ _ _ >Lilith whispers in your ear “it cant be that bad...”

  >whisper li it is just that I intend to use the_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ >sigh You sigh sadly. >Lilith strokes you gently. >Lilith says “tell me!”

  >whisper why is it that I always fall in love with them? >em puts his left forefinger into the well of oil and wriggles it gently from side to side >Lilith’s lashes fall and shadow her cheeks >em whispers is that too internal for you? >grin li You give Lilith a mischievous grin. >Lilith whispers in your ear “its ...acceptable.”.

  If there’s one thing the spool demonstrates, apart from the astonishing hydra-like resilience of language, it is the patience of these roleplayers. Lilith and Pierrot meet on page one. He cuts a dash in a beret and a riding crop. She laughs at him and his Gallic arrogance irritates her, but she is secretly taken with the handsome young stranger. He then offends by chucking her under the chin with his riding crop. One does not take this sort of liberty with Lilith. Bond-girl fashion she pulls a stiletto from a hidden sheath. His charming apology occupies most of pages two and three. It is page six before she accepts (tentatively and not without a certain coy insincerity) his invitation to share a sauna at Pompadora’s. The excerpt I have quoted comes from this part of the action. They spend four steamy pages talking (mostly about Vortex people and events while he oils her back and she wonders whether to permit him greater familiarities. On page six we encounter the description I saw in the salon with the Pompeii murals: ‘Lilith smells faintly of rosewater and jasmine’. Pierrot is surprised (as am I) to glimpse a flash of silver at the lips below her mound. It proves to be a small dragon brooch, but Pierrot’s dipping, circling, teasing fingers do not touch it until page eight. On page ten Pierrot receives sighing permission to unfasten the brooch. The following page reminds me of the ur-Lilith’s refusal to lie down beneath her mate.

  >_Lilith kneels on the floor her eyes on yours >em moves behind you, he pus_ _ ts his arms around you and nuzzles your_ _ _ _ _ >Lilith leans back against you breathing faster with excitement >em kisses your neck >_Lilith moans and shivers against >em strokes his arms down to x_ _cup your breasts >whisper li I am going to fu....f>Lilith reaches back to stroke you >em pushes against you >Lilith feels your_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Lilith rubs her>em pushes your_ _ forward, rubbingh_ _ _ himself agaisnt your >ems hands slide down_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Lilith puts her arms down and lays her head on them leaving her bottom_ _ _ _ _ >ems hands slide down around your hips his >as it pushes back into him > ...high in the air >... fingers seeking, searching >whisper li Are you ready to be;ems fingers pushe_ _ _ _ _ up bet_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Lilith moves opening her >whisper li Are you ready then?;ems fingers push up between >em takes his_ _ _ _ >Lilith whispers in your ear “yes”. >your legs – plunging into your >ems fingers push up between your_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Lilith whispers in your ear “yes”. wetness Lilith> twisting and turning _ems fingers push up between your_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ whispers in your ear “yes”. >twisting and turning >em takes his co_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ >between yo_ _ _ _ _ _ >his hand away_ _ _ _ _ _ >Lilith whispers in your e_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ onto his coc_ _ _ co_ _>taking it in his hand_ _ _ _ _ _ _ the tu_ ip between your we_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Lilith is still sticky and slippery with excitement >_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ to his coc_ _ co_ _ >Lilith whispers in your ear “yes”. >whisper li_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ >whisper li Yes what? >Lilith pushes back against you raising her hips to make entry easier >em in one har_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Lilith shudders with wanting you and ready >_ _ _ _ _ _ pulling you back against him he_ _ _ _ _ _ _ with his hands on your hips he whispers in your ear “yes I am ready and want you”. >Lilith >em plung_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ starts to f_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ fuck_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ >em pulls back then p_ _ _ shoves back in in a single movemebnt_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ent, slapping against your >_Lilith moves against you her hips are swaying backwards and forwards and from side to side..>e harder and harder, his breath _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Lilith feels stretched_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ pressing through the folds deliciously >em ksyou harder and harder, his breathing becoming heavy and ragged >em ehidper_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ whu_ _ ispers take that_ _ _ _ _ _ em groans and mutter_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ whs_ _impers “Take that_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Lilith squeezes you i_ _ _ _ _ _ _ em groans and mut_ _ _ _ _ _ _ muscles contracting with_ _ _ _ _ that run though >em groans and whispers “Take that you rivers of fire running into_ _ _ _ as_ _ _ _ _ hafts deep into > hips thrust hard forward, his_ _ _ _ _ _ is back arches as with a loud cry his_ _ _ _ _ _ spasms_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ Lilith gasps as she f>arches as with a >impale her until she is moving mindlessly >arches as >ems back arches as with a loud_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ >em grabs your hair and pulls your head up, her lips grind into yours her breath hot as she contibnues to_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ he kisses yo_ _ _ Lilith cries too and bites your lips wildly as she feels_ _ _ _ _ _ _ >ems body shakes >Lilith lies on the floor where you flung her her eyes closes and her lashes dark on her cheeks...her body covered in a sheen of sweat >Lilith murmurs oooh that was unbelievable

  By the time we arrive at this sweat-soaked denouement two more pages have elapsed. By page sixteen they are at it again (spooling a session like this is the cyber equivalent of hiding a video camera in the bedroom) and the reader must imagine for her- or himself the state of the remaining sheets.

  ‘Wasn’t I right, Bear?’ she asks, next time we meet. ‘About passion?’

  ‘Does Pompadora really eat people?’

  ‘Oh, only once. It was Josie’s idea. We each gave a feast of a dish none of us had tasted before. Pompadora served “long pig”.’

  ‘Long pig is . . . a human?’

  ‘We ate Josie. We roasted her wrapped in ki-ti leaves and stuffed with coconut and sweet potato.’

  ‘We held the feast on the island,’ Lilith tells me, laughing. ‘Josie was brought in blindfolded. She was very good. Properly fearful and pleading for her life . . . Naturally we ignored her. We tied her to a pole by her wrists and ankles and carried her to the village. Then we had to prepare her. Pompadora had done all the research. She went into it very thoroughly. We killed Josie by cutting her throat, so we could drain the body of blood. Then we cut her head off. We slit the belly and drew the intestines. Joffrey did that bit. We crushed some yams and then mixed them to a sort of batter, which Pompey said was called laplap, and smeared Josie with it all over inside and out. Next we jointed her at arms, elbows, hands, hips, knees, ankles. The fingers and toes are the best bits, Pompey said aficionados are also fond of the fattier cuts, breasts and buttocks. Josie asked as a favour that we not eat her head, so we put it on a banana leaf and propped the recipe in front of it, and it talked to us. It told us how to wrap up all the pieces up in the leaves, which are of some sort of lily, and put them in our earth oven. Two of the boys, Fungible and Armstrade, had dug a pit about two feet deep and filled it with lava rock which is nicely porous, takes heat well. They’d set it alight about three that morning, so the rocks were well and truly glowing. We piled on wet banana leaves (you must do this or you’ll burn the meat) then put in our leaf-wrapped morsels. Josie, or rather her head, told us not to waste the torso, which was empty. Josie’s head told us to take tongs and put hot rocks into the body cavity to cook it from the inside. Josie’s severed head was ordering us about. As things wore on it got terribly bossy. Fungible wanted to eat the heart, but Josie’s head wouldn’t let him. Luna said it was a case of mens insana in corpore in
sano . . .’

  ‘Did you eat her heart?’

  ‘Well yes, Bear,’ says Lilith, peering at me over the tops of her gold-rimmed granny glasses. ‘But only in the imagination, dear. We’ve done all far worse things in the Vortex. Alfredo once held a black mass and sacrificed a baby. You can do anything in your imagination, because it’s safe.’

  ___________________fuck________________________

  I am angry. I didn’t expect to be. I don’t want to be. I feel like a fool because I know this is going to sound worthy and pious, but actually Lil, it’s not safe, because what we imagine, we make true and there’s already horror enough in the world. For six years I have been writing about it: about children killed by chemical bombs in Iraq; a woman whose husband was crucified and whose twelve-year-old sister was raped to death by Burmese soldiers; street kids gunned down by death squads in Brazil; children in Guatemala whose eyes were burned from their sockets by policemen’s cigars and tongues torn from their throats with pliers; about a sixteen year called Sevki Akinçi barbecued alive by Turkish soldiers; students crushed under the tracks of Chinese tanks; people whose loved ones have vanished forever. This list of horrors could go on and on. I interviewed a man who cowered when I spoke to him. He had been hung up by his wrists, hosed with water and given electric shocks to his genitals. I listened to a Bosnian woman describe how one of her neighbours had been tied to two cars which then drove apart, stretching his entrails across a hundred yards of snow. I wrote about a pregnant woman who was raped with a truncheon. I’d held in my hands the electro-shock weapon which had been rammed into the throat of the Buddhist monk Palden Gyatso. I had sat in silence with Martyn Gregory the TV reporter, as his new film revealed how our own government was turning a blind eye to the sale of such weapons. I thought I would explode with grief and rage and frustration when I saw how easy it is for people with power and money to manipulate the media, applying chloroform pads to the few mouths opened against them, how millions of decent, ordinary people who do not agree with murder and torture perpetuate the nightmare by staying silent. Now, talking to Lilith, I sense again that vast ‘don’t want to know’. Most people distance themselves from the pain of reality by taking refuge in the fantasies spawned by their television sets, but cybergypsies, who know that reality and unreality are the same thing, also know the stupendous power of the imagination to transform things. And here’s one of the most intelligent, imaginative people I know, acting out pornosnuff movies in cyberspace.