JoJo held pen to the book of ten thousand poems. Aside countless handwriting styles, another page filled, in child’s naive script, trusting letters, dotted with hearts.
‘I am a song
I may have heard.
Such a sad song.
I am you.
Your jagged dream.
I hold you, soothe you.
Suckle and destroy you.
My eyes are your need,
my flesh your shame.
I am lost in elsewhere.
A slave of nowhere.
I have been gone so long.’
It was time to open the door.
Richard Christian Matheson is the son of veteran science fiction and fantasy author Richard Matheson. A novelist, short story writer and screenwriter/producer, he has scripted and executive-produced more than five hundred episodes of prime-time network TV and was the youngest writer ever put under contract by Universal Studios. His debut novel Created By was published to great acclaim in 1993, and his short fiction has been collected in Scars and Other Distinguishing Marks and Dystopia. Matheson recently scripted four feature films, at various studios, which he will executive-produce. He has also completed a pilot script for a one-hour series about avarice and mysticism, he will adapt Roger Zelazny’s The Chronicles of Amber as a four hour mini-series, and has just sold a thriller spec screenplay. A horror screenplay R.C. and his father wrote for Ivan Reitman was scheduled to go into production in 2002 and is rumoured to be a huge project for Universal Studios. He has also completed his second novel and is writing a third. Matheson continues to play drums for the blues/rock band Smash-Cut, in which he performs along with Craig Spector and Preston Sturges, Jr. The band is currently at work on its debut album and plays clubs in Los Angeles. ‘For a time, betrayal was the season,’ reveals the author about his story. ‘It seemed many friends had been hurt by some deceit; a falsity perfectly presented, a lie veiled as care. Few saw it coming, wanted to admit they did, could face it. They capsized, bled, retreated; hearts torn, faith poisoned. I also began to note those who refused to adapt to the reasonable needs of others, triumphant in a pretended armour; slain hopes grieving through detachment, wounds guised as autonomy. At either extreme were broken selves. In adapting to life and love, some do better than others, though paradox intrudes. Often those who do it most brilliantly dwell in voids. Somewhere in this elusive algebra of authenticity and adaptation, I considered those who are condemned to it, not by choice but curse.’
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The Prospect Cards
DON TUMASONIS
Dear Mr Cathcart,
We are happy to provide, enclosed with this letter, our complete description of item no. 83 9 from our recent catalogue Twixt Hammam and Minaret: 19th and Some Early 20th Century-Travel in the Middle East, Anatolia, Nubia, etc., as requested by yourself.
You are lucky in that our former cataloguer, Mr Mokley, had, in what he thought were his spare moments, worked to achieve an extremely full description of this interesting group of what are probably unique items . Certainly no others to whom we have shown these have seen any similar, nor have been able to provide any clew as to their ultimate provenance.
They were purchased by one of our buyers on a trip to Paris, where, unusually - since everyone thinks the bouquinistes were mined out long ago - they were found in a stall on the Left Bank. Once having examined his buy later that evening, he determined to return the following day to the vendor in search of any related items. Alas, there were no others, and the grizzled old veteran running the boxes had no memory of when or where he purchased these, saying only that he had them for years, perhaps since the days of Marmier, actually having forgotten their existence until they were unearthed through the diligence of our employee. Given the circumstance of their discovery (covered with dust, stuffed in a sealed envelope tucked away in a far corner of a green tin box clamped onto a quay of the Seine, with volumes of grimy tomes in front concealing their being), we are lucky to have even these.
Bear in mind, that as an old and valued customer, you may have this lot at 10% off the catalogue price, postfree, with insurance additional, if desired.
Remaining, with very best wishes indeed. Yours most faithfully,
Basil Barnet
BARNET AND KORT,
ANTIQUARIAN TRAVEL BOOKS AND EPHEMERA
No. 839
Postal view cards, commercially produced, various manufacturers, together with a few photographs mounted on card, comprising a group of 74. Mostly sepia and black-and-white, with a few contemporary tinted, showing scenes from either Balkans, or Near or Middle East, ca. 1920-30. The untranslated captions, when they occur, are bilingual, with one script resembling Kyrillic, but not in Russian or Bulgarian; the other using the Arabic alphabet, in some language perhaps related to Turco-Uighuric.
Unusual views of as yet unidentified places and situations, with public and private buildings, baths, squares, harbours, minarets, markets, etc. Many of the prospects show crowds and individuals in the performance of divers actions and work, sometimes exotic. Several of the cards contain scenes of an erotic or disturbing nature. A number are typical touristic souvenir cards, generic products picturing exhibits from some obscure museum or collection. In spite of much expended effort, we have been unable to identify the locales shown.
Entirely unfranked, and without address, about a third of these have on their verso a holographic ink text, in a fine hand by an unidentified individual, evidently a travel diary or journal (non-continuous, with many evident lacuna:). Expert analysis would seem to indicate 1930 or slightly later as the date of writing.
Those cards with handwriting have been arranged in rough order by us, based on internal evidence, although the chronology is often unclear and the order therefore arbitrary. Only these cards - with a single exception - are described, each with a following transcription of the verso holograph text; the others, about 50 cards blank on verso, show similar scenes and objects. Our hypothetical reconstruction of the original sequence is indicated through lightly pencilled numbers at the upper right verso corner ol each card.
Condition: Waterstain across top edges, obscuring all of the few details of date and place of composition. Wear along edges and particularly at corners. A couple of cards rubbed; the others, aside from the faults already noted, mostly quite fresh and untouched.
Very Rare. In our considered opinion, the cards in themselves are likely to be unique, no others having been recorded to now; together with the unusual document they contain, they are certainly so.
Price: £1,650
Card No. 1
Description: A dock, in some Levantine port. A number of men and animals, mostly mules, are congregated around a moored boat with sails, from which large tonnes, evidently containing wine, labelled as such in Greek, are being either loaded or unshipped.
Text: not sculling, but rather rowing, the Regatta of ‘12, for which his brother coxswained. Those credentials were good enough for Harrison and myself, our credulity seen in retrospect as being somewhat naive, and ourselves as rather gullible; such, however, is all hindsight. For the time being, we were very happy at having met fellow countrymen - of the right sort, mind you - in this godforsaken backwater at a time when our fortunes, bluntly put, had taken a turn for much the worse. When Forsythe, looking to his partner Calquon, asked ‘George, we need the extra hands - what say I tell Jack and Charles about our plans?’ To that Calquon only raised an eyebrow, as if to say it’s your show, go and do as you think fit. Forsythe, taking that as approval, ordered another round, and launched into a little speech, which, when I think back on the events of the past weeks, had perhaps less of an unstudied quality than his seemingly impromptu delivery would have implied. Leaning forward, he drew from his breast pocket a postal view card, and placed it on the table, saying in a lowered voice, as if we were fellow conspirators being drawn in, ‘What would you think if I told you, that from here, in less than one day’s sail and a following week’s marc
h, there is to be found something of such value, which if the knowledge of it became common, would
Card no. 2
Description: A view of a mountain massif, clearly quite high and rugged, seen from below at an angle, with consequent foreshortening. A fair amount of snow is sprinkled over the upper heights. A thick broken line in white, retouch work, coming from behind and around one of several summits, continues downward along and below the ridge-line before disappearing. This evidently indicates a route.
Text:—ania and Zog. Perfidious folk! Perfidious people. Luckily, our packet steamer had arrived and was ready to take us off. A night’s sailing, and the better part of the next day took us to our destination, or rather, to the start of our journey. After some difficulty in finding animals and muleteers, we loaded our supplies, hired guides, and after two difficult days, arrived at the foothills of the mountains depicted on the obverse of this card. Our lengthy and labourious route took us ultimately up these, where we followed the voie normale, the same as shown by the white hatched line. Although extremely steep and exposed, the slope was not quite sheer and we lost only one mule and no men during the 1500-yard descent. Customs - if such a name can be properly applied to such outright thieves - were rapacious, and confiscated much of what we had, including my diary and notes. Thus the continuation on these cards, which represent the only form of paper allowed for sale to the
Card no. 3
Description: A panorama view of a Levantine or perhaps Balkan town of moderate to large size, ringed about by snow-covered mountains in the distance. Minarets and domes are visible, as is a very large public building with columns, possibly Greco-Roman, modified to accommodate some function other than its original religious one, so that the earlier elements appear draped about with other stylistic intrusions.
Text: vista. With the sun setting, and accommodation for the men and food for the animals arranged, we were able to finally relax momentarily and give justice, if only for a short while, to the magnificence of the setting in which the old city was imbedded, like a pearl in a filigreed ring. I’ve seen a lot of landscapes, ‘round the world, and believe me, this was second to none. The intoxicating beauty of it all made it almost easy to believe the preposterous tales that inspired Calquon, and particularly Forsythe, to persuade us to join them on this tossed-together expedition. I frankly doubt that anything will come of it except our forcing another chink in the isolation which has kept this fascinating place inviolate to such a degree that few Westerners have penetrated its secrets over the many centuries since the rumoured group of Crusaders forced their
Card no. 4
Description: A costume photograph, half-length, of a young woman in ethnic or tribal costume, veiled. The décolletage is such that her breasts are completely exposed. Some of the embroidery and jewellery would indicate Cypriote or Anatolian influence; it is clear that she is wearing her dowry in the form of coins, filigreed earrings, necklaces, medallions, and rings. Although she is handsome, her expression is very stiff. [Not reproduced in the catalogue]
Text: Evans, who should have stuck to Bosnia and Illyria. I never thought his snake goddesses to be anything other than some Bronze Age fantast’s wild dream, if indeed the reconstructions are at all accurate. Harrison, however, has told me that this shocking - i.e. for a white woman (the locals are distinctively Caucasian: red hair, blue eyes and fair skin appearing frequently, together with traces of slight Mediterranean admixture) - déshabillé was common throughout the Eastern Ægean and Middle East until a very short while ago, when European mores got the better of the local folk, except, it seems, those here. I first encountered such dress (or undress) a week ago, the day after our late evening arrival, when out early to see the market and get my bearings, and totally engaged in examining some trays of spices in front of me, I felt suddenly bare flesh against my exposed arm, stretched out to test the quality of some turmeric. It was a woman at my side who, having come up unnoticed, had bent in front of me to obtain some root or herb. When she straightened, I realised at once that the contact had been with her bare bosom, which, I might add, was quite shapely, with nipples rouged. She was unconcerned; I must have blushed at least as much
Card no. 5
Description: A naos or church, on a large stepped platform, in an almost impossible mélange of styles, with elements of a Greek temple of the Corinthian order mixed in with Byzantine features and other heterogeneous effects to combine in an unusual, if not harmonious, whole. The picture, a frontal view, has been taken most probably at early morning light, since the temple steps and surrounding square are devoid of people.
Text: light and darkness, darkness and light’ Forsythe said. ‘With this form of dualism, and its rejection of the body, paradoxically, until the sacrament is administered, the believers are in fact encouraged to excess of the flesh, which is viewed as essentially evil, and ultimately, an illusion. The thought is that by indulging mightily, disdain is expressed for the ephemeral, thus granting the candidate power over the material, which is seen as standing in his or her way to salvation.’ ‘What does that have to do with your little trip of this morning?’ I remonstrated. We had agreed to meet at ten o’clock to see if we could buy manuscripts in the street of the scribes, for the collection. Paul reddened and replied ‘D’you know the large structure on the square between us and the market? I was on my way to meet you, when I happened to pass through there. It seems’ - and here he went florid again - ‘that in an effort to gain sanctity more quickly, parents, as required by the priests, are by law for two years to give over those of their daughters on the verge of womanhood to the temple each day between 10 and noon, in a ploy to quicken the transition to holiness. Any passer-by, during that time, who sees on the steps under the large parasols (set up like tents, there to protect exposed flesh) any maiden suiting his fancy, is urged to drop a coin in the bowls nearest and
Card no. 6
Description: A quite imperfect and puzzling picture, with mist and fog, or perhaps steam, obscuring almost all detail. What is visible are the dim outlines of two rows of faces, some veiled, others bearded.
Text: poured more water on the coals. By now it was quite hot, and I could no longer see Forsythe, but only hear his voice. The lack of visibility made it easier to concentrate on his words, with my eyes no longer focused on details I had found so distracting. ‘The incongruity of it all makes my head reel - how could they have maintained all this in the face of the changes around them? After all, a major invasion route of the past three millennia lies two valleys to the west…’ Nodding in unseen agreement, my attention was momentarily diverted by the sound of a new arrival entering the room, and seconds later, a smooth leg brushed for a second against mine; I assumed it was a woman, and durst not stir. ‘Not that they’ve rejected the modern at all costs - they’ve got electric generators and some lighting, a fair amount of modern goods and weaponry find their way in, there’s the museum, that Turkish photography shop, the printing press, and - oh, all the rest. But they pick and choose. And that religion of theirs! All the Jews and Muslims and Christians here are cowed completely! Why hasn’t a holy war been declared by their neighbours?’ With Paul ranting on in the obscuring darkness, I grunted in agreement, and then, shockingly, felt a small foot rub against
Card no. 7
Description: Costumed official, perhaps a religious leader or judge, sitting on the floor facing the camera. He is bearded, greying, with a grim set to his mouth. One hand points gracefully towards a smallish, thick codex held by the other hand. From the man’s breast depends a tall rectangular enamelled pendant of simple design, divided vertically into equal fields of black and white.
Text: Sorbonne, three years of which, I suppose, could explain a lot, as for example, his overpowering use of garlic. ‘Pseudo-Manicheeism’ he continued, ‘is solely a weak term used by the uncomprehending for what can only be described as perfection, the last word itself being a watered-out expression merely, for that which cannot be comprehended through th
e feeble tool of rational and sceptical thinking, which closes all doors it does not understand. Oh, I know that some of you’ - and here he eyed me suspiciously, as if I was running muckin’ Cambridge! - ‘have tried to classify our belief, using the Monophysites as opposed to the Miaphysites of your religion in an analogy that neither comprehends nor grasps the subtlety of our divinely inspired thought! As if It could be explained in Eutychian terms! Our truth is self-evident and is so clear that we allow, with certain inconsequential restrictions and provisos, those of your tribe who wish, to expound their falsehoods in the marketplace, assuming they have survived the rigours of the journey here. You were better to perceive indirectly, thinking of flashing light; the colours green, and gold; the hundred instead of the one; segmentation, instead of smoothness, as metaphors that enable one
Card no. 8
Description: Another museum card, with several large tokens or coins depicted, which in style and shape resemble some of the dekadrachm issues of 5th century Syracuse. The motifs of the largest one shown, are, however, previously unrecorded, with a temple (see card 5) on the obverse. The reverse, with a young girl and three men, is quite frankly obscene. [Not reproduced in the catalogue]
Text: tea. I was quite struck with the wholesome appearance and modest demeanour of Mrs Fortesque, who was plainly, if neatly dressed in the style of ten years ago - evidently, they had been out of contact with Society in London since arrival! The Rev Fortesque was holding forth on how they were, as a family, compelled by local circumstance, and frankly, the threat of force, to adhere strictly to the native code of behaviour and mores when out in public, the children not being exempt from the rituals of their fellows of like age. Calquon frowned at this, and asked, ‘In every way, Reverend?’ to which the missionary sighed, ‘Unfortunately, yes - otherwise, we would not be allowed to preach at all.’ There was a small silence while we pondered the metaphysical implications of this when a young and angelically beautiful girl of about twelve entered the room. ‘Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Alicia…’ smiled Mrs Fortesque proudly, only to be interrupted in the most embarrassing fashion by the sudden sputtering and spraying of Forsythe, whom we thought had choked on his crumpet. Thwacking him on the back, until his redness of face receded and normal breathing resumed, I thought I saw an untoward smirk lightly pass over the face of the young girl. ‘What is it, old man?’ I solicitously enquired. Paul, after having swallowed several times, with the attention of the others diverted, whispered sotto voce, breathlessly, so that only I could hear ‘Yesterday - the temple
Dark Terrors 6 - The Gollancz Book of Horror - [Anthology] Page 48
