Jim reached the Brig of Dee. There were little embrasures where you could stand safe from traffic. East was the glimmering harbour. West were the louring hills. He remembered the time with Spermy, the time the Dee was frozen, nudging along in huge plates, on which his wild pal skated. Spermy was the type could sort Swink out. Because West, on the Cairngorm plateau, was where the Dee welled up and where Swink planned to plonk that bottling-plant to make his pile. Some breezeblock bottling-plant: just where his mother’s ashes lay? Grotesque. Aberdeen Pure? No chance.
Aberdeen Pure, yes, for a while, thought Lucy. Slow to catch on. Till rebranded as Mountain Heart. But all water holy. If sealed in a nippled bottle with a use-by date.
Jim stood on the Brig, over the upswirl and swallow of dark waters. He thought of Nan Shepherd’s book The Living Mountain. Flakes of white came swivelling down, blanking his thinking.
a light knocking
She seemed to have been reading all day. What time was it? Nine. She had.
He was bound to come back, her runner. She let the needle hover above All Along the Watchtower, from the brand-new Dylan. After his electric sell-out and bike smash-up, back to the true acoustic. She lowered the needle and went back to the window. She imagined bunching up her ribbed polo like a coiled python None of them along the line / Know what any of it is worth. She would crab backwards at her bra No reason to get excited / The thief he kindly spoke and he would clock her full-on But you and I we’ve bin through that /And this is not our fate / our fate / our fate shit, the needle. The door had clashed downstairs, and a heavy suck went through the house.
A horrible dented Brezhnev hat and pilled black coat, real dead lamb or nylon, was on the path below. Theo was going too, buttoning himself. Well they could go, well rid. All she wanted was for her runner to come back, silent, genuine, urgent.
She left the bedroom, at that point, she remembered, and went downstairs, kind of determined.
Jim would soon be level with the Swink place again. Hell, his footprints under the window.
There came the sound of a light knocking.
He was the only runner out tonight, they would be lying in wait and catch him easy. Their plot would be safe then.
A second knock.
He remembered Admiral Byrd at Advance Station, his father’s book. He had a lot of feeling for Byrd suddenly, for all the self-isolated; desperate to act, to save the world, traversing white wastes, gassing themselves sick in huts and rooms.
There was a third knock at her door.
He could do with somebody to discuss this with.
She went and unlocked it.
– Can I come in a minute? he said.
read on, don’t stop now
– You’ve got it here, haven’t you?
She compressed the corner of her lip under a canine.
– Let’s read it together. I’ll take a chance.
– Don’t know if I could face that, she said.
– I’ve read very little of it for ages. Mankind cannot stand too much reality. That’s why I always left it with Tam.
– Well, she said.
– Well?
– Well, said Lucy. Come and sit down. Watch, the chair’s a bit squeaky. You sit there, I’ll sit over here.
– I would read it to you, he said, but my glasses must have got smashed.
– I’ll read. But I have to say this. Whoever told Tam about me, and made stuff up, it’s pretty outrageous. Was it you? I may have to stop from time to time, and ponder. That’s what I find.
– It’s not a page-turner then, from old Tam?
– Oh, it’s a page-turner. But I still have to stop. Privacy is a major casualty. Are you sitting comfortably?
– No. Bloody wicker. The bones of my arse are nipping.
– Well I am, said Lucy. So I’ll begin.
Someone appeared the other way. They were both on the lightly-beaten track, on the Ring Road pavement.
– Who’s that? he said.
– Guess, said Lucy.
At the very last both dodged, but in the same direction. Oomph! His pace brought them both down in a slither, till her iced shoulder veered and rapped a tree.
– That I do remember, he said.
– Oh good, said Lucy.
Oh, thorry, he went, muffly. What the! Faith full of hair. Yeuf! she went. Totally obliv. You certainly were, she said. Sorry! he said.
He rolled off and by dint of a knee here, a hand there, they fetched to their feet. He looked back up the road. He’d been really zooming, convinced the Provost and Senator had found his prints and would be out tracking him. A car came over the hump slowly. She tugged him round and laughed in his face. Hey, you! she said. Pay attention!
She began to give him a brushing-down. All he really saw was the hair he’d had threaded in his teeth. Red-blonde under the sodium lamp. Are you running from something? she said. I thought you were Mercury there on a mission. He turned again. The car had stopped, and switched its lights to sides. I am, he said. Or just no home to go to? Not one you’d be in a rush to call home, he said. Come in for a cuppa, I’m just across the road. It wasn’t the sort of word he expected. He had expectations already. Cuppa. Where, that huge house? Yes, the light upstairs, that’s me.
– That’s you, he said. That’s you speaking.
– You got it, said Lucy.
You sure? he said. Whether it’s me or not? Whether it’s okay? he said. Best be quiet when we get to the stairs, she said. Okay, he said. In case my father is back. She pushed the black wrought gate. Which creaked. I hope the bed doesn’t do that, she said. Don’t you know your own bed? he said. Never had sex in it before, she said. She levered the front door handle, mock-quietly. We’ve hardly been introduced, he said. Soon change that, whispered Lucy. What’s that big lump in the garden? he said, stalling. Sisyphus, said Lucy, my father’s sculpture. Come on.
Been watching you this year, she said, when they were safely in the bedroom. Sit. Not on the chair, it’s squeaky wicker. Over here, where it’s comfy. Do you like my hair? Me at the window all night combing it, you running past. I won’t sit on the bed, he said. Too sweaty. Do you? she repeated, do you like it? Must tell you what I’ve just heard, he said, it’s scary. He sidled up to the tall window and checked down at the Ring Road. It’s drastic, he said, really drastic. The angle was restricted by the trees. Hey, never mind that, Jumpy, look. What? Do you like it or not? Uh-huh. Uh-huh is not an answer, it’s my hair we’re talking about. I do, I do. I haven’t asked you to marry me yet. What do you like about it? Don’t usually go for beehives, he said. Get you! What do you go for about it? There’s red, a sort of reddy, through the gold. Better. And? It’s brilliant. Shiny anyway, she said. Well, now the intros are done, are you going to get your gear off, or am I? I’ll do it, he said, my kit’s siping. His father’s word, meaning wet through. Me too, said Lucy. Look the fire’s on. You can toast them over a chair. It’s very good of you. Good’s not what I had in mind, she said. Ooh, I thought you’d have a few more muscles. I’m a distance guy, not a fish humper. A what? Distance runner, he said. Hey, steady! Don’t you want me to? she said.
– I should not be reading this, said Lucy.
– My glasses are smashed, remember.
Yes, what about you though? I feel naked.
– Who says that again? he said.
– Not me, she said.
You nearly are, said Lucy.
– Lucy says that? he said.
– Yes, Lucy in the story.
Chest for a chest?
– Does he say that?
– Listen for Chrissake!
Good idea, she said. She hoicked her ribbed top up in a coil and dipped her head out, disturbing her hair. Wow! She patted her hair in place, unzipped a boot or two and a skirt, and stepped out. Together, she said. Now.
– I cannot read this, said Lucy.
She slipped off a last wisp, as he flipped out of his Ys.
– Come over here. I feel utterly da
ft broadcasting this.
At last, she said. At last? he thought. They were going at the speed of light. Where was the average first-night fumble on a draughty porch? Ooh, you’re icy, said Lucy, don’t touch me. That was more the style. She pulled him by his bemused firm-on towards the burping fire.
– I got the burp sorted, said Lucy.
– I’m glad.
– A fitter came. After Theo died.
– Can I hold your hand?
– No, I need both hands to be able to flip the pages. Arm round my waist, best. Not like that, duh. Like so.
Wait, need to get a.
– Is that you started again?
– Fuck’s sake. Yes! said Lucy.
Wait, need to get a. What? she said. Hold it! he said. Johnny-come-lately thingy. I hate that latex smell, said Lucy. I’m starting the Pill. Never in the hottest of dreams was it this simple. They just about made it back to the bed. She pulled him down.
– Very romantic, and I don’t say, said Lucy.
– Blame Tam, not me.
– I will if I can get hold of him.
– Read on, don’t stop now.
He propped briefly, on his bony bits, over her bonny bits. It had been a short engagement. Lucy, who raved for poets, hunks, philosophers and rockers, closed her eyes against the skimpinesss of her conscripted lover. Fuck, fuck, o fuck, Jesus! he panted, three at best minutes later. Thaaank you!
– Conscripted, eh? he said. He squeezed her middle. Hey, there’s more to you than I recall. Lucy rocked against him for luck.
Don’t thank, it’s rude, said Lucy. Save your breath to get your strength up. Strength? he said. Seconds. You’re amazing, he said. Might need thirds. I was away, sorry, did the bed creak? he said. Not for me, said Lucy. Anyway who gives? If Theo comes back, he’ll have to handle it. Theo? My father, we live here together, I don’t think he’s back yet. And before you start, she said, I don’t do jealous. Wee silence. Am I your first? she said, seems a bit that way. I was in bed with two when I was eleven, he said, well, eleven plus. Don’t boast, said Lucy, I don’t dig it. And I don’t do troilism. You don’t even look like a troil, he said. But I’ll eat you for my supper, she said. You up for it yet? Nymph or summat? he replied. No, just that you seem like a shiftworker. One minute on, ten minutes off, or something. Do you you like my back? It’s warm, he said, it’s lithe, it’s. Smoothtalker, stroke!
He stroked, and as he stroked, she talked about herself, her life, the tough bits, tastes, desires. Starting, stopping; asserting, agreeing; dreaming, this and that.
– A shiftworker, he said. Cheek.
– Let me see that paw a second, she said. This lump of roughcast never stroked my fair flesh, not ever, look at it—
– Expelled from the Garden of Eden wasn’t I. Son of toil.
They were going too fast.
– I’m putting Icarus down a moment, she said. Okay, I don’t want you to do anything. Just kind of hold me.
– Do anything? Moi?
– Sssh, for goodness sake, said Lucy.
why the nothing
– Are we having a textual relationship or not? he said.
– Don’t interrupt, said Lucy. Or we’ll lose the place.
Jim did as he was told for a while. He stroked. Jesus said leave your father and mother. But just so’s someone else can give you orders. In the fullness of time she turned back, revolving. Help yourself, she said, v-ing her thighs. He wasn’t sure if it was personal or impersonal, whether he was cast as lover or bit-part player, and he didn’t care. Too much, he said, as he sank in. He thought of saying, Remind me to get in a good union. But let the verbals go. They both did.
Fuck – she said quietly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Commentary and command commingled. Come – he said. You absolute fuck – come!
Feel like a human now, she said. I’ll get you one. Don’t, said Lucy. You started it, he said. And aren’t you glad, she said. Glad or gone, I haven’t checked, he said. Hope it’s the second, she said. Why? Because you do need to go. Already? Thought you’d picked me out? Yeah, picked you out from all the loners running about in shorts in the snow on the first of January. You were the one. Pity I didn’t get the same chance, he said. You’re just somebody I bumped into. Just think, said Lucy. Choosy as that, you could have landed up with somebody’s auntie. Already landed up with my pal’s mother, he said. I hope I didn’t hear that, she said. I slept with my pal’s mother when I was eleven plus, I told you. You what? she said. Ye gods, that’s disgusting! Slept with her. Well I was more unconscious. That’s no excuse in a court of law. She took me into her bed. Yup, she said, might be a theme here? She fetched me out of an ice-box. Now I do feel dirty, she said. It wasn’t the ice-box at home. So that’s okay, she said. We couldn’t afford one, a fridge I mean. It was the deep chill down at the butcher’s. Now she’s come to live next door. Kept a torch for you, did she? she said. You really put it around. Come on, your stuff must be hot and damp now, the way you like it. Time to go, she said. Really? Really.
Can I see you again, explain all this? There was a nurse involved too, Dinah. Not if I see you first, she said. I’m going to an important meeting tonight, he said. Counselling? It’s the inaugural meeting of the Interim Committee to Solve Lovelesssness. You want an acronym with that? she said. INCOSOLOV, he said, at the Monkey House. Natch, she said. Want to come? You always say that, said Lucy.
He got up and crossed to the window. Again no sign. No lights, no purring. Not that that guaranteed anything. What time? she said. Eight. Unlikely. The Monkey House is just a rendezvous, he said. Then they’ll decide where to move on to. Depending on numbers or if anyone has a flat. Sounds organised, she said. Actually they’ve mended the name. Before they’ve met? I think they’re going for GUST, Group to Unstick Stuckness. Still don’t know yours though. On a first date? she said. Have some respect.
They looked and laughed, a bit more with than at each other. She thought, Sweet naif. He thought, No way can we ever untangle. This pal’s mother thing’s not what you think, he said. What is? she said. I’ll get some stuff of Theo’s from the airing cupboard on the landing. Thanks. He lay back, knacked, and lapsed into a doze while she went about her researches.
Try these? What? Try these old clothes. You’ve been out of it the past hour. Zonked, I just zonked. You’ve taken it out of me. They’re a mile big. There’s a belt, said Lucy. Can’t I stay till my own stuff’s dry? Stay where? Under your bed even. I’ve got the real guys there, she said. They’ve kept quiet. They don’t usually. Albert, Simone, Jean-Paul, and their clever wee pal, Colin. What about Friedrich in that case? he said. Friedrich is off up an Alp just now. Friedrich believes it is impossible to develop an exalted philosophy wedged under a young woman’s bed. I’m more than willing to prove him wrong, he replied. You’d have to pass the audition, said Lucy. As an outsider? he said. I’d manage that. Outsider is only part of it, she said. Granted I fetched you in from the outside. But the school I hold to. You hold to a school? he said. But the school I hold to, despite Colin Wilson, is not Outsiderism, it is Existentialism. Like, you know, in this empty vale, it’s down to you to prove you exist. Prove, and keep on proving. Sez who? he said. Sez my ’68 resolution. Roll on soixante-neuf, he said. Can we discuss this, Madame la Philosophe? Nope. Can I lie and listen to you till my gear’s dry? Nope. Harping on. Nope. Thought you seemed more Molly Bloom. Yes-I-said-yes-I-will Yes? she said. Uh-huh, he said. Nah, said Lucy. So, who broke your lamp? he said. No, I meant to ask, was there a fight in here?
She swept pearly shards of light shade with the heel of her hand onto a sheet of paper. She clattered the fluted scallops into a bin. Sad, he said. That’s Venus fucked, then. She bent across and gave him one. A kiss. On the cheek. You get a poem for that, he said, if you’ll pass me that sheet. And a pen? Let’s see, said Lucy.
Aberdeen
In Aberdeen the granite is no façade,
I feel ghostly,
I leave my flesh when I walk abroad,
Or mostly.
But you don’t walk, Lucy said, reading over his writing arm, you run, mostly? It’s a form of expression, he said. A form of fibbing? said Lucy. Ghosts don’t run, he said. Merde alors, nor does your poem, said Lucy, leave it. Time to go, things to do. Us? he said. Maybe us, mais à ce moment mainly just me. Vamoose, Twig.
Strip the Willow Page 10
