THERE ARE MANY WAYS OF GIVING PLEASURE.
INDEED. MAYBE ONE DAY I’LL ADVERTISE IN THE LONELY-HEARTS COLUMNS: LITTLE OLD AQUARIUS, SINGLE MALE, NON-SMOKER, SENSE OF HUMOUR, LIKES MUSIC, ART, LITERATURE, CAN’T GET IT UP BUT WOULD LIKE TO GO DOWN ON LIKE-MINDED FEMALE. EXPERIENCE UNNECESSARY.
HOW OLD WOULD YOU LIKE THE FEMALE TO BE?
ANYWHERE BETWEEN TWENTY AND FIFTY. DEFINITELY NOT AS DRIED-UP AS I AM. IF I RING UP THE NUMBER ON YOUR HOMEPAGE, WILL YOURS BE THE VOICE I HEAR?
YES, BUT WE CAN TALK ABOUT THAT LATER. NOW COMES THE BIG QUESTION: WOULD YOU SAY, RUGGIERO, THAT YOU LIKE WOMEN?
ARE YOU ASKING THIS BECAUSE I ENJOYED THE ANAL RAPE STORY?
I’M ASKING, THAT’S ALL.
I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT I LIKED WOMEN. I’VE ALWAYS NEEDED A WOMAN; I’VE ALWAYS WANTED WOMEN. AFTER MY WIFE DIED THERE WERE WOMEN I LOVED. BUT NOTHING BETWEEN MEN AND WOMEN IS SIMPLE. IT’S POSSIBLE TO LOVE WITHOUT LIKING. DO YOU LIKE MEN?
I’M NOT SAYING.
IS THAT YOU IN THE PHOTO GALLERIES?
YES.
HOW CAN YOU DO ALL THOSE THINGS?
I WORK OUT.
YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN — CAN YOU POSSIBLY LIKE DOING WHAT YOU DO IN THOSE PICTURES?
I DON’T DO ANYTHING I DON’T LIKE TO DO.
IT SEEMS TO ME YOU MUST BE CHAINED TO SOME KIND OF ROCK.
LIKE EVERYONE ELSE I’M CHAINED TO THE ROCK OF REALITY.
I CAN’T BELIEVE THE WOMAN I’M TALKING TO IS THE ONE IN THE PHOTOS.
BELIEVE WHAT YOU LIKE.
BY THE WAY, WHO WROTE THE MONICA STORY?
I DID. WHY DO YOU ASK?
THE POINT OF VIEW SEEMS MASCULINE.
WHAT YOU CALL THE MASCULINE POINT OF VIEW IS NOT A DIFFICULT THING TO IMITATE. MEN DO IT ALL THE TIME.
I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT YOU.
I DON’T NEED YOU TO KNOW MORE. NOT YET.
WHEN? THIS YEAR, NEXT YEAR, SOMETIME, NEVER?
MAYBE SOMETIME. THE PHONE NUMBER ON THE HOMEPAGE IS USUALLY ENGAGED. USE THIS ONE IF YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME. GOODBYE FOR NOW. X
IS THAT A KISS I SEE BEFOREME?
FROM MY LABIA MINORA. TILL NEXT TIME, RUGGI.
Klein wrote down the telephone number, disconnected from the Internet, and switched off the modem, visualising her kiss as he did so. His fantasy partner that evening was the imagined Angelica in the horn-rimmed glasses. When he went to sleep he dreamt that he was hurrying down a rainy street at three o’clock in the morning, seeing her ahead of him and hearing her heels on the pavement. He walked faster and faster, then began to run, but he never caught up with her.
14 Doe Not Call Upp
HOP-ON HOP-OFF AT 100 STOPS ON 7 ROUTES, said the London Pride Sightseeing Bus parked in Southampton Row by Russell Square. Its redness was of a piece with the hard sunshine of the end-of-October day. The driver sat at the wheel; there was no one else on the bus.
‘They’ve all hopped off,’ said Klein to himself, ‘speaking French, German, Spanish, Greek, Russian, Polish, Urdu, Hindi, Arabic and goodness knows what else. They’re speaking those languages out loud and they’re speaking them to themselves in their heads, even the children.’
He was meeting his friend Seamus Flannery for lunch at II Fornello, an Italian restaurant with Spanish waiters. Seamus wrote radio, screen, and stage plays and taught History of Film at the National Film School. The waiters Paco and Juliano called the two of them ‘Dottore’ or ‘Professore’ interchangeably. Flannery was already there in their usual booth.
‘Professore!’ said Juliano. ‘Nice to see you. Are you having something to drink?’
‘Half lager, please. Same for you?’ he said to Seamus. Over their half-pints they brought each other up to date.
‘That’s really awful,’ said Seamus when Klein told him about the loss of his inner voice. ‘Some of my best conversations happen inside my head.’ He was as bald as an observatory dome; Klein imagined echoes.
‘Different voices?’ he said.
‘No, just mine. Did you have an inner voice that was different from yours?’
‘No, but I suppose one might.’
‘Where would it be coming from?’
‘From a different part of oneself, I should think.’
‘How different?’
‘Well, mostly I’m Harold, right? But maybe I’ve got a Jim part as well.’
‘Chelsea supporter, hangs out with the lads at the pub, owns a Rottweiler, has a tattoo?’
‘Maybe not that different.’
‘Jekyll and Hyde spring to mind, or maybe The Case of Charles Dexter Ward. “Doe not call upp Any that you cannot put downe.” Flannery and Klein were both well-grounded in H. P. Lovecraft.
‘Nothing like that,’ said Klein.
‘Has Jim said anything interesting lately?’
‘Not yet.’
They talked of Klimt, Kieslovski, and Egberto Gismonti over their tortellini and lasagne. ‘Do you use the Internet?’ said Klein.
‘I haven’t got round to that yet, I’m afraid I’d become addicted to it. You?’
‘From time to time; it’s useful for research.’
After lunch they walked down to Great Russell Street, then over to Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street and the Virgin Megastore, where they headed for the video department. Klein bought, among others, Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia. Flannery included Point Blank in his purchases. They both possessed recordings from TV of these all-time favourites but they liked the pretty boxes.
15 Second Session
Klein ignored holidays and celebrations as much as possible. On Hallowe’en, his neighbourhood being ever more gentrified, little groups of middle-class trick-or-treaters rang his bell but he didn’t answer the door. On Guy Fawkes night the gunpowder-smelling streets were hung with smoke as fireworks near and far lit up the sky but he stayed indoors.
On the appointed day at the appointed time he presented himself at Dr DeVere’s office. DeVere looked him up and down, saw no slings or casts, and said, ‘Well done! You’ve kept out of Casualty for two weeks. How’s it going?’
‘Variously. I think too much Internet can make you go blind.’
‘A new development?’
‘I’m not sure development is the word for it.’
‘Go on.’
Klein told Dr DeVere about the various websites he’d visited; he told him about Angelica’s Grotto, the homepage with the Ingres painting and the pictures in the galleries.
‘Interesting,’ said Dr DeVere.
‘She asked me onscreen if I wanted to take a walk on the night side. I clicked on YES and got a picture story called ‘Monica’s Monday Night’ in which a young woman on her way home from a late meeting at King’s College is pulled into a van by a black man and forced to perform oral sex, after which she’s anally raped. She has to do other things as well. Afterwards this person who calls herself Angelica and I had an onscreen one-to-one dialogue and she asked me if I’d enjoyed it.’
‘Had you?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do you feel about the fact that you enjoyed it?’
‘Troubled. I’ve always thought I liked women but now I’m wondering if that’s really so. Maybe I’ve never liked them; certainly I’ve always been afraid of them.’
‘Did that contribute to your enjoyment?’
‘Well, if you see someone you’re afraid of being forced to submit to a more powerful person you can take pleasure in it, right? Or maybe, as they say, the enemy of the enemy is a friend.’