If they’d done that to Levin, they...
They don’t do bodies, but...
He saw The Detail again. Not Arden’s Detail, that was dealt with for now, but hers. It walked up to him again, then swirled coquettishly away. Again.
He woke in the early morning of October 22. He knew the dream had come because it had left him exhausted; but he couldn’t remember it.
Olivia was there, sitting at his bedside. Wants to know if I’ve seen it yet? Or wants to help me recover? He pretended to fall asleep to avoid talking to her, then pretence became reality. He woke a little later to find her touching his shoulder.
“Ihavetogoforafewhours”shesaid.“AppointmentsI’ve been putting off. I do have...”
“An organisation to run,” he completed for her. “That’s alright, I’ll see you later.”
She smiled briefly and left, and he promptly fell asleep again.
The dream returned. But this time, like Levin bursting out of the wall, it returned as a monster.
Random phrases he’d heard since coming to Brighton, dancing in front of his face. Then swirling coquettishly away.If the phrases had been her, they’d be suggestively moving their meanings under the surface of their words like she suggestively moved her bottom under her long voluminous skirt as she turned away from him. She’d been good at turning away.
He couldn’t take his attention off the words, just as he couldn’t take his gaze off her when she moved like that, pretending she didn’t notice him. Some of the words he remembered just as words. They floated to the surface, spoke themselves as they were spoken, and sank back. Offer and Acceptance. Muslim filth. Jewish scum.
And then they came back, with music. With his dream-memory of the Congolese big band music he’d heard a few days ago, distorted by the random subconscious tides of his dream into something less pleasant: minor key, not major, with blaring dissonant brass and singers’ voices, not melodious but harsh and mocking like seagulls’. The music massaged the words, stressing alternate syllables regularly and masturbating them until their rhythms and inflexions and cadences spilled out.
Offer and Acceptance, Offer and Acceptance,
Muslim filth, Jewish scum.
Offer and Acceptance, The Dead fight in silence,
Muslim filth, Jewish scum.
“I’m Miles ahead of you, Anwar.” Yes you were, even in reaching death. Hear that, Miles? I’ve got a good rejoinder at last!
“Goodbye, old friend.”
Go back and kill it. Make sure it’s dead.
Shoot it in the head, in the head, in the head.
Reith Lecture. Room For God. Small sharp-featured figure on his screen.
Her life’s amounted to something. Never backing down.
Her life’s amounted to something. Never backing down.
A small animal, baring its teeth, and never backing down.
Greed, for food and sex.
Where does she put that food, where does she put that sperm?
Better than the best prostitutes.
In and out, with no baggage. Sex and nothing more.
In and out, with no baggage. Sex and nothing more.
In and out, with no baggage. Better than a whore.
Old greeting Muslim filth Jewish scum.
Post-Levin, Velvet bag of shit Fucking autistic retard.
I needed the best, and Rafiq sent me you. A fucking autistic retard!
I needed the best, and Rafiq sent me you. A fucking autistic retard!
“Say that again, I’ll forget who I am.”
“When did you last remember who you are?”
“It does something a bit decisive, and thinks it’s turning into me.”
“It does something a bit decisive, and thinks it’s turning into me.”
“Something you haven’t told me. A final detail that over-turns everything else.”
The Detail. The Dead. The Detail.
Hate my opponents less, and understand them more.
Hate my opponents less, and understand them more.
Better than the most expensive whore.
The music paused. The words continued, sounding naked.
“I may not always be out here, in front of you, but God is always out there.”
“What did you make of that?”/“It sounded like Goodbye.”
She isn’t real. Appetites moodswings.Didn’t notice me then she did. Wanted involvement but maybe didn’t. Then she didn’t but maybe did. And me, the same but in reverse. Action and reaction. Not love. Not even companionship. Only action and reaction, making one of us the other’s opposite.
My feelings the opposite of hers, and (like hers)containing the opposite of that opposite. Containers and contents.
The music began again.
The one you run away from, chases after you the most...
Love came and went with deliberate perversity of timing. Deliberate. Like a lighthouse beam switching on and off. On when ships weren’t in danger of being wrecked, off when they were.
You mistimed.
Shot him dead, twice in the head.
Go back and kill it. Make sure it’s dead.
In Zagreb Marek went back. Shot dead two people who he noticed were still alive. At Fallingwater Marek went back. Shot dead a boy who he noticed was still alive.
Go back and kill it. Make sure it’s dead.
Shoot it in the head, in the head, in the head.
Gaetano went back. Anwar heard him, shot after shot after shot.
You’ve shown me double meanings and things under the surface.
You’ve shown me double meanings and things under the surface.
I don’t know if love exists but nothing else fits.
I’ve listed all the pros and cons and nothing else fits.
Sonnet 116 fits. The marriage of true minds. As usual, he got it right.
And now it’s academic: we both mistimed.
And now it’s academic: we both mistimed.
Today, whatever happens, the mission is finished.
The mission is finished, the mission is finished,
And we won’t see each other again.
The dream showed him October 20, when he’d reached down and touched her shoulder to wake her. “Time,” he said.
He woke, and cried out. He knew The Detail.
14
He woke to an empty room. She hadn’t returned yet. And he knew The Detail.
He cried out, his soul tearing like his heart muscles had torn, his heart breaking like his bones had broken. He knew The Detail, and it didn’t swirl away. He wanted it to, but it wouldn’t.