Human beings are not naturally lawful; one has only to watch children at play to confirm this. Adults acquire knowledge and understanding as they mature but essentially they remain children who have been trained (or not) to behave in socially acceptable ways. In films and novels passionate and violent men and women act out, for those of us so trained, what we dare not act out for ourselves. ‘The greatest pleasure’, said Genghis Khan, ‘is to vanquish your enemies and chase them before you, to rob them of their wealth and see those dear to them bathed in tears, to ride their horses and clasp to your bosom their wives and daughters.’
Most of us are brought up to be rather less straightforward than Genghis Khan but the limbic system will always have seniority over the cerebral cortex. Try this simple test: here are some imaginary headlines; which story will you read first?
PEACE TALKS STALLED
FIVE NEW BODIES IN HOUSE OF HORROR
NEW CURFEW IN KABUL
NUDE ROYALS IN SEASIDE ROMP
MORE CUTS IN NHS SERVICES
GAY VICAR KILLED IN CLUB BRAWL
FILM STAR RAPED ON YACHT
Special interests apart, I doubt that the peace talks, the curfew, or the NHS cuts will be first choice. Sex is reliably interesting, as is death. The death of others is always life-affirming; who has not felt, on reading of a disaster in which hundreds have died, a little inner leap of ‘not me!’ Life is energy, constantly in motion. The plains Indians believed that the taking of a life gave power to the taker; the natural psychology of the hunter is one of balance maintained through energy transfer from prey to predator.
Dr von Luker continued in this vein with the urgency of a would-be cult leader, his text heavily supported by quotations from Darwin, Nietzsche, Freud, Jung, Ouspensky, Gurdjiieff, Krishnamurti, Canetti, Lévi-Strauss, L. Ron Hubbard, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and thirty or forty others.
I went back to the title page: Derek Engel, Bedford Square. ‘Tomorrow, Derek,’ I said. I looked at the author’s photograph on the back of the dust jacket: bald and bearded. Was there something familiar about him? How would he look with a wig and a military moustache? Yes? No? Difficult to be certain.
It was time to leave this place of dead air; I packed my bag and made ready to climb back aboard my Patna. Without looking in the mirror I left the room, went down to Reception, and said to the beautiful black-haired girl, ‘This is goodbye.’
‘I still have to charge you for tonight,’ she said. I nodded, paid up, and left.
‘Be nice,’ I said to the plants when I got back to my flat, ‘this is a tough time for me.’ I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face — the moment seemed to require it.
At half-past ten I turned up at the Vegemania and found Serafina waiting outside while Zoë and Rima finished up. ‘Do you mind if we go to Zoë’s place?’ she said. ‘I’ve been staying with her and I’ll feel more comfortable there than anywhere else right now. It’s near Fulham Broadway, in Moore Park Road.’
‘Fine,’ I said. As we walked towards the tube station she took my arm, then realised what she was doing and removed it.
‘Those notes on the envelope —’ she said, ‘is he writing a factual account or is he plotting a novel and acting it out? What do you think he’s doing?’
‘The telephone number with the notes was for Derek Engel — he’s a publisher who does a lot of offbeat stuff. Knowing Mr Rinyo-Clacton I’d guess he’s planning a novel with real people and himself as the hero. Tomorrow I’ll ring up Derek Engel and ask if they know him. Rinyo-Clacton is obviously a pseudonym; maybe he’s got others. Maybe he hasn’t even talked to them yet.’
‘But buying someone’s death for a million pounds — do you think that’s real?’
‘I know it is,’ I said as we entered the station and went through the turnstiles.
‘How do you know?’
‘I know whose death he’s buying.’
Her eyes were on my face and she grabbed my arm as we went down the stairs to the westbound platform. ‘Whose is it?’
‘I’ll tell you in a moment, but first I want to know if he told you his first name or did you call him Mr when he was humping you?’ She was still holding my arm; it felt like old times, almost, except that old times were never quite this weird. The station seemed bright and exciting, a good place to be, maybe there were other good places ahead. Maybe I could make the picture of the two of them in bed go away.
‘He said his name was Tod,’ she said. ‘And what did you call him when he was doing you?’
‘I didn’t call him anything. He told me his first name was Thanatophile.’
‘Death-lover!’
‘That’s his game and that’s the name he wants me to know him by.’
‘OK, now tell me whose death this weirdo is buying.’
‘Mine.’
‘Yours!’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘You’re the other in his notes?’
‘That’s right, Fina.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘Are you telling me that he …’ She lowered her voice. ‘… took you back to his place, buggered you, then offered you a million pounds for the privilege of killing you in a year’s time, and you said yes? You agreed to that?’
‘Yes.’
She was squeezing my arm so that it was pressed against her; it felt good. ‘In God’s name, why, Jonno?’ She hadn’t called me that since she moved out.
‘I don’t know, it seemed a good idea at the time.’
‘Tell me, for God’s sake!’
‘Fina, I’ve told you how I’ve been feeling since you left me. The night I met him I didn’t really care all that much whether I lived or died and when he made his proposition I thought I could at least leave you a million pounds and you could buy your own restaurant and have quite a nice life.’
‘Oh, you stupid Jonno, you stupid, stupid Jonno!’ She hugged me then. We stood there holding each other while Richmond and Ealing Broadway trains came and went; our side of the platform grew more crowded but the Wimbledon arrow on the board remained dark; Wimbledon trains are always in the minority at Earl’s Court.
‘Let me see that envelope again,’ she said, and I gave it to her. ‘“Other’s wife or girlfriend — will R-C sleep with her, spread his death around?” she read. ‘That bastard! That man is evil. Has he given you the million?
‘Oh, yes, he’s done his part.’
‘My God! A million pounds! Cheque or cash?’
‘Cash.’
‘You’ve held a million pounds in your hands?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then he really intends to kill you?’
‘It’s a jungle out there, Fina.’
‘How can you be so nonchalant?’
‘When you hug me I feel that nothing bad can happen to me, besides which I’m half out of my mind so it’s easy to be nonchalant.’
‘What about this: “Will other take £1m try to kill R-C?”’
I put my finger to my lips. ‘Let’s not think about that just now. Please hug me again.’
She did, but she turned her face away when I tried to kiss her. ‘I still can’t,’ she said in a very small voice, ‘I don’t know where I am with you any more.’
Earl’s Court station encloses many volumes of echoing space and many lights and shadows, all of which pressed in upon us now and intensified the distance between us even though our bodies were touching. ‘Strange,’ I said, ‘to be together and not together like this.’