B07 – Please?
"Should I congratulate you or offer my sympathy?"
I knew she and T. had been trying for some time. Still I was surprised when she told me.
"Either of the two is better than the reaction of Paola."
That in turn was less surprising to me.
"She looked me in the eyes for a few seconds, then slightly tilted her head and said:
'Ah, you know. Shit happens. It's just one of the facts of life;' before she burst out laughing and giving me a hug."
"I happy for you, I mean it."
"I appreciate that.
There is one thing I wanted to ask you, though:
Would you do us the honor of being godfather to our baby girl?"
"What's her name going to be?" I had expected her to ask me to promise I will always be nice to the little one.
"April."
"That's a lovely name.
I would be honoured to."
"Did the name really matter?"
"Not really.
But in case you wanted to name her after your grandmother... I wanted to keep an out...
What exactly does that commitment entail?
Throw water at her and always buy the biggest presents?"
"Yes. We are looking for someone to spoil her and make her hate us..."
For a moment I thought she was serious. I always hated when she beat me at my own game.
"I would like her to think of you as someone who is there for in ways parents often cannot without undermining their positions.
The grown-up who lets her have a sip of his beer on her birthday when we are not looking.
I know you would also tell her that she will feel bad if she has another sip. And the two of you would silently agree next year she gets two. And you would make her promise not to tell us because otherwise there would be no beer whenever you visit."
"You basically want me to fill the role your old man had in your life?"
“I never thought of it this way. But, yes, if that works for you. It works for us.
Especially, with Txxx being away for months at a time I can always use an extra pair of hands."
“For most non-baby-shit related matters these hands will be at your full disposal.”
Jules paused to think for a moment, before asking:
“And what about you?
Still no desire to have children?”
“Desire no.
Still not.
What’s worse.
There’s now a fear as well.”
“What are you afraid of?
That you would not love your child? That it would not love you back?
You are not worried that it might be born disabled, are you?”
“Fuck no.
Any and all of that I think I could handle.
But what I am scared of is, what if your child turns out to be a real arsehole.
What do you then?
It’s not like we are talking about a dog that bites someone and can easily be put down.
There not many things that scare me, but the idea of fathering a cunt.
That thought terrifies the fuck out of me.
I hope I did not crush your dreams with this.”
“No. You did not.”
B00 – Movement of Youth (Reprise)
Q: Franklin, as you live and breathe.
It's such honor to have you here...
F: Funny you should say that.
Q: Oh, why is that?
F: Because it's indeed a matter of honour that I am here.
My friend put up a high-stake dare, and I was foolish enough to agree.
Q: May I ask...
F: No, not really. It's not really anyone's business. Sorry I brought that up.
Q: Moving on then.
I understand you did not give any interviews at all so far.
And we're lucky to have you on.
F: I think you could say that.
Q: What do you mean by that?
F: Luck of the draw.
I do not know the process, but I was assured the selection was completely random and fair.
I have no reason to question that.
Q: Interesting. Now...
Your novel titled “The Lives and Tales of Pirate Sam”, came out of leftfield to pretty much everyone.
How did that come to be? What inspired you?
F: In a nutshell; stories.
Stories and what you can take away from them. Also, the whole craft of story-telling.
Q: Can you elaborate on that?
F: Sure.
For instance, I once went to see a play. Absolute amateur hour. I doubt they would have done a better job if there was a firing squad aiming at them.
Or maybe there actually were guns and they were all so terrified they could hardly move or speak their lines. Whatever the underlying cause, it was painful to watch.
The thing was, though, despite its presentation there was something about the story that touched me. This may sound cheesy, I know.
I realised, that no matter how it was presented to me, masterfully crafted or beaten to pulp, I always feel the same way about it.
It goes t...
Q: What was name of the play?
F: I can’t remember.
Q: As for your own writing. Are there any writers or books in particular that influenced you?
F: I am sorry, but are you asking me to give you a list of books I recommend you read?
Q: No.. I uhm.. You know... It's just...
F: I can mail you a list. After I get home.
Q: ...
F: I know what you mean.
I just don't find it interesting to talk about it. Whatever they mean to me, won't mean the same to anyone else.
As far as I am concerned, I absorbed their work. And what comes out of me will be like passing on what I perceive as their essence.
It's not something I pursue. I think it is more an organic process. Something that is driven subconsciously, when the author is no longer steering. I think of it as being the vessel rather than operating it.
Q: The character of Sam is that based on yourself? Or someone you know?
F: Yes. And No.
I think that character, or any other, is an extension of its creator. Even it's someone you detest. You create a relationship with them. Interact with them.
There's is bound to be some part of yourself that lands on the page.
In that ever so brief instant that character is you. Or a reflection of you.
And if it's not, you are probably not doing a good job.
Q: And the relationship between the two main characters Sam and Dak? Does that represent a relationship from your own life? Past or present?
F: No.
Q: …
F: I made it all up.
Q: There were certain reactions from some communities, interest groups about some of the subject matter. In particular, the aforementioned relation attracted some attention.
F: I was not aware.
Can you fill me in?
Q: For instance, it was said that, and I quote “this filth is by no means suitable for the adolescent market it is targeting”.
F: Oh, you mean that?
Q: So, you are aware of the reactions of those readers?
F: I am aware that there are some folks, some of whom out-age the target group by half a lifetime, who probably did not read the book, yet still feel a need for their voice to be heard.
My heart goes out to all of them.
Q: Is there anything you would like to say to address those concerns?
F: You mean I should defend my work?
Q: Was your intention to provoke such a reaction?
F: I can say beyond any shadow of doubt there was no such intention.
The response from those I did not expect to read my work, was not something on my mind.
Q: ...
F: Before you continue. Show me these cards you have, will you?
Q: …
F: Let's have a looksie, shall we...
...
Did you write them yourself?
No?
Good. You don't strike me as this boring in person.
Now with these out of the way...
What do you want to talk about?
Q: I am sorry... I a... I don't know...
Is there anything you want to talk about?
F: Nothing really...
I think this interview has about run its course.
My friend convinced me to agree to do this; if it went well, she wins. If it didn't... never mind...
How do you reckon it went?
Q: Not... ah.... I guess it looks like your friend did not win....
F: Thank you.
Q: ...
F: Now, before I go, I want to ask you one thing.
Q: Yes?
F: On behalf of whoever wrote the questions on the cards, I want you apologise to me. To the camera.
Q: I am sorry.
F: No. That's not how this works.
Do it properly.
Q: ?
F: Say 'on behalf of...'
Q: On behalf of whoever wrote these cards I want to apologize for wasting your time.
F: Apologies accepted.
Q: …
F: One more thing, though.
Q: …
F: This conversation never happened.
You never spoke to me.
Tell them whatever you want...
Tell them we could not record because there was no tape in the camera. I will take that with me.
And that we agreed to postpone it indefinitely.
Q: ...
F: C'mon... say it to the camera. You know...
Q: This conversation never happened. There is no recording of it.
There was no tape in the camera.
F: Ahhhnnnd.
Cut!
A01 Freiburg
Having lived my whole life in the same place I used to think whatever we had was normal.
Whether you have a working or failing public transportation system, if you never experienced the opposite of what you perceived as the norm, you might die convinced that that’s just how busses and trains operate.
We used to laugh at outsiders when they were surprised by some aspects of our culture.
After moving away, and staying away for several years, that did not really change.
It wasn’t that I ever got homesick, but I grew a certain appreciation for what I used to take for granted.
In a similar manner the locals were often concerned with matters everyone I knew at home considered trivial and not worth the bother.
Such exchanges often ended with us looking at each other saying “and you think what we do is weird?”
I once asked Arthur if he had an explanation. He told there was no general answer to that. These things were as different as language and physical appearance.
And that rather than question or criticise another culture we should learn from them.
Unfortunately, that conversation only took place after I had moved home again. Whilst I was usually too busy shoving my head up my own arse, it might have been good advice.
Fortunately, Jules had meanwhile moved back as well. After years of travelling to see each other, we finally had opportunities to travel together again.
*
Julie was looking out the window of the train, I sat opposite of her reading a book.
She took off the headphones. “What is this?”.
“It’s called ‘At the Bottom of the Podium’ – it’s an album by a band you never liked…”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“For what it’s worth – I share your enthusiasm.”
“I do not think I ever listened to anything quite like it.”
“It’s as though someone took your work and turned it into music. Beautiful, mysterious, sensibile.”
“No one ever described it this way. I like that. Thank you.”
“Would you do a painting for me?”
“More of the same?”
“Anything really.”
“You know, I have been toying with an idea for a long time, it is inspired by a song you like.
But there is still one crucial detail I am missing for it to work.
Please be patient and you will see.”
She put the headphones back on. There was no point in me asking what song she had in mind.
No painting, no song.
*
I picked up Jules from the station and as we were walking back to my apartment, she asked for a more detailed explanation for my decision to move back. When I called her a few days ago asking if she could come to help me with some things, I didn’t tell anything other than when and how.
“When we spoke a few weeks earlier you sounded still very much at home here.
Why the sudden change?”
“It sounds stupid to say, but I feel everything points in the direction that it’s time to move back.
A project I had been working on for the last few years is coming to an end. And something inside tells me if I don’t get out now, I might end up stuck there forever.
Then there’s the fact that you have moved back as well. I never felt the desire to follow you where you went, but maybe this is a mild case of homesickness that I am experiencing now.
And, last but not least, my relationship with Zowie was coming to an end as well.
Back when we started going out, the end of her assignment seemed so far away. But now, that it is coming to an end we both agree it is for the better to go our separate ways.
We discussed the idea of moving away together, and living together, before she committed to her new program. Neither of us could imagine that would work out in the long run.”
“Staying here and trying something new, something on your own, was not an option?”
“I did think about that, too.
I came to the conclusion, that was exactly what got me here. The desire to strike out on my own. Now that I achieved that, it’s either pushing my luck by staying here hoping for more, or an excuse to not to take a new step. Even if that step appears to be backwards, it allows me to revisit the old familiar with a new perspective.
In the end I felt that I had experienced all that I came here for. And rather than going anywhere for the sake of it, I decided to retreat and regroup.”
“If I did not know you as well as I do, I would believe you.
But there is something else, something you are not telling me.”
“The night before I called you, I had a dream. Or a nightmare. One of the two.
Either way I was completely aware that none of it was real and that I was merely a spectator seeing through my own eyes but unable to have any interaction with the proceedings.”
I had awoken in the middle of the night, soaking from sweat. Most of the dream was a blur but one scene was as clear to me as if I had seen it in a movi.
I was standing in our old garden, dressed only a black apron. In front of me was a handmade fireplace and over it a boiling hot cauldron.
There was a sticky green substance floating at the top. I picked up a large brown glass bottle labelled ‘Acerbics’ from the floor and poured it into the pot. After a few minutes of occasional stirring the muck on the surface dissolved and I declared “it’s ready”. There was no one else around, although since it was very dark my sight was limited to the shine from the fire. I must have been saying that to myself. For the next thing I did was remove the apron and climb into to the steaming pot.
To my surprise I found a vast open basin inside. The liquid was dark and viscous. I could not see anything. Something, a force rather than a current pulled me deeper and deeper all the way to the boiling surface of the cauldron.
And then I noticed there was an open valve and I found myself sucked through it. The pain was unimaginable. I felt every bone in my body shatter and ground to dust to fit through the small opening and manoeuvre the thin spirals of glass and tubes that followed once I flowed past the outlet. I closed my eyes to better endure the pain.
When I opened them again, after I found myself not moving, not being pushed or squeezed for what felt like a few seconds, I saw that I was stuck inside the bottle that I felt in my hand earlier.
The last thing I saw before waking up was that contraption attached to the cauldron was in fact a distiller.
Jules could not help me with making sense of that dream. But she did suggest it was a metaphor for what my subconscious was trying to tell me to do, and that the comfort and rootedness of home would be beneficial to figuring out what that was.
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