Ken Bruen - Rilke on Black

Back inside I lay on the sofa and wondered what had become of Harry Worth.

S.O.S. claro... my old man used to shout. Esso es claro. Is it clear?

“Yeah, loud and fuckin’.”

He’d been a merchant seaman and that was the sole thing he’d learnt. Not about drinkin’, he’d picked that up before he left. I smile to think he finally got to school, a drinking one. They’re a movable feast but mainly the school has a West End location. Sometimes he’s leader of the pack, other times he is the pack. The very last time I saw him he was shouting that he’d never stop drinking until the last hostage was free. But just in case, he added a rider, “Or as long as there’s even a hint of a hostage being taken.”

Dex came by a few hours later with a lemon, a bottle of tequila, a pack of Marlboro.

“Peace offering,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I was going to bring bagels and styrofoams of coffee... have us an American time, especially as you tend to be armed and dangerous in the kitchen. No need to go in there again.”

He had a Brooklyn accent to match.

“So why the tequila?”

“I thought fuck Plan A for a game of soldiers, let’s get loaded.”

At long last I could slip in a wee anecdote. I said, “John Wayne said that tequila hurt his back.”

“His back!”

“Yeah, every time he drank it, he fell off the stool.”

He didn’t seem too impressed. But fuck, I’d been sitting on it for years. How often does the chance to slide that into a conversation occur?

We sucked the lemons, knocked back the tequila and even had the hit of salt. We were almost cordial. Dex even had a worn zippo to complement the Marlboro. He said, “I went to see Alex la Igliesia’s debut, Acción Mutante .”

I couldn’t fix a connection so said unsteadily, “He’s a Mexican?”

“Never heard of him, did you? Not a name bandied around much in the Clint Eastwood fan club. Even you’ll have heard of the Spanish film maker Pedro Almodóvar.”

I hadn’t.

“Christ, just how thick are you... only kidding buddy. Have some more tequila. Well Almodóvar financed this pic as he believed in it... now the raison d’être for this cinematic excursion. There’s a spoof TV bulletin in it about a kidnapping. The ransom demand appears like figures on a scoreboard.”

“You’re thinking of the ransom?”

“Flunked out again Nick. I was thinking about lezzies.”

“Lassies?”

“What... now you’re hard of hearing... lemme spell it out for you... l-e-s-b-i-a-n-s. Last night I read Ann Bannon’s I’m a Woman .”

I couldn’t fly with his rapid-fire-changes of topic. Mostly I wanted to ask him why but I was afraid he’d tell me. I said nothing and he began to quote from the story: “I know most of the girls in here, I’ve probably slept with half of them. I’ve lived with half of the half I’ve slept with.

“I’ve loved half of the half I’ve slept with.”

He waited for my response.

“You lost me at the very first half.”

It was like he hadn’t heard me, either way... he could care less.

“The best bit, Nicky, this chick who’s talking... she turns to her mate and says, ‘What does it all come to? You know something baby? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. You don’t like me and that doesn’t matter. Someday maybe you’ll love me and that won’t matter either.’”

I noticed he was wearing cowboy boots. They were stiff in newness. Welcome to Marlboro country. He lit a cigarette, the only sound being the heavy clunk as he shut down the zippo.

“So Nico, you’re a bit of a cowboy... yeah, give me yer Western verdict.”

“Well, Dex, there’s a point to all of it.”

“Naturellement, you heard the end line.”

“Run it by me again.”

“Nothing matters... not a cussed thing... that way you can’t lose. It’s all just a Spanish movie... not main-stream.”

“Yeah,” I said.

After he’d left, the tequila in my system called out for music. I no longer had Hank Williams as the cop had “borrowed” those. I thought he had taste as well as cheek.

Lisa has said to me, “Doesn’t cost anything to be gentle now and then. It’s not a weakness.”

Oh yeah.

“Look Lisa, I don’t know any gentle types. It’s not a quality there’s much percentage in. Gentle people cost.”

She gave a mild sneer.

“Cost... the white man’s price on everything.”

“Hey, you think I’m kidding here Lisa. You get to know these people, you get to like them but they’re casualties. No matter how you watch for them, they go down. One way or another. Then you hurt. No, stay clear.”

She’d begun to roll a joint and then took a small phial from her bag.

“Seasoning?” I asked.

“Liquid demorol, they give it to cancer patients.”

“And you flavour your dope with it... very fucking gentle.”

The booze had mellowed me and I cleared the debris from the kitchen. Fixed some food for the guest. He was in a yoga position, the picture of tranquillity. He said, “Do I remind you of the panther?”

“What, ’cos you’re black?”

“Rilke’s panther... listen... can you hear him... see

  ‘As he paces in cramped circles

  over and over, the monument of

  his powerful soft strides

  is like a ritual dance

  around a centre in which

  a mighty will

  stands paralysed.’”

“Give it a rest, eh.”

He considered, then nodded his head, said, “I made Benny’s acquaintance.”

“I heard.”

“Her age is indeterminable. I’ll kindly venture forty. Martin Amis tells us that by that age, we have the face we deserve.”

“He’d know. I told her I didn’t think she looked that. She said it’s what forty looks like nowadays.”

“There is a fact of nature I’m going to share with you.”

“Don’t bother.”

“I must insist. It is possible to sneak up on a fox. But a vixen, never. No matter what direction you come from, she’ll always have her eyes on you.”

He was well pleased with this little nomily. I asked, “What am I to make of that?”

“Perhaps that he who hunts with the hounds might yet run with the hare.”

“You want this food or not, age isn’t improving it.”

“What culinary delight have you devised to whet my gastronomic juices?”

“That means ‘Wot’s to eat?’... Right? It’s yer favourite... eggs. No toast due to an industrial accident.”

Then I left him to it. I rang his wife and read her the Riot Act. “Don’t contact the police... Type of bills, denominations... Be ready in twenty-four hours for the drop.”

Kidnapping kind of stuff.

To all she replied “Yes.”

I figured she was a) in deep shock b) on drugs c) couldn’t care less.

Only a) could be in our interest.

I heard shouting from the basement... I didn’t go down, just roared.

“What, what is it now?”

He bellowed, “‘Only at times/the curtain of the pupil lifts/ — quietly.’

“That’s the part of the poem you should remember my bouncing Lothario.”

I thought he’d finished but no.

“One more thing.”

“Jesus, wot?”

“You might try to remember one little item.”

“Oh yeah, and what might that be?”

“The mask, try and wear it the odd time, just for the appearance of the thing... OK.”

I didn’t even know where it was any more or for that matter, the position of anything else either. I went back to bed, I wanted to go back to the brandy but some sanity ruled. The phone jerked me awake. Late evening.

Bonny.

In a cold voice she said, “I’m going to leave London in a few days. Perhaps on my return I’ll read about you in the papers.”