Russell Hoban - Linger Awhile

While I was waiting for Locke’s report I went to Rose Harland’s flat in Beak Street above the red neon sign of the Soho Pizzeria. The sparsity of her possessions was unusual: very few clothes in the cupboard, one pair of shoes with medium heels, one pair of Adidas trainers; no letters, no diary; a Letts monthly tablet calendar on the wall with the days crossed off up to the day of her death, nothing written in the daily spaces; a copy of The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder and The Collected Poems of A. E. Housman . In the Housman there was a Post-it on page fifty-two and the last stanza of A Shropshire Lad XLVIII was bracketed:

Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the prime foundation;

All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all in vain:

Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation — Oh why did I awake? When shall I sleep again?

In The Bridge of San Luis Rey page 130 was flagged, ‘… in which Brother Juniper called upon St Francis and gave himself up to the flames.’ I stood there for a while with the two books in my hand. There was a slight fragrance in the room, not so much of perfume, I thought, as of Rose Harland herself.

9 January 2004. When I finally climbed into bed beside Justine after that eventful night I was tired but not sleepy. I lay there for a long time looking at her lying on her back and snoring. She was wearing my pyjamas and looked touchingly vulnerable. Her colour was wonderful although her breath stank. I don’t think she moved all night although I tossed and turned a lot. There wasn’t that much of the night left to get through and eventually a new day arrived although it felt more used than new.

I went out for bagels and I made coffee when I got back. When I went upstairs Justine was sitting up in bed and rocking back and forth with her head in her hands. She looked up all wild-eyed when I came in. ‘Oh, please,’ she moaned, ‘let it all be a horrible dream! But it wasn’t a dream and I can taste the blood in my mouth. Why couldn’t you let me stay dead! What have you done? I’m a Frankenstein monster in cowboy boots.’

‘We have to get you some clothes,’ I said. ‘You can’t wear the same ones day after day and you’re kind of conspicuous in that outfit unless a rodeo comes to town.’

‘How could I do what I did!’ she went on. ‘She clung to me while I sucked the life out of her. Ugh! I’m a monster now and all I have to look forward to is more of the same, hunting night after night and coming home with blood in my mouth. Maybe I won’t do any more hunting and I’ll just die quietly. This is no kind of a life.’ She began to sob.

‘You were feeling pretty good about it last night,’ I said.

She shook herself as if she could get it off her back. ‘That was some kind of vampire binge,’ she said. ‘It was all that blood that I drank so fast, it was the blood talking, not me.’ She managed to eat a toasted bagel and drink some black coffee without throwing up, and then she calmed down and settled into a quiet depression.

I didn’t know how long she could go without a fresh supply of blood and I was dreading the next time she’d need some. Maybe I’d have to go with her to make sure she didn’t completely drain the victim. In the meantime I wasn’t returning phone calls and nothing was happening at Hermes Soundways except vampire work. Oh, to be back in my regular life where I’d get up in the morning looking forward to the day’s technical problems!

10 January 2004. When I turned up at Fallok’s place he said, ‘What?’

‘What indeed,’ I said. ‘That’s a very warm greeting for the guy who showed you how to reconstitute Justine Trimble.’

‘I’ve got a lot on my mind,’ he said.

‘I don’t doubt it. What the hell kind of recipe did you use for Justine? I was there when she committed murder.’

He looked as if he might pick up something heavy and beat me to death with it. ‘What are you going to do about it?’ he said.

‘I don’t know. I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in.’

‘And what condition is it in?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ve got this bloodstained anorak she left in a dustbin in Great Marlborough Street. The police are probably looking for it. Here, take it.’

He took it, felt in all the pockets, shook his head and said, ‘Shit. No keys.’

‘The anorak is just as I found it,’ I said. ‘I didn’t take anything out of the pockets.’

‘Never mind. What do you want, Chauncey?’

‘First of all, I want to know what’s happening. After that it’s negotiable.’

‘You said you saw her commit murder. Did you see how she did it?’

‘No, I wasn’t close enough. I saw the other woman slump down but I didn’t know she was dead until I had a closer look.’

‘She was dead,’ said Istvan, ‘because Justine sucked all the blood out of her.’

‘Oh my God! You mean …?’

‘That’s what I mean, Chaunce.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. From the seed of trouble grows the trouble tree. What now?’

‘You tell me. Are you in or out?’

‘In or out of what?’

‘Still fancy Justine?’

‘Crikey, I don’t know. This puts her in a whole new light. Or darkness, rather.’

‘Doesn’t it just! Do you want a piece of the action or not?’

‘You’ll have to be more explicit — I’m not up to speed on this.’

‘It’s like this, Chaunce: she’s already got a pint of my blood in her plus what she got on her own but she’ll need topping up from time to time and I’m going to have to subcontract some of the work. If you want to join the Justine club you’ll have to give her some of what it takes. Like the fellow said, “the blood is the life”.’

‘And in return?’

‘You get what you’ve been craving for. Justine is a treat to look at when she’s been haematologically refreshed and she’ll be very affectionate, I promise you.’

‘My God, you’re pimping for her.’

‘Needs must when the Devil drives, Chaunce. You can take the high moral ground or you can follow your heart.’

‘My heart , for Christ’s sake!’

‘Or whatever part is leading you. We’re talking pragmatism here.’

‘We certainly are, and I’m a little breathless from it.’

‘Perfectly understandable. Take your time, think about it: five, ten minutes, whatever. She’s young, she’s beautiful in full colour, she’s longing for what you’ve got.’

‘Is she here now? Could I see her?’

‘Absolutely. She’s just having a kip. She needs lots of rest.’

He led the way to the bedroom and there she was, nude, only partly covered by the duvet. I looked at her shoulder, her beautiful bottom and the leg she stretched out. She rolled over, exposing her breasts, and opened her eyes. ‘Who’s this?’ she said.

‘This is Chauncey,’ said Istvan. ‘He’s going to be your new uncle if you treat him right.’

‘Hi, Chauncey,’ she said. ‘You look some livelier than Ish. Are you ready for a little uncle work?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ I said.

10 January 2004. Why do I so often have that left-out feeling? Because I’m so often left out, that’s why. The grown-up is only a thin coat of chocolate over the hard nut of the child. Whatever you were as a kid, you still are when the chocolate gets licked off or scraped off. When they used to choose up sides for baseball or any other game I was always left till the last.

I went to Fallok’s place and looked in through the glass and there was Justine in glorious Technicolor sitting on some Chinese guy’s lap while Fallok was tinkering with an oscilloscope. So he was back at work in his normal routine and there were the three of them all cosy. I could scarcely believe it. ‘Yo, Istvan!’ I said. Childhood again. When I was a kid and we wanted somebody to come out and play, we stood outside the house and yelled, ‘Yo, Bob!’ or whatever his name was.