Russell Hoban - Her Name Was Lola

The streets are dark and quiet as she drives to Fulham. Birds are noisy although the day hasn’t properly arrived. She finds a parking space almost in front of Max’s house but she hasn’t planned what to do next. Knock on the door? No. Just slip the CD through the letterbox? With a note? What should the note say? She’ll do a note later. The CD in her hand approaches the letterbox, draws back. Maybe tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes and she does nothing except practise the sarod. ‘What if I leave the CD without a note?’ she says to herself ‘Will he know it’s from me?’

‘Who?’ says Noah.

‘Nobody,’ says Lola. ‘I was talking to myself’

Lola’s parents are worried about the changes in their daughter. ‘Lola dear,’ says Lady Bessington, ‘I don’t want to be intrusive but you seem so troubled. I wish you’d tell me what’s weighing you down.’

‘It ain’t heavy,’ says Lola. ‘It’s my life. Try not to worry.’

Two days after her first trip to Max’s house she again leaves Belgravia alone in the early morning without saying anything to anyone. Again she drives to Fulham. With the sarod. ‘Why Polaris?’ she says to herself. ‘Am I going to serenade him?’ This time there’s a space right in front of Max’s house. She parks and gets out of the car with the CD in her hand. She’s about to start up the steps to Max’s front door when she hears something behind her grunting and breathing hard and there’s Apasmara writhing on the pavement like a dog that’s been run over. ‘You!’ she says. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘You know,’ says the dwarf demon.

‘Indeed I don’t,’ says Lola.

‘Yes, you do,’ says Apasmara. ‘You called me.’

‘I did not!’ says Lola.

‘Yes, you did,’ says Apasmara.

‘Did not!’ says Lola.

‘Did,’ says Apasmara.

‘When?’ says Lola.

‘At Diamond Heart,’ says Apasmara. ‘You opened yourself to me, you held me in your mind. Ummm. Now you’ve sent me here to do my thing, yes.’

‘Rubbish!’ says Lola. ‘You may have occurred to me in a moment of confusion but I didn’t send you here. Go away.’ Suddenly Apasmara does his jumping-spider trick and he’s in her arms, cradled like an infant. God! how he stinks. And he’s so heavy.

‘Hold me,’ he murmurs like a lover.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says Lola, but before she can stop him he kisses her and slides his tongue into her mouth. Ugh! She heaves Apasmara off her but he grabs the CD, flattens himself, and dives through the letterbox with the CD in his hand. Lola hears it land on the mat inside.

‘Whatever,’ she says. She wipes her mouth with no memory of how it got wet, no recall of the whole encounter. She’s shaking all over but she manages to drive back to Belgravia safely where she opens the door, steps inside, and faints.

November 2001. ‘Have a little chicken soup,’ says Lady Bessington to Lola. ‘You need to get your strength back.’

‘Chicken soup!’ says Lola. ‘Who are you, some Jewish mother?’

‘All mothers are Jewish mothers,’ says Lady Bessington. ‘Don’t be difficult.’

‘I’m not difficult, just impossible.’ says Lola. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘You’re not well,’ says Lady Bessington. ‘Dr Harley will be here to have a look at you this morning, and we’ll soon have you back on your feet.’

‘Who are you?’ says Lola.

‘I’m your mother,’ says Lady Bessington.

‘Pull the other one,’ says Lola, ‘It’s got ragas on it.’

‘Good morning,’ says Dr Harley. ‘How are we this morning?’

‘How many of us are in this we?’ says Lola.

‘Just you,’ says Dr Harley.

‘Good,’ says Lola. ‘I’m not.’

‘Not what?’ says Dr Harley.

‘Me,’ says Lola.

‘That’s perfectly all right,’ says Dr Harley. ‘I’ll just leave you these tablets and I’ll stop by again tomorrow.’

Lola takes the tablets, and when Dr Harley has left and her mother is out of the room she tries to stand up. Nothing happens.

The first tablets Dr Harley prescribed were Dozit 20mg. On his next visit he prescribes Wazzit 40mg, Thissnt 20mg, and Ennethin 10mg, twice daily with chicken soup as required.

Noah visits his mum several times a day and plays his nakkara while Lola slowly recovers from whatever brought her down. While this is going on Max visits Istvan Fallok, Grace Kowalski, and so on.

After a couple of weeks Lola gets out of bed one morning while everyone else is asleep. She doesn’t know who she is and she doesn’t know where she wants to go but she gets dressed and climbs into the E-type and gives it its head. It takes her to Fulham, up the North End Road, through West Kensington, on to the Great West Road, Hogarth Roundabout, and the M4. Motorway miles move towards her, pass under her, the Jaguar purring contentedly and going a little faster all the time. The E-type swallows the miles as the names of towns grow large in front of Lola, small behind her. PUDDLETOWN, says a sign. An arrow points to WEYMOUTH and she makes the turn. Bang! Flap, flap, flap. Flat tyre. Lola pulls over on to the hard shoulder and gets out of the car. It’s a foggy day, although she hasn’t noticed it until now. She hasn’t ever changed a tyre but she’s seen it done. She opens the boot and finds the spare but where are the jack and the lug wrench? She was certain they were here but they’re not now. She looks in her wallet and her driving licence says Lola Bessington but the name means nothing to her. There’s an AA card with a breakdown number but she’s got no mobile. She doesn’t like to leave the E-type to look for a roadside emergency phone so she can think of nothing better to do than wait by the car. In a matter of minutes something appears out of the fog. It’s a white Bedford camper decorated with scenes from the Kama Sutra.

November 2001. Still that same morning. ‘Hello,’ says Max as he picks up the phone. ‘Is Lola with you?’ says Lady Bessington.

‘No,’ says Max. ‘A couple of weeks ago I looked out of my bedroom window and saw her but by the time I got downstairs she’d gone.’

‘I’m worried about her,’ says Lady Bessington. ‘She hasn’t really been herself lately, and this morning she left without a word while Noah and the rest of us were still asleep.’

‘Noah!’ says Max.

‘Your son,’ says Lady Bessington.

‘My son!’ says Max. ‘My son Noah! And all these years not a word.’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ says Lady Bessington, ‘but perhaps we could go into it later. Just now I want to find Lola. Have you any idea where she might be?’

‘Yes,’ says Max, ‘I do. Can you pick me up as soon as possible?’ He gives her the address.

‘I’m on my way,’ says Lady Bessington. Lord Bessington is away at a conference, which makes things simpler.

When she pulls up in her Range Rover Max jumps in and directs her up the North End Road, through West Kensington, on to the Great West Road, Hogarth Roundabout, and the M4. The Range Rover swallows the miles as the names of towns grow large in front of them, small behind them. ‘How do you know where she’ll be?’ says Lady Bessington to Max.

‘Trust me,’ says Max. ‘She’s all I’ve thought about for the last four years.’ PUDDLETOWN, says a sign, and here are the E-type and a white Bedford camper and Lola struggling with somebody quite a bit larger than Max.

‘Thank you, God!’ says Max. He launches himself out of the Range Rover and on to the man who’s trying to pull Lola into the van. He knocks Geoffrey away from Lola but Max is having a hard time of it until WHAM! Lola swings Polaris with a good follow-through and out go the lights for the dentist.