Adam Thirlwell - Lurid & Cute

— So, see you, she said to me, gently.

— Yeah see you, I said, in the gentlest way possible too.

We looked at each other. And in retrospect I wonder if that’s how deftly a horoscope can come true: it was just there in the background, like all the quiet clickings and swooshings of people’s phones and laptops when you’re sitting in business class — in one single mute passage of meaning. But then show me what passage of meaning isn’t total mute. I would like to see such meaning.

which leads to a gentle but disturbing conversation

But at this time I was only really aware of the ongoing noisy surface. Very much I wanted the atmosphere to calm, but what was happening was as usual jumpy. Have you seen jumpy? It is the opposite of the old phrase where a joint is jumping. The joint was tense. Whether or not from jealousy or just the wish to keep the level of provocation up, Romy gazed at Epstein in what could only be called awe, and simultaneously I knew that if I were to be an allegory for one of the ancient humours I could only have been the woebegone dishevelled figure of melancholy. Melancholy was my only option in world charades. For I have this constant problem with comparisons, I mean this problem that I am making them and I do not think that happiness is to be found in the making of comparisons. Not only did I have a simple problem of possession when I looked on like this at Romy but also I was very struck by what seemed her total devouring love for Epstein, and could not help comparing this to the more divided state of my marriage now to Candy. I knew this was unfair and that nothing is comparable, but still, that’s what I did. So that when Candy said she wanted to go home early, I was both happy to go with her, so as not to continue to watch such scenes of my distress, but at the same time in the haziest way possible I knew that I was angry or annoyed, that to leave Romy at this fiesta and with her happiness with Epstein left me very much dismayed and like I was as always missing out. I was missing out on the one true bright thing. We could also stay? I probably said, with my big eyes, or something. And then was nervously surprised, because Candy did in fact consent to stay, which I was not quite expecting. And immediately it made me suspicious, I mean suspicious of her suspicions, that if she was staying it was because she wanted to survey me, to watch my interactions with Romy and examine the surface for clues to a possible depth, whereas in fact just possibly it was only Candy trying to show that yes she could stay out late even when she had to get up very early for metro journeys and meetings, and even that thought made me sad, for why should anyone change for anyone? But still, here she was, and there was no doubt that something was about to happen, I mean one last event to somehow prove that this indeed had been a fiesta to remember — because what’s a party if you do not question your existence?

— You know what your problem is? said Candy. — Your problem is that you love me so so much you get confused.

— I do? I said.

— Uh-huh, she said.

— Well, maybe, I said.

In retrospect I understand that this response of mine was not enough, but it was the most I could admit to, because really at this moment I was not sure that I believed it, that I did love her, or love her enough, but also I liked her for saying it, very much — I think because I understood the pain that was making her try such a winsome tone, and yet still, that tone only made me hate her more. I say hate but of course I also adored her.

— You, fuzzy bear, she continued, — are all dopey because you love me.

— Yeah, I said.

We had slightly moved apart from Epstein and Romy, perhaps with some inclination to find more alcohol and snacks, but I think also we were audible, and that’s never a situation I like although Candy seemed never to care: her lack of embarrassment in the social world extended in every direction, so she would happily cry in public or have major conversations on crowded metros whereas me I prefer the sequestered grove and wilderness mountains if my feelings are to be discussed.

— They’re so happy, no?

— Who that? I said.

— Epstein, she said. — And Romy.

— Sure, I said.

I was trying to seem cool in case Romy was definitely listening, and presumably she was, after all, so I also offered something that was meant as a joke for possibly her ears only.

— Although you just wait. Soon they’ll go with other people, I said.

— Like you? said Candy.

— Like what?

— Do you ever think about other people?

— Other people? I said.

It’s really terrible when a joke for another person creates a situation in your own routine. Obviously I was trying to understand what possibly Candy had understood or known about Romy. I had no idea. If she was saying it so directly, presumably it meant the question was innocent, or perhaps it was some intricate deceitful invention designed to blur every level of the real. I could not know, because it’s never easy to know what is happening inside a conversation, especially one like this where major things are being said without you in any way being prepared, as you would be for the ideal interview, with your notes and new pens and other aids. For while it might be true that miscommunication is in some way the motif of our age, I think in some way this does not do justice to the true happenings, for miscommunication implies some kind of arrow that goes missing or misses its targets, whereas the true problem is that neither the arrow nor the target is aware of its existence, since we are using so many lies and problematics with each sentence. Or so I now think, when I think about the end of this fiesta, so many sad things were being said and as if without hindrance or control. And also they were being said very loudly and that’s interesting — I mean it’s interesting when you become the centre of attention without wanting to be. But there seemed no way to stop this. Each sentence created another sentence — so that when my query to Candy created no reply, I did not soften things or end them which would of course have still been possible, but instead invented some other line, something like:

— You don’t feel lonely?

Violence in arguments is one thing that previously gentle people are good at. Or at least I find that’s true for me. When I’m frustrated I can throw things and Candy has been known to ruthlessly slap me in the face. But also it is violence just when two people begin to shout without embarrassment or shame. And to have a vision of Candy’s rage was truly terrible.

CANDY

Lonely? Why would I feel lonely?

ME

Hey, don’t shout.

CANDY

I’m not shouting.

ME

OK, OK.

CANDY

What do you expect? You think people who’ve been together for so long will be like people who’ve just met –

ME

Sure, no sure –

CANDY

I think our sex life is good. It’s sometimes even delicious, boo.

ME

OK.

CANDY

You think we need to talk more about it?

ME

It should be easy.

CANDY

No one finds it easy! Ask anyone!

Certainly the loudness with which Candy was talking was making me nervous and ashamed, and I am not sure that is really so wrong, not to want to be the film stars who are drunk and screaming at polite parties… Perhaps, I was suddenly feeling, the problem was that we had still not yet had children: without children, I was thinking, it was like you are creating all the energy in your house, like some animal that’s being forced to go round and round to keep a motor running on electricity. It means that all your other energy is dead or otherwise dying. Or that was something I was thinking. I don’t know why. I was often wrong.