Ben Lerner - Leaving the Atocha Station

That I smoked hash with tobacco was critical during this phase of my project, although I was resolved never to smoke a cigarette again after leaving Spain, and so smoked with particular abandon, critical because the cigarette or spliff was an indispensable technology, a substitute for speech in social situations, a way to occupy the mouth and hands when alone, a deep breathing technique that rendered exhalation material, a way to measure and/or pass the time. More important than the easily satisfiable addiction, what the little cylinders provided me was a prefabricated motivation and transition, a way to approach or depart from a group of people or a topic, enter or exit a room, conjoin or punctuate a sentence. The hardest part of quitting would be the loss of narrative function; it would be like removing telephones or newspapers from the movies of Hollywood’s Golden Age; there would be no possible link between scenes, no way to circulate information or close distance, and when I imagined quitting smoking, I imagined “settling down,” not because I associated quitting with a more mature self-care, but because I couldn’t imagine moving through an array of social spaces without the cigarette as bridge or exit strategy. Happy were the ages when the starry sky was the map of all possible paths, ages of such perfect social integration that no drug was required to link the hero to the whole.

I didn’t think these things, but might have, as I walked back through the park and home, then lay on my bed, only several feet beneath the downward-sloping ceiling, after having ignited the butane heater and drawn it near me. Once I was warm I would eat something, open a bottle of wine, and then write Cyrus, to whom I’d long since confessed I had internet access in my apartment, and who was in Mexico with his girlfriend and her dog. I was vaguely jealous of them; they’d driven to Mexico in her pickup with little money and no real plan in order to acquire experience, not just the experience of experience sponsored by my fellowship. His girlfriend, Jane, who had attended the same university as I, was the daughter of a very rich and famous man, but had foresworn her fortune, at least temporarily, in order to live lightly on the planet, make art, and write; before she left for Mexico, she had been squatting in one of Providence’s abandoned warehouses with a group of like — minded artists. Often around eight or nine p.m. in Madrid, Cyrus would be in an internet café in Mexico, and we could instant message. One Monday night:

ME: you there? what’s up in xalapa

CYRUS: Yeah. Went on a kind of trip this weekend. Planned to camp

ME: i was going camping here for a while

ME: hello?

CYRUS: I remember. It’s hard to imagine you camping, I must say. Anyway, we drove to the country to see some pueblos, walk around

ME: cool

ME: what did you see

CYRUS: There was a bad scene there

ME: you mean a fight with jane?

CYRUS: No. Although we’re fighting now, I guess

ME: stressful to travel together if you haven’t before

CYRUS: Well we were walking

ME: still there?

CYRUS: along a river and

CYRUS: I’m still here, yes. Jane wanted to swim, but I was a little worried about the current. Not to mention the water did not strike me as particularly clean

ME: my brother once picked up a parasite swimming in a lake and was sick for a month

CYRUS: Right. And Jane launched into this speech about — half joking — about how I was afraid of new experiences or something, how I was always happier as a spectator. Not a fight, just teasing, albeit

ME: i hate new experiences

CYRUS: emasculating teasing. Something about that being what was wrong with poets

ME: the new poems are great, btw

CYRUS: I guess I should mention we were smoking a lot of that Acapulco Gold

ME: so what happened with

CYRUS: or whatever it is. Very staticky. Or at least I’d been smoking it. Vaguely reminiscent, incidentally, of certain Topeka strains, but more powerful. Anyway we walked along the river and it eventually opened out and where it was wider we encountered some people swimming

ME: americans?

CYRUS: Locals. There are no tourists here in winter, it seems

ME: right

CYRUS: There were two men swimming, or one swimming and one more like wading. The current looked pretty strong. One of the men, his girlfriend was on the bank — in a swimsuit — and he was trying to convince her to get in, to swim

ME: don’t like where this is going. she was scared of the current?

CYRUS: Maybe. Maybe just the cold

ME: what is the weather like there

ME: madrid: cold and raining constantly

CYRUS: Warm to hot. It was like 80. Which is unseasonably warm, I guess. The air is filthy. But the water still chilly. Anyway, Jane — we were on the opposite bank as the swimmer’s girlfriend — Jane wanted to swim

ME: she had a swimsuit?

CYRUS: and did get in the water, although I told her I didn’t think

CYRUS: Yes, we both had swimsuits on under our clothes. It was not, I told her, a good idea, because of the current

ME: knowing her, i’m sure that was a goad

ME: might egg her on

CYRUS: Yes. She got in and while the current was strong was fine. Then the other swimmers, they were saying to the girlfriend, see, this girl got in, no problem, and then Jane started telling me to come into the water. So there I was opposite the girlfriend on the bank, both of us being pressured by the swimmers to join them. The girlfriend and I kept looking at each other with nervous smiles

ME: if one of you got in the other would have to

CYRUS: I felt that

ME: a game of chicken. you two should have left the others and gone off and had

CYRUS: Or at least if she got in I would have to. But she probably could have remained on the bank

ME: a wonderful life together!

ME: right. she would not be emasculated

CYRUS: but I was, I admit, feeling the pressure. Jane was there with these other men in the water, the current clearly manageable. I felt cowardly and American

ME: you have to stay strong — cowardice of your convictions

CYRUS: Yeah, well, I got in. The current was actually stronger than I imagined. There were pockets of strong current. Where the river narrowed a little farther down I could see what looked like serious rapids

ME: and then the girlfriend jumped in

CYRUS: Well

CYRUS: not at first. But now everyone kind of turned to her. We’d all become one group, somehow. And her boyfriend had changed from teasing her to encouraging her, his arms open, lovingly — it’s fine, I promise, I’ll protect you, etc. We were

ME: how bad is this going to get?

CYRUS: also encouraging her, I think. And laughing and screaming at the cold she jumped in. She was fine at first

ME:!

CYRUS: but as she kind of splashed around — she didn’t really know how to swim, it didn’t seem. I don’t know, she moved somewhat downriver where the current became pretty strong, and she was getting upset

ME: so someone went and helped her?

CYRUS: Things

CYRUS: things got very bad very fast. she went underwater for a second, and when she resurfaced, she was a little farther down and totally panicked

ME: jesus

CYRUS: She was screaming and water was

ME: jesus

CYRUS: getting in her mouth and she was struggling against the current in the wrong way

ME: couldn’t somebody get her

CYRUS: Her boyfriend was trying but there were enough stones and other shit that it was taking awhile. And he wasn’t much of a swimmer either, didn’t know, I don’t think, what to expect from or how to manage the rapids. Jane tried to go

ME: tried to catch her?

CYRUS: Yes. I held her back. As I was holding her back I saw the girlfriend go under again, then reemerge briefly another, I don’t know, ten feet down