Peter Stjernström - The Best Book in the World

Even Titus laughs while reading. He never usually does that. Astra starts to think that Titus’ eyes are shining in an extremely alert manner. Is he really sloshed? He doesn’t look particularly intoxicated any more.

Titus turns the pages again and sticks his finger in at random.

‘“Do not stimulate impure thinking by theatre-going, the reading of salacious books, participation in the round dance, the presence of nude statuary and suggestive pictures ; avoid such bodily exposure and postures as mar the modesty of both man and woman. Marital moderation is most easily secured and maintained where married persons occupy separate beds; and, indeed, in many instances such conditions exist as render separate rooms not only desirable, but essential. Mr E.B. Duffey says: ‘If the husband cannot properly control his amorous propensities they had better by all means occupy separate beds and different apartments, with a lock on the communicating door, the key in the wife’s possession.””

Yet again, time for a brief rhetorical pause. Titus looks out over the auditorium with a broad smile. Astra thinks that he seems to be enjoying himself. The audience is also in good form; they belong to a laid-back generation that can laugh at historic stupidities instead of being shocked.

A young black-clad couple on the front row have stood up holding hands and are reaching out their hands towards Titus. Some sort of message is written along their arms. They are jumping, dancing and look as if they love Titus more than anyone else on the planet. To think that Titus can arouse such emotions! That is something new.

His gaze searches up over the balconies, right up to the gallery where Astra is sitting. She gets the impression that he is looking for her, and they make eye contact, Astra is almost certain of that. What was that, did he see her, did he give a wink? Titus’ gaze wanders further over the audience as if he is searching for somebody. But surely that was a wink? At least it was some sort of signal.

Titus reads some more short passages from the past ages of the moral preacher, before suddenly shouting:

‘Now listen, here comes the last verse from our very own doctor of theology, Sylvanus Stall. Are you with me?’

The audience stands up, their hands in the air with fingers pointing towards the ceiling, stamping the floor. Titus Jensen is king.

‘“Seeeexual excess is one of the most destructive forms of intemperance, degrading alike the body, mind and morals.” So think about that, girls and boys – go home and fuck each other this evening! Have a nice time! Thank you for listening to me, my name is Titus Jensen. Today and for ever and ever!’

Shouts of laughter and applause. This was one of the highlights of the evening, most of the audience agrees about that. Even Astra thinks that Titus made a good job of it. Perhaps these spontaneous readings are not quite as degrading when you get down to it; the public is laughing just as much at the ridiculous texts as they are at Titus. But of course it is pathetic that nobody cares about his own texts. Why can’t they pass muster for a festival like this? They are just as good as most of what she has heard this evening, that’s for sure. She decides to seek out Titus when the programme is finished. It is time to normalise their relationship again and besides, she must find out whether he really has broken his temperance vows.

After the festival, several of the performers and a large part of the audience hang around in the upper foyer and in the vicinity of the bar in the middle of the room. Since the weather is so nice and the evening warm, the enormous terrace outside is open, too.

Eddie X is holding court around a table in one corner of the terrace. He has had a good evening even though the energy drained away somewhat after Titus’ climax. Eddie’s interval act simply didn’t strike home like it usually did.

Various refreshments are available on a large tray in the middle of the table. Titus has managed to fill his glass with something that looks like a large gin and tonic with lemon – without adding a single drop of gin. He bellows in time with his fellow revellers. His nervousness has gone and now it is as easy as pie to act drunk. He is sitting next to Lenny who is comparatively relaxed and doesn’t have to shout out expletives all the time. Lenny is fairly drunk too, but for real. He twitches and stutters much less than usual, almost as though alcohol alleviates Tourette’s, Titus thinks.

‘F…fucking hell, you were really great,’ Lenny yells. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read so bloody well.’

‘Fanks, it was blooody fun,’ says Titus, slurring his words.

‘Fuck, Titus. You are almost a popular hero now, after all your readings. Aren’t you going to write a new book now, so you can cash in on your popularity?’

‘Yeah, purrhaps, purrhaps…’

‘What, are you working on something new?’

‘You never know…’ says Titus, and tries to avoid going into the subject.

‘What is it? What are you writing now? Tell me!’

‘Well it isn’t anything. I’m not working on anything special.’

‘Ah, come off it, pull the other one!’ Lenny counters. ‘We have hardly seen you all summer. You must have something in the works. What is your book about?’

‘One thing and another. Nothing special. Let’s talk about something else.’

‘Oh no, that’s interesting. What are you writing about? I want to know.’

Titus wonders why Lenny is suddenly so overly interested in his writing. What plans are he and Eddie cooking up? Are they going to try to steal his ideas? The conspiracy theories wash over him again. But who would believe him? He needs concrete evidence before he goes to Astra and Evita and tells them that Eddie X and the Babelfish publishing house are going to produce their own genre-transcending book. Or should he go directly to the police? He is not sure if they care about immaterial theft. Just think how the MP3 pirates knocked out the entire record industry without the police so much as lifting a finger to help them. He looks quickly across the table to see what Eddie is busy with.

Eddie is sitting with his legs wide apart on his chair and with his arms behind his head. He’s talking to Astra, who is standing next to him on high heels with her expensive handbag in a firm grip. Cautious, not to say suspicious. She looks extremely attractive this evening, a summery tan and with heavy black eyeshadow. Dressed for business, but with rather too many undone buttons on her blouse to suit a dusty meeting at the office.

Astra! Is she here? Then she must be convinced I’m drunk and have broken the contract, Titus thinks. In a slurring voice, he mutters something to Lenny about coming back and then rushes up to Astra.

‘Astra! Astra, I must talk to you!’

‘Nice to see you too,’ says Astra and gives Titus the most tired of looks. She really wants to keep a certain distance from him, otherwise he will completely devour her with his manic behaviour. But she follows along when Titus pulls her over to an empty part of the terrace.

‘Astra, listen to me now. I am one hundred per cent sober. I’m just pretending to be drunk so that they won’t know I’m alert and writing again.’

Astra gives a laugh.

‘Pretending to be drunk!? Come off it, are you twelve years old or what? Get a grip, Titus.’

‘I promise. Have a sniff.’

He leans over her face and breathes out for all he is worth over her nose. She gives a start. It doesn’t smell particularly nice. But sloshed? No, it doesn’t actually smell like that.

‘Why are you behaving like this?’ Astra pushes Titus’ face away from her.

‘I must. They can’t be allowed to find out anything.’