Alan Goodwin - Gravity's Chain

‘Good choice.’

‘You like Lennon?’ She turned, her breasts swaying against the flimsy material of her shirt as they pushed to be free. ‘You know, Jack, I don’t think you can like both Lennon and McCartney. I mean, you can like their songs, but not them as people. For me it’s one or the other. Lennon is dangerous and sexy. McCartney is safe, more like a husband asleep on a Saturday afternoon. I’ll take Lennon every time. How about you?’

‘When you put it like that I’d have to say Lennon.’

‘Do you smoke?’

‘Sometimes.’

She pulled a small packet from under the sofa cushion, rolled a joint with great precision and lit it. We relaxed and smoked, neither talking for several minutes.

‘Jack?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you want to try something different?’

‘Yes.’

Caroline placed an old wooden chair with paint smudges all over it in front of the open sliding doors. ‘Sit here,’ she commanded. ‘What do you see?’

‘Nothing much.’

‘What do you mean “nothing”?’

‘There isn’t much there.’

‘Come on, Jack, you need to look properly and tell me what you see.’

‘Trees. I see trees and bush. I see the sky.’

‘What colour is it, Jack?’

‘Blue, mostly. There are some clouds, light in front but heavier to the side and their colour deepens to a dirty grey.’ I felt a silk scarf pulled over my eyes.

‘What do you see now?’

‘Orange.’

‘Good. Can you feel the wind on your face?’

There was a soft breeze on my cheeks and I nodded.

‘I want you to imagine you’re somewhere else, another place in some other time. Can you do that, Jack? Can you let yourself go and transport your mind?’

‘Will you help me?’

‘I’ll help you. I’m always here to help you. Are you willing to try?’

‘Ready and willing.’ With sight gone, my senses were already sharpening. I was aware of Caroline now kneeling in front of me and I could feel her breath hot on my thigh.

‘I want you to imagine you’re in Florence. It’s the sixteenth century and the Renaissance is blooming all around you. Your friends are thinking differently and releasing themselves from centuries of sterility. You’re a young nobleman, close to the artists of the city for whom you’re a benefactor. Today has been hot, but an afternoon breeze has brought some relief and helped lift the stench of the city. Your home is in the centre of Florence and your rooms on the second floor overlook the old home of Dante. You sit there now, on a chair with the doors of your balcony open, gazing across the red ochre rooftops of the city houses. The heat of the day has abated, bringing out the people who walk and talk in the narrow street below. You can feel the breeze on your face.

‘It’s been a wonderful day. You’ve commissioned a picture from Raphael and today you visited him to see its progress. While there you browsed the sketches, canvases and half-completed works in his studio. You felt as though a light stronger than a hundred candles sought out the dark corners of your soul. How you crave to be like him and release passions and forces in others with the mere stroke of a brush. His talent is close enough to breathe.

‘One of his favourite models, Francesca, is with you now. She’s been his model for several months and you’ve often admired her body in his paintings or on visits to the studio when she has posed. She was there today. The studio was hot and smelt of paint. Her pose stirred you and you watched the sweat run down her stomach in a little stream.’

Caroline paused. I could feel her breath on my thigh shorten, then disappear. For a moment there was nothing, no sound, no sensation, and then I felt the lightest brush of warm flesh on my thigh. I knew this was her breast. How I wanted to rip off the blindfold, but she anticipated my impulse. ‘Steady,’ she implored and I relaxed. ‘Francesca lay on cushions arranged on the floor, her long golden hair splayed over her shoulders and breasts.’

I felt Caroline’s hair on my legs.

‘Her nipples were dark and hard.’

Caroline touched my knee with her own erect nipple.

‘One arm lay along the curve of her waist and hip. She met your gaze when you entered and you know she has no shame for her appearance. At first you tried to avoid her searching eyes, but soon you were strong enough to meet her look.

‘When the sitting finished she draped a gown over her shoulders but when the master left the room she allowed it to slip to reveal her breasts again. This was for you. It’s rumoured she is Raphael’s lover. She has been touched by genius and you yearn to touch her as well, to go where he’s gone, to have what he’s had.

‘Now she’s in your rooms. You’ve drunk wine and shared fruit. She’s asked you to sit on a seat in front of the open doors and she’s tied a scarf around your eyes. Is this a game the master has played with her?’

A hand touched my thigh—Caroline or Francesca? I wasn’t sure any more. Both breasts touched my legs as my shorts and underpants were pulled down to my ankles. Fingertips traced the outline of pubic hair without touching me. I thought I might just rip apart. ‘Francesca has you erect before her and you strain, yearn, strain and strain to be touched. “Have you ever come like a God?” she asks you.’

‘No,’ I croaked.

‘“Raphael taught me this”, and then…and then as though your penis is dipped in honey, Francesca takes you in her mouth.’

Just a split second before my orgasm Caroline released me. ‘And you come into a void, your seed falling on the streets below. “To come like a God”, Francesca whispers, “is to lay your seed on the people as though you can do what you please and in that moment there are no limits to what you can achieve. To come in the void is to know that anything is possible, that you are, if you want, unstoppable.”’

Caroline let the blindfold loose and I looked in her eyes. ‘I love you.’

‘I know. We were meant to be, Jack. We are one. We can be one. Will you let us be one?’

‘I already have.’

‘An incredible journey awaits us. Let it begin.’

‘It already has.’

A fter Jo left, I tried to work. It was pure diversion, an attempt to keep at bay the memories of Mary and Caroline. It failed, but even after I’d faced the full fury of my deceit, I hoped to find some solace, some salvation in work.

When Einstein formulated his General Theory of Relativity he correctly foresaw that a consequence of the equations was an ever-increasing universe. He reasoned this an impossibility and his nerve failed him. To correct the finding he included in the theory a cosmological constant, a force that kept the universe from expanding. When Edwin Hubble confirmed that the universe was indeed growing, Einstein called the constant his biggest mistake and abandoned it. However, the damn thing never completely disappeared and even in the afterglow of Superforce the constant was still a loose thread. I had for some months thought that securely knitting the constant into Superforce would be a good return to work, but all my efforts had failed. And by the end of the morning the pristine paper on my desk was still blank. Nothing—not a word, not a number, not even a letter. As usual, in the end, I simply gave up.

Fortunately it was then time to leave for the afternoon’s engagements. There was a press conference, a television interview and then the drive to the Aotea Centre and sound checks for the evening show. I chose not to return to the hotel and waited backstage instead. When entering the theatre I’d again sensed someone watching me. I wasn’t going back out there.