Lee Rourke - Vulgar Things

I awake to rain. It’s pouring in on me and the telescope through the opening in the roof of the shed. I clamber to my feet, steadying myself with my stick. I struggle with the pulley-lever, trying to shut the roof as quickly as possible so that nothing gets damaged, but the books on the table are sopping wet, as are most of Uncle Rey’s charts. I salvage as much as I can — which is still a lot due to the amount of stuff in here. I find a box of rags and try to soak up as much water as possible, but every time I bend down, or reach across the sopping wet floor with a rag a wave of burning pain shoots across my back, up through to the back of my head. I’m in agony. I make my way to the caravan; I need to dry out, to wash, to drink coffee or something, anything to give me the jolt of energy I need.

I struggle up to the caravan, my hands shaking, the pain shooting from the back of my head all the way down my spine. I fall into the caravan and collapse in Uncle Rey’s armchair in his bedroom, staring at his record collection, hoping the pain will go away, but it doesn’t. I know I have to start work on his possessions, all the legal stuff, but the thought of sifting through all his old paperwork, or packing away his records, is filling me with dread. All I want to do is watch more of his recordings. I lean over to the side of his armchair and reach into a box by the manuscript. I pick up a DVD at random. I sit there, staring at it in my hand; it’s a wonder I’ve not seen it before, I’m sure I’ve not seen it before. It sends a shiver through me. How have I not seen this DVD before? It’s so different from all the rest: it’s got a different title for a start. I read it over and over again:

Jon #1 1976–1984

Even if the pain in my back and head was non-existent I think I’d still remain paralysed in the armchair, holding up the DVD in front of me, just staring at it as the terror begins to well up inside me. I’m too frightened to put it in the machine. I have to, I know that, but right now it feels impossible. But there’s something else alongside the terror, something compelling me to do otherwise. I suddenly begin to move. I don’t know how long it takes me to get up and out of the armchair and put the DVD into the machine, switch on the TV, press play and sit back down again. I stare at the TV screen, waiting for something to happen. Maybe it’s blank? Maybe there’s nothing whatsoever on here? Then the screen flickers, then …

Jon #1 1976–1984: scene/image 1

a room

a TV in the corner of the room

a child kneeling in front of the TV watching a cartoon

aged about six

watching a cartoon

just the back of the child’s head

no sound

child suddenly turns around and stares into the camera

smiling

the child knows the person filming

cut to black

I recognise it immediately. It’s my father’s living room. Filmed a long time ago. It takes me a while to realise that the child kneeling in the room, watching the cartoon, is me. I can tell by the shape of me, the back of my head, the way I’m kneeling. I can tell that it’s me. I shudder when my six-year-old self looks down the lens, smiling, beaming from the TV; my face, happy and smiling. I feel sick. Something’s not right, something I didn’t realise back then. I’ve no recollection of this ever happening, of ever being filmed in this way. I guess it must be Uncle Rey behind the camera, filming me. On one of his few visits to London.

Jon #1 1976–1984: scene/image 2

inside of a parked car

window frame and window lock of car

rain on window

cigarette smoke

through the window a high street somewhere in London

people walking

red buses

traffic

two people, backs to camera, walking down the street

a small boy holding a man’s hand

the small boy looks up to the man as he looks down at the boy

the man is saying something to the boy

the camera zooms in

close shot of boy

side of small boy’s face, looking up at the man who is now out of shot

then the man and small boy disappear from shot

camera pans back

the man and small boy have turned left off the high street

cut to black

It’s me holding my father’s hand. I recognise his gait immediately. The POV is unsettling, we obviously had no idea that we were being filmed and again I can’t remember the day, although the clothes I’m wearing are vaguely familiar. I guess at once that it’s Uncle Rey behind the camera in his car. He must have driven to London to spy on us. I want to know what my father was saying to me. I really want to know what he was saying to me. I look safe in his company, the way I looked up at him, my father, like I was in awe. My eyes begin to fill up with tears. My first instinct is to pause the film, to phone Cal, but I can’t move. I continue to stare at the screen.

Jon #1 1976–1984: scene/image 3

department store

women’s clothing

racks

young boy running around through the racks of women’s clothes

POV from high up — possibly from stairs to upper floors

boy soon joined by a woman

woman grabs boy and kneels beside him

stern words — the woman is clearly angry

shoppers stop and stare

the boy begins to cry

the woman holds the boy’s hand and leads him through the shop floor

the camera zooms in after them but is blocked by a row of mannequins

cut to black

Tears are falling down my cheeks. I wipe them away, shaking, glued to the screen. It’s my mother I’m watching — and me again. Mother looks young, full of life, busy with it, full of hopes and dreams. Her skin is pale, and her clothes are bright. Whenever I think of her it’s usually grey, her clothes miserable: browns and greens. But here, on this screen, my mother is an explosion of colour. It startles me. I’ve never seen her in this light before. She must have visited, or I was allowed to visit her. I don’t know. It’s like it never happened. I have no memory of what I have just watched. It’s like another life. Another fiction. But, amazingly, there we are.

Jon #1 1976–1984: scene/image 4

a house

a window

a living room

a TV

the light flickering

a man

a boy

the boy is sitting on the man’s knee

they are both laughing

watching the TV

door to the room opens

another boy walks in to join them

they all watch the TV together

the man puts his arm lovingly around the other boy

the boy sitting on the knee of the man suddenly turns around and looks at the camera

hedgerow

pavement

lamp post

footsteps

car

POV through car window

a house

a window

a boy is looking out from the window back at the camera

cupping hands around eyes

cut to black

A cold shiver runs through me. I think I remember this happening. I remember watching the TV with my father, Cal joining us, and then suddenly sensing somebody else’s presence outside. I remember seeing him, at least I think I do, running back towards his car. I’m sure I remember it. I must have been about ten or twelve, I’m not too sure. Ever since that day, I’ve always been aware of that feeling: the sense that someone is near, watching me, always watching, wherever I go. It’s never left me.

I watch the entire DVD. There are about twenty or so separate images and scenes. Mostly of me and quite a few of Mother: across streets, through windows, across playing fields, during the summer holidays, right up until my mid-teens. Then: nothing. Just blackness, like the blackest of nights: without stars, without Saturn. I fall back into the armchair, wiping away the tears from my cheeks. I feel numb, like I’ve fallen from a great height and somehow survived. Then something strange happens: another image appears. Like a hidden track on an old CD: