Black Chalk

When Chad broke the silence he managed to restore some calm to his voice. ‘Then we’re going to have to come to some kind of arrangement,’ he said, glancing up at the ceiling. ‘Unfortunately there is another factor to consider. It seems I have to leave Pitt early as well. I have to return to the States,’ he said, shaking his head slowly. ‘Possibly I could be gone for some time.’ And then, Chad’s voice becoming strained, he added, ‘If you’re allowed to distort the Game, Jolyon, then so can I. But I’ll come back to finish this, you can be one hundred per cent certain of that. This is a temporary suspension. This is not the end, Jolyon, this is nowhere near the end.’

Jolyon brushed at his legs for a while as if they were covered in crumbs. ‘How long is some time?’ he said, looking at Chad with perfect calmness.

‘A year might be enough,’ said Chad, ‘two years definitely.’

‘And won’t you return to Susan Leonard?’

‘That’s not your business,’ said Chad. ‘I suggest we meet again in two years’ time.’

Jolyon threw up his hands slowly. ‘Well, I suggest fifty years,’ he said. ‘No, no, I suggest a hundred.’

‘Don’t be an asshole,’ said Chad.

‘There are two of us now,’ said Jolyon, ‘that means you no longer control the casting vote, Chad,’ he said. ‘There is no casting vote.’ Jolyon played at finding more crumbs to brush. ‘So if I want, I can be all the arsehole I like.’

While Chad and Jolyon stared at each other, Shortest uncrossed his legs and got to his feet. ‘Then I’m afraid Game Soc will have to intercede,’ he said, pacing back and forth with his hands held together behind him. ‘Waiting a few years is acceptable, perhaps even preferable. I mean, who knows what positions in life we’ll all attain in ten years’ time – which makes everything infinitely more interesting. But Game Soc can’t wait forever, Jolyon. And anyway there’s a wonderfully simple solution to your dispute.’ Shortest picked up the playing cards from the coffee table. ‘Your little game has been lacking in the element of luck for some time,’ he said, fanning the cards. ‘Let us allow the random its return’. ‘One of you will cut the deck. The card’s value is equal to the number of years you will wait before resuming your game. Mr Mason may require two years away, so let’s say that aces are high. Jacks are eleven, queens twelve, kings thirteen and aces fourteen. Do you both agree?’

They looked at each other and nodded.

‘Good, then,’ said Shortest. ‘Mr Johnson, why don’t you cut?’

LXX(v) The ace of spades.

LXXI

LXXI(i) Fourteen years ago, my birthday, the ace of spades. Fourteen years ago today.

LXXI(ii) My mind has been tumbling away from me for so long, ever since that night on the tower.

Jolyon, you win.

My memory, already not such an impressive piece of equipment, began to deteriorate daily from the moment of Mark’s death. It was as if my brain had come up with a cast-iron plan to hold on to my sanity. If memory was the thing that could hurt me the most then my mind would cease to form strong memories. Instead it would paint for me only faint pictures, enough memory by which to survive, nothing more. Yes, my mind had to protect me from myself.

But there was an awful flaw in the plan. Sharp memories of Pitt had already formed, and they couldn’t be easily erased. But what could be forgotten was the minutiae of life, the everyday, the world outside. And so now I live in a cage, trapped inside this story, a tale so vivid I feel it coursing through the circuits of my flesh every day.

Meanwhile, life goes on around me uncared for, unnoticed. Because instead of the world outside, every day I find myself wandering among towers and domes. I am surrounded by merlons and crenels, I live poised above a flagpole, my universe twenty-five metres high, an eighty-foot drop. The world outside is only distant chatter far below, some kind of happiness playing out on a faintly lit lawn.

Gravity, nine-point-eight. Time, two and a quarter. And the eyes very suddenly shut.

LXXI(iii) I have been working since I woke at five and at last Pitt is all written down. It is nine thirty now, it has been an abstemious birthday so far. A few sips, a light cocktail of pills. Chad arrives in five hours’ time and then we will play. It seems to me that medication and celebration go hand in hand. I have such a hunger, a thirst.

LXXI(iv) Almost noon. Deliverance straight from the bottle. Would you like ice with that, sir? Pop pop pop go the rocks. Their pinks and their yellows and blues.

And now feel free to sing along. You know this tune?

For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a Jolyon feh-heh-low. And now I think I should try to clear my head. Which nobody can deny.