Evensong

The parts which should have come first, leading to the climax where the Detail appeared, now crept in. He recalled bits of his past life and waited patiently for them to go away because they were irrelevant. He recalled snatches of conversations with Arden and Gaetano, his five days in the Signing Room, his meetings with her, and waited patiently for them to go away because they were irrelevant. But they wouldn’t go until they repeated themselves.

Snatches of words. And his inner obsessions, the themes shaped by his solitude, slid between and through and over the words, leaving a silver surface slime that glistened on them and illuminated them. Containers and contents. Surface and substance. Outside and inside. Private names, immersion holograms, books. Theatre Masks. Identity Soul Body.Containers Contents.

Levin. Her almost-recognition/almost-understanding. But, “Go back and kill it. Make sure it’s dead. Shoot it, in the head.”

Gaetano went back. Anwar heard him empty his gun, shot after shot after shot.

Make sure it’s dead, shoot it in the head. Make sure it’s dead, shoot it in the head..

If they’d done that to Levin, they...

They don’t do bodies, but...

He saw The Detail again. Not Arden’s Detail, that was dealt with for now, but hers. It walked up to him again, then swirled coquettishly away. Again.

He woke in the early morning of October 22. He knew the dream had come because it had left him exhausted; but he couldn’t remember it.

Olivia was there, sitting at his bedside. Wants to know if I’ve seen it yet? Or wants to help me recover? He pretended to fall asleep to avoid talking to her, then pretence became reality. He woke a little later to find her touching his shoulder.

“Ihavetogoforafewhours”shesaid.“AppointmentsI’ve been putting off. I do have...”

“An organisation to run,” he completed for her. “That’s alright, I’ll see you later.”

She smiled briefly and left, and he promptly fell asleep again.

The dream returned. But this time, like Levin bursting out of the wall, it returned as a monster.

Random phrases he’d heard since coming to Brighton, dancing in front of his face. Then swirling coquettishly away.If the phrases had been her, they’d be suggestively moving their meanings under the surface of their words like she suggestively moved her bottom under her long voluminous skirt as she turned away from him. She’d been good at turning away.

He couldn’t take his attention off the words, just as he couldn’t take his gaze off her when she moved like that, pretending she didn’t notice him. Some of the words he remembered just as words. They floated to the surface, spoke themselves as they were spoken, and sank back. Offer and Acceptance. Muslim filth. Jewish scum.

And then they came back, with music. With his dream-memory of the Congolese big band music he’d heard a few days ago, distorted by the random subconscious tides of his dream into something less pleasant: minor key, not major, with blaring dissonant brass and singers’ voices, not melodious but harsh and mocking like seagulls’. The music massaged the words, stressing alternate syllables regularly and masturbating them until their rhythms and inflexions and cadences spilled out.

Offer and Acceptance, Offer and Acceptance,

Muslim filth, Jewish scum.

Offer and Acceptance, The Dead fight in silence,

Muslim filth, Jewish scum.

“I’m Miles ahead of you, Anwar.” Yes you were, even in reaching death. Hear that, Miles? I’ve got a good rejoinder at last!

“Goodbye, old friend.”

Go back and kill it. Make sure it’s dead.

Shoot it in the head, in the head, in the head.

Reith Lecture. Room For God. Small sharp-featured figure on his screen.

Her life’s amounted to something. Never backing down.

Her life’s amounted to something. Never backing down.

A small animal, baring its teeth, and never backing down.

Greed, for food and sex.

Where does she put that food, where does she put that sperm?

Better than the best prostitutes.

In and out, with no baggage. Sex and nothing more.

In and out, with no baggage. Sex and nothing more.

In and out, with no baggage. Better than a whore.

Old greeting Muslim filth Jewish scum.