silence.
Monday
January 11th
Lauren went to her first class
today. Her fellow students are a mixture of pensioners, redundant executives
and unemployed young people.
Lauren’s exotic
appearance pleased the class. She was considered to be properly artistic-looking.
Her refusal to remove her sunglasses was taken for temperament. She is already
infatuated with her tutor. His name is Bradford Keynes; he is thin and pale. He
has a very long beard and he doesn’t care about his clothes. Bradford is
passionate about ‘line’. He made the class draw circular shapes. Lauren’s
shapes managed to look angular. Bradford told her to ‘loosen up’.
John
stopped reading his mother’s diary and reached for his own. He looked up the
entries for early January.
John
closed both diaries. He felt betrayed and bereaved. He scrubbed at his eyes,
but couldn’t stop the fat, warm teardrops from dripping down his face. He’d
always thought his mother was a nice woman.
9
Dying for a Fag
The traffic lights had
broken down at the corner by Centre Point, and a policewoman was trying to
control the tangled traffic with elaborate arm wavings and hand waggings and
dips of her solid body. I was impressed by these gesticulations and stopped to
watch her.
Then I
saw that she was watching me. Not just watching me, but noting me
in the special way that the police force have. When she spoke into her little
radio I panicked and ran across the road and turned into the first side-street.
I didn’t look back but as I ran, I imagined that I was being pursued by patrol
cars and uniformed officers of the law. I thought it was only a matter of
minutes before helicopters with searchlights began swooping over my head.
When I
could no longer run I walked, and when walking became impossible I sat down on
the steps of the Chest, Heart and Stroke Association to recover. I was in a
place called Tavistock Square. Another square. How many more were there?
I
counted five cigarette ends on the pavement at the foot of the steps. Perhaps
smoking wasn’t allowed in the Chest, Heart and Stroke offices. One cigarette
had only just been lit before being discarded. Fastidious though I am, I picked
it up and held it familiarly between my fingers.
I
waited for a woman smoker to appear and asked her for a light. She was old and
fat and well dressed, in a scarlet coat and a Paisley shawl.
‘Excuse
me, can you give me a light?’
‘Oh,
you did frighten me, darting out like that.’
She
took a tortoiseshell lighter from her shoulder-bag and clicked it into flame.
My face and my right hand were illuminated as I sucked the cigarette alight.
She said, ‘We’re a dying breed, we smokers. One’s surprised to meet another
nowadays.’
‘Yes,’
I said. ‘This is my first cigarette for twenty-four hours.’ ‘Tried to give it
up, did you?’
I
mumbled, ‘Couldn’t afford it.’
‘You look as though you’re financially embarrassed.’
‘I am,’
I said.
‘I’m
going to give you something,’ she said, and rummaged inside her bag. She
brought out, instead of money, as I’d hoped, a small card engraved:
Celia Heartslove
Financial Clairvoyant to the Stars
‘Come and see me when you
get back on your feet,’ she said. ‘I manage Investment Portfolios for household
names, and you have a positive aura. You’re going to be somebody.
By the way, what is that on your face and hands?’
‘It’s soot,’
I said. ‘I’m a chimney-sweep.’
She
laughed. ‘Are there any chimneys left? Well, I am surprised. I had my
Fallopian tubes tied and my chimneys blocked up years ago. Good night.’
The
cigarette warmed me, calmed me down, cheered me up and diminished my hunger
pains. As soon as I had finished it I immediately wanted another, so I went in
search of one. At a bus stop I found five half-smoked dog-ends on the pavement.
I also picked up an empty cigarette packet, half a comb and two and a half
pence in change. I felt better
Monday
January 11th
Lauren went to her first class
today. Her fellow students are a mixture of pensioners, redundant executives
and unemployed young people.
Lauren’s exotic
appearance pleased the class. She was considered to be properly artistic-looking.
Her refusal to remove her sunglasses was taken for temperament. She is already
infatuated with her tutor. His name is Bradford Keynes; he is thin and pale. He
has a very long beard and he doesn’t care about his clothes. Bradford is
passionate about ‘line’. He made the class draw circular shapes. Lauren’s
shapes managed to look angular. Bradford told her to ‘loosen up’.
John
stopped reading his mother’s diary and reached for his own. He looked up the
entries for early January.
John
closed both diaries. He felt betrayed and bereaved. He scrubbed at his eyes,
but couldn’t stop the fat, warm teardrops from dripping down his face. He’d
always thought his mother was a nice woman.
9
Dying for a Fag
The traffic lights had
broken down at the corner by Centre Point, and a policewoman was trying to
control the tangled traffic with elaborate arm wavings and hand waggings and
dips of her solid body. I was impressed by these gesticulations and stopped to
watch her.
Then I
saw that she was watching me. Not just watching me, but noting me
in the special way that the police force have. When she spoke into her little
radio I panicked and ran across the road and turned into the first side-street.
I didn’t look back but as I ran, I imagined that I was being pursued by patrol
cars and uniformed officers of the law. I thought it was only a matter of
minutes before helicopters with searchlights began swooping over my head.
When I
could no longer run I walked, and when walking became impossible I sat down on
the steps of the Chest, Heart and Stroke Association to recover. I was in a
place called Tavistock Square. Another square. How many more were there?
I
counted five cigarette ends on the pavement at the foot of the steps. Perhaps
smoking wasn’t allowed in the Chest, Heart and Stroke offices. One cigarette
had only just been lit before being discarded. Fastidious though I am, I picked
it up and held it familiarly between my fingers.
I
waited for a woman smoker to appear and asked her for a light. She was old and
fat and well dressed, in a scarlet coat and a Paisley shawl.
‘Excuse
me, can you give me a light?’
‘Oh,
you did frighten me, darting out like that.’
She
took a tortoiseshell lighter from her shoulder-bag and clicked it into flame.
My face and my right hand were illuminated as I sucked the cigarette alight.
She said, ‘We’re a dying breed, we smokers. One’s surprised to meet another
nowadays.’
‘Yes,’
I said. ‘This is my first cigarette for twenty-four hours.’ ‘Tried to give it
up, did you?’
I
mumbled, ‘Couldn’t afford it.’
‘You look as though you’re financially embarrassed.’
‘I am,’
I said.
‘I’m
going to give you something,’ she said, and rummaged inside her bag. She
brought out, instead of money, as I’d hoped, a small card engraved:
Celia Heartslove
Financial Clairvoyant to the Stars
‘Come and see me when you
get back on your feet,’ she said. ‘I manage Investment Portfolios for household
names, and you have a positive aura. You’re going to be somebody.
By the way, what is that on your face and hands?’
‘It’s soot,’
I said. ‘I’m a chimney-sweep.’
She
laughed. ‘Are there any chimneys left? Well, I am surprised. I had my
Fallopian tubes tied and my chimneys blocked up years ago. Good night.’
The
cigarette warmed me, calmed me down, cheered me up and diminished my hunger
pains. As soon as I had finished it I immediately wanted another, so I went in
search of one. At a bus stop I found five half-smoked dog-ends on the pavement.
I also picked up an empty cigarette packet, half a comb and two and a half
pence in change. I felt better
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