It’s going to be hard getting up
to speed; I’m already weeks behind, but, on the other hand I do need to have a
check-in, to look back. The Savage Detectives starts off:
‘November 2
I’ve been cordially invited to
join the visceral realists. I accepted, of course. There was no initiation
ceremony. It was better that way.’
And we’re off! It feels like a
road movie except there’s no car. Not even a highway. Of course he accepted:
this unknown ‘I’. Me too, I have to accept – though as usual I’ve little idea
what it is I have to accept. The wait at the bus stop in the rain? Yes. The
train delayed, caught by a fatality further up the line, somebody’s quest for
death? Yes. Her leaving? Yes, all of that. And on arrival at the station a break in the clouds, a lifting of
spirits, the waiting freedom of a new beginning? Yes, that too.
I accept.
Another bar, another coffee: he
leans eagerly into the barista’s telling, but I’m too far away to catch any of
the clues as to which choice to make, what is the destination? And I’m remembering
the dull purple of the entrails in the forest, the killing of the dragon.
Outside, I step across the seat
of the Harley, feel the weight and balance and flick up the prop-stand. The
engine fires up readily enough and I revel in the uneven heartbeat of its ever patient tick-over. Life is very simple: a hotel for a night or three and then off to
Rome.
Yes, I accept.
Tighten the net.