True, but not right: About our exclusion from the settlement, or, for that matter, the non-arrival of our invitations to join the “do” at Westminster Abbey this coming April, those thugs as you call them, the men and women in loose fitting dark suits who keep on raising their hands to press their electronic earpieces deeper into their ears so they can hear their instructions over all the whooping and blaring music coming from the party on the other side of the razor wire barrier, instructions which are coming from above we assume, or, perhaps it is below, because in these confusing times it is hard to know where the headquarters are these days, in their heads or in their balls, either way the security men make it easy for us to understand.
– Move on now, unless you want a good kicking, in the name the Muammar, or something worse.
– You are not on the party list, another one says, Get lost.
So we shuffle on, but Immy, who is a kind of shape-sfifter, has had time to squeeze under the razor wire and fill his pockets with some of the food off the nearest table, not exactly groaning dishes, you know the CUTS and even the caviar is in short supply these days, and later when we inspect the contents of Immy’s pockets, we find ‘cookies’ mostly, all with different icing colours and faces painted on them, Look there is Pinky, and Perky, And there is Ozzy and Olly, but they all taste the same, all equally saccharine.
Judith’s eyes are flashing with a pure rage – My God she looks beautiful! – and Uncle Wally is taking a small box out of his black leather portmanteau which never leaves his side – Crikey ! I think, we shouldn’t be on the streets at this time of night, we shouldn’t be here at all, my failure of nerve, and it is into us that Judith’s coal red eyes are burning rather than into the security guards.
– Here take these, she says grabbing two devices out of Uncle Wally’s box. We disentangle what appear to be two head torches with elastic to fit round the head, Put them on, she says, so we do, and then with a flick of her fingers she switches them both on.
-Wow! We both say, it is strange experience being made to disappear just like that, like a cloak of invisibility descending over us, but we are not Hogwart students and this isn’t the Matrix, only the sensation, decidedly odd, that “I” am not here (and nor are you, only a shape like a thick woollen hat pulled down over your head and hiding your eyes) and a slight nausea.
– I am not here, I say with my non-existent lips, but the words seem to be coming from somewhere, What is happening, You are wearing a Telesphorus, Judith says, What’s that, we both ask together, It is a ‘far-seeing’ device, she says, and we watch in amazement as the inverted commas of her voice spin and hang like fireflies in the air.
– Grovvy! We say in unison.
– Look, I say, and we turn our singular but impersonal selves, or impersonally singular selves depending on the point of view, to look back at the brightly lit settlement. All is as before, the party is in full swing, You can go in, Judith says, How come, I ask, You have agency now, go on, try it.
I slowly walk back up to the group of security guards, I don’t think I want to but like in a bad dream I can’t stop myself, and remarkably their faces break into obsequious smiles, Saudarde! One says to me, Saudarde! I reply my knees knocking, Good evening sir, another one says ticking a name on a clipboard he is holding while his companion lifts the razor wire to one side, and then stands aside to usher me in.
You follow close behind, and I almost scream as you give a cocky wave to one of the thugs. My God, I think, we have become undercover agents!