No doctors.
But what if you…
No doctors or the deal is off.
As Michael sat on the floor of the sitting room he could smell the pot of tea brewing on the kitchen bench and feel the vibrations of the washing machine’s spin cycle. You don’t think what happened is cause for concern?
Lucian had become hypnotised by the ripples travelling back and forth across the surface of his bath.
Lucian, are you all right?
He groaned. Stop asking me that. Of course I am. And of course I think what happened is cause for concern. But I can’t pretend it’s unexpected. You thought it was going to be just cocktails and discussions about Hemingway? Well guess what? Papa caused more trouble than he was worth, and so might I. There’s no guarantee that what happened today won’t happen again. But that’s what you signed up for. And it’d be pretty gutless to try and back out now things are getting a little unsavoury.
I haven’t any intention of backing out. I just thought a doctor might be able to prescribe something to slow down the process, or help with the pain.
I’m not in any pain, and if I were I’d choose my own form of medication thank you very much. And why on earth would I want to slow down the process? You think I like being this way? Wetting the bed and being treated like an invalid? Fuck extending that. I’m ready to check out the moment my book is finished.
Michael took the opportunity to change the subject. So how’s it going? How far are you through?
Why? You want to know how much longer you have to hang around for?
Stop being childish, of course not. I’m a fan of your work, remember? I can’t wait to read what you’re working on.
Lucian splashed at the ripples in frustration. Well it’s coming along I suppose. A first draft might be all I get finished, but I reckon you can tidy it up for me.
You mean that?
I don’t imagine you’d mess it up worse than anyone else. Just promise me not to touch the punctuation. Start unravelling that and you’ll never get it back together. And try to remember that it’s okay not to change things. If you don’t understand something then the fault may not necessarily be with the book. Same goes for when you feel the urge to smooth out one of my sentences. Those rough edges and awkward rhythms are there for a reason. It’s called character – my character. Don’t worry if you don’t feel in control. I probably don’t want you to be. Personally, I read so I can have a break from being in control. Let someone else steer my consciousness for a while. That’s why it’s relaxing. That’s why it’s stimulating. I get to visit another person’s mind and witness how it works. Learn what it knows. I’m not scared to have my way of thinking challenged. In fact I’m bloody grateful when it happens. Being shown the world in a different light is what makes a book great, isn’t it?
Of course it is.
Well then keep that in mind when you’re about to use your red pen.
I promise I’ll be more than careful with it. I’m just so flattered you’d give me the responsibility. I really am. I’d be happy to have a look now if you’re worried about it.
No thanks. I’ve always had a policy about not showing my work to anyone before it’s finished.
Sure, I understand. Do you want your tea in there?
Yes please. I haven’t had a bath in ages. I’d forgotten how pleasant it can be. Push play on the CD player while you’re out there.
As Michael poured the tea the house filled with a squealing horn, steady snare, and deep, lugubrious voice. He delivered Lucian’s cup to the corner of the tub then returned to his position outside the bathroom door. You wouldn’t prefer to listen to something a little more peaceful?
I’m not dead yet, said Lucian. And there are few records more peaceful to my ears than Bailter Space’s first album.
Is that one of the records you’d…
What?
Forget it. It was stupid idea.
I can’t stand it when people don’t finish their sentences. Tell me.
I’d really prefer not to.
Well now you bloody well have to.
Michael sighed. I was just wondering if this was one of the records you’d choose to have played at your funeral. Sorry. It was stupid. I spoke before I thought.
Jesus, you’re a morbid person to have around. I have one little episode and already you’re measuring me for a casket.
I tried not to say it but you insisted.
Who cares what they play at my funeral. I won’t be able to hear it. Although I suppose it is the last opportunity I’ll have to force my taste on other people. What about you? Have you got a song in mind?
Michael remained silent.
Not too pleasant to think about is it?
It’s not that. I’m just trying to come up with something.
‘The Black and Crazy Blues’ by Roland Kirk.
That’s what you’d like?
It’s the opening song on The Inflated Tear. I’d play the whole album if I could. But if I only get one song, then that would be it. Sweetest, saddest tune you’ll ever hear.