18. LYNDON

“THIS IS FAKE SKIN,” Sean told me. “You’ll practice on this first a few times.”

I nodded and followed his instructions for putting the transfer of my Tree of Life on the stuff that, weirdly, did feel like real skin.

The first time I held the tattoo machine, I was giddy with joy, the likes of which I hadn’t experienced since my first beer or the first time I cupped a girl’s heavy breast in the palm of my hand. “I need a moment,” I said to Sean, and he grinned.

“Cool, I know,” he said.

The buzzing left my eyeballs and I could concentrate again. “Good to go,” I told him. Tattooing wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. My hand was steady, and my lines were clean. Seemed like I hadn’t lost my artistic talents, even though they had lain dormant all these years.

“Good one,” Sean said when I was done. “I say you can do the boss tomorrow.”

“Where is he?” I looked around, but Jason was nowhere to be seen.

“Had an appointment in Melbourne,” Sean replied, and a large stone dropped to the bottom of my stomach, cold and hard.

“What? Why didn’t he tell me?” I asked.

Sean laughed. “Don’t worry, mate. I’m sure it just slipped his mind. He’s been distracted lately with all of us, not just you.”

But I was living with him. He was my friend. I told myself I was reading too much into it and behaving like a lovelorn schoolgirl, so I shook myself.

“Feel like coming for a run?” Sean asked.

I barked with laughter. “Sean, I haven’t run for about the last forty-five years, give or take. I’d break something.”

“Okay then, how about a nice power walk?”

“Sure, but not too fast.”

He eyed my boots. “Better change out of those, yeah. And get into your tracky dacks too.” Sean had a very thick Australian accent and he tended to mumble out of the corner of his mouth. And he spoke in a hurried rush. There were times I couldn’t understand him, but I got the gist of what he was saying.

I nodded. “I’ll be right back.” I returned wearing my sneakers and sweatpants. I was ready.

We started on a small path that ran along the ocean, and I inhaled large quantities of the salty fresh sea air. I was about to explain to Sean that we didn’t have oceans in Ontario, only very cold, very deep, very still lakes, but then I figured that conversing with him would be too hard, particularly as he had us going at a quick pace. I was already in a sweat and finding it hard to keep up.

“You read Jason’s book, yeah?” Sean asked. He had no problem walking and talking.

“Yes,” I huffed. “Well, about three quarters of it. Are you an anarchist too?”

“We all are, mate. All the guys at the shop.”

“How come there are no women in the shop?” This was something I had been meaning to ask Jason, but I kept forgetting.

Sean shrugged. “No reason. We had a receptionist for a long time but then she got preggers and we never replaced her. We just answer the phone ourselves.”

“I like the sound of anarchism,” I said, “but I don’t think it’s practical. Even if we get the individual all fired up to do his part, how will we make it work?”

“Computers and biogenetics,” Sean said.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s called transhumanism. First you upgrade and enhance the human mind, or brain, if you prefer, by computer, nanotechnology and biotechnology. The upgraded individual will realize that anarchy makes the most sense, given that all the other systems have failed us. But we will need to restart our brains.”

“I have never heard of that,” I said diplomatically. I thought it made little sense.

“It’s called techno-optimism. It’s a political-positive outlook that’s becoming more popular. And then there will be unconscious robots to replace human labour, and they’ll be run by unconscious computer algorithms.”

“Why will the robots help? I get why they need to be unconscious, but why do we need them?” I was struggling with the fact that I was even having this somewhat bizarre conversation while trying to power-walk along the shores of Cape Otway on a southern tip of the Australian continent.

“People won’t have any power,” Sean explained. “There won’t be any top-down power. We’ll vote, yeah, and the computers will make sure there’s no corruption.”

“But what about hackers and the like?”

Sean sighed. “Yeah. They’re a problem. Did you know that Jason is a legend in the hacking world? He can get into government websites, banks, the army, you name it.”

I came to a complete stop, my hands on my thighs. I used this jolting bit of news to get Sean to stop for a moment, but I was genuinely astounded. “He said he was savvy, but he’s that level of good? There is only one small laptop in his apartment.”

“Crikey, mate. A genius like him? He doesn’t need more than that.”

I recalled Jason’s telling me something about his skills when we emailed my family, but I hadn’t realized he could hack in at government level.

“Sean,” I said, “I need to take a breather.”

“Sure, yeah, no problem, mate. Here’s a bench. Let’s sit for a while.” He handed me a bottle of water, and I chugged it down gratefully.

“Does he do that a lot?” I asked. “Hack into the government?”

“No way! He runs a website called The Occult Persuasion. He’s got millions of followers worldwide.”

“Millions? Seriously?”

“Yeah. At last count, he had eight million subscribers.”

“Wow.” I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“And he loves Sid Vicious,” Sean added. “He’s got a tattoo of him on his leg. He says he even saw Sid live one time. He was a real punk rocker, Jason was. Have you seen all the scars on his chest? Thought he was Sid, burning himself with cigarettes and cutting himself. Sid would have been sixty this year, can you believe it?”

“Yes, I do know. I loved Sid too. We’re the same age.” I felt nostalgic for dead Sid. I had been twenty-one and heartbroken when he died. Like many of Sid Vicious’s fans, I had cursed Nancy Spungen and the horse she rode in on.

“You got any tattoos?” Sean asked.

I shook my head. “I never thought about them.”

“And now you’re going to be a tattooist?”

“I hope so,” I said fervently. “We can carry on walking, but maybe a bit slower?”

Sean nodded and we got up. Sean, I had already noticed, was covered in tattoos.

“Which was your first one?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Can’t remember. This is my most recent. Emma G.” He shows me a monocled, stern woman on his calf muscle.

“Nice,” I said. It was very well done.

“Ta mate. Jason did it. I love Emma. I mean I’m into transhumanism and all that, but you have to go back to the basics too. I can lend you a copy of her essays if you like.”

“I would like that, thank you.”

We carried on walking, and for a while neither of us said anything for which I was grateful. I managed to keep up, and Sean, kindly, kept it slow.

“It’s all about nature, for me,” Sean burst out.

I turned to look at him. “What is?”

“Anarchy,” he said. “I love the earth.”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” I said, waving my hand around. “Look at this. So unspoilt, so beautiful. Meanwhile, we are killing the planet with garbage and pollution.” I was about to go on my garbage rant, but Sean interrupted me. He took my arm and we stood face-to-face. I felt a bit uneasy all of a sudden.

“No mate. You’re not getting my point. I really love her,” he said, and he dropped to his knees and started caressing the beach sand. “I make love to her. She’s my sexual partner. I don’t need or want anybody except for the earth. And it’s not some mother issue, before you start analyzing me. It’s a nature thing.”

“I see,” I said. But I didn’t, and I was concerned he was going to take off his trousers and demonstrate exactly what he meant. But to my relief, he stood up.

“Even decaying earth is sensual,” he said. “Flowers, the bees, all of it. It’s eco-eroticism. There are lots of us, right? People think it’s weird, but what’s weird about making love to a flower? It’s the most natural thing in the world.”

I nodded, trying to imagine it and trying not to imagine it. “And that’s why you’re an anarchist?” I asked, confused.

He shook his head. “I was into anarchy first and then I realized earth was my sexual partner for life. Anarchy frees my spirit, so I can engage with my true love. Anarchists are freethinkers, not judgmental like the rest of the world. We’re into freedom of self-expression at every level. We don’t discriminate. You read The Dispossessed?”

“Yes. An enlightening book. Wasn’t there a piece in it about loving the earth?”

“‘There are souls … whose umbilicus has never been cut. They never got weaned from the universe. They do not understand death as an enemy; they look forward to rotting and turning into humus.’ That passage, yeah? Well, it got me thinking. I’ve always loved nature so much, so I started meditating on my feelings for the earth and flowers and grass and mud and everything. And then, one thing led to another, and now she’s all I need. She’s my eternal sexual partner, and will be, even after I die.”

“I think I have gone as far as I can today,” I said faintly. I didn’t mean the walk, but Sean took it that way and patted me kindly.

“You did very well, mate,” he said.