The Fool - Chapter Twenty-Two ============================= I - "So," I say to Beth. "I've missed you, you know." Beth sighs. "No you haven't, Adam," she says. "You just think you have. You've missed your idea of me. You've missed being with me, maybe, sleeping with me definitely, but you don't miss me. You don't even know me. You don't know me at all. We only met a few weeks ago, for heaven's sake." "I know," I say, and sigh heavily. "But I miss the bit of you that I do know. Did know." "Whatever," says Beth. "Thanks," say I. "What do you want me to say," she asks. "I don't know." We sit in heavy silence for a while. Dora emerges from next door, looking pale and slightly frazzled. "Beth," she says. "Something's come up. It'll be ok, but we're going to be a bit longer than we thought. A lot longer, perhaps. So you can go if you like." She turns to me. "I'm sorry, Adam. Thankyou for coming, though. Nice to see you. I'll no doubt see you soon at Mystery Hall." "Yes," I say. "You'll find Adam's coat is on the banisters, Beth," says Dora. "I must thank you for coming as well. I know you're very busy at the moment. But we needed to get Dave to apologise to you in person. It was important." "Yeah, right, thanks mum," says Beth. "Now, excuse me, I must get back," says Dora, vanishing. II -- Beth and I walk to the end of the road in silence. She turns to me and says, "Which way are you going from here?" "My bus stop is just there," I say, indicating. "Well," she says. "I'm going the other way." She hugs me quickly, and my entire body aches with longing at the sudden closeness. "Goodbye, Adam," she says. "Goodbye, Beth," I say. I can feel hot, irrational tears welling inside, but I force them back in. I am damned if I am going to cry now. I watch her walk away from me for a long time, until she disappears around a corner and out of sight. I turn just in time to see my bus at the stop, still some distance up the road, and I run in that direction but am just too late to catch it. Ok. I am standing at the bus stop, and I have just missed my bus. It is Friday, it's five past five, and I am young and single. Well, single, at any rate. What am I going to do with myself? I have no idea. Perhaps I should go out to some bar, have a drink and see what happens. I frown. The last time I did that, I ended up meeting Beth. Plus, I'm still a bit woozy from last night. A bit woozy? No, very woozy. Maybe I should just go home. I light a cigarette and cough, checking the bus timetable. Between it and my watch I ascertain that the bus I just missed was due to arrive in about a minute's time. The next one isn't for half an hour. Sod it. I'll walk. I start walking. III --- After I have been walking for ten minutes or so, I see my bus behind me on the road, but I am nowhere near close enough to the the next bus stop to catch it. I curse as it swishes by me, then catch myself and think, no, no need to curse. I'll just walk. What was it Bruce Chatwin said? Solvitar ambulando or something. Let's just walk. I walk for a long while. It already pretty dark by the time I get to King's Cross or so, and I begin to feel uncomfortable, but I breathe deeply and force myself to concentrate on a mantra. I keep walking in the direction of Soho, and the sense of danger passes. Instead, I begin to sense a different kind of tension. It is Friday night, and people are beginning to go out. My head is heavy and clouded. I am not in the mood for it to be Friday night, and I don't want to be in Soho. I need a coffee or something. All at once I stop. That's the bar where I met Beth, there, over the road. I sigh, and straighten my shoulders. Ok. What else can I do? I go into the bar and order a whisky. IV -- The place is more or less empty, with a minimalist pine design, and high, uncomfortable red plastic stools lined against the bar. There are two girls sitting at a low table at the end of the bar. Neither one is Beth. I light a cigarette, and sip my whisky. What the hell am I doing here again? Oh yes, this is where I met Beth. I was here, sitting on the stool I am sitting on now, in fact, and she was at the next stool. It was about eleven thirty at night, and the place was full to heaving. We started talking about... never mind what we started talking about. I don't want to think about that now. I sigh again, and finish the whisky. Should I have another one? No, I should go home. Maybe just one more. I raise my new whisky into the air towards the stool beside me. "Goodbye, Beth," I say, downing it. Ok. Now I can go. I leave the bar and stride determinedly down the street, feeling somehow warmed and newly whole. I don't ever want to set foot in that bar again. What I need now is a pint. Then I will make more plans. V - The next pub is at the bottom of the road, and I am soon ensconsed in a corner with my pint, feeling distinctly relaxed and unusually at ease with myself. I call Simon. "Hello mate," he says. "What are you up to?" "Not much," I say. "Having a drink. Wondering what you were doing." "We're just about to go to the pub," says Simon. "Later there's a party. Want to come?" "Sure, why not." There is a silence for a moment, then Simon says, "Alright, so come and meet us in the pub. We'll be there for a while." By the time I get to Simon's local, I am no longer feeling so good. My beer tastes foul and I am sitting with Simon and five of his fellow squatters, who are talking about things to do with the squat, which I am having difficulty following. "You alright mate," says Simon to me. "Not really," I say. "I saw Beth today." "Who's Beth?" asks Simon. "Oh, Beth. Sorry. Shit. So how was that?" "Yeah," I say. "Not good." By the time the others are ready to leave for the party I am no longer in the mood, and I make my excuses and head for home, drunk and vaguely irritable. "See, I told you you never come to these parties," Simon had said. VI -- I lie on my bed, glowering at the ceiling, feeling disgusted with myself. This morning I woke up feeling like death and swearing I would never drink again, and now, here I am, pissed. This is not good. Then I think, no, I shouldn't be so hard on myself. I've just been dumped, and while Beth isn't exactly to blame, the way events have panned out haven't made it any easier. "Yes," says a voice in my head, "and exactly how has getting pissed helped you?" "Well," I reply, "it's helped me get over it. Helped me forget." "Forget?" says the voice. "How can you forget? And you're not over it. So I'll ask again, exactly how has getting pissed helped you move on." "I don't know," I reply. "No, I don't think you do." "Oh, he's just a pisshead," says Beth's voice. "No dear, he isn't," says Dora's voice. "Though he does drink much too much." "Will you all get out of my head please," I think, and the voices fade into silence. I become aware of my breathing, and breathe slowly and deeply. I am drunk, but I am not unpleasantly drunk. Everything will be alright. Tomorrow is another day, and I have nothing in particular to do. I can relax. I sleep. VII --- It is a gorgeously sunny day, and I am walking along a narrow path along the edge of a cliff. There is a little white dog yapping at my heels, and I am holding a white rose. The fragrance of the rose is exquisite, and I pause for a moment, staring into the clear blue sky with awe. I keep walking and the sky darkens. Clouds cover the sun, and a thick, heavy rain begins to fall. I am being buffeted by strong winds, and my jacket is soaked. I am terrified that I will be blown off the cliff, but I keep walking. The dog is running ahead of me now, and I must walk faster to catch it. I must not lose that dog. All at once I lose my footing and stumble toward the precipice, but a gust of wind blows me back onto the path and I fall to my knees, coughing and cursing. The path is stony here, and I am kneeling on stones. The dog turns and comes back up the path toward me and stands facing me on the path, yapping. His message is clear. I must pick myself up and carry on. I stand awkwardly, brushing the stones from my legs. My knees hurt. But the little dog keeps yapping and I follow him onward along the path into the darkness. VIII ---- I awaken feeling oddly empty, yet somehow refreshed. I kneel in meditation for a while, eyes closed, breathing deeply. I am alive. I don't know what that means, but I still intend to find out. I am thankful. I am not wholly certain exactly what I should be thankful for, nor to whom I should be thankful, but I am thankful nonetheless. Some of the things which I believe to be blessings are in fact blessings, and I am thankful for those. Some of the things which I do not believe to be blessings are in fact blessings in disguise, though I do not realise it, and I am thankful for those too. I... My knees hurt. I should wash and do some yoga. After the yoga, I find myself covered in a strange sweat, particularly on the palms of my hands, which rubs off into little rolls of gunk. Better out than in, I think, washing again. By the time I am dressed I feel thoroughly detoxified. I make tea and switch the computer on to check my email. Nothing, just spam, seventeen bits of crap which I delete unread. Seems Dave Sharpe didn't get around to sending a copy of his apology to the mailing list, then. I shrug mentally, and switch the computer off. Hard to blame him really, with Else bullying him like that. Poor sod. Not exactly an advertisement for the Society of Mysteries. IX -- Never mind Dora, never mind Beth, never mind Peter Chapman, never mind Dave Sharpe. I should go back to where I was before. I pop down to the shops, and soon I have everything I need for the invocation. On the table before me lies a knife, a coin, a stick, and a goblet of wine. My robe is red, my tunic white; around my waist I wear a belt with a snake's head clasp. I am surrounded by roses and lilies. As I wave the wand in my right hand, and point to the ground with my left, I feel the flow of infinite energy passing just above my head. My face is as red as my robe. I touch my tongue to the roof of my mouth and breathe deeply, calmly. I recite the invocation, once, twice, ten times over. My breathing remains calm. I wait, eyes closed, surrounded by blackness. Wreathed in blue smoke, she appears before me, beckoning. My body remains still, breathing deeply, as I move forward in spirit. She is singing a song to me now, quiet and insistent. I cannot make out the words, but the melody is distinct and haunting. I approach her slowly and carefully, picking a deliberate path across the emptiness. Her song lilts and shifts as I move ever closer. I still cannot make out the words. All at once everything comes into focus, and she is standing there smiling, taking my hand, leading me forwards into the light. "What kept you?" she says. The light grows stronger and stronger until I am blinded and can sense nothing else. X - I can say no more.