Black Chalk

Mark acted scared. ‘So you can do away with me in private?’ he said. ‘I heard about Emilia. This thing is turning nasty, Jolyon, I can only think it must be your influence. Sounds like I got off lightly.’

Jolyon opened the door and went in. He sat on his bed pulling off his shoes. ‘Why are you speaking to me, Mark? I thought the plan was a brooding presence and unnerving silence.’

‘Yes, that’s what I came to tell you,’ said Mark. ‘It’s time for phase two. This whole escalation thing is actually really exciting. I have seven phases planned. And new ideas keep coming to me all the time. My mind’s really come alive since you screwed me over, Jolyon. I should thank you. I understand now why you’re so into all that fairness and equality stuff. A sense of injustice is quite a buzz. Almost better than drugs.’

Jolyon lay back on his bed and lit a cigarette. ‘Well, thanks for serving notice,’ he said. ‘Very gentlemanly of you. But if you don’t mind, the others will be here soon.’

Mark looked at the coffee table. The boxes of cards, the dice in their cup. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to carry on playing after you nearly killed Emilia. My God, you people are sick in the head. Winning really matters that much to you?’

‘Thank you for coming, Mark. And phase two sounds like a blast.’

Mark looked closely at Jolyon’s pile of mnemonics on the desk as he turned to leave. Looked closely as if he were studying them. But Jolyon didn’t see, flat on his back and blowing his smoke at the ceiling.

‘See you later then, Joe,’ said Mark. And as he left he started to hum.

XLIX

XLIX The first thing I want to do when I get home is read the poem Dee has written for me. But there are three whisky glasses staring at me from my kitchen counter. So much to plough through each night, their black lines so high like marks to commemorate record spring tides, legendary floods.

I pour as fast as I can, when I lose trust in routines, bad things can happen. And then I settle down on my bed, cradling the drink to my belly as I turn to the end of Dee’s book and work my way back through the blank pages. And then I find it, poem number four hundred and ninety-nine.

CDXCIX (Jolyon)

(i)

His trust is the pressed willow bark

camphor, eucalyptus and menthol

His faith motherwort for the fluttering heart

and berries and herbs quintessential

(ii)

I first saw him . . . was it really?

fourteen years ago

Skin like dandelion milk

hair like its chaff

Cheeks piqued with blood

red clover bud

I loved him then

and he another

(iii)

And when stung, he is mellow green leaf

and in mourning the draught for my grief

my garlic, my grain and my fish

sweet liquorice

(iv)

We lived in the smoke

the many mirrors

of our youth

Such bliss to be young

indomitable

unshakeable

The family that plays together

stays together

(v)

Clove for sore tooth

and honey for throat

In fever my broth

Angelica root

(vi)

Our time was too brief

but I remember its musk

its flare

its thunder

And then time rent asunder

Dark days

ended

Dark thoughts

remain

Too many years

but I found him again

(vii)

My lavendered sleep

my soul antioxidant

Balm for my cheek

and my heart’s smooth emollient

(viii)

So I will not go down in the water

And I will not go down in the air

And I will not go down in the fire

And I will not go down in the earth

(ix)

Love

salve

saved

I read Dee’s poem and cry. I transcribe her poem for you and cry. I have never been anyone’s saviour, only in need of one. And now we are each other’s.

Love salve saved. Is Dee being merely poetic, referring to the love that exists between friends? Or do you think . . .? Could it be . . .? Is Dee still in love with me?

I want to read every poem but there isn’t time, so I work my way back. I mark a few favourites but allow myself only thirty minutes of reading. There is still so much to write about. Partings, absences, escalations. And most of all, Jack.

Jack and the beginning of his end.

L

L(i) While Emilia lay in her hospital bed they played on like the ship’s band as the Titanic sank. They were English, after all, or most of them. And Chad had begun to think of himself as being closer to English than American. He thought of Englishness as being defined by stoicism, determination, intelligence.

And Chad’s play was undeniably smart. It was Jack who was sitting to his left on that occasion and therefore Jack who suffered from Chad’s best hands, his careful strategies.

Several of Jack’s consequences had been suggested by Dee and when the time came to pluck his fate from the pot, it was one of Dee’s ideas that surfaced. She had intended the consequence mostly as punishment for Jack’s dubious opinions. It would have pleased Emilia, it was a shame that she couldn’t be there to witness it.