OPENING SCENE, Thomas Shelby walks a big black horse, down a filthy alley…
Washing droops on sagging clothes lines, people running everywhere, their fear palpable in the choking air. He sits the horse with calculated, casual ease, left hand on left thigh, right hand holding the reins loosely. The clip, clop, clip, clop of hoofbeats rings out from the cobbled street…..Warren Ellis’s Violin, moans and weeps, and then Nick Cave’s dark tones cover everything as he preaches “Red Right Hand”
Here it comes……. the transfixing, hypnotic, power of Peaky Blinders!!!
Late walk on a steamy summer evening, with the subdued light of darkness falling…… a forest empty of people (home having their dinner), we, my dog and I traverse territory where all sounds are sharper, clearer……a lone dog, barking mournfully, way off in the distance, the crisp crunch of dry leaves beneath my feet, her rhythmic panting…..a soothing sound in the near dark, crickets chirruping a shrill chorus.
And sights in the dim gloaming….the softened shapes of trees, dog girl appearing, disappearing as her camouflage colours bring her in and out of focus…..sometimes she vanishes entirely, and then her whitened tail tip gives her away. Magic and mystery all around us, as dusk merges swiftly into dark.
Two days ago I had lunch with friends, some I hadn’t seen in more years than I can say; others, who live near to me, I see infrequently….but time, all those years gone by, mean nothing. All of us worked in Melbourne in the Music Industry, at the same establishment…..once a Brothel with three main rooms, in the heart of the City, converted to a Folk/Jazz Club. We worked separately and with each other every Friday and Saturday night for many years.
Like Acting, playing music and singing with one or more people involves careful timing, acute attention to the other; if you really mean it, you dig deep, sinking into the heart and soul of the song….forgetting yourself completely. There is ONLY the music.
Like Acting you live, feel, are the song, the story the written word is telling.
Alone, as a solo Artist there is nothing but the song you’re singing and the audience….a powerful chemistry, charged with emotion…..you’re living it, and for that space in time, so are the people who are listening…..and, they did.
Then there is the bond between two singers, or the singer and the creative musician who accompanies your singing….holding you, supporting you, through their nimble fingers also telling the story. We look into each other’s eyes, a straightforward necessity for timing, for the subtle nod that gives them space to play an instrumental…..giving so much more with their skills that I, the singer lacked. If they really mean it, feel the story deeply, you see into the heart and soul of the other.
THIS WEEK I REMEMBERED….Those ties that bind between us all, stay, keep us forever connected. Time passes, the years go by, but it is of no consequence.
We are, and will be, forever linked.
A soft knock on the door late at night….she pads out half asleep, lets him in….sees in the shadowy light, his face wet with tears. “Don’t ask” he says, “just hold me,” and leading him by the hand she brings him to her sleep warmed bed, pulls him close. His voice whispering, so near, she feels rather than hears him
…..incoherent with anger, pain, he takes her violently, plunges into her, again and again….moaning with his need, his grief ….head thrown back, neck arched in extremity until he loses himself and still she holds him, until he falls down exhausted, breathing hard, sobbing and shuddering, his full weight upon her.
Stroking his head, the length of his back, he clings to her still, as his breathing eases, as his crying ceases.
“My niece killed herself….my beautiful little niece,”…. he rolls onto his side, facing her. “She was only thirteen.”
“Tell me” she murmurs, “Tell me everything.”
A family in crisis, separated by closed doors and technology….her siblings playing computer games, father watching porn, his sister in her bedroom on her Phone.
“She didn’t mean to kill herself”, he’s sure of it…..just a cry for help, a warning that went wrong.
“Will you come with me? They have her for one more day, before the funeral…..to be with her, to wash and dress the body….will you come ?”
“But, what about?” she starts to say, but he shakes his head emphatically, turns away, shrugs his shoulders…..then looks back at her, comes close….eyes naked now, hiding nothing…..just pure grief and need. “No, not her…..she wouldn’t know what to do….it’s you I want with me. I want you!!!”
As if I know what to do, she thinks……but even in the fleeting thought, she DOES know, she can be there, go through this, with him.
Scarred from sun damage and surgery….scarred in fact all over her body.
Down the left side….shoulder, arm, hip….long healed, deep scar tissue from that car accident so long ago, the facial scarring there for all to see, skin cancer and surgery leaving her perfectly symmetrical face, forever changed.
Years of inner suffering because of it….her damaged, fucked up face.
She works on it with soft pencils, an Artist correcting a portrait out of sync.
Draws on it, inwardly scolding her mirror image….
“Foolish old woman, why bother with all this”; yet her sense of balance wins over every time. “Why not bother?” This scarring has caused so….much….suffering!!! And so, to go forth into a harsh and critical world , she arms herself with her Artistic skills….for confidence, maybe even power.
War paint, they call it, and maybe she does indeed go to war each day, battling loss of youth, loss of face, loss of self esteem. It is no small thing, she knows, to face the world alone. And so, she “puts on her best face” and walks out the door….and still, despite everything, “Will she see him today?” And again “Foolish old woman”, and yet that pulse beats, deep in her belly and she is helpless to change a thing.
“He is so young, no more than mid 30’s”, and so, against the constant pull towards him, she tries to avoid him.
CHEMISTRY…..what a strange mystery it is, that out of the hundreds of men who live, breathe and go about the business of their day, doing the myriad things that they do….ONE alone has this affect, this magnetic pull, even as she fights against it, picks the feelings apart intellectually, turns, avoids….suddenly she is confronted with him unexpectedly in the alley. Intellect forgotten in a breath….there he is!!!
THERE HE IS…..he smiles, he speaks….she responds, heart hammering, legs suddenly weak, she is alive, alight, back, caught up in the dream….. all she can see in her mind’s eye, for the rest of the day, is his slanted blue eyes, his lean, strong body….and still in her inner ear, the sound of his voice. Chemistry, this inexplicable thing. Tone, the expression , the sound of his voice as compelling, as his physical being. If he spoke, sounded different….no matter how he looked….there would be no chemistry. There would be nothing.
I realised when I headed off into the Forest, it was always the Hunter that was foremost in me, old ways reignited, to wander with intent, eyes trained to seek and find….to notice the smallest detail. Once found the thrill had gone, I had what I wanted, but in the finding of it, I lost something else.
Where were my people….the auld ones I’d hunted with daily.
The auld man who taught me how to make snares to trap animals; for food and clothing.
My grandmother, so long gone, but dearly remembered….she always knew the best places to find berries, she knew all the ways of cooking and preserving them, and then using the last of the juices for dyeing.
I remember even the ones I can’t recall.
I hear their voices telling me the way of it, I hear them calling from their graves, passing on the knowledge….the way they were in the world long before we turned away.
Now shopping has replaced hunting, we still hunger to hunt and forage….to tread softly over dead leaves instead of concrete and bitumen. To walk searching, using our bodies, retraining muscles that are wasting away, shedding loose skin and excess fat, to find the long hard way home…home to the ways of our Ancestors.
All our activity centred around the fire…..cooking, warmth, conversation, and before that, the gathering of wood, a constant, never ending search for it; and all along the way if we were lucky, because back then water was plentiful….there was always enough rain, so that bending down to gather broken branches, newly emerged mushrooms would be found and collected, yet always leaving some behind for next season…..further along the way were wild lettuce and sorrel….. chicory. Laden down with nature’s bounty and many helping hands, we would arrive back to camp, with firewood and food….our bodies exhausted, but now others could unload, could cook, as we lay down around the blazing fire to take our rest; to sleep curled beside each other….the logs crackling cheerfully, the cooking pots bubbling, sparks rising up blazing against a night sky.
Racks nearby drying skins and food.
Life was harder then, but so were we. Our bodies flexible as bow strings, our minds sharp as the tip of an arrow.
And now the world is burning, the animals we lived alongside, they’re dying….as are we, from stress, addiction, depression, obesity…..
And me….so tired I could lay right down on the hard dry ground that aches for rain, but gets none…..lie down, curl into myself like a dying leaf, and just let go….
All is lost…..all is lost, and I am too tired to do a single thing about it…..
“I have a few free days, I’d like to see you….want to see you. Meet me by the lake, late afternoon. Will you come?”
“Yes”, simple as that.
She will go, and with palms outstretched, take what is offered.
Let this be clear, perfect, understanding….this, is what there is.
Driving down the road, her inner dialogue begins, and seeing it, hearing it clearly, speaks firmly.
I will NOT compare myself to a young girl who looks as tho she has just changed out of school uniform. I am absolutely NOT going there, or I will turn the car, head straight back home and shut the door on him, on all of it.”
But the door stands open and she will go, let herself accept what is.
Arriving, leaving her car parked by the tiny cabin, she walks towards the lake….. its still surface shimmering.
Sits down absorbing the peace.
Dragonflies hover in the late afternoon sun. A fish leaps then disappears leaving circles expanding. Masses of tiny birds swoop and dive over a stand of rushes, their voices a high excited peeping as they hunt clouds of insects, hatching.
And then his hand is on her shoulder, a sudden heavy warmth….he must have walked in from the road, she heard no car.
He turns her to him, and quietly against her mouth, “Sorry, I am sorry,” kisses her, softly, then an arm around her shoulders, they sit in silence….adjusting themselves once more, one to the other, their breathing easing, slowing, as the light begins to fade, as shadows from the blue green trees throw patterns on the lake. Light and shade upon the water.
She wakes, deep in the night, still held in his arms. Moonlight streams through the open door, a holy benediction. Reaches up, touching his face, the graceful sweep of eyelids, his thick closed lashes lending him a childlike innocence, bathed in light and shadow. Breathes deep the strong male smell of him, mixed with the sharp tang of their sex. He comes quickly awake , so close he can see the gold green colours of her iris, the pupils hugely dilated, and pulling her to him falls and falls deep into their colours as he enters her again, as she takes him deep, her hands cupping his buttocks, as they rock each other, slowly, still gazing one into the other, mouths tasting this shared blessing, rocking to a rhythm entirely their own…..bringing each other home until once more they fall asleep.
Morning comes, bright clear and icy cold. Clothing themselves quickly, they go out to gather kindling, arms of chopped firewood, neatly stacked and sheltered from the weather. Soft rain begins to fall, wetting their hair, their shoulders as they hurry inside, drop the wood by the stove, turn smiling, wiping droplets off each other’s faces. An unspoken agreement to speak only of themselves, each other. If he wishes to tell her about the girl, she will listen, but for now, cocooned in this early morning joyfulness, there is no one in the room but them.
And sitting at the table with thick brown toast, marmalade, fruit and good strong coffee, they speak of simple things, sharing good plain food and conversation, constantly touching. She feels her pulse slow once more, as they reach that point of peacefulness. And the rain quickens, falls heavy on the small tin roofed cabin, a drumming heartbeat as he stands up, pulls her to him……”come back to bed”, he says.
The flames glow in the wood fire stove, and rekindled once more in them.
A thousand years of pain, of loneliness, of living, fall away…..she is once more a child, a girl, a young woman…..rebirthed in this narrow bed, her hands cradling his head , gazing into infinity.
And then reality hits her like a punch in the guts; arriving back at her car, taking off her coat she turns to speak to an enormous out of breath man, being tugged along by a pair of eager dogs….”Staffies,” she cries out to them and reaching down to their sleek, joyful, wriggling bodies, she suddenly feels him. Like an inner sonar wave, before she sees him, she feels him. Fleet of foot, he slips by and slides right in to the car parked beside her, his young girlfriend driving. They pull out and drive away, leaving her flush faced, guts churning. And the demons dance and cry, waving their fists triumphantly in the air, “we told you, we said so, didn’t we???
“And any way she had said to him, I don’t care. It’s too late, It was always too late”
The grinding truth descends, she DOES care. She feels empty and hollow as an abandoned shell, and struggling….trying to get some much needed air, trying to breathe.
And her own, softer, compassionate voice, “darling, you knew, you always knew it would be like this, you did know, didn’t you?”
And then, despite a gut full of sharp knives, the voice of reason, “better this raging pain, than the numbness you felt before.” She’s not so sure, as knees bent on her bedroom floor, arms folded across her belly, she rocks herself in overwhelming waves of grief. Would she do it again??? Truthfully…..in a heartbeat.
Like the aftermath of a terrible storm, morning comes, all fresh and rainwashed clean, she goes about the simple doings of the day, finds all of herself , without, within …..still there, a complete, functioning female being. Content to be alone. She questions was it all a dream, finds his TShirt, still smelling of him. Finds peace, and some kind of wonder falls upon her. “I am very much alive”, and for now, nothing else matters, not one single thing.
Will she put herself in that kind of danger again, she knew and didn’t know the repercussions of taking such a step….off the cliff top, flying bodiless through space, then falling like a stone into the fire raging below, burning to ashes.
Now standing in her garden, she reaches down to the cool blue ceramic bowl, brimming with last night’s rain, throws cold clear water in her face, shakes herself….shaking all thought of him away.
And running through her mind at the very same time, the words he said, as they lay limbs entwined on the narrow bed.
