Roachville

The next morning was Sunday and in the name of flexibility I worked all day. I tried to call Macondo’s Garden, but there was no answer, just like the website said. I was kind of relieved. Could the dragon statue really be the naga, if there was such a thing? And besides, what could I have told the cute garden-shop owner? I wanted to see him again, especially without him thinking I was insane, so I had to proceed with caution.

On the other hand, what was the harm in letting a bit of the unexplained into my life? The evidence seemed to point to its existence and it wasn’t as if I had anything to lose.

Part of me continued mulling over the conversation with Phuong, while the other kept working on autopilot. As he did most Sundays, my neighbour cleaned his car at the front of the house. This never failed to depress me, but at least I wouldn’t be disturbed by any plant-cutting noises coming from his back garden. And so I managed to finish the first draft of my translation. I also had time to send a few queries to the online translators’ forum. I needed some advice on how to translate a couple of vicious corporate expressions. The idiotic mix of absurd products (‘soothing syrups for kittens with sleep disorder’) and ultra-serious information about the company got to me. I was considering rolling a joint when Vi called. Perfect timing.

‘There’s a free concert in town, we’re off in five minutes. You coming?’

I didn’t answer for a couple of seconds.

‘Okay, listen…’ Vi said. ‘Let’s pretend I’m your shrink for a minute.’

‘Don’t like shrinks,’ I mumbled.

‘Of course you don’t! Who does?’ She sounded pleased with herself. ‘Anyway, let’s just pretend I’m your shrink and you like me.’

‘Yes, okay, let’s pretend.’ I smiled. ‘So I guess you’d tell me that I needed to go out and about, you’d tell me to get a bit of natural light on my skin and that I should interact with my fellow human beings.’

‘I couldn’t have put it better myself!’ she shrieked. ‘So are you coming or what?’

‘You’re not a very patient shrink, are you?’

Frustrated silence filled the line.

‘Fine. I’ll come!’

‘Yay!’

‘But can you give me ten minutes? I need to get changed. You never know, I might meet the man of my life!’

The music pumped in the back of the car. Bek drove fast and I wondered why I put my life in his inconsiderate hands. Everything has to end, but I didn’t want to die at that moment, at least not on the motorway, my flesh torn apart by jagged metal.

We zigzagged through the traffic like in a video game and I only stopped biting my nails when we exited the motorway to join the slower traffic. The ‘secret’ gig was in Queen’s Square but we had to park all the way into St Pauls and walk through the town centre.

It was warm outside and the pavements were invaded by weekend shoppers. I looked down and focused on avoiding physical contact. I studied feet and tried to spot pointy shoes with heels, like pig’s trotters taking dainty steps. I counted the pairs, one… two… three… four…

We reached the top of the hill and went past the Galleries shopping centre. I lifted my gaze as we crossed the road and entered the relative calm of Castle Green. Bek, with his bleached spiky hair and black t-shirt, was ahead of me, just about to light a joint. We sat down by one of the ancient walls above the river and watched a swan swimming amongst plastic bags. Seagulls landed near us, shuffling from one webbed foot to the other, waiting for something.

‘I was attacked by a seagull once. It cut my lip,’ I said, stretching my legs on the short grass.

‘If you say so.’ Bek expelled smoke in a long tubular shape.

‘It is true, my friend,’ I replied with the serenity of a Zen master. ‘I was in St Ives looking at the sea and eating raspberry pie.’

‘As you do in St Ives!’ chipped in Vi.

‘Indeed,’ I continued. ‘And out of nowhere, a seagull flew down and flapped hard against my head. The pie flew in the air, which pissed me off. Coz raspberry is a divine fruit.’

‘It is.’

‘Thank you, Vi…Well, tens of seagulls were fighting for the crumbs, but my lower lip was bleeding. The fucker had cut me with its beak. To this day I know I could have been blinded by a seagull.’

‘Shit!’ Vi commented in between two puffs of smoke.

‘Bummer!’ Bek added.

‘Wow, your conversation is freaking dazzling today. Pass me that joint, please,’ I said to Vi.

Bek just gave me a stupid grin.

‘All right, take it easy, dude. Yes, we are stoned but what else is there to do on a sunny Sunday afternoon?’ Vi said.

I took a few drags of the joint myself and relaxed a bit. ‘Anyway, I keep an eye on them now,’ I said. ‘We don’t want seagulls to go for our weed, do we? That’ll be the next step, now that they can get their food so easily, you know, just going through our endless supply of garbage. They’ll want our drugs soon.’

‘Shit! This one’s staring at me now,’ Vi muttered, her pupils turning to pinpoints.

‘Yeah, we’re surrounded, it’s time to go.’

In Queen’s Square, the crowd was densely packed. I followed Vi like a good zombie, focusing on her long wavy hair, and we found a spot near the edge where we could sit. Bek went to the beer tent and Vi lit up a cigarette. A local band was playing some chaotic drum’n’bass and one small stupid cloud tried to cast its shadow near me. I couldn’t put a finger on my sudden mood swing, but there had been a shift. I looked around to distract myself from paranoia and black holes. Vi chatted with some random girl. I liked Vi’s t-shirt with its grey skull and crossbones, but everything else about her pissed me off right now. Her non-stop smoking of cigarettes, the mightily interested look on her face, the hyper-fake happiness, the line she had done in the park earlier. Still, I knew what I was supposed to do and I made a vague attempt at joining in the conversation.

And where the fuck was Bek? He’d been gone for a long time. I guessed the first line he’d snorted with Vi hadn’t been enough. So what was I doing here? I studied my shoes: the cute, grey pumps with small, sparkly buckles in the shape of owls. Vi shouted something and more people joined us. Bek came back and slapped me on the shoulder as if I was built for that. People laughed and the pathetic cloud disappeared, leaving a pristine blue sky, telling me to enjoy myself. I blocked my ears with my hands and breathed in and out seven times. The naga bobbed up and down behind my closed eyelids and I stood up, turned round and walked away.

The streets were empty and getting dark now. It was that time when the pig trotters had gone home and were dolling themselves up to look like night clones of each other. Later, they would invade the city centre in loud drunken flocks and beat up some poor old bum and his dog. Right now, though, things were pretty quiet.

A solitary taxi waited. I stepped in, justifying the extravagance by adding up all the money I had made thanks to the accessories for pets translation and the interpreting from two days ago. There was a plastic statuette of Ganesh on the dashboard. Hectic lights flashed around him: the god of tackiness. Some Bollywood music was on. It sounded like Minnie Mouse was being put through a wood pulping machine. I didn’t mind though; live music had been a disaster, but the exotic Indian voice made me feel better.

The taxi went back to Legoland via Gloucester Road and I much preferred this route. I narrowed my eyes and watched snippets of shops, dirty pavement, unsteady people and moving lights go by. The driver had nothing to say and neither did I. Perfect. He was in his world, listening to his music, and right now my world was filled with guilt and I clasped my hands. Why did I have to leave the concert like this? I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes.