An Hour in the Darkness Page 3

  “Listen, Veronica, Ronnie, say, were you named after Ronnie Spector from The Ronettes? Hey, I sure as hell hope you were because I love The Ronettes. I love that song, ‘Be My Baby’. Christ, Ronnie, please say you were named after Ronnie Spector, so that I don’t have to just crawl away and die somewhere. Say, how do you fancy going out walking with me?”

  Christ, I sure as hell was pleased with that line. It sure sounded all romantic, and everything, like in the olden days when our parents went courting. I bet my mum went out walking with my dad. God, I kind of felt sorry for old Ronnie, what with all the gorgeous lines I was laying down and my eyes twinkling like goddamn stars or something.

  Poor Ronnie never stood a chance from the start.

  “Are you a nutcase or something?” she said.

  Good old Ronnie; she sure was playing it cool and hard-to-get. Hey listen, I can play it cool too, okay, so I told her about the bang on the head.

  “Listen, Ronnie, R.O.N.N.I.E. S.P.E.C.T.O.R., say will you ‘Be My Baby’? No, listen, only kidding. I am a little crazy to be honest. I had a bit of a bang to the old head a few weeks ago, but I’m alright now. I’m not alright. I’m feeling as right as rain now, it’s just that I get so sad and depressed all the time. I’m lonely, okay, deal with it. No, I get real low sometimes – all the time – sinking to the bottom of the sea and then not being able to swim back up. Can’t quite manage to reach the surface, if you see what I mean old fruit, old fruit lady? I can see the sky behind the sea, but I can’t manage to get to it. Boy, where did all that come from? I reckon I’ve eaten so much fruit I’ve turned into a fruit loop. Or a fruit man. Hey, fruit lady, can I be your fruit man? Please God, let me be your fruit man.”

  Boy, I was breathing like I’d just run up a mountain or something. I was sweating like a horse.

  “Are you weak in the head?” said Ronnie.

  “Yes, and strong in the arm.” I showed Ronnie the muscles on my arms. “No, listen, Ronnie, I’m pretty weak most of the time these days because that’s how you make me feel.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Jenny said I make her laugh.”

  I was desperate.

  She ran away from me.

  I didn’t feel too well all of a sudden. I wanted someone to take me home, I suppose. Hearing myself speaking like that had shaken me up a little.

  I could see Ronnie talking to her boss across the other side of the stall. She was telling him about me for sure. What hurt most was the frightened look on her face. It really tore me up, if you want to know the truth. I started to cry a little, I think. I wasn’t well, I admit it.

  Then Ronnie came back and said people like me should be locked up. I told her that was a pretty cruel thing to say, when all is said and done, and especially to someone who obviously wasn’t well. Then her frigging boss came from behind the stall and poked me so hard in the chest I nearly fell over. I decided to get away from there pretty quick. Listen, don’t believe what they try to tell you. Romance is dead, okay?

  I went and sat down by the fountain. Girls can be so cruel sometimes. Ronnie, I mean. I was feeling lousy and my head was hurting. Everything inside was turning black again. It was because I was in love with Ronnie, I know. Listen, when those feelings come around there pretty well isn’t much you can do about it.

  I watched the water smash like glass on the ground. I was kind of hoping that Jenny was with me and we were kids again. God, I think they were just about the happiest days of my life. I started wishing that Jenny could still be frightened by the water, but I knew she wouldn’t be. Listen, I didn’t want Jenny to be the sort of person who isn’t half scared to death when the water from the fountain smashes on the ground, okay?

  There is a poem by old Wendell Holmes that we read at school. There are only two lines I remember:

  “A few can touch the magic string, and noisy Fame is proud to win them:- Alas for those that never sing, but die with all their music in them!”

  It sure used to make me feel sad when we read those lines. I think it’s tragic that a hell of a lot of people die with their music still inside them.

  Listen, it doesn’t matter if you sing your song and it’s terrible, okay? It doesn’t matter one iota. All that matters is that you try and sing it. If it’s lousy, that’s okay. You can live with lousy. For Chrissake, just give it your best shot, won’t you? If you don’t at least try to sing your song you won’t be able to live with yourself. It will eat you up inside and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. There will always be a deep unhappiness inside you no matter how hard you’re trying to convince the world that there isn’t. And you don’t know, it might just be the most beautiful song they’ve ever heard. God, I think it’s really tragic if people don’t at least try and sing their goddamn song and all.

  I don’t know what old Wendell Holmes meant by the magic string, but I think he meant trying to grab hold of the thing that you want most in life. Yeah, I’m convinced that’s what he meant. He’s telling us – in his own poetic way, of course – that only a very few are lucky enough to get hold of their own magic string. It’s because they never sing the song that is bursting inside them. I hope to God I don’t die without touching the magic string and all. I know I probably won’t get hold of it – but Christ – you’ve got to at least try, haven’t you?

  And that’s why I knew I had to go back and try all over again with Ronnie. I reckon I knew she was my magic string and it was fucking crucial I tried to sing the song inside me again. I almost did as well.

  Look, I just don’t get on with people too well, okay? I don’t let people get too close. This sounds tragic, I know, but I find it a whole lot easier to walk into a room full of strangers than I do walking into a room full of people I know. I can’t afford to stay too long in one place because they’ll discover I’m nothing special. I’ve got to tell you about a thousand jokes an hour to keep you laughing because I know that as soon as I stop, it’s over for me. I’m terrified that once I stop you’ll see I’m ordinary. I can’t stay in one place for too long. I’ve got to lay down some magic pretty quickly – normally within the first few minutes – and then I’ve got to get the hell out of there while you’re still dazzled. I’ve got to leave you thinking that the memory of me was a lot more special than the real thing. I swear I just can’t keep it going for too long, okay? Once my tired routine is finished, and everyone is talking about the normal stuff again, I’m done for.

  Listen, if you ever meet me – and I hope you do – you’re going to think I’m a real funny guy. But when the laughter stops you’re going to see one sad individual. I don’t want you to see that person, okay, so it’s better that I get the hell away from you as quickly as possible. I’ll break my heart to make you laugh. Believe me, I really will. I’m ready to get down and die in front of you just to make you smile. If you’re laughing then everything’s okay; if you’re not laughing then everything’s not okay. It’s all pretty tragic when you analyse it. And believe me, I have. About a million times already.

  Pretty soon, young man, you’ll be the only one who notices the person with the frightened look in their eyes. Look, that person with the frightened look in their eyes is me, okay, and I sure as hell don’t want you to have to see him. I don’t want to put you through it. It’s chronic really. It sure must be the most embarrassing thing in the world: watching a person struggle like that. I feel real sorry for you. Listen, I can’t do it any differently, okay? I’ve tried about a million times, but I can’t deliver. I swear I want to be normal, like everybody else, but it’s a no go, I’m afraid. I’m virtually begging you all to love me.

  So I left the fountain and went and stood on the edge of the market again. I was on the outside looking in. I knew that, of course I did. I stayed there for an hour or two, trying to catch Ronnie’s eye. I love all that catching girls’ eyes stuff, don’t you? I’m just a flirt at heart, I suppose. I love to give girls the eye and then flirt with them a little so that they think they’ve got
a chance with me. Then I love to let them down all of a sudden. Listen, one moment I’m going to be fooling around with you – trying to break your goddamn heart and everything – and then the next minute I probably won’t even look at you. Christ, I won’t even speak to you if you’re not careful. And it’s probably breaking my heart a lot more than it is yours, okay? Listen, it’s probably a lot easier to break my heart than you think.

  I used to get pretty lonely in my room, but I think I already told you that. Jenny used to come and visit me sometimes, but she could never stay long because we both knew that she shouldn’t have been there. She used to sit checking her watch about fifty times an hour until I just about begged her to go home, for Chrissake. I sure as hell missed her after she’d gone though.

  It’s funny, one minute I couldn’t leave the room because I was too scared to go outside and the next minute I had to get out before I went crazy. Honestly, that’s how it was. I used to walk around all day just to have something to do. I just kept walking. I really did. I couldn’t stop myself. I was like a goddamn marathon walker or something. I think I must have walked to the moon and back during that time. I was scared of stopping because I knew I’d probably start screaming if I did. The panic was always there, just a few inches in front of my face, and I knew the only way I could stop it was to keep walking. Sometimes I had to walk about a hundred miles I was so terrified. I knew that if I stopped, I was finished.

  4

  I woke up one morning and needed to see my dad. It was cold in my room and I knew that Dad was the strongest person in the whole world back then. I wanted to tell him about the screaming because I figured that if anyone could make the feelings stop, he could. Listen, when I was a kid I thought my dad was frigging Hercules or something, okay? I thought he could beat just about everybody in the whole world back then, including Sonny Liston. My dad could move goddamn mountains if he wanted to. I sure as hell was a disappointment to him.

  I went back to my home village and found Dad sitting at a table by himself in his favourite pub. He was staring at a glass of beer in front of him. He looked like the saddest person I ever saw. I knew pretty much straight away that he couldn’t help me because he had enough pain of his own. I knew he was thinking about Jenny. Hell, we were all thinking about Jenny.

  When Dad lifted his head up I couldn’t tell whether he was pleased or disappointed to see me. I was trying my hardest to look cute, but he looked straight through me. His eyes looked awful blurry and tired. I sure wanted to hug him all of a sudden, but I knew that was impossible. I always have to work twice as hard to please my dad. I suddenly wished Ronnie was there too because I desperately needed her to see what a real man looked like. I wanted her to fall in love with him like every other girl in the world did.

  “Hello Dad,” I said cheerfully; it sounded ghastly.

  “Hello son,” he said.

  “It sure is good to see you again. Take the pain away, won’t you?”

  I felt pretty bad afterwards – you know – asking him to take away the pain so quickly like that, especially when he was so deeply troubled himself.

  “Let me get you a drink,” he said. I don’t think he heard the bit about taking the pain away.

  “Gee, thanks, Dad, I’ll have a soda pop.”

  I sure don’t know what I was thinking – you know – talking in a silly high-pitched voice like that, like I was still a child, or something, and asking for a soda pop, for Chrissake.

  “What the hell is a soda pop?”

  “I’ve no idea, Dad.”

  “For Chrissake, have a proper drink. Have a beer, alright?”

  I just nodded. I could never get it right with him.

  When Dad came back from the bar he put the drink down in front of me. Then we both stared at it for about eleven days or something. We never said a word. In the end I drank some of the beer, just to have something to do, and shivered, and then nearly died because it tasted so cold and awful.

  Dad started the father and son bit. You know the sort of thing. Telling me about the facts of life and all that other crap. He kept asking if everything was okay and I just nodded, and felt uncomfortable, and took another sip of my beer, and then nearly died again because it still tasted so foul. I knew it wasn’t the right time to tell Dad about screaming and wondered how I was going to get away.

  I sure as hell felt a fraud sitting there, I can tell you. Listen, you’d better understand that when a dad and his son have a drink in the pub they should talk about how well Leicester City football team is doing. There should be no mention of screaming at all because something like that is really going to ruin the party atmosphere. Your old dad wants to hear that his son is doing just fine, and everything, and that he’s got the best job in the world, and everybody at work thinks he’s a swell kind of guy. Your father does not want to hear that you’re scared to death and might start screaming any day soon. Your dad wants to hear that you’re just about the most popular kid around and that everybody is just bending over backwards to be in your groovy gang. Listen, Dad, nobody wants to be in my gang, okay?

  Then I did something really stupid and it was only because I was feeling so crummy and nervous, and everything, I know.

  I picked up my beer mat and ripped it into small pieces. Then I placed them down on the table in front of him. I’d made a little building, for Chrissake. Dad looked mortified and I didn’t blame him one iota. He put his beer glass down for a second and looked at me for a thousand years. I couldn’t hold his stare though and just gazed down at the ruined pieces of beer mat like they were bits of ripped-up human flesh or something. I felt so ashamed of those bits of torn-up beer mat, suddenly, and I wanted to collect them together and hide them. My dad sure makes me feel nervous all the time, I can tell you. I just can’t relax in his company, I swear it.

  Anyway, I just sort of ran my trembling fingers through the pieces of beer mat for a few seconds. Then I sat back in the chair, folded my arms tightly and tried to make it look like I’d never seen them before. I tried to look like I didn’t know who the hell had done it, but it certainly wasn’t me, okay? Dad continued to look at me, but I couldn’t look back at him for all the tea in China. All I could do was stare at the pieces of beer mat arranged in between us. I felt something near to disgust when I looked at them.

  “What did you do that for?” Dad finally said.

  “Sorry?” I said, without looking up at him.

  “This is a pub. People are looking at you. Don’t you care that they think there’s something wrong with you?”

  “Is that what they think, Dad?”

  “You don’t come into a pub and start tearing up your beer mat.”

  “Don’t you?” I said it quietly.

  “What’s wrong with you? Why do you do things like that?”

  “Sorry, Dad,” I said.

  I was so sorry by then I think I started to cry or something. I sure was sniffing loudly.

  “Don’t cry, for Chrissake.” Dad started looking around the bar.

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Don’t keep apologising. Just stop crying. Drink your beer, for crying out loud.”

  “I don’t like it. It’s too strong.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  Dad sagged in his seat and shook his head. Then he let out a long sigh and rubbed his tired, yellow eyes. He looked ruined – like the beer mat – and I felt pretty awful about things. It just about cleared me out, if you really want to know. Then he lowered his head and looked down at the floor.

  “Don’t do that, Dad.” My hand sort of hovered around his head for a few seconds, like I was going to stroke his hair or something.

  Anyway – luckily – by the time Dad looked up my hand was safely in my lap. Listen, you’d better understand that your dad really doesn’t want you to stroke his head tenderly like that, especially when you’re both drinking in the pub and you’re on a good night out, for Chrissake.

  Well, Dad just stared at me for about a million more yea
rs. There was a hell of a lot of staring going on that day, I can tell you, and most of it was coming from Dad. Then he started chewing the ends of his fingers until I could virtually see the bone. Listen, my dad chews his fingernails too much, okay? My dad’s fingers always look real sore and I’d hate myself if I thought I was the reason why.

  “How are you feeling?” he said suddenly, so that it made me start. “You look terrible. You look like death warmed up. You keep blinking your eyes. Stop blinking your eyes. People are watching you. Can’t you just be normal?”

  I sure felt sorry for blinking my eyes like that in front of Dad. We were in a public bar, for Chrissake.

  “Sorry, Dad,” I said.

  “Don’t keep saying sorry. Just don’t blink. Do you know why you do it?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. When somebody tells me to stop – i.e. you – I just kind of have to do it more. I do it more when you’re here because I know it drives you crazy and all. I know it must be hard on you watching me show myself up in public like this.”

  “Just don’t do it. Why is it every time I’m with you in a public place I’ve got to whisper?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, sir, I really don’t. It sure is something I’m going to think about though. I’m going to figure the answer to that one out and get right back to you.”

  Poor old Dad picked up his pint and finished it off in one manly swallow. His hands were shaking badly, but I didn’t mention it out of politeness.

  “You’d better go,” he said.

  “Okay, Dad. Sorry.”

  Anyway, after all the drama of seeing Dad, I went back to the market and tried to sing my song again. Ronnie saw me coming through the crowds though. I know she did because she went directly to her boss. She did not “Pass Go” and she did not “Collect £200”. Ronnie’s boss just stood there cleaning his teeth with a matchstick, for Chrissake. As Ronnie was speaking to him he kept looking over at me and nodding like he was weighing up quite a few things. It looked to me like he was contemplating something. When Ronnie had finished talking he walked out from behind the stall and came towards me. Listen, if you have a matchstick between your teeth it makes you look pretty tough, okay? I waved at him to ease the situation, but he didn’t even crack a smile. I was determined though. I knew I was going to try and sing my song again, no matter what.