Angelica's Grotto

14 Doe Not Call Upp

HOP-ON HOP-OFF AT 100 STOPS ON 7 ROUTES, said the London Pride Sightseeing Bus parked in Southampton Row by Russell Square. Its redness was of a piece with the hard sunshine of the end-of-October day. The driver sat at the wheel; there was no one else on the bus.

‘They’ve all hopped off,’ said Klein to himself, ‘speaking French, German, Spanish, Greek, Russian, Polish, Urdu, Hindi, Arabic and goodness knows what else. They’re speaking those languages out loud and they’re speaking them to themselves in their heads, even the children.’

He was meeting his friend Seamus Flannery for lunch at II Fornello, an Italian restaurant with Spanish waiters. Seamus wrote radio, screen, and stage plays and taught History of Film at the National Film School. The waiters Paco and Juliano called the two of them ‘Dottore’ or ‘Professore’ interchangeably. Flannery was already there in their usual booth.

‘Professore!’ said Juliano. ‘Nice to see you. Are you having something to drink?’

‘Half lager, please. Same for you?’ he said to Seamus. Over their half-pints they brought each other up to date.

‘That’s really awful,’ said Seamus when Klein told him about the loss of his inner voice. ‘Some of my best conversations happen inside my head.’ He was as bald as an observatory dome; Klein imagined echoes.

‘Different voices?’ he said.

‘No, just mine. Did you have an inner voice that was different from yours?’

‘No, but I suppose one might.’

‘Where would it be coming from?’

‘From a different part of oneself, I should think.’

‘How different?’

‘Well, mostly I’m Harold, right? But maybe I’ve got a Jim part as well.’

‘Chelsea supporter, hangs out with the lads at the pub, owns a Rottweiler, has a tattoo?’

‘Maybe not that different.’

‘Jekyll and Hyde spring to mind, or maybe The Case of Charles Dexter Ward. “Doe not call upp Any that you cannot put downe.” Flannery and Klein were both well-grounded in H. P. Lovecraft.

‘Nothing like that,’ said Klein.

‘Has Jim said anything interesting lately?’

‘Not yet.’

They talked of Klimt, Kieslovski, and Egberto Gismonti over their tortellini and lasagne. ‘Do you use the Internet?’ said Klein.

‘I haven’t got round to that yet, I’m afraid I’d become addicted to it. You?’

‘From time to time; it’s useful for research.’

After lunch they walked down to Great Russell Street, then over to Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street and the Virgin Megastore, where they headed for the video department. Klein bought, among others, Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia. Flannery included Point Blank in his purchases. They both possessed recordings from TV of these all-time favourites but they liked the pretty boxes.