Angelica's Grotto

48 Loomings

Klein was accustomed to the looming of buildings and buses and he could handle it up to a point; he was troubled, however, by what seemed to him the unknown messages encoded in the 14 buses, the old Routemasters like the one that towered over him now as he headed for Safeway with a rucksack slung from one shoulder and a shopping list in his pocket. The 14s were definitely redder some days than others. ‘“The poor dead woman whom he loved,/ And murdered in her bed,”’ he muttered.

You didn’t murder Hannelore, said Oannes. She topped herself.

Blood and wine and buses are red, said Klein as the 14 puttered past him. Love me, whispered its diesel pheromones.

Everyone except one old lady on two sticks was walking faster than Klein. The morning was hot, the Fulham Road was full of traffic, the little green men on the crossing lights grudgingly allowed pedestrians a tenth of a second to get from one side to the other while the cars crouched, ready to spring. The sun was bearing down on the pollution to keep it within easy reach of anyone who happened to be breathing in; an examiner of early entrails would have found little to say for today. Another 14 bus appeared, possibly a male responding to the one ahead.

OK, said Oannes, let’s get into this 14 bus thing, shall we?

I don’t like the way they loom, said Klein.

Naturally — that’s your guilt looming. Everybody’s guilt looms or climbs on their shoulders or crawls up their asses or whatever. The looming is normal so don’t let it bother you.

There’s more to it and I don’t know what it is.

We’ll get to that. First let’s look at what we’ve got here.

A big red in-your-face 14 bus.

A doubledecker, right?

Right.

What’s the essence of a doubledecker bus?

They have an upstairs and a downstairs.

Like your mind.

OK.

So if you don’t like it downstairs, go up on top.

Congratulations — you’ve just cut the Freudian knot.

Sometimes it needs cutting. These Routemasters — they’re open in the back, right? Why are they open?

So you can jump on and off.

Nice one, Harold. You jumped on — now what?

You think I should jump off?

You tell me.

I’m of two minds on that.

So when the time comes you’ll get rid of one of them.

One of the minds?

Whatever.

You said you were going to tell me about the more.

The thing about more is that it comes after what comes before it. When it’s ready it’ll make itself known.

You’re such a comfort to me, Oannes.

After all, we’re in this together for the time being.

What do you mean, ‘for the time being’?

Well, nothing’s for ever, is it.

Right, then while we’re still together let’s get on with the shopping.

I thought Melissa was going to help with that.

She had to be at King’s all day today. And Leslie’s out doing his thing.

Oh yes, Leslie’s thing.

It looms.

Nothing’s for ever, Prof.

When Klein reached the zebra crossingjust afters the little roundabout at the North End Road he looked neither to the right nor left but stepped off the kerb ignoring the squeal of brakes and walked without hurrying to the other side.

You got the action, you got the motion, said Oannes.

There was a nondescript brown dog parked outside Safeway. I could do shopping, it said with its eyes.

‘Cleverness is not enough,’ said Klein as the doors opened automatically, ‘you need money.’ He read his list: 1 cabbage; 3 carrots; 1lb onions; mayo; yoghurt; bunch parsley; codfish cakes.

You’re not just a pretty face, said Oannes. You can shop too.

I’m a regular Renaissance man, said Klein. Despite the mental irritant of Leslie, he found that he was feeling good. Beautiful young women were sometimes to be seen in the shadowless fluorescent daylight, pacing indolently among the apples, pears, oranges, bananas, strawberries and pomegranates. These fruits had in the past lost their excitement when he got them home. The illuminated bottles of golden juice, heavy with sunlight from Jaffa and Florida and the gardens of the Hesperides, had become simply the ghosts of citrus past in his fridge; potatoes had been mute lumps of carbohydrate. Now, even with the front-bedroom situation, there were good things to look forward to; the potatoes were solid with the promise of earthly delights and the pomegranates would still be musky with the scent of passing Persephones.

Moving from aisle to aisle, Klein filled his basket. Everything began to seem significant now, and the signs above the aisles became a mantra as he scanned them: COOKED MEAT, BACON & SAUSAGES, FRESH CHICKEN, FRESH MEAT, CANNED VEGETABLES, SOUPS, RICE & PASTA, COOKING SAUCES, BUNS & TEA CAKES, BREAD & CAKES, PICKLES & SAUCES, COOKING OILS, TEA & COFFEE, CANNED FISH & MEAT, BABY FOODS, MEDICINES, SHAMPOOS, TOILET SOAPS, SOAP POWDER & BLEACH, DOG FOOD, CAT FOOD, TOILET TISSUES, KITCHEN TOWELS, FROZEN CHICKEN, FROZEN MEAT, FROZEN VEGETABLES, FROZEN READY MEALS, FROZEN FISH, ICE-CREAM, RED WINES, WHITE WINES, BEER & LAGER, SPIRITS & LIQUEURS, BISCUITS, JAM & MARMALADE, SWEETS & CHOCOLATE, HOME BAKING, CRISPS, SNACKS, NUTS, SOFT DRINKS AND MINERAL WATER, MEMENTO MORI & LAST JUDGEMENT, GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY, OLD TIME IS STILL A-FLYING.

‘Rosebud,’ said Klein as the flames licked round him. He was standing in front of a display of autistic ties that gabbled in crazy colours and he thought of buying one for Leslie. He moved on to a phalanx of batteries, found it difficult not to buy some just for the power of it. When he left Safeway the dog was still there.

Gissa job, it said with its eyes.

‘Fully staffed,’ said Klein.

‘Big Issue!’ growled a bearded vendor.

‘There are no small ones,’ said Klein. Bearing his frozen codfish cakes and the other supper ingredients, he continued along the North End Road for no valid reason past the Parish Church of St John with St James, Walham Green, offering its crucified wooden Christ and COFFEE HERE, past the green and leafy churchyard and four jovial drunks on a bench towards the Cock that swung its sign above the eponymous pub and further flaunted its virility with a rampant golden chanticleer in three dimensions on the roof.

There’s always Viagra, said Oannes.

‘I need Viagra like a barnacle needs a treadmill,’ said Klein, not realising that he’d spoken aloud until three passing schoolgirl smokers turned to look at him. ‘As if!’ said one. ‘What did he mean?’ said another, and the third brayed with all-purpose laughter.

Outside the public toilets a tumescent red motorcycle was parked. ‘They really know how to hurt a guy,’ said Klein, and headed for home.