Turtle Diary

39 William G

Sometimes I can’t believe that some mechanical happenings are only chance and nothing more. K257 in the pavement, the escalator owl at Charing Cross. At the place where we had supper on the way home I went to the lavatory. No sooner had I opened the door than there was a metallic belch and three 10p pieces leapt out of the contraceptive machine and clanged on the floor. Why, for God’s sake? Why did it do it when I walked in? I was fully ten feet away when it happened. There was something insulting about it, contemptuous. Here, it seemed to be saying, here’s a refund. Bloody cheek.

The miles rushed towards us, shot under the van. I felt absurd, couldn’t find a place to put myself in relation to the three turtles now in the sea. What in the world did it all mean? Why was I in this van with this woman? Would it keep on for ever, going round and round like chewing gum on a tyre? Could it be made to stop and if it were stopped would there be anything else to do?

I had a lot of trouble with my eyes after it got dark. The road kept going abstract. Confusion, fixed and flashing. Flat shadows assumed bulk, distances lost depth, the red tail-lights of cars half a mile ahead appeared to be up in the air.

In time the Chiswick Roundabout appeared, the Hammersmith Fly-over. It was after eleven when we got to Neaera’s place. I switched off the engine and we sat there ticking over in silence for a few moments.

‘Have you kept track of the expenses?’ she said.

‘I haven’t got all the figures yet,’ I said. ‘I’ll add it up after I take back the van tomorrow.’

‘I’ll ring you up,’ she said, and sat there, not quite knowing how to leave. I knew she didn’t want to ask me up to her flat for coffee or anything.

‘There isn’t an exit line for this sort of thing,’ I said. ‘About all you can do is shake your head and walk away kicking a stone if you have a stone to kick.’

‘I’ve thrown my stone away,’ she said. She gathered up her blankets and pillows and got out of the van. She looked in through the window. ‘I shan’t say anything now,’ she said. She walked away without shaking her head.

I drove home, parked the van, unloaded it. Not a dent or a scratch on the great bulgy thing, I couldn’t believe it. It took me a long time to get to sleep that night. I lay in bed listening to cars going down our street. I don’t know why they have to go so fast, the sound of those roaring engines always fills me with rage. I kept expecting to hear one of them scrape the van. It’s quite a narrow street.