Tomorrow I have to call the electricity company, get an extension for the washing machine hose and do the shopping, can you help me remember that at least? I ask X. Coordination, I tell him, when we’re coordinated we can do anything. But in a free moment, in the briefest fall out of time I sink into my armchair and look around at my new flat, my orderly possessions, and wonder how I even got this far in life, how I managed to organise even this tiny corner of reality with him around. How do other people do it? The closer I look, I tell him, the more it all dissolves into mist, and the closer you come, with your rank breath and your poisonous whispers.
Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
Notes for a fragmentary novel entitled The Moment, linked at the top of the page.
- Follow Notes from a Room on WordPress.com