by Ben Okri
‘The only reason I might get up from here,’ said the young woman, ‘is if I know that at some point we might find a place where we can just be.’
‘A place to learn how to dream again.’
‘A place to learn how to forget.’
‘A place to be compassionate.’
‘Any old dump would do.’
‘It has to be a special place, though,’ said the young man.
‘Any rundown squat would do.’
‘It has to be full of magic and love and lovely lights.’
‘Any old dustbin is fine for me.’
‘I’ll settle for the sky.’
‘I’ll settle for a piece of bread.’
‘Yes. I’m hungry.’
‘I could eat you if we had a fire.’
‘I wouldn’t like to eat you. I might make a delicacy out of kissing you, though.’
‘If we don’t stop talking,’ said the young woman, ‘we will never find us a place.’
‘Let’s talk a bit more. We never get a chance to talk.’
‘Are you feeling better?’
‘No. Are you?’
‘Not really.’
‘My throat feels as if it’s made of gleet.’
‘That’s gut-rot.’
‘It feels like I’ve got a lump of lead in there and I can’t swallow it down.’
‘That sounds bad.’
‘How is your throat?’
‘Bad. But I don’t feel like celebrating my illness right now.’
‘That’s a good idea.’
‘Shall we get going?’
‘Why not? I don’t know if I can manage it, though.’
‘I don’t know if I can either.’
‘Let’s try anyway.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m ready when you are,’ said the young man.
Eight
After a short heavier silence, the young woman said:
‘Let’s have an argument.’
‘I’m too tired.’
‘Come on.’
‘Okay.’
‘What should we argue about?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t.’
‘What do you mean you don’t?’
‘I don’t.’
‘You are an idiot, that’s why.’
‘No, I’m not.’
Nine
The silence became gentler.
‘Let’s go, then,’ said the young woman.
‘Yes. Let’s go.’
‘Let’s go holding hands.’
‘Dreaming about wonders.’
‘That sounds nice.’
‘Let’s go in such closeness that the world will be astonished that, amidst such devastation, beauty and truth can still exist and two souls can still participate in the imagination of life.’
‘Let’s do that,’ said the young woman, ‘while you help me up.’
‘Let’s go in such unity…’
Raising her voice, the young woman said:
‘Do you want to help me up or not?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Come on, then.’
Ten
The young man got up from the ground, clearly in some pain, and then helped her up. After they were standing, they still kept the distance between them.
‘I hope we find the room,’ the young woman said.
‘Yes. I feel tired.’
‘Let’s go, then.’
‘In unity and love.’
‘Let’s just go.’
‘In peace and tranquillity.’
‘Forget the clichés. Just come on.’
‘Alright…’
‘What’s the matter now?’
‘I’m trying,’ said the young man, ‘to catch a thought.’
‘Well go on, then. But be quick about it.’
‘It’s a lovely thought.’
‘Get on with it and let’s go.’
‘I need the right atmosphere. I need silence.’
Eleven
The silence he needed wasn’t there.
‘If I don’t say the thought right,’ said the young man, ‘I might destroy it.’
Twelve
The young man waited, patiently. Then he spoke.
‘Life is a masterpiece of the imagination,’ he said.
‘Is that it?’
‘Yes. Don’t you think it is lovely?’
‘The imagination of a sick mind, I would say. Let’s go.’
‘It’s a shame you don’t like it. That’s the best thought I’ve had in my whole life.’
‘Let’s go.’
‘The best thought of my life and it’s gone in a twinkle.’
‘I’m sure you’ll survive the disappointment.’
‘My darling, let’s go.’
‘Yes. Let’s.’
‘Let’s go slowly.’
‘And with dignity.’
‘Holding the best moments of our lives like a bottle of wine.’
‘Like a glass of water.’
‘Water, yes, water. I could do with some water.’
‘I’m thirsty’
‘I’m parched.’
‘Let’s go.’
‘Dreaming about water.’
There was silence. Then they left the clearing in opposite directions.
Book Four
One
In another clearing in the forest there stood a white building with a blue door. On the door was the legend: ‘Eden. Closed for restoration.’
Old Man and Old Woman sat impassively in a far comer of the clearing. Pinprop emerged from the forest with the table on his head, which he deposited in front of the old couple.
‘I’m definitely exhausted,’ he said.
He sat on the ground.
‘A new arrival, I hope.’
He laughed.
‘I wish you both weren’t being so quiet.’
There was silence.
‘It’s been a long journey, I suppose. I don’t even feel like being talkative now that you are both so quiet.’
He laughed again.
‘A yes to this, a no to that. Yes, sir, yes, madam. A solid yes. The vote is taken. Skeletons. Biographical trees. Routines and routines. Tiredness, sir, and old age. Slavery and acceptance. Secret freedom. A dance to all that, sir and madam. A dance and a song.’
He giggled.
‘I’ve carried both of you for so long that I feel like a hunchback. And now you are both silent. Definitely a dance and a song.’
Pinprop got up, shook his feet, and walked crab-like around Old Man and Old Woman. He performed an absurd little dance. He laughed again. Then he sat back on the ground, in front of them, cross-legged.
Two
‘I’m tired,’ said Old Man, waking up.
‘I’m tired,’ said Old Woman.
‘Pinprop, have we arrived?’
‘Oh, sir, em, only temporarily.’
‘Why aren’t you being long-winded?’ asked Old Woman.
‘I feel as if I’ve taken on both your ages.’
‘I wish we could hang him,’ she said.
‘Yes. Hang him by his testicles.’
‘That’s a good idea.’
‘Let’s arrive first,’ Old Man suggested.
‘I’m tired.’
‘Let’s sleep.’
‘I’m afraid of sleeping.’
‘Let’s not talk about fear.’
‘Fear, fear, fear,’ said Pinprop.
‘Stop it,’ cried Old Man.
‘Terror, terror, terror.’
‘Shut up,’ cried Old Woman.
‘They are just words,’ said Pinprop.
‘Words can be made manifest,’ said Old Woman.
‘Too many of them have been,’ said Old Man
‘Pinprop, where are we?’
‘Somewhere, madam.’
‘A most satisfactory answer.’
‘Definitely pointed,’ agreed Old Man.
&
nbsp; Three
After a short silence Pinprop laughed.
‘Slave,’ Old Man said, ‘why are you laughing?’
‘Can I be dishonest?’
‘Certainly. That breeds proper understanding,’ said Old Woman.
‘A stupid question, Pinprop. You know how much we…’
‘Well, sir and madam. The thought struck me…’
‘Where?’ enquired Old Woman.
‘And how did it strike you?’ enquired Old Man.
‘In a flash,’ said Pinprop.
‘I never saw it,’ said Old Woman.
‘Well, the thought struck me…’
‘Again!’ said Old Man. ‘What a solid head you must have.’
‘Stony, I would think,’ Old Woman said.
‘Anyway the thought occurred to me…’
‘The thought has suddenly changed its form,’ said Old Man.
‘A new chemistry, no doubt,’ observed Old Woman.
‘Will you listen to me, both of you,’ Pinprop said loudly, almost shouting.
Four
There was a long silence. Then:
‘Hysterical insolence!’ cried Old Woman.
‘Unforgivable rebellion!’ cried Old Man.
‘I suggest a chaining, a skinning and a hanging.’
‘All at once.’
‘With great celebration.’
‘And relief.’
‘Let’s proceed at once,’ cried Old Woman.
‘Definitely.’
‘I’m tired.’
‘I’m tired.’
‘I can’t move.’
‘I can’t move.’
‘Let’s sleep on it.’
‘I can’t sleep.’
‘I can’t sleep either,’ said Old Woman.
Five
‘The thought occurred to me,’ said Pinprop, after a short silence, ‘that both of you are beginning to look like skeletons.’
‘Blasphemy!’ roared Old Man.
‘Utter humiliation!’ screeched Old Woman.
‘Pinprop, you shall suffer for this a thousand thousand times.’
‘You shall suffer in all the pits with all the world’s vermin as your companions.’
‘Then I shall never starve,’ said Pinprop.
‘You shall weep for eternity and no one will hear your weeping.’
‘Your thoughts will strangle you and you shall never find death,’ said Old Woman.
‘Nor ever arrive anywhere.’
‘Nor ever have a wash.’
‘Nor ever…’
‘Nor ever…’
‘Let’s sleep on it,’ Old Man said.
‘Let’s try to sleep.’
‘You shall be a slave for the rest of your life.’
‘Let us sleep.’
‘I’m tired or I would have heaped all the abuses in this world on him.’
‘My mouth is heavy.’
‘We still love you, Pinprop.’
‘We always will,’ said Old Woman.
‘That is why you shall forever be our slave.’
‘Even in sleep.’
‘Yes. Sleep,’ Old Man said.
Six
They fell silent. Then, in the distance, there was the sound of the siren again.
‘Horrors!’ cried Pinprop.
Then, in the woods and in the air, there was the sudden sound of birdsong, and a baby crying.
‘Defilement!’ said Pinprop.
Not long afterwards the young man and young woman stumbled into the clearing. They were chained together at the ankles.
Seven
‘Let’s rest here for a while,’ said the young man.
‘Yes, let’s do that.’
Then they sat down on the ground, as far from one another as possible.
‘Let’s sleep,’ said the young man.
‘And forget.’
‘And remember.’
‘With no confusions.’
‘Or regrets.’
‘With no need to conform.’
‘Or be anything.’
‘With a lot of space to create,’ said the young woman.
‘Without pain.’
‘Except my heart.’
‘And my throat.’
‘Tiredness.’
‘In perfect peace.’
‘And a few arguments now and then.’
‘Without wonder or beauty.’
‘Without anything.’
‘Except our past.’
‘And each other.’
‘With a few routines.’
‘And we shall call it love.’
‘Then we shall invent a new religion.’
‘I’m lonely.’
‘Let’s sleep,’ said the young man.
Eight
The siren sounded in the forest. Then, after the sound faded, the Man wandered into the clearing, dejected, dragging his feet.
‘Water. Just water,’ he said. ‘I think I stink like old cheese.’
He fell silent.
‘I should have stayed at the asylum. It’s not my fault that I killed that sniffer.’
He laughed.
‘It must be sad to be a sniffer. Sniff, sniff, sniff.’
He paused.
‘I wish I had some water. Just a glass. I could wash with a few drops, drink a few more drops, and save the rest for later.’
He looked around and, for the first time, saw the white building with the blue door.
‘Ah,’ he said.
He read out the legend on the door.
‘Room to Let.’
He was silent.
‘Liars. Cheats. Thieves. Deceivers,’ he cried out, suddenly. ‘This is not a house. This isn’t what I’ve been looking for. There’s no room in there. It’s a bloody
prison, a bird cage, a trap. Sniff, sniff. I’m not going in there.’
There was another silence.
‘I’m tired of running, running,’ he said, dejectedly. ‘Search, searching. Sniff, sniffing.’
He paused again, as a new thought came to life in him.
‘I’d be much better off looking for them. Better to start from where I know. Escape to what I am. Grow on my own cross.’
He looked at the white building again.
‘It’s a joke.’
He made a long crying sound.
‘A bad joke.’
He laughed. Then the silence was broken by the siren in the forest. The sounds came closer.
‘They are nearby,’ he said. ‘Oh, good. Start again from where I know. Find what I am. Redeem myself. The asylum is as good a place as any. Who knows, maybe this whole planet is an asylum, a penal realm. A place for hard cases.’
The siren intensified.
‘I must find them,’ said the Man.
The siren sounded now with greater clarity.
‘Lovely water,’ he shouted loudly, suddenly. ‘Where are you? Where are you?’
Then, as if in surrender to a new freedom, a new destiny, he ran out from the clearing into the forest, in the direction of the pure beauty of the sound of the siren.
‘Water. Good water!’ he cried, in the depths of the echoing woods.
‘Waaaatttteeeerrrrr!!’
And then there was silence.
Nine
Out of the stillness, the young man spoke.
‘Are you alright?’
‘No.’
‘Let’s go, then.’
‘I’m hurting all over.’
‘That’s very good.’
‘How about you?’
‘I’m in agony.’
‘That’s wonderful.’
‘Shall we go, then?’
‘With all this pain?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a good idea.’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Let’s just go.’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you help me up?’
‘Alright.’
Ten
&nb
sp; The young woman helped the young man up and they went in the direction of the white building with the blue door, and saw it for the first time. They stopped in front of it.
‘What a lovely anthill,’ said the young woman.
‘It’s more like a junk-heap.’
‘Without doubt an anthill.’
‘Most certainly a junk-heap.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘Like most junk-heaps.’
‘Absolute rubbish.’
‘You’re getting closer.’
‘I hate you,’ said the young woman.
‘I hate you too,’ said the young man.
‘Let’s go.’
Then, with clumsy feet, they left the clearing. As they entered the forest the young man tripped, but recovered his balance. Chained together, they disappeared into the forest, but left their silence behind.
Eleven
When they had gone their silence lingered. Then Pinprop spoke.
‘Now for some peace,’ he said.
He giggled. He got up from his cross-legged position in front of the table. He sang a song to himself, and he danced.
‘Definitely an arrival,’ he said.
He went over to the white building with the blue door.
‘Most definitely the room,’ he added.
He laughed.
‘And so again and again, in an epic journey, in exile, after falling and rising, toiling and becoming hunchbacked, I find only silence. How crude,’ he said.
He danced a step.
‘The trap becomes a mouse,’ he said, quoting himself. ‘Most certainly. Beaten, crushed underfoot, prey to a thousand seasons of sickness. Tedium, neurosis, boredom. Beaten and beaten till you laugh and sing and say Yes! Yes! to everything.’
Pinprop danced another step.
‘A most wonderful concept, room,’ he said. ‘Hah. I remember. All that iron. Stupidity, rubbish, routines, violence and then the illusion of happiness. Impotence. Just that and little else. Except lies. That’s fun, though. I used to know an idiot. “Our lives are composed of too many lies,” he would say. And that was a lie in itself.’
He fell silent.
‘Now for some peace,’ he said.
He was silent again.
‘A room at last. An end to all our wandering.’