Mushroom.Man

  I walked back to the house and found Clair putting logs on the fire.

  ‘Where the hell have you been? I had to bring in these logs myself.’

  ‘If you want to burn them, you can carry them,’ I said.

  ‘Are you trying to be unpleasant?’

  ‘No. Just fighting my corner.’

  ‘Well I’m in no mood for fighting. I don’t see why you expect me to do everything around here.’

  ‘I don’t. Do whatever you want for yourself, but don’t do anything for me. I’ll look after myself.’

  I took off my coat and sat down in the armchair, waiting for her to have the last word, but she didn’t. Didn’t say a word, even when I slowly and deliberately rolled myself a cigarette and smoked it.

  I thought about Pan. The great god, Pan aeternum. Bucolic Pan, benevolent Pan. How did he ever become the Christian icon for the devil? Horns and cloven feet, once the symbols of the earth god, have become Satan’s symbols. It’s the legacy of Christianity; out with the old, in with the new. Like druids, like mushrooms; displaced, demonized, and fit only for outlanders like me.

  Hygrophoropsis aurantica. The False Chanterelle.

  Cap 1–4 inches. Yellow to orange. Tough flesh.

  Distinguished from chanterelle by lack of apricot smell.

  Heaths and under conifers. Autumn.

  Edible but might cause hallucinations.

  eleven

  I hadn’t even begun to formulate my reply to the last two e-mails from the mushroom.man when yet another arrived. It was as though I’d opened a sluice-gate by simply asking for some everyday information. However, embedded in the rather mundane descriptions of people real or imaginary was more information relevant to my research. Not only that, but every disclosure made me feel that somehow our bond had become closer. To put it bluntly, the more he told me of his life the more influence I felt I had over him.

  After this length of time and this much contact, albeit electronic, I felt increasingly sure of my position in his world. I had obviously become his confidante, someone to whom he was prepared to entrust a piece of his life. And that meant that to some extent I could guide him into giving me the information that I wanted to complete my paper. What I wanted after this was essentially more of the same. I needed to build up a picture of the man behind the e-mail before I could make good use of the information I had already garnered. Thankfully, he obliged without much prompting, reinforcing my belief that this contact with me was functioning as a kind of therapy for him.

  Attn. mushroom.seeker.

  Subject: more history.

  9 September.

  I hadn’t seen Dave for nearly a year when he turned up one afternoon. He looked even thinner than usual and was very brown. Looking at him it was hard to believe this was a Scotsman. Armenian, maybe. He sat down on the floor and made a half-hearted attempt to get into a full lotus. He settled into a half one and then assailed me.

  ‘Just back from India, man.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Amazing. I mean fucking amazing. I went all over the place. I was up in the lakes of Kashmir and they’d blow your mind. I really got into the spiritual vibe, man. The Indians have really got it sussed.’

  ‘Can’t feed themselves, though.’

  ‘Jesus, that’s a material thing to say. That’s just not what’s happening there, man. Like these people are really amazing, they’re not into all that western crap. They’re just part of the flow, like it’s all karma man, they’re just part of it, know what I mean?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’d really get off on it. It’s such a spiritual thing. This whole western thing, man, it’s crazy. We don’t know how to empty our minds and just be at one with it all.’

  ‘I know a few people with empty minds.’

  ‘Very fucking funny. I’m serious, man. We’ve got a lot to learn from these guys. Like nothing fazes them, not even death. I’ve seen more dead and diseased bodies in the last year than you can imagine. It’s weird, no one gives a shit. It’s all down to karma. Shit, it’s cold in here.’

  I set about lighting the fire while Dave made tea. He came back in with two mugs.

  ‘I don’t know how you take this weather. It’s freezing. I only got back two days ago and I still haven’t warmed up. Over there you can get by with just a tee-shirt. You don’t need clothes, you don’t need money.’

  ‘Clair’s been living here.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘Did she tell you?’

  ‘Sort of, yeah.’

  I waited for something more, but he seemed unwilling to talk.

  ‘Do you mind her staying here?’

  ‘Na. Look, I don’t think I handled it very well. I just sort of split. Didn’t tell her or anything. I just wanted to find myself, know what I mean?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I just felt that we weren’t really going anywhere. I needed a change. We both did. I mean I just felt there had to be more to it, yeah?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘She’s a great lady, you know? We had great times and that. Is she OK?’

  ‘Well enough.’

  ‘Great. I’m glad. Thanks for looking after her.’

  ‘I’m not sure I have.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  I wanted to know just what Dave thought I had done for Clair. In my view of things Clair had done things entirely for herself, with me as an unwilling participant. Well, lately anyway. I also wanted to know just how much Dave had been a prime mover in Clair’s coming to stay. Had he used me to salve his conscience? Or was it something they’d agreed between themselves? Dave got up to go to the loo. I fanned the flames of the fire and thought about what he’d said. Didn’t need money in India. That’s a joke. What was he doing there? Living on the charity of the world’s poorest people? Him with tens of thousands of dollars, maybe even hundreds, sitting in offshore accounts. Money never seems important to those who have it.

  He came back, stuffing a brass pot into his rucksack. Once again he tried and failed to sit in the lotus position. I couldn’t shake off the thought that there was something absurd about this Pauline conversion. Probably the most venal person I’d ever met was telling me about mysticism. I decided to be charitable and take it at face value. Maybe he’d had a change of perspective. I’ve never been to India, but anyone I’ve met who has found it a humbling and moving experience. No reason why Dave should be any different.

  Dave was rolling a joint and I took the mugs into the kitchen. The floor was covered in water. A trail of water led to the lavatory which was also covered in water – the seat and the floor. It looked as though someone had turned on a sprinkler system. I flushed it, and everything seemed to be working. Puzzling. I went back to Dave and found him lighting up.

  ‘Was the loo leaking when you went?’

  ‘No. Oh, did I splash a bit?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry, I might have splashed a bit.’

  ‘I’m not following this.’

  ‘No, it’s just that I don’t use paper any more. Wiping isn’t hygienic. I have a pot of water instead. Wash instead of wipe. Don’t sit down any more either, I squat on the seat. It’s a much healthier position.’

  An image formed in my mind of Dave squatting on the seat splashing himself and everything else with water, in the interests of hygiene.

  ‘I see. Maybe another time you’d clear up afterwards.’

  ‘Sure, man.’

  I was grateful that Clair was out. I was hoping that before she came back I might have a better idea of what had happened between them. I don’t think I could have dealt with this meeting had she been there. Things had become very strained between us.

  ‘Did you tell Clair to come here?’

  ‘Not really. But when she said she was thinking of it, I said it was a good idea.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I thought you’d get along OK.’

  It occurred to me that here was my c
hance. Get Dave to take her back. That would solve everything. Brilliant.

  ‘I suppose Clair will want to go back with you, now that you’re back.’

  ‘Dunno. Maybe.’

  ‘Well what do you want?’

  ‘Dunno. I might go back to India. Jesus, man, I fucked my brains out there. Had more fucking women, Jesus it was great. Fucked myself silly.’

  ‘Look, Dave, we’re not really getting on very well, Clair and me.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Not really. We had a big fight a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘A cat. A pregnant cat. This cat turned up and started hanging about the house. After a couple of weeks I realized it was pregnant, its belly got bigger and bigger. Anyway Clair’s always leaving doors open and the cat kept coming into the house and pissing everywhere. She kept feeding it, and I kept chucking it out. It became obvious that soon I was going to have kittens as well pissing in the house, so I shot it.’

  ‘Far out, man. Shot the fucking cat.’

  ‘I shot it while Clair was out, but she met me on the lane. I had the cat in a bag and was going to dump it in the river. She must have guessed what was in the bag, because she grabbed it from me. When she saw what was in it she went for me, fists, nails, everything. She tried to bite me. Screaming at me. Anyway, we haven’t really talked since then. Truth is we’re not really compatible.’

  ‘She doesn’t fuck you, right?’

  ‘No she doesn’t, but that’s not the point. It’s a personality thing.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. That’s why I left, man. She’d just went off having sex. Made up for it in India, though.’

  He winked and I could almost feel an elbow in my ribs. It was as if this had nothing to do with him any more. As far as he was concerned Clair was my responsibility now. Except she wasn’t. She wasn’t any man’s chattel; she did what she liked whenever she wanted with no reference to me or anyone else. It was clear that however my problems with Clair were going to be resolved, Dave had nothing to do with it. It was between her and me.

  Dusk was falling and I knew that Clair would be back soon. She’d be back for supper. Maybe it was a good thing that Dave was here; it wasn’t just me and Clair who had stuff to work out.

  We were looking at Dave’s photographs when Clair walked in. There was a pile of them that he was particularly proud of devoted to women with no clothes on, mostly in hotel rooms. Hookers, I suspected. Dave gathered them up and put them in his jacket pocket, but not quickly enough. Clair noticed.

  ‘Not for my eyes, eh?’

  ‘Hi, Clair, good to see you.’

  ‘Sure. Hi.’ She walked off casually, as though Dave were of no consequence to her. He turned to me.

  ‘She looks great.’

  ‘Yeah, she does.’

  He started talking me through the photographs of mountains and lakes in a loud voice, apparently oblivious to the fact that Clair had already understood what was in his pocket. He kept looking over his shoulder as he talked, as though expecting her to walk in at any moment and demand to see his holiday snaps. When I’d seen them all I went to look for Clair. Some of the photographs had disturbed me, the ones in the hotel rooms. Brown women posing lewdly, sometimes singly, sometimes in twos or threes. Faces of poverty, looking out at me, exploited and exploiting. Nothing very spiritual about sex tourism. But it was the twinges of envy that disturbed me. I found Clair in the bathroom combing her hair.

  ‘Why don’t you come in and join us?’

  ‘I will, in a minute.’

  ‘Right.’

  Back in the sitting room I found Dave looking fretful. He was hopping about like a flea.

  ‘Look, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, man. Maybe I should split.’

  ‘Calm down. She’ll be here in a minute.’

  ‘I know, yeah.’

  He sat down, and then almost immediately got up again. He walked around the room.

  ‘Shit, it’s cold.’

  ‘Stand by the fire then.’

  ‘Right.’

  He stood, back to the grate, rubbing his hands. He knelt down and poked a log perfunctorily. He got up again and looked out the window.

  ‘Nearly dark. I ought to go.’

  ‘Relax. Sit down.’

  He sat on the edge of the armchair, his knees hopping up and down. Clair walked in and sat opposite Dave.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Great. Yeah, fine, OK. Bit cold.’ He rubbed his hands.

  ‘You bastard.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You fucking bastard. You turn up here expecting everything to be like it was, as though nothing happened? You’ve been gone fourteen months, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Thirteen.’

  ‘Fourteen. And what about me? Christ, you’re a selfish bastard. Just fucked off and left me. How the hell do you expect me to feel?’

  ‘Dunno. Sorry.’

  ‘Is that it? Dunno, sorry? Jesus why don’t you grow up. You’re not a little boy. You’ve got responsibilities. I suppose you think I’m just going to come running, just because you’re back.’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Damn right I’m not. You can fuck off back to India for all I care.’

  She started to cry. Quietly at first and then with more abandon. I’d never seen her cry before. Dave was making little twitchy movements, as though wanting to move to her side. I handed her a tea-towel. She held it to her face and sobbed. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I left the room and sat on my bed. What a mess. What a bloody mess. I lay down. I really had no idea how to handle this. I wanted her out of my house, but how could I do that to her now? I thought I could hear sounds of voices coming from the sitting-room, muffled and unclear. It was almost completely dark in the room now, as I tried to form some sort of plan. Perhaps I fell asleep. I remember the door opened, the light flooding in. I saw Clair silhouetted in the doorway.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She stood at the side of the bed and in the half light I saw she was totally naked.

  ‘Can I get under the covers? It’s cold out here.’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  I found that I was in the bed already. I had no recollection of getting in. Last thing I remembered was lying on top of the bed. She shivered.

  ‘Hold me.’

  I did. Held her close and tight.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She kissed my cheek. ‘Thanks.’

  She slid a knee between my thighs, her hand found my erection. It was more than a cuddle she wanted. Maybe she just wanted to feel needed, attractive. Dave had seemed pretty sure that he didn’t want to go back to her.

  ‘Dave gone?’

  ‘Yup.’

  I relaxed and let her take the lead. She’d always been so passive, so uninvolved. Yet here was the same woman, passionate and horny, really letting go. We made love for the first time; wild sex – sweaty sex. When she kissed me her tongue darted around my palate, teasing and exploring, her orgasms were explosive and so were mine. This was what I wanted, what I needed. Lying back afterwards I felt better than I’d felt for years. Clair had her head on my shoulder and cradled my limp dick in her hand. Her hair smelt wonderful, we were warm and comfortable. The world took on a new hue. I could live with this with ease. It was a revelation, I had no idea sex could be this good. Whatever her thoughts may have been, I went to sleep completely happy.

  I woke up to an empty bed. In a panic I ran into the kitchen. No one there. I called for her, called outside, ran around the house. I slowly realized all her things were gone. How could she do that, after last night? It had to have been as good for her as it was for me. Had to be. Then I saw the note on the table, propped up against a pot of marmalade.

  ‘Sorry to go without saying good-bye. Dave asked me to go to London with him, and I’m going. Thanks for putting up with me, maybe we’ll get the mill together one day. Best wishes, Clair.’

 
I stared at it stupidly, and then noticed there was more under my thumb. It said simply ‘thanx, man, Dave.’ I sat down and felt an overwhelming déjà vu. Women keep leaving me. Every time. But what was the sequence of events here? They’d both signed the note, so they were both here. Did I imagine last night? Dream it? There must be evidence. I went back to the bedroom and searched the bed carefully. I smelt the pillows, checked for hazel hair. I felt quite demented, I was searching for my sanity. Then I found a long hazel hair underneath the pillow. It did happen, then. She was here. But then where was Dave? If they left together he surely didn’t wait while she came into my room and fucked my brains out. That made no sense. Unless that was the condition she set – a punishment for him. No, that was insane. When did I last change the sheets? Jesus, don’t know. Maybe two weeks ago. Maybe more. This hair could have been there since then. In which case I could have imagined it all.

  I went back and read the note again. There was no time written on it, just the message. Definitely Dave’s writing, spidery, like a child’s. I closed my eyes and tried to picture the events of last night. But still I remembered it as real, not as I remember dreams. Either way she was gone. Yesterday I would have been delighted, now I felt desolated. And yet, I reasoned to myself, if it was all in my imagination then I should feel no different than I did yesterday. Nothing had changed; only a fantasy had come and gone. But still it felt real. I sat at the table and cried for the loss of what might have been.

  Cantharellus cibarius. The Chanterelle.

  Cap 1–4 inches. Apricot to egg-yolk yellow.