Mushroom.Man

  ‘Suppose so.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s not really fair of me to dump this on you.’

  ‘It’s OK, really. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?’

  I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. She smiled and squeezed back. It was becoming clear to me why she’d come. Hope. Hope that she might find something changed, something new. I wasn’t fit to look after myself, let alone some other man’s kids. I could hardly imagine having any of my own. But then again, I couldn’t really trust my perceptions of people and their motives. Didn’t have much of a track record of getting it right. This was probably another one of those fantasies that had validity only for me. It began to feel oppressive sitting in the half light of the kitchen. I felt the urge to get outside.

  ‘Do you still feel like going riding?’

  ‘Not really, if you don’t mind. I should really be thinking about going back.’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘Well in a while, anyway.’

  ‘Come out to the field with me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to show you something.’

  I’d been thinking about how to approach this. If she was going to go soon it would have to be now. I was going to tell her about the stones and what I’d seen there – when I’d seen her and Greg. I had to know if there was any truth in it, if there was anything real, objectively true. Increasingly I was unsure if I was really meeting people or not. Sometimes I was, sometimes it was all imagined, sometimes I couldn’t tell the difference. I wanted Jane to be my touchstone on reality once again.

  Out in the field I showed her the huge boulders in the surrounding walls. I told her about the map, and how circles had often been dismantled. And then I told her about my vision.

  ‘Greg told me that we lived in more than one place and reality at a time. That I’d slipped into a parallel life with the consciousness of another. Does that make any sense?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘He told me he loved you.’

  ‘Did he.’

  ‘That he always did. Had.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘I see. So what’s the question?’

  ‘There isn’t one. I just wanted to know if it made any sense to you. I get confused sometimes.’

  ‘Sounds to me like another drug-induced fantasy. You never learn, do you?’

  I suppose it’s unreasonable to expect people to bare their souls. I’m happy enough to do it, but I’m beginning to think most people aren’t. I just hoped that in that moment Jane would tell me what I wanted to hear. That these were not fantasies but slices of reality; that she was there too in the circle, in a dream or in her imagination; that my description of the event was accurate. I wanted to hear her say, ‘Yes, that’s right, that’s how it happened in my dream.’ Then I would know; I would be sure that there was something real in the mushroom world. Instead I was no better off. I still had no evidence that any of these dreams had reality in them. But I still believed they did. I was sure that Jane simply didn’t want to confirm it; that she could have, but chose not to. That it was fear on her part that made her refuse to corroborate my vision. Fear of accepting the reality of dreams.

  Jane started walking back toward the house quickly. Grudgingly I fell into step.

  ‘I have to go now. Thanks for dinner and everything.’

  ‘That’s OK.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘OK, great. Drive safely.’

  She kissed me briefly on the cheek and got into the car. I watched her drive off. Such a sudden goodbye, so quick. Almost a dash for freedom. Was it really so horrid an idea, life with me?’

  Langermannia gigantea. The Giant Puffball.

  Large. To 30 inches in diameter. White. Skin leathery.

  Strong mushroomy smell. Firm flesh.

  On well-manured grass-lands. Late summer to late autumn.

  Edible. Good sliced and fried.

  thirteen

  The last e-mail hadn’t really answered my questions, so I reverted to my previous line of enquiry, that of looking for information as to how he filled his days.

  One thing I had learned: the mushroom.man never answered anything directly. I had to be oblique in my questioning; directness appeared to be completely ignored. Yet when I looked back at what I had already received there was already a corpus of ideas that went a long way towards filling the gaps in my research.

  It was around this time that something occurred to me. He had never asked anything of me. No questions of any kind. I wondered for a while if this was in any way insulting. I realized that although we had not had what might generally be regarded as a conversation, it was most certainly almost entirely one-sided. Not only that, but he had never made any reference at all to my e-mails to him. He responded, sometimes answering queries in a roundabout way, but never as a letter-writer might – never replying point by point or even mentioning what he’d received from me. Each one of my e-mails simply elicited a response, but somehow it wasn’t a personal one, there was always a distance.

  I decided to make no reference to this, as I really didn’t want any complaint of mine to interrupt the flow of mail from him. I simply asked him to tell me a little about who he met and interacted with in the present, as opposed to the past.

  Attn. mushroom.seeker.

  Subject: hill walks.

  22 September.

  Two years went by before I heard from Hartfield Stanley again. I heard plenty about him in local gossip and saw his car on the road from time to time, but he had never asked me to his house again. Perhaps he was waiting for me to return his hospitality.

  His latest venture was deer farming, breeding and raising Sika deer for the German market. There had been a fair bit of poaching over the past year and I had rather guiltily eaten some of his venison, passed on to me by a poacher. I thought of him from time to time, and of the two strange women who shared his house. I had assumed when I met them first that Yelena was just visiting, but she was still there, two years on. The same questions continued to niggle at me: was my vision of the women true? Did they really know Greg, or was that a figment of fantasy? I suppose I had let time pass because deep down I didn’t really want to know the answer. No, that’s not right. I didn’t want to discover that my visions held no truth, so rather than risk that I avoided finding out. Still, it was something that was always at the back of my mind. If I could just once verify a part of a vision, my world would make more sense. I would really be discovering truth, not simply hallucinating.

  So when I got a phone call from Hartfield asking me to come and see him, my reactions were mixed. Part of me wanted to keep my thoughts safe from change, while another part longed for verification. For two days I tried to think of a reason not to go, but eventually the time was up, and I had no excuse. I was to meet him at eleven, for a cup of coffee he had said, so at half-past ten I set off to walk to his place. In the two years since I had been there it had changed. Nothing major, no new buildings or extensions, just a lot of polish. As I walked up the drive everything shone. New post and rail fencing, raked gravel with not a blade of grass peeking through, beautifully mown lawns and perfect flower beds. The house had had the brick re-pointed and the stonework sandblasted. The eaves gleamed with fresh white paint, the chimney stacks too. As I arrived at the door I noticed all the windows had been double-glazed, but carefully enough; a casual glance and they looked as they always had.

  Hartfield opened the door himself, greeted me warmly and took me into his study. The house was warm, far warmer than I was used to. He asked me to sit while he picked up the phone and said we’d take coffee in the morning room. We talked of the weather, we talked of horses. When the coffee came, carried in by his butler, he sat down in a chair beside me and poured for us both.

  ‘Do you still take people on nature walks?’

  ‘Occasionally, yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  He passed me a cup.


  ‘Arabica. The best. Don’t spoil it with sugar.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I was hoping you could help me.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘I know I don’t know you very well, but I’ll be straight with you. I’m sure you remember White Cloud and Elena?’

  ‘Yelena?’

  ‘Yes. Well, frankly I think they’re bored. Both of them had small falls out riding and they’ve gone off it now. They spend most of their time running into the city to do God knows what. Shopping, I suppose. That’s where they are now. Fact is, I think if they don’t get some kind of interest in this place, they’re going to start pushing me to leave, and frankly I don’t want to. I like it here, for the first time in my life I feel I’ve got roots. Does that make any sense to you?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘So can you help?’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Teach them about the countryside. Try and get them interested. Give them a reason for staying.’

  ‘I can try.’

  ‘Good. More coffee?’

  He was the model of courtesy. He apologized for letting so much time pass before getting in contact. He hoped that now we had re-established our acquaintance we’d see a lot more of each other. He rose and moved toward the door.

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’ He shook my hand and led me the front door. He looked out at the empty car park. ‘Did you walk here?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Well that’s great. Live as you preach.’

  The enormity of what he had asked began to dawn on me as I walked home. He was asking me to take responsibility for his remaining here – putting his future in my hands. Well, that’s a bit strong; no, I was just his first salvo. And I had agreed.

  It meant facing some unpleasant thoughts. Suppose, I thought, that my vision of these women at the henge was a slice of truth. Then Yelena really did know about my sexual fantasies. I wasn’t sure that I wanted that to be true. I didn’t really like her, didn’t relish her knowing things about me. It made me vulnerable, and I didn’t like the thought of it.

  A few days later Hartfield called me again. He wanted to walk to the top of Jack’s Lug, the highest of the nearby hills. Would I accompany him and the two women? I said I would.

  When I met them they were standing outside Hartfield’s house wearing jeans and trainers. Both Yelena and White Cloud greeted me politely, and neither made any comment about meeting again. I made them change into heavy boots and carry, if not wear, wind-proof jackets. I don’t think they believed me when I explained how cold it gets on exposed hillsides. The weather can close in frighteningly fast, even in the summer. You have to be prepared. As I was explaining this, Hartfield went to answer the phone. When he came out he looked apologetic.

  ‘I’m sorry, you’ll have to go without me. My agent just called, and he’s to call back in an hour or two. I’ll have to stay.’

  White Cloud looked at him coldly. ‘Why didn’t you tell Tony to call tonight?’

  ‘Sorry. This won’t wait. Go on without me. I’ll come next time.’

  ‘What next time?’ White Cloud kicked at the gravel peevishly.

  Yelena took the situation by the scruff. ‘Hartfield doesn’t have to come. We can go even if he needs to sit by a phone. Come on.’

  She set off down the drive. Hartfield shrugged and started to go in.

  Yelena turned back and called, ‘Come on. If we don’t go now there won’t be enough time before the light goes. Come on.’

  We walked in silence. I tried to keep the pace slow, since we had to conserve our energy. It was a long walk just to get to Jack’s Lug, and then a fair climb to the summit. As we walked I found myself going through my usual speeches and talks almost on autopilot. Neither of the women said much, and they didn’t really give me the impression they were listening either. They seemed immersed in their own world. It didn’t seem like long before we had begun the climb up Jack’s Lug. I was leading them up the easiest route, though not the shortest. About halfway up they put on their jackets. A brisk wind was blowing steadily, and we were now above the forestry with nothing to break the wind. The Lug doesn’t really have a summit; there’s a large flat area at the top covered in briars and furze. We found a clearing and sat. I took out my tobacco and rolled a cigarette.

  ‘Smoking will kill you,’ said Yelena.

  ‘The alternative is not immortality.’

  ‘Yes it is.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Immortality is the alternative.’

  ‘Are you saying that if I gave up smoking I’d live forever?’

  ‘No. You’d have to do other things as well, but giving up tobacco would be a priority.’

  White Cloud, who had been staring into the valley where Hartfield’s house could just be seen, turned around.

  ‘We are both immortal.’

  ‘In what sense?’

  ‘In the sense that we won’t die, of course.’

  ‘You mean your souls?’

  ‘No, our bodies.’

  They both looked so earnest that I managed to overcome a strong urge to laugh. Someone looks you straight in the eye and says unflinchingly, ‘I’m immortal.’ For God’s sake, it’s insane. Death is the only thing I’m certain of, and these two are telling me they’ll live forever. Jesus.

  ‘I don’t think he believes us.’

  ‘Well it’s a little startling.’

  ‘We belong to the Church of the Immortals. We have done for years.’

  ‘How many? A hundred?’

  ‘Don’t be flippant. It’s been ten years since we discovered The Way. It will bring enlightenment and immortality to all who believe.’

  ‘So none of your church members die?’

  ‘Some do.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘But only those who fail. Not all our members really believe. The Way only brings you enlightenment and immortality if you truly believe.’

  ‘So if anyone dies it’s not because the teaching isn’t true, it’s because they’re not following it properly. Is that it?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Perhaps this is no more insane than some of the stuff I believe in, I thought. And just about as elusive of objective proof. It’s only a step away from believing in the immortality of the soul. That’s a bit hard to prove as well.

  ‘Is there a leader of this church? A guru?’

  ‘We follow the teachings of Joe Kay and Jerry Konstad. They founded the Church back in the seventies.’

  ‘How old are they?’

  ‘Jerry is fifty-three years old. Joe left us for another place nine years ago.’

  ‘He died?’

  ‘No. He went to spread The Way in another place. A parallel world. He had to leave his body here to do that.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I doubt you do.’

  ‘Look, the only kind of immortality that I can conceive of is if you were to connect your mind to a computer and download all its contents; memories, experiences, language. Store it, and then when the body dies load a clone’s brain with the stored experiences. You live again; the same you in a different body. But even this way you’re subject to proton decay – you can only survive as long as your storage medium. It’s not quite immortality.’

  I said no more. It occurred to me that if I could believe in the fantastic, then why shouldn’t other people? I was never going to find room for this way of thinking in my own world view, but I wasn’t going to knock it either. Not if it made them happy. The three of us just sat there, saying nothing, scanning the horizon. Eventually I broke the silence.

  ‘Did either of you ever know a Greg?’

  ‘Greg Binvek?’

  ‘No, Holder.’

  ‘Greg Holder. No, I don’t think so. Do you, Yelena?’

  ‘No. Does he live near here?’

  ‘No, he’s dead now. He was a friend of mine. He lived in California.’

  ‘I was in California once. Went to a s
eminar on The Way in Sacramento. You were there too, weren’t you Yelena?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘So you never met him?’

  ‘Don’t think so. Is it important?’

  ‘No. Just wondered. We should start getting back. Sun’s going down.’

  Yelena lay back and stretched. She turned to me and smiled. ‘You want to fuck me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, fucky-fucky. Would you like that?’

  White Cloud turned to me. ‘You can if you want. She’d like that. She’s a horny little bitch. I won’t look if you don’t want me to.’

  They both began to laugh. ‘I think he’s embarrassed – look, he’s blushing, Yelena.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s so nice and soft on the heather, I thought you might like to do it right here, in the open. I know the thought’s crossed your mind.’

  ‘What? I mean, how did you know that?’

  ‘So it has crossed your mind.’ She grinned slyly.

  ‘I didn’t say that. Anyway, we should be going. It’ll be dark soon.’

  Yelena sat up and shook her hair. ‘How very sensible of you. Anyway, the offer still stands even if all you want to do is talk about proton decay.’

  White Cloud and Yelena moved off quickly, arm in arm, talking, but I couldn’t make it out. I got up and rubbed the dead bracken from my clothes. Clearly they’d been teasing me, but I still wondered if she really had read my thoughts.

  A near full moon was rising in the east, just over the brow of a distant hill. Huge and cheesy, it made a spectacular moonrise. By the time we got to the bottom of the hill Venus was bright in the southern sky. Neither woman showed any sign of flagging. Immortal or not, they were certainly fit.

  I left them at the drive to their house. I wanted to get home. I suggested another walk the next week, and was surprised when they agreed. I walked slowly, going over what they’d said. The name Joe Kay bothered me. I knew the name, but from where? Joseph K. Of course. Someone with a sense of humour had picked himself a nomme de guerre. Died nine years ago. Left for another place, whatever that means. Was it Greg? It was possible.