It Takes a Thief

by Niels Hammer

  “Yes?”

  “How are you doing?”

  “Fine, and what about you. I haven’t heard from you for a while. What’s she like?”

  “I’ve been in Scotland fishing Salmon with Seymour.”

  “Caught any?”

  “No, Seymour did, but listen, I have an odd problem which – ”

  “Yes, I know – ”

  “No, you don’t, but if I give you a list of martial arts clubs, could you persuade a computer specialist to find the membership lists, I need the names and addresses of all – ”

  “Why can’t you do that yourself?”

  Sceptical but curious – to reach a conclusion before it became obvious.”

  “This information is restricted to members. But I only need lists of female – ”

  “And why do you want that? It’s pretty strange, you know. Is it pure sociology?”

  “Strange! Looking for a woman? You should be the last person on the planet to – ”

  “Aha, I knew it.”

  “You and your prognostications, horoscopes and haruspications.”

  “The beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. We see ourselves reflected in the world around us.”

  “Naturally, but do you know someone who – ”

  “Yes, and that should be fairly easy. Such details are not crucial in any way or guarded by efficient encryption. Is it urgent?”

  “Extremely.”

  “I’ll phone you when I have some news.”

  Back to his list. A dreary occupation and the Sun was shining to entice him to come out and dance in the wanton green – but outside it would be too distracting and yet her image in his mind’s eye – a flashing onshore beacon a thickly clouded night – urged him on and on relentlessly. Un amour fou if ever there were one and perhaps utterly inappropriate from her point of view. He ought to have skipped such skerries – shunned such shallows – waived such whirlpools – long ago and reached the safe haven of irony – compassion or mere complaisance – but instead he was jumping upstream against the odds – driven by the same blind natural innate sense of absolute urgency as that which forced a Salmon to fight for his life. Thetford – Norwich – Ipswich – Lowestoft – Great Yarmouth – King’s Lynn – Taekwondo – Karate – Kung Fu – Jūdō – Jūjutsu and even something called Hapkido. Japanese – Chinese and Korean ways of willowy strength and levelled aggression – also an image of the modern mind – the bellicose and egocentric Zeitgeist. Narcissism – autism – alienation at one end and spiritual awakening or entheasm at the other and very rare end. It all depended on where in this spectrum she happened to be. To hope for the best – to try to expect the worst. Le saint graal or total disillusion and despair for any length of time – until another metamorphosis from the death-cold ashes. Having sent the list with details of thirty-seven clubs he telephoned Fjodor.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve finished the list and sent it.”

  “Fine, and I’ve found someone capable of fishing out the membership details. He wants fifty Pounds for each of the first ten and thirty for the remaining. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, deduct it from my account.”

  “I have just forwarded your information and asked him when it will be ready. Wait a little and we’ll have an answer in a minute or two. He is deeply attached to his computer.”

  “What a fate!”

  “It’s as you say an expression of the present level of autism, but sometimes such miserable individuals can be useful. You must admit that?”

  “Yes, I do, I do, but as you say they contribute substantially to the lowering of the common denominator of the society in which we struggle to survive.”

  “The general trend of dumbing down is bound to escalate, at least in the foreseeable future, but here’s his answer. A couple of days. You see, strangely enough, there’s a degree of passion in the search he is going to make. It’s the gaming instinct that inveigles him to pit his wits against the fire walls where ever they are. It’s a compulsion. And he’s good, very good, because he’s obsessed. There’s even a faint artistic touch gracing some of the aspects of his obsession.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “Oh no, God forbid! He’s not an individual with whom I would want to share my dinner.”

  His shudder – all the way down through the copper wire. Lord Curzon – Anatolian peasants.

  “So you regard him as epitomising a deplorable social phenomenon?”

  “What else can you do while also feeling sorry for the way things are?”

  “We belong to the past.”

  “Soon an obsolete phenotype of Homo sapiens.”

  “Yes, there can be no regression, and any exaptation here is impossible, but theoretically there might be a reconditioning if the environment favoured survival.”

  “But it does not, so we just have to laugh at the cruel joke life is regardless of how much we feel like weeping; but are you doing anything at the moment?”

  “No, I’ve been completely obsessed by finding this woman.”

  “What are the chances that you will once you have these lists?”

  “Within a week I should be able to find her. All things taken into consideration there is a considerable measure of probability – ”

  “And you’re not trying to persuade yourself?”

  “To some extent, but objectively I have the odds on my side.”

  “And then the acid test?”

  “It’s either a somersault in through the Gates of Eden or a prolonged sojourn in Limbo.”

  “Good luck! You can tell me about it afterwards.”

  “And by the way, could you do me another favour and get a magnetic transmitter which can be placed on an iron surface, a corresponding small folding antenna and receiver though of course without a real call sign, and the transmitter radius should be around three or five miles – ”

  “I can vividly imagine why, yes. D’ accord! That’s not all that difficult.”

  “Thanks again. Bye!”

  He went back to the computer to get an impression of the frequency of the surnames of the shires. Barnwell – MacAllan – Dundas – Ruthven and Cushny were so rare that if one of them turned up he would have found her. MacKenzie – Maxwell – Bruce and Milne could come up several times – but confirmation or the opposite would depend on matching Christian names. Gordon was more common being the two hundred and twentieth most common name and Anderson even more common as the seventieth most common name in England and Wales. There would be a dozen or so – but again the Christian name would be the cardinal point. To trace the names in the marriage registry would be meaningless as any one of them could have been married almost anywhere – although the likelihood of Scotland would be pronounced. The Martial Arts club trail was by far the best. The chances of finding her in this way might be about sixty or seventy percent. All he could do was to wait for the lists.

  In the afternoon – an email came from Seymour with the photographs of the files attached. There would hardly be anything of importance but the pictures might still soothe his impatience. A forced inactivity of two whole days would make him restless. Their addresses were standard information – but most of them would be old – and finding her in this way would be an elimination process whereas the Martial Arts approach would be an identification process. So the latter was preferable. Most of them would have married – the chances of finding even a few of them at these addresses – twelve to twenty years old – were small – but the more severe the cases were the more recent were the addresses – that was another negative clue. However – marriage or no marriage – it would be unlikely that she would have married – unless a sudden infatuation at a tender age – say eighteen – should have swept her innate independence aside – though if extrapolating from her behaviour she would have felt compelled to explore all th
e ways of the world before she would focus on the best available choice. And even if she had married young she would be bound to be divorced by now – and furthermore she would doubtless have chosen to use her maiden name again rather than the name of her former husband. The auguries were still good – but it would be hard to get through the next two days – suspended in midair – so he might as well paint. Only water colour would be light enough now. A sense of frustration or rage at having to wait drove him to seek oblivion in an expressive form of activity which under all other circumstances would have required a keen contemplative state of spontaneous concentration.

  A soft Cadmium yellow background became slightly darker below – the impression of a Sky in which soft staircase-like formations – twining plants – ancient Aristolochiaceae – arose out of the air just above the ground but vanished into invisibility and speculation close to the zenith. Stellar beacons – that which was beyond reach but which always beckoned tantalisingly just beyond the horizon. Fragile shapes – crumbling leaves – the hooves of a Horse – Pēgasos and hybris – the fall from the Sky into time – the fall of man and a falling feather in light Poppy blue – a salient counterpoint. The Sun nourished every movement and each single moment brought the ultimate end of reality closer – breath by breath. A frail suggestion of mortality. Nothing but dreams and shadows. The right year and initials. The speed of the composition – crucial to the degree or even the sense of its authenticity and the rather small size made its potential quality more felt and intimate. Fjodor would like the suggestions. A plain and simple cri de coeur – a small tour de force – a necessity – but it had no wabi. That was not its dharmaḥ. So he had but to do and die in order to survive and find her. Suddenly – Sally – he felt callous not really to have thought about her since that evening but this week Gilbert would be in New York for the exhibition. He might as well try.

  “Yes?”

  “Sally, I’ve just returned from Scotland, fishing with Seymour. How are you?”

  “I’m all right. I called you yesterday?”

  A veiled complaint or perhaps it was his grim conscience?

  “I’ll make amends if you’ll let me.”

  “I’ll come out for an evening stroll.”

  Aleatory – it would be to rekindle the double flame and honest to tell her – but he did not have the courage to do that just now in his present state of mind – he was too right-handed – too calculating – and in case his quest just revealed a mirage of his own making – he needed a warm lap in which he could bury his head and cry – his bitter tears – so why not? Yet a long damp shadow – a threat arose to erode his peace of mind. Sensing from which quarter the wind of the future would blow he could tell her and though he knew she was very fond of him he also knew that she was well aware that she was not in love with him – though that was of course – as everything else – open to change – one way or another. Such a perspective made it a little easier. He would meet her at the gate. It was getting dark and a Nightjar – one of the first he had seen – flitted across the path – as a good omen. He felt her before she came – but then it might have been the sound of her steps he had heard subconsciously.

  ’“Là ci darem la mano – ’”

  Sotto voce into the pink seashell of her ear – to sense rather than to see her smile even though her teeth glistened. The dark fragrance of her womanhood titillated his nostrils to quiver.

  “I don’t remember the answer.”

  Humour and scepsis blended – maturing authenticity.

  “‘Vorrei e non vorrei, Mi trema un poco il cor.’ But it would be inappropriate in our case just as the stanza I murmured but there was a note in the air that reminded me of the music.”

  “But you know, you can’t sing very well. It was a bit out of tune.”

  Her hand was warm – the pressure of her fingers reddened her words.”

  “Yes, I know, so I try to make up for it by being romantic.”

  They went into the kitchen and he turned on the lights.

  “But why did you suddenly rush up to Scotland?”

  “There was a gam of Killer Whales south of the Orkney Islands, and I wanted to see the Otter population of the Spey River. Then I happened to think of Seymour and telephoned him to suggest that he should meet me in Aberdeen. He was of course very eager. I did not catch any Salmons, but he did.”

  It satisfied her as only the truth would. The speckled truth. What to omit and what to display. The pattern of the rosettes in the undergrowth revealed the Leopard only if looking for a Leopard in the first place. A few details were missing in his account – or rather a vast amount of details. A bottle of Champagne and toast for the roe.

  “Do you always drink Champagne?”

  “Only on very special occasions.”

  He kissed her lips – to ice and fire –

  “I would like to go out in your boat again. It was lovely, but I suppose it’s too late now?”

  “Not necessarily, but it’s even better in the morning. If we slept now and woke at half past two, we could be there at a quarter past three, when the day begins. When we’ve finished eating I’ll drive down to the boat while you stay here and make everything ready.”

  “That would probably be best.”

  Her past experience or her sixth sense? She munched the bread and the roe thoughtfully – considering her options – and taking her fair pleasure where ever she found it – pragmatically – as a matter of fact – like he did. They matched also in this respect and she was too seasoned to feel anything but regret should their relationship founder on account of his sudden infatuation as she knew that it could just as well have happened to her – so she would be ready to forget or forgive which often amounted to the very same thing.

  “Another possibility would be to postpone it and just start a little earlier?”

  “That would even be better. I don’t want you to go just now.”

  The issue was resolved in a painting as far as possible till the lists arrived so he was free to concentrate on what mattered here and now.

  “That was delicious.”

  “The presence or the absence of beauty and charm depends on self-insight.”

  Fjodor’s scepsis – and axiomatic observations – but he took her by the hand to go upstairs to set sail across the main.

  “What a mess you have here!”

  The alarm clock – to wake feeling fresh and eager.

  “Yes, I’m a bit absent-minded or lazy maybe. Wait a little, I’ll find clean sheets and pillow cases.”

  Diving down into the cupboard he pulled out a bundle of crisp white linen.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  “No, I’ll do it myself. It’s wrinkled and I really like smooth sheets.”

  She smiled thinking he was hopeless in this respect but that she could forgive him nevertheless. Uxoriousness displaced passion – but it was as always only his own doing or undoing. Undressing in silence they lay down side by side. Should he begin or should she? Hazel-leafy irides – fawn-soft – dark scintillating night-depth – curiosity and wonder. Expecting his initiative but with a glint of humour she did neither take him nor herself too seriously and yet – she was a woman of stormy peaks and sheltered valleys. The whole diapason. He closed his eyes to sense her form and image with his fingertips till they changed from being sensible to become a four-dimensional glow in inner and outer space – and as her innate yearning intensified or expanded she left the secular world of second-hand thoughts behind and sailed forward to meet him on her own chosen terms. That was what he was longing for – her inner nakedness – to paint that would be like seeing her as God saw her and he was doing that now – but how could he ever hope to recapture such an impression – such a sight unseen – invisible and only tangible with his sixth sense – let alone to express it in form and colour? Nè sa nè può qual di lassù discende –
a patched fool he would be if he thought he could – but it did not mean he had to give up the attempt to redress the balance – to give back to great creative nature just a little of his debt – of what he owed – in an act of thanksgiving. This urge impelled him – an urge to manifest an explicate aspect of the implicate order – the δύναμις τῶν πάντων – an attempt at a faint suggestion of the primordial oneness beyond conceptions – the innate affinity beyond words and images – an endeavour that was doomed to fail – but the wreck might remain visible in the sand for a season or two. Kisses – soft cool slowly falling snowflakes on a windless night – warm laughing breakers cascading in over coral reefs as breathless foam – fumblings in the dark to try to grasp that which remained hidden from conception. Loving her for that – for that which remained hidden he smuggled his tongue up into her nostril. She sneezed a little and laughed. It titillated her on the inside – the inside of her womanhood and that activation was her raison d’ être – like it was his – the communion of psychophysiological processes. With her head upon his shoulder she fell asleep. The pale Summer stars shone through the open window. In stages of lessening awareness of the world outside and of their shared space aboard a drifting cloud he dropped off to sleep as well.

  XIII

  “It’s about half past two. Are you too tired?”

  “I feel as if I’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours, but if you’re game, I am.”