\n
<\/p>\n
Thousands of people, mostly students, march carrying banners through the Friday rushhour streets of Potence. The rushhour streets! The phrase is redundant. It is the evening traffic jam equal in volume and every other aspect to the morning or lunchtime or nighttime traffic jam. There is no difference. There is no non-rushhour anymore. The same amount of road rage. The same side and front and back vehicle bumps. The same frenzy and seething and frothing at the mouth. And lives ticking by in tune with the stop-start engines.<\/p>\n
The sound of hornblasting. \u2018Look at them,\u2019 says Guido, \u2018prisoners.\u2019 Anna in her jeans and anorak laughs as he returns the V sign to an irate taxidriver.<\/p>\n
The treehuggers are marching alongside the anarchists, parading in grey blankets cut into the form of ponchos. The placards proclaiming: DOWN WITH CAPITALISTS. SAVE OUR TREES. THE WORLD IS NOT FOR SALE. KILL THE CAR. DON\u2019T FUCK UP THE WORLD and the one Anna likes, DANCE TO THE RHYTHM OF NATURE.<\/p>\n
They find themselves in step with an old man in a tweed cap and overcoat who marches along with surprising alacrity, carrying a walking stick and a plastic bag.<\/p>\n
\u2018I hope it holds out,\u2019 says the old man.<\/p>\n
\u2018What?\u2019 says Guido.<\/p>\n
\u2018The weather. I never brought my brolly.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018You believe in anarchism?\u2019 says Guido.<\/p>\n
\u2018The anarchists are grand; grand polite people.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Polite?\u2019 whispers Anna into Guido\u2019s ear. \u2018Hardly polite\u2019.<\/p>\n
\u2018Would you like a sandwich?\u2019 he says, taking a cut sandwich of white bread out of his bag.<\/p>\n
\u2018If you can spare it,\u2019 says Guido, afraid if he refuses he would offend the old man.<\/p>\n
\u2018Corned beef,\u2019 he says, \u2018I have more. And one for your lady friend.\u2019<\/p>\n
He proffers one to Anna which she accepts with thanks.<\/p>\n
\u2018Would you take a drop of tea?\u2019 he says, \u2018to wash that down? I never go on a protest without my flask.\u2019<\/p>\n
Guido accepts the tea which the old man pours into a screwoff cup.<\/p>\n
\u2018I\u2019m fine,\u2019 says Anna, declining.<\/p>\n
\u2018I like marching with the anarchists,\u2019 he says, \u2018better than the psychiatric nurses last week. Couldn\u2019t get a word out of them. Glum people, just protesting for the usual?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018The usual?\u2019 says Guido.<\/p>\n
\u2018You know, more money. But the anarchists now,\u2019 he says turning up his chin, \u2018they talk about other things and they always share a word with me.\u2019 He sighs. \u2018All the stories are out of reach now. The motor car drowns them out. Can\u2019t hear people talking on the street any more. That\u2019s what I miss. That\u2019s why I like the marches. It stops the cars and we can get the stories back.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Are you going to tell us a story?\u2019 says Anna, warming to the old man.<\/p>\n
\u2018What me? Well now,\u2019 he says (stymied, thinks Guido, as so many people are when poised by the specific), \u2018I could tell you lots of stories.\u2019<\/p>\n
One of the treehuggers, a short, bald, middleaged woman is handing out grey blankets. She offers one to Anna and to Guido and the old man.<\/p>\n
\u2018It will keep you dry,\u2019 she says.<\/p>\n
\u2018Dry?\u2019 says Anna. \u2018It\u2019s not raining.\u2019 There is a snowy look in the sky.<\/p>\n
\u2018For the hoses.\u2019<\/p>\n
Anna looks at Guido. \u2018You never told me about any hoses.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018It may never happen,\u2019 says Guido.<\/p>\n
\u2018See,\u2019 says the old man, gratefully accepting a blanket, \u2018didn\u2019t I tell you they were grand people?\u2019<\/p>\n
Guido and Anna laughingly drape the blankets over their shoulders. The old man hums contentedly as he marches along beside them.<\/p>\n
\u2018Don\u2019t you think it\u2019s dangerous for him?\u2019 whispers Anna.<\/p>\n
\u2018He\u2019s all right,\u2019 says Guido. \u2018Just look at the city, Anna,\u2019 he says proudly looking around. \u2018We have it traumatised. Doesn\u2019t it all prove my point?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What point?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018That it\u2019s all wrong. That way of living is all wrong.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Maybe we\u2019re just upstarts.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What?\u2019<\/p>\n
She smiles. \u2018Oh such a serious face. Only joking.\u2019<\/p>\n
The bald woman carries saplings and a little gardening trowel. She plants the saplings in crevices in the concrete footpaths wherever there are gaps in the glass buildings. Other treehuggers help her, putting in peat moss and flower seeds from buckets.<\/p>\n
\u2018Reclaim the earth. Reclaim,\u2019 she chants.<\/p>\n
And soon the march cedes to the inevitable: as the marchers approach parliament buildings, the police are waiting, helmeted, shielded and batoned. And behind them (leaving nothing to chance) the army as backup, armed with tear gas and high-pressure hoses. A horse-mounted police officer shouts through a loudspeaker at the protesters to go back and to disperse quietly, and there will be no trouble. The infantry police raise their shields and, shuffling together, close ranks to form a human wall, forcing the protesters to come to a halt. The bald woman shoots forward. \u2018We have a right to march,\u2019 she shouts. Some of the protesters push forward which is a cue for the soldiers, who are positioned behind lorries and jeeps and even one tank, to open their hoses. Powerful jets of water cascade over the protesters, knocking some of them down. Anna and Guido are soaked, but as they are not part of the vanguard, they miss the full impact of the jets. \u2018You knew all along,\u2019 she says holding the blanket tightly around her.<\/p>\n
\u2018I didn\u2019t, Anna I swear.\u2019<\/p>\n
They continue to smile at each other (part of the bravado of courtship). Shivering, they pretend it is all good fun. But then the tear gas is released and they hear a booming voice. Anna looks in the direction of the voice. \u2018That\u2019s Philippe,\u2019 says Guido, pointing him out.<\/p>\n
\u2018Your friend?\u2019 she says missing a breath through the water rolling down her face.<\/p>\n
\u2018You seem surprised or something,\u2019 says Guido.<\/p>\n
\u2018No, it\u2019s just with that voice I expected him to be…well taller.\u2019<\/p>\n
Philippe with his goatee and black beret coming down deep over his forehead to conceal\u00a0 flaky scales of psoriasis, is cajoling, provoking, even pushing some of his marchers forward. \u2018Stand your ground,\u2019 he shouts when he sees the funnelled snouts of the gas masks wearers, alien creatures firing canisters. The tear gas gushes over them and the protest column collapses as people run for shelter, their hands shielding their eyes.<\/p>\n
\u2018Look what\u2019s happening to our protest,\u2019 says Philippe despairingly coming up to Guido.<\/p>\n
Eventually he and Anna and even Philippe are forced to yield.<\/p>\n
Philippe looks disconsolately at his friend. \u2018It\u2019s like a military putsch.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018It\u2019s okay, Philippe. We\u2019ve made our point,\u2019 says Guido. \u2018We\u2019ve shown them we can stop their wheel from turning.\u2019 He puts his arm around the shivering Anna. \u2018I\u2019d like you to meet…\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Haven\u2019t time now,\u2019 says Philippe and he rushes off in a vain attempt to stabilise his marchers.<\/p>\n
\u2018I\u2019m sorry about this,\u2019 says Guido. \u2018Normally he\u2019s not rude. It\u2019s just… he gets a bit carried away.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Forget about him.\u2019 she says. \u2018This blanket\u2019s soaked through.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Oh, I\u2019m sorry.\u2019 He\u2019s feeling awkward, reaching towards her. \u2018My apartment,\u2019 he says, \u2018it\u2019s not far away.\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He shows her a faulty mortar crevice in the outer wall of his apartment building for his door key, and Anna notices a list of instructions pinned on the back of the front door as Guido closes it: DONT AJUST (sic) THE LIGHT SWITCH. The missing D is replaced above the word with a red marker.<\/p>\n
\u2018It\u2019s the landlord,\u2019 says Guido. \u2018I go around correcting his spelling.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018You filled this in?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Yes.\u2019<\/p>\n
She laughs through her shivers.<\/p>\n
\u2018Mind the bicycle,\u2019 he says as they go through a narrow hall with old cream embossed wallpaper. Anna squeezes past a blue silver mountain bike with gears and thick tyres, water dripping from her hair onto the saddle.<\/p>\n
\u2018Can you get by?\u2019 says Guido, straightening the handlebars.<\/p>\n
\u2018I cycle too,\u2019 she says. \u2018We\u2019re told to, to maintain the strength in our legs.\u2019<\/p>\n
The apartment, a first floor bedsit, contains one bed which is neither single or double in size but somewhere in between, covered with a wine-coloured duvet. The carpet is a threadbare brown with flecks of pink running through it. At the wall near the high rattling window which affords a commanding view of the old cobbled streetscape below is a teak bookcase pinpricked with woodworm and filled with books six shelves high. In the corner of the room near the door a rectangular wooden structure marks off a small space: the kitchen, containing a cooker and a small fridge and some presses.<\/p>\n
Guido turns on the two bars of an electric fire and positions it in front of Anna who has seated herself on a brown dralon sofa with its gapped fringe hanging tellingly from its bottom. She looks around the room. \u2018Have you no central heating?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018No,\u2019 he says. \u2018I\u2019ll have a real fire going in a minute.\u2019<\/p>\n
He gives her a dry towel from his wardrobe with which she proceeds to rub her hair vigorously, bending her head forward to the reddening bars.<\/p>\n
\u2018And now a drink to warm us.\u2019 He goes to a press near the fridge and removes a quarter full bottle of schnapps.<\/p>\n
She laughs as Guido pours the schnapps into two earthenware goblets. \u2018Where did you get those?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018In an antique shop, where I bought the bookcase actually.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018You\u2019re funny,\u2019 she says raising the goblet.<\/p>\n
\u2018Funny?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Yeah, I mean this city, it\u2019s famous for its glass and you… you buy earthenware.\u2019<\/p>\n
He smiles. \u2018Cheers.\u2019<\/p>\n
Guido lights the fire with newspapers twisted into knots and a few sticks. When there is a crackling sound from the wood he heaps on coal from a small brass bucket.<\/p>\n
\u2018You can change if you wish.\u2019<\/p>\n
She looks at him averting his eyes from her. She smiles, confident, superior almost. Safe.<\/p>\n
Wrapped in the duvet she sits leaning forward warming her hands by the fire which is sparking now. She watches the steam rising from her wet jeans and jumper which are draped over a chair.<\/p>\n
Guido is conscious of this moment, filled with a nervous excitement (will she have disappeared if he blinks?) having her here in his bedsit as the light of the fire illumines a cluster of small freckles on either side of her nose, her little pert nose, and she sits with his duvet, slipping a little from her shoulder. Her bare shoulder. He wants to embrace her, to say things, great poetic things. He thinks of the words he has written on his various bits of paper. He roots in his pockets but his action is perfunctory for he knows they are inadequate, those words. He knows they are his private thoughts that he would never have the courage to utter aloud. She would laugh at him with his boyish thoughts. The only words he can hear himself saying are: \u2018When are you on again?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Rehearsals tomorrow at nine.\u2019<\/p>\n
A moment of awkward silence follows until a piece of coal obligingly slips off the flame. He kneels down and lifts it back into position with a tongs.<\/p>\n
Warm now, she rises from the floor holding the duvet and goes to explore the bookcase. \u2018All philosophy I suppose?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Not all,\u2019 he says replacing the tongs on its hook. \u2018Some literature and history. Feel free.\u2019<\/p>\n
Guido goes to the baywindow as Anna peruses a book. The street lights are lighting up the darkening evening with their orange glow before turning white. There\u2019s an uncustomary stillness in the streets, no rattle from the window, the snowy look still in the sky.<\/p>\n
\u2018I wonder where they\u2019ve all gone,\u2019 she says, choosing another book from the shelf.<\/p>\n
\u2018Who?\u2019 says Guido, turning around<\/p>\n
\u2018The other protesters. Where do protesters go after they protest?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018They go back.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Go back?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Yes. To their lectures, their jobs, whatever they were doing beforehand.\u2019<\/p>\n
She flicks through the pages of the book \u2018Yes, but I wonder I mean…..does it make any difference?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Difference?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Yes. What they\u2019ve done.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I don\u2019t know.\u2019 He sighs. \u2018I really don\u2019t know.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018This one,\u2019 she says, picking another book.<\/p>\n
\u2018Ah, Bakunin,\u2019 he says, recognising the volume, \u201cpropaganda by the deed.\u201d Why did you choose that one?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I don\u2019t know. Perhaps because it opened easily.\u2019 She laughs. \u2018Some of the corners of these pages are missing as well. My God, Guido, you really have a hunger for books.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Funny.\u2019 He smiles, goes towards her, puts an arm on her shoulder. \u2018Read it,\u2019 he says. \u2018It might make you one of us yet.\u2019<\/p>\n
She looks at him, her face touching his. \u2018So you are one of them.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I don\u2019t know. Maybe.\u2019 He sighs. \u2018I carry a lot of questions around with me Anna, in my head, you know.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What sort of questions?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018It\u2019s getting dark,\u2019 he says, releasing himself gently from her, and going to draw musty brown curtains on the blackening window. \u2018By reading philosophy,\u2019 he says with his back to\u00a0 her, \u2018I figured I could work through these things you know to reach something, unlike those subjects which make presumptions.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What did you want to reach?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I don\u2019t know really. Something impossible I suppose. The why of things. Why people do certain things; what makes them act in the ways they do.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Circumstances,\u2019 she says<\/p>\n
\u2018Yes. But sometimes there may be more than that.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Genes.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Perhaps.\u2019<\/p>\n
He turns around to face her. \u2018I was going to study literature or, more precisely, literary theory, at one stage.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What made you change?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018It was when I looked at all the jargon of literary studies: the polarity of language, all the obfuscation of the bourgeoisie.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Bourgeoisie?\u2019 She laughs. \u2018That\u2019s just adolescent ranting.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018It\u2019s not ranting and it\u2019s not adolescent.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Don\u2019t be angry,\u2019 she says noticing the change in his tone.<\/p>\n
\u2018Sorry,\u2019 he blurts, \u2018but you see, philosophy… why I chose it I mean, it\u2019s because it doesn\u2019t carry baggage. What I\u2019m trying to say…\u2019<\/p>\n
She shimmies up to him, places a slender finger with its nail, its white lunula, a perfect crescent on his lips, silencing him. And the duvet slides from her shoulders and she lets it fall and presses in against him. They embrace, clinging to each other. \u2018What I mean….\u2019 he says, and she silences him again, this time with a slow languorous kiss; and he feels her, all of her, and she feels him, and there is no shame on her face, no embarrassment, just that winsome smile.<\/p>\n
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