Notes to self: Learning to paint etc.

When modelling in clay, avoid smearing the clay about, or automatically, arbitrarily, smoothing out all the tool marks, etc. Smearing produces an unintended, uncontrolled form (and combined with smoothing, usually a lumpy and uninteresting surface). Instead I want to add or remove clay in response to an observation or an intention.

As in drawing, so in modelling and in painting, each mark, each piece of clay, each brushstroke, ought to be part of an act of seeing, of paying attention to the subject and the work.

So practise, practise … so that the medium becomes a familiar tool to enable that act of seeing, not a hindrance to it. As familiar as this pencil or the hand that holds it.Photo1553

And another thing: don’t hunt for something ‘meaningful’ or ‘significant’ to paint. It isn’t really about the content, or even the form; the significance is in the paying attention.

 

The unbearable persistence of plastic

crisp packet Photo1756

My neighbours have recently been archaeologising on their smallholding, finding ancient worked flints, iron age pottery, old horse shoes, a beautiful embossed lead spindle whorl and now this crisp packet, buried in a field.

The packet can be dated to around 1971 (when the UK introduced decimal currency) because the price is given in both old pence (7d) and new pence (3p). It is in remarkably good condition, showing little sign of its 43 years of existence, just one example of the uncountable similar items we have been filling the world up with for the last few decades.

It also exemplifies the perfidiousness of the marketing industry – ‘now with added protein!’ If you look closely at the back of the packet, it claims that the ‘goodness of protein’ has been added to the flavouring: ‘the flavouring in this packet contains 15% protein’. This smacks of homeopathy. (Though you will be glad to know that they used ‘edible’ vegetable oil as the second ingredient after potatoes.)

No doubt future archaeologists will have tons of these supposed ephemera to sort through when they are studying the great anthropocene extinction event.

False dichotomies

How many times must it be said? The issue is not ‘environment versus economy’. It is long-term thinking versus short-term thinking. If we ‘develop’ a coral island to increase tourism, because we need the income and the jobs, and the development destroys the coral reefs, we lose the tourism as well as the ecosystem that hitherto supported the community. How is that economics winning?

And here‘s some evidence.

And more:

Thanks to a double whammy of disease and bleaching, branched corals have given way to stumpier rivals in most of the Caribbean's reefs (Image: L Alvarez-Filip, N Dulvy, J Gill (UEA), I M Côté and A Watkinson)

(image from New Scientist article linked above)

(This mini-rant was triggered by listening to BBC Radio 4 Costing the Earth – a politician, when asked about the possibility of developing East Caicos (as yet undeveloped and uninhabited by humans and therefore with the most pristine reefs in the Caribbean), said ‘The economy has to win sometimes.’)

Truth and Consequences (a tragedy)

Prologue

A man on a bony bay gelding rides up the forest track, among dark spruce and flaming maple. Above him, the high faint calls of climbing buzzards speak of space and solitude. At a certain spot he slows and stops, as if by habit. He dismounts and unsaddles the horse. ‘You ready for this?’ He gives the horse a slap on its rump, and another, to send it back down the trail. Then, alone in the forest, he gazes around him, breathing in a great lungful of the resiny air. Delicately, he takes off from round his neck a small suede bag. Worn dark and soft with years of wear, it opens easily, tips out into his hand his shining good-luck piece. ‘I hope you’re waiting for me, Carlo,’ he says to the empty air. ‘I didn’t mean to take so long.’

***

The man in the wheelchair looked out across the still water of the lake. ‘Beautiful isn’t it?’ Walker ventured, but got no reply. The man seemed almost unaware of Walker standing beside him, impervious to this attempt at conversation. He had thick wiry dark hair, beginning to grey – about 40? He looked cold and profoundly tired.

Later, back in the clinic, Walker asked the room, ‘What’s with that guy in the wheelchair? I’ve never seen him do anything but sit.’

‘You mean our amputee? He’s a cop – or was. Name’s Giannini. He’s been here 9 months now. Some kind of PTSD. Plus he’s been on a lot of pain meds after the amputation.’

‘Visitors?’

‘There were any number of girls to start with but most of them gave up pretty soon. It was a shame about that one, what was her name, Jenny? She stuck it out the longest. I thought she might have been able to do him some good.’

‘Or you might have picked her up on the rebound, eh, Drake?’ Nurse McNeil said drily.

***

Jenny tried so hard to help him, to get him back. She sat with him, talked to him, took him out into the sun. But his invisible fortifications only seemed to get stronger, until even holding his hand felt like a kind of violation. When in the end, in desperation, she tried to reach him with her lips on his, he had turned away so absolutely, it felt like a slap in the face.

‘If you had seen him, Leanne,’ she said to her friend, ‘he looked … so …’

‘So what?’

‘I don’t know … it was like I disgusted him. I think he hates me and I don’t know why.’

***

Drake laughed off McNeil’s gibe and went on: ‘A couple of guys, cops, used to come by for a while, but that stopped after he threw a fit, knocked the skinny one down … It was quite a surprise; he’d never been aggressive before. Never been anything really, except that one time.’

‘What’s the story then?’

‘I dunno, not my patient – you’ll have to look at the files.’

Case file no. 790503-12 Date: 12 October 1975

Det. Alessandro Giannini – age 35, wt 170 – RTA on Rte 123 (PD incident no. 13546-10) – on arrival at ER: hypothermia/lower rt limb trauma/compound fractures/necrosis – reconstructive surgery excluded. Recommendation: amputation/prosthesis.

Psych. Consult – PTSD?

Patient unresponsive. Though able to understand and respond appropriately in essential practical matters.

‘Well that doesn’t tell us much.’ The case conference was not getting very far. Dr Walker was the newcomer who had requested an update on Giannini, among other patients whose care he was taking over, and it seemed that the clinic staff had almost given up on this one. ‘Does anybody know what the circumstances of the RTA were? How come he came in with hypothermia?’

‘I don’t think anyone knows what really happened – he won’t talk, but you could look at the PD incident report.’

‘Ok – and I think I’ll go and see if I can find someone who knew this guy before.’

At police HQ, Walker asked if he could see the case file.

PD incident no. 13546-10

Rescue helicopter called out to vicinity of Rte 123 in state park after hikers reported burnt out vehicle on hillside below forest road. Officers Giannini and Svensson found 20 yds from vehicle. Svensson deceased at scene – multiple internal injuries. ToD estimated to be 24hrs prior to discovery. Giannini evacuated to City Hospital.

Evidence at scene suggests driver lost control and vehicle left road on sharp bend. Fire cannot have resulted directly from impact as jerry can had been removed from trunk. Tracks and blood at scene suggest some activity prior to fire.

Giannini’s ex-colleagues were not too eager to talk about him and his dead partner, but Walker was told that the accident was just that. There were no suspicious circumstances; they hadn’t been on duty when it happened. In fact they were on a camping trip in the state park and it looked like the car had gone off the road because of a deer. There were still deer tracks and skid marks visible in spite of the rain, according to the park ranger who had attended the scene and given evidence at Svensson’s inquest.

‘Giannini and Svensson were friends as well as colleagues then?’

‘Yes, you could say that. They’d been partners for years – if they hadn’t got on that wouldn’t have worked. They drank together, chased the same girls…, watched out for each other – you know … partners can end up like brothers.’ The young cop shrugged.

‘This report is pretty minimal. Are there any photos?’

‘Yes but …’

‘But what?’

‘You are a doctor right? Confidentiality applies?’

Walker frowned. ‘Of course.’

‘Here you are then.’

There were several photos of the burnt-out car, and the trail of destruction through the brush that it had created in its descent of the hillside.

‘Looks like they were lucky to get out alive,’ murmured Walker, to himself.

‘Only one of them did, in the end,’ said the cop.

The next photo stopped Walker’s casual flipping through the pile. It showed Giannini and another man lying close together in what looked like a peaceful embrace. They both appeared to be sleeping. There were several other images showing details of the scene: Giannini’s leg, broken and bloody with an improvised tourniquet, resting gently across his partner’s legs; their joined hands on Svensson’s chest, partly hiding a small leather pouch which hung on a cord round his neck.

Walker raised his eyebrows and looked a question at the officer. ‘Were they…?’

‘No, I’m sure… look – there were rumours, you know, but I never believed it. They were real ladies’ men, especially Alex – Giannini that is – “the Italian stallion”,’ he grinned. ‘Like I said they were just partners… But nobody would want these pictures to get out …’ He looked up at Walker, somber again. ‘They were good guys, good at their jobs, you know? They are missed…’

‘You liked them.’ The cop nodded, remembering.

***

It had been his first day in the precinct – newly graduated and a bit daunted by the hectic atmosphere, typewriters clattering under the indelicate fingers of hefty policemen, voices, harsh or murmuring, of cops and the people ‘helping them with their inquiries’. Svensson had noticed him first, hovering by the squadroom door, and with the briefest of glances he had alerted Giannini, whose genial smile had welcomed in the new boy. They had taken time to show him the ropes, and as time passed, without meaning to, they had also shown him the value of friendship and loyalty in dangerous places.

 

Only later had he fully recognised how much he had learned from them, about the job, about the world they lived in and how to survive in it honourably.

 

***

‘I owe them,’ he said quietly.

Another question occurred to Walker.

‘Why were these photos taken? Surely they should have been treating Giannini?’

‘At first we thought both of them were …  It was standard procedure.’

‘You were there?’

‘Ah… yes.’

‘Why did you think they were both dead?’

‘They were both so still and cold. We couldn’t find a pulse at first. Alex was grey, and Karl looked like a ghost.’ His mouth twisted at the memory.

‘The hypothermia makes sense then.’ Looking more closely at the photos, Walker could see that both men’s clothes were sodden – though the contents of an overnight bag were scattered nearby.

‘It looked like maybe Alex had used some clothes as a kinda fuse to light the gas tank – there was an empty gas can and a burnt trail leading towards the car. We guessed he’d been trying to send up a signal. Didn’t work – the weather was shit all weekend and no one was out and about in the woods till the Monday.’

Walker looked at the photos again and felt suddenly cold.

‘So there they were, trying to keep warm, waiting to die in the middle of nowhere – I wonder if Giannini even realised Svensson had died?’ Walker was just thinking aloud again but he got an answer.

‘I think he must have.’

‘Why? He looks so peaceful here – surely he couldn’t have known he was lying beside a corpse, his friend’s …’ Walker’s vivid imagination made him leave the word unspoken.

‘When he woke up in the hospital, I was there – I was assigned to take a statement as soon as possible.’

‘And? What did he say?’

‘Nothing. That’s the thing – he didn’t ask where Karl – Svensson – was or anything. That would have been his first question if he didn’t already know … ’

‘But then … you’re saying he knew Svensson was … gone, but he stayed there beside him. Didn’t try to get himself out of there – just lay there waiting …?’

‘Like you said before, waiting to die.’

Walker looked at the two relaxed faces in the photo. Svensson’s cheek was hidden by Giannini’s dark hair and his left hand held Giannini’s right on his chest, his right arm curved against Giannini’s broad back. In spite of the traces of tears and blood on Giannini’s sooty face he looked like a different man to the silent, closed patient Walker had tried to speak to … content almost.

Walker returned to the clinic thinking hard. He had borrowed the photos; he hoped they might give him a way into Giannini’s defensive shell. The next day he conferred with his colleagues as they glanced at the photos.

‘They look like lovers, not cops.’ Drake always said the obvious.

‘That’s why the police didn’t want to show these to me. I had to plead doctor-patient confidentiality.’

‘I don’t believe that for a minute,’ Nurse McNeil spoke over him. The senior psychiatric nurse was scornful. ‘He’s the straightest guy in this place.’

‘How can you tell? He never speaks.’

‘Well you just watch his eyes when a pretty thing like Nurse James comes in. He may be shut down but his autopilot’ll follow her round the room, and she’ll know it. As over-sexed and male as they come, I’d say.’ She snorted coarsely. ‘The sexy face of male dominance, that’s what he is.’ Walker was somewhat taken aback by this frank judgement; he had yet to get to know Nurse McNeil and had been misled by her prim, spinsterish looks.

‘Well, uhh. … The cop I spoke to said they were good friends, partners for years, “chased the same girls” was his phrase. So … whatever the relationship you can see that Giannini would be hit hard by this experience. Imagine it … 24 hours…’ A med school lecture on rigor mortis suddenly came to mind as Walker looked again at the photos, and he tried to repress a shudder. ‘We must get him to process it somehow. He’s clearly in deep denial.’

‘Good luck with that,’ said Drake, raising a dubious eyebrow.

Giannini was sitting, impassive as ever, gazing through the window of the consulting room, though it only looked out on to a parking lot. Walker pulled up a chair beside him.

‘Alessandro, Alex, I’ve got something to show you.’ He opened the folder containing the ‘crime scene’ photos and put it in Giannini’s lap. Giannini didn’t move or look down.

‘Ok, I’m going to hold them up where you can see them.’ Walker displayed the photos in Giannini’s line of sight, waiting until a slight movement suggested Giannini had focused on them before he started slowly to work through the pile, starting with the images of the car and its surroundings. But before he got to the photos of the two men he put the pile down, saying, ‘Shall I go on?’

For the first time Giannini looked him in the eye, ‘No.’ It was barely a sound. Giannini turned his chair away and began to wheel himself to the door. ‘Let me out,’ in a fierce whisper.

Walker watched him going down the corridor. Drake came up behind him. ‘Progress?’

‘I really don’t know… do four words count?’

The next morning when Walker came in to work he was immediately confronted by one of the night staff. ‘What did you do to stir up Giannini? He’s never any trouble normally – takes his meds like a good boy – but last night he refused. He won’t have slept much without them I reckon, and he woke up yelling.’

‘Yelling what?’

‘I don’t know, nothing that made any sense – “sorry”, maybe?’

In the consulting room again, Giannini was clearly in a different state – no longer gazing blankly out of the window. He looked haggard with lack of sleep and his eyes were red.

As soon as Walker entered the room, Giannini spoke. ‘Show me those photos.’

‘Ok – here you are.’ Giannini took the pile of prints from him hesitantly, and worked his way through them again to the point where they had stopped the day before.

‘Do you want to go on?’

‘No…yes…’

‘It’s ok – take your time…’

Giannini closed his eyes tightly, breathed deeply, and then looked at the next photo. He stared at it for several minutes, tension vivid in his jaw, until, with a hoarse groan, he scattered the pile across the room. His head dropped and his whole body seemed to fold in on itself. The heels of his hands pressed his eyes closed, fingers hooked into his thick hair.

Walker spoke very quietly. ‘It’s ok to grieve you know. When you’ve lost so much…’

‘For fuck’s sake! I’m not a child!’ The anger and pain in Giannini’s voice and face when he looked up were shocking. ‘I know what I’ve lost! What he took …’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh shut up! Why did you bring those …?’ Giannini suddenly hauled himself out of his chair, reaching across the desk and grabbing Walker by the lapels. ‘Listen, you bastard. What do you know about anything? Don’t try and tell me what I’ve lost. You don’t … ah Christ, let me get out of here!’ He pushed Walker away and slumped back into the chair, his fists clenched on its arms, waiting for the door to open.

Outside the room again, Drake asked the same question. ‘Progress?’

‘This time, I think so … but he’s a bit…uh… forceful when he lets go,’ Walker replied ruefully, easing his neck and smoothing his shirt collar into place. ‘I’m glad I’m not some crook he’s after.’

At their next meeting, Giannini was gruffly apologetic. ‘Don’t worry about that. It’s better than silence.’ Walker smiled. Giannini did not smile back.

‘So you’re here. Do you want to talk about what happened that night?’

‘I dunno that I can…’

‘Ok – is there anything you would like to talk about?’

Giannini raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. Though he still looked worn and tired, there was more life in the dark eyes when he looked back at Walker. The months-long freeze was beginning to thaw, it seemed.

‘What do you suggest? Baseball?’ with a twisted smile. ‘I don’t think so.’ And as his defended features softened, Walker got a hint of the man he had been and found himself wondering what it would be like to be his friend. ‘There it is,’ he thought, ‘what McNeil was talking about – charisma, animal magnetism, whatever you call it … ’

‘Tell me about Svensson, “Karl” was it? You were partners a long time…’

‘Yes … 8, no, 9 years …’

‘So you worked well together?’

‘I suppose…’

***

 

The two newly promoted detectives shook hands a little warily. They certainly weren’t a matching set. Giannini was dark with curly hair, a Boston drawl, and a Mediterranean look to match his name. Svensson was taller, blond and smooth, a typical mid-westerner, dressed in a sports coat and slacks. Giannini thought he looked like a lawyer at the weekend. Svensson thought Giannini looked like a street punk. Capt. Stone saw the mutual reserve and sighed internally. ‘Ok you two. Why don’t you get your teeth into this. Let’s see what you’re made of,’ handing them a couple of manila files. ‘There’ve been several robberies in Chinatown, similar MO…. well, off you go.’ He watched them as they left the office, shaking his head. ‘That doesn’t look so promising…’ he thought.

 

Giannini looked across the desk at this stranger who seemed to be inspecting him with some disdain. ‘So, Svensson. Where do you want to start with this? A trip down to Chinatown?’

‘Karl’ll do. I guess that makes sense. Whose car?’

‘I’ll drive, if you’re ok with that, Carlo,’ with a quick smile that softened Svensson’s irritation at the instant nickname. ‘I’ve been looking forward to getting out of the black and white,’ and the smile broadened into an engaging grin of anticipation.

 

A few weeks after that, Stone began to think he hadn’t made a mistake putting them together after all. They seemed to have fallen quickly into an easy way of working without that competitive edge that could get in the way. And as the months passed he watched them develop the physical and verbal shorthand of a well-rehearsed team.

 

The two detectives’ characters were as different as their looks. Svensson was a reticent and analytical man. Though decisive in action, he was prone to self-doubts and had rarely felt totally at home in the world, tending to find himself on the fringes of things, a discreet and quiet observer. He sometimes felt he was invisible, sometimes hoped he was. Giannini, by contrast, had no such doubts. In spite of a cool cynicism acquired through a life lived on the rougher side of society, he was physically and mentally at ease with the world and his place in it, confident in his view of right and wrong. He had actively chosen his side in that battle, leaving behind a family and community with distinctly more murky loyalties.

 

In 1953, when Alex was 13 and Joe Giannini came back from Korea, Alex had felt like all was well with the world. Joe was his war hero big brother who had survived the bullets of the bad guys and come home with honour and a medal. He wanted nothing more than to be as strong and fine as Joe. Things hadn’t looked quite so great for Joe himself. War was nothing like Alex’s teenage imagination painted it and Korea had not left Joe with a heroic self-image. It was not long before he fell in with the other disillusioned young hustlers, cousins and childhood companions following a family tradition. Small crimes led to bigger ones and by the time Alex was 16, Joe was a well-established gangster; by the time Alex was 18, Joe was in the state pen, on charges of drug dealing and manslaughter.

Alex had watched this transformation with sadness and dismay. But the effect on his developing character had been to harden his resolve to refuse that heritage, not to add to their mother’s shame. Though Joe had utterly failed to live up to Alex’s teenage ideal, the years since had only strengthened his belief in that ideal.

 

Giannini’s positive and generous nature made him a good colleague and companion, trusting and drawing trust from his fellows, free with his feelings and his strength. Ambivalence was not in his repertoire. A powerhouse in almost any context, he was happy to be the focal point of noise, action, laughter. In his company, Svensson began to find his own self-doubts retreating. An unexpected capacity for light-heartedness emerged, and he began to develop a role as willing straight man to Giannini’s boisterous comedian. It seemed as if the rocklike integrity of his partner gave Svensson the anchor he had needed to counter his uncertainties. Over the months and eventually years of their partnership, Svensson’s conscious gratitude was translated into a committed and absolute loyalty to his partner. In a less explicit way, Giannini was aware of this, and it became one more element of the solid structure of his world.

 

***

After a long pause, Giannini looked up again and scanned the room. ‘Where are those photos?’

‘Here.’ Walker got them out of the drawer and laid them on the desk. Drawing in a shuddering breath, Giannini again leafed through the pile, stopping at a close-up of Svensson’s face. He ran a finger gently over the sleek surface of the print, and began softly to speak.

‘We had a long weekend and Carlo had conned me into going camping. Not my kinda thing at all, but he always fancied himself the outdoor type. It was a bad idea. Nothing but bugs and rain and the tent blew down on the first night so we ended up sleeping in the car.’ Walker noticed for the first time his Boston accent. ‘Things didn’t get any better the second day and even Carlo stopped trying to pretend we were having fun. So we decided to head back to civilisation. Which would have been fine if the fucking deer hadn’t appeared out of nowhere…’

For a while he stopped speaking, as if his jaw could not move any more. His whole body was braced against some deep pressure.

To try and ease the tension, Walker asked, ‘who was driving?’

‘Me of course. It was my car…’

‘So you went off the road because you didn’t want to hit the deer?’

‘Oh I get it – you think I’m screwed up ’cause it was my fault we ended up rolling the car, my fault he’s dead? … Well, you’re wrong. It’s not some kind of guilt complex. He made us lose it, not me. I was just trying to slow down. He grabbed the wheel and pulled us over the edge … the stupid bastard. Why couldn’t he trust me?’

‘From what I’ve been told he trusted you plenty of times.’

‘What have you been told? That we were best buddies? We looked out for each other? Had each other’s back? That’s what I thought too.’

‘What changed? Just because he grabbed the wheel?’ Walker was sure this wasn’t it but he hoped Giannini would be driven to explain. But he just lowered his head to his hands.

‘I can’t do this now. I’m tired … I need to sleep.’

‘Sure. We can continue talking tomorrow if you want … whenever you’re ready.’

When Giannini had left the room, Walker looked through the photos again, looking for some sign of the bitterness he had heard in Giannini’s voice. He couldn’t find it. Nor could he find the photo Giannini had focused on.

In his cell-like room, Giannini lay face-down on the bed with the photo in his hand and tears soaking into the pillow.

Two days later Walker found Giannini waiting outside his room. He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re eager today.’ Giannini shrugged and wheeled himself through the opening door. ‘So you’ve got something to say?’

‘You say you want to understand what happened that night? What changed?’ Giannini grimaced. ‘Ok, “padre”, hear my confession … and then you can tell me how I should feel.’

‘You know I can’t tell you that … but I’m listening.’ Giannini always wore a small suede pouch around his neck which he often touched, an unconscious self-comforting behaviour Walker had noted before, and he reached for it now.

‘Like I said, we had a long weekend and Carlo had dragged me on this dumb trip. I didn’t know why he’d been so pushy about it. I’d thought he’d gotten pissed off at me or something. He’d not been around so much for a while outside of work, always had something else to do, not like it used to be. Sometimes it felt like he didn’t even want to be in the same room with me. He’d made some crack about me being a pig, going on about political correctness – and not joking you know? I … But anyhow … we got to the site and put up the tent. And then the weather began to turn so there we were, sitting in this little wet tent with nothing to do but drink beer. And then he just announced this was a kind of farewell trip. He was gonna quit the police department. No explanation, just – I’m quitting. I didn’t know what to say to that.’

‘Were you angry with him?’

‘I guess so … but I couldn’t really believe it, you know? He’d always been there, nine years … so I just kept asking him – why?’

‘Did he explain?’

‘Not then, no. Oh he made up some stuff about getting too old for the life … I wasn’t buying that. I still thought it was about us – he’d had enough of me. But anyway then the weather really blew up and we had to deal with the tent collapsing on us.’ Giannini actually smiled at the memory and Walker got another glimpse of that other, gentler version of the man. ‘We ended up back in the car trying to get comfortable. It was like being on a stake-out or something. We had some stupid conversation about what he was gonna do next and how I was gonna get a gorgeous lady partner to replace him… All of it was bullshit. I began to think he was just conning me again like he always did. Turned out I was right.’ Giannini’s expression hardened again and Walker remembered the fury of the session a few days before.

***

 

Saturday night and for once, they had a weekend off. So naturally they were out on the town with their current girls, a new and casual partner in Svensson’s case, but Giannini actually seemed to be taking Jenny a bit more seriously. Not that that stopped him flirting with every pretty girl around. Karl found himself watching them, Jenny and Alex. Alex looked so happy, and so far away. When Jenny disappeared to the restroom, Karl had to remind himself to pay polite attention to Leanne. Leanne was not entirely fooled.

‘I don’t think you’ve got a hope there fella. Jenny’s really into him.’ And to herself, ‘can’t blame her…’

‘What…? No – I’m sorry. I’m just not with it tonight. Shall we get out of here? Do you want to go somewhere else?’

‘Never mind.’ She smiled pityingly. ‘I can take myself home.’

‘You been dumped pal?’ asked Alex, draping a tipsy arm round Karl’s shoulders and kissing him jokily on the temple. Jenny was laughing goodbye to Leanne on her way back to the booth.

‘I guess so,’ said Karl, trying not to move, not to break that tiny moment. But Jenny came back and reclaimed her place. ‘You guys want another drink?’ Karl muttered.

‘I wouldn’t say no,’ with a fake hiccup.

Svensson escaped to the bar and didn’t make much effort to catch the busy barman’s attention. But a skinny guy sitting at the bar caught his eye, ‘Looking for some company?’

‘No… just getting some drinks.’ And he ordered a couple of beers and a glass of red wine. The guy at the bar was looking back at Giannini and Jenny with an appraising eye.

‘So you’re the wallflower then? He looks pretty hot. Well and truly taken though. What do they say? All the best guys are straight?’ Drinks paid for, Svensson beat a retreat from the burst of sour laughter, hurrying back to the booth. Alex greeted him with one of those soft smiles Karl found so hard to bear, before turning to whisper into Jenny’s ear.

‘I’m splitting… Three’s a crowd huh?’ Karl stood up to go.

‘Don’t go, partner. The night is young and there are many lovelies out there.’ But Svensson shook his head.

‘G’night then … see you Monday.’ No one noticed the thin man leave his unfinished drink on the bar and follow Svensson out into the street.

 

***

‘So the next day you gave up on camping?’

‘Yeah … there didn’t seem to be anything to hang around for. So we packed up and headed down the mountain and then that bloody deer happened and things went even more to shit.’

‘You got yourselves out of the car though…’

‘There was gas everywhere – you could smell it – and I sure didn’t want to burn to death. Carlo was in a bad way, couldn’t move his legs, said he couldn’t feel them. I got us out somehow and dragged him far enough away from the car to be ok if it went up… God knows how much more damage I did him…  It was freezing though, with the wind and rain. Carlo began shaking with cold … So we were trying to keep each other warm, you know?’ Giannini stopped speaking and pulled out the photos again. Walker waited, trying not to do anything to disrupt him.

‘I think I fell asleep for a while. It was nearly dark … and then Carlo started to talk.’

Another long pause. Walker began to think that was all he was going to get this time, but then with a harsh intake of breath, Giannini began again. To Walker it seemed that in everything that followed Giannini had forgotten his presence; he was telling himself what had happened, remembering out loud, re-living it all clearly, perhaps for the first time.

‘He said he wasn’t going to make it this time. He knew there was too much broken and no one would be looking for us any time soon. I said you’re wrong, we’ll be ok like always. I’ve got a plan, I’ll torch the car when the rain stops and then we’ll be picked up and in the hospital in no time. But Carlo said, “No Al… Just the truth now. I’m not going anywhere.” And I know he’s right but I still keep on telling him how we’ll get out of here … he just waited for me to shut up…’

***

 

‘The truth. Al… I wanted to tell you the truth last night but I was too much of a coward. It doesn’t matter now.’

 

***

‘Doesn’t matter, he said!’ Giannini interrupted his own narrative, for a moment angry again. ‘As if it didn’t matter more then than it ever had…’

***

‘What doesn’t matter?’

‘The reason I was going to quit…’ Karl fell silent and for a moment there was just the sound of the persistent rain dripping through the trees.

‘And…?’ Alex nudged him gently to continue.

‘Will you do something for me?’

‘If I can. You know you never needed to ask.’

‘Forgive me?’

‘For wrecking my car? Never.’

‘No…no more jokes now Al… forgive me for being too scared to tell you before …forgive me for telling you now…’ even now the words did not come.

‘Telling me what? Why you’re quitting?’

‘Not just that …’ He fumbled in the dark to find Giannini’s hand, pulling it further into the pocket of warmth between them. ‘Why is it so hard to say? I … love you, Alex … and I couldn’t fake it anymore,’ Karl whispered. ‘Oh god… please…please…don’t hate me, Al. I’m sorry.’

‘How could I?’ With a warm hand on Karl’s cold cheek, Giannini reached up and lightly kissed him on the forehead.

‘Oh Alex… you…’ and Karl pulled him back down, until their cold lips met.

‘Ahh Carlo…’ And they had held on to each other in the dark, as if for dear life, as if to make up for all the time lost.

***

‘So he kissed you … and…?’ said Walker.

‘And how did that make me feel?’ asked Giannini savagely. ‘That’s what you shrinks want isn’t it? Well I liked it, ok? It was good. And I wanted more. God! In that moment all I wanted was more of him. And he was only going away from me.’ The grief and anger flooded out of him. ‘I wasn’t going to let him. I was going to get us out – I burnt the car. And all we had to do was stay alive till they came, that’s all… but he couldn’t do that little thing… He just stopped …’ With the unbearable words, tears were flowing freely down his face. A silence ticked by…

‘And so I waited … and it got very cold and he got colder and I got colder and it felt ok. It would have been ok.’

‘What would have been ok?’

Giannini looked at him as if it was obvious. ‘Dying.’

‘You might have. Do you wish you had?’

‘Yes!’

‘Why?’

‘Because there’s nothing left that makes any kind of sense! I thought I had a brother… But he was lying to me all those years … and then he gave me a glimpse of something that I didn’t know I wanted and took it straight away again…. And now… now I think I do hate him…’

‘Why?’ asked Walker, softly. Giannini glared at him, stopping his tears with anger.

‘Don’t you think I’ve got enough reasons? He took away my old life, my job, my partner, my fucking foot, for crying out loud!’ Walker looked sceptical. Giannini looked away again, his right hand reaching up to the cord around his neck, speaking once more as if to himself alone:

‘Why should I hate him? Because I still need him even though I don’t know who he was anymore, because he lied, because he left me alone, because he told me the truth … some weak part of me wishes I could forget it all, wishes he’d kept on lying till the end so I could go on being me…’ so quietly now Walker could barely hear it ‘… because some…vile…part of me is glad he didn’t make it back because I can’t imagine any way for us to be … because I don’t know who I am anymore…’

Minutes passed until he looked up at Walker again, exhausted, all anger spent. ‘He asked me to forgive him and I do, I have, but I need him to forgive me too. But he never can, can he?’

Walker took a deep breath as he searched for something to say to this.

‘I think perhaps you need to forgive yourself.’

‘That’s not how forgiveness works.’ Giannini turned his gaze away and his hands hung limp. Walker saw again the man he had met by the lake, utterly alone.

Drake: ‘Progress?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve just helped him prove to himself that he’s got nothing left to live for.’

‘Well done. Suicide watch?’

‘I think maybe so…’

That was Giannini’s last meeting with Walker. He had said all he had to say, all there was to say. But the clinic staff saw some signs of hope that he was finding a way back. He began to go out for walks in the grounds, using the crutches that he had ignored for so long. He seemed to be trying to wear himself out physically, though his nights were still restless and disturbed by dreams and flashbacks. The phantom pain continued, fuelling memories of the desperate hour it took to extricate himself from the crushing cage of pedals and metalwork.

Very rarely he wakes from a kinder dream – a vision of that unimaginable other life …

A white room, filled with light. Alex is sitting on the edge of a wide bed, looking at his foot on the floor. ‘Want a hand?’ He looks up at the tall unblemished figure, holding out a hand to him. Reaching up, he grasps the hand with both of his, but instead of standing, he leans back and twists. Karl is pulled off balance and lands, laughing, stretched out on his back beside him. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Bringing you down to my level… Come here…’

… but when the vision fades, his anger with Svensson returns. Why couldn’t he have told the truth long ago? He’d asked that question during the long night in the woods. And Karl had confessed his fear that Giannini would be disgusted, repelled…

‘So I kept my secret and I made do …’

‘Made do?’

‘Made do with “best buddies” and horseplay and pretending with all those girls … made do with strangers in the night … of course you would have been disgusted with me. I am!’

‘No Carlo … you should have trusted me … I would have understood. You’re my best friend…’

‘Listen to yourself, Al, and think about it… I don’t think you would have heard me.’

***

A late night conversation – truth and consequences.

‘Did you see that new girl in the bar tonight Carlo? What a pair of legs!’

‘You know Al, you really are a chauvinist pig. Has it ever occurred to you that a woman might be more than a body? A person, a friend, a partner?’

‘Why would I want that when I’ve got you, old buddy?’ said Giannini in his usual laidback teasing tone.

‘No, I’m serious here. Can’t you imagine wanting sex and friendship in the same place?’

‘I guess one day I’ll settle down and do that stuff, kids and all,’ another wide grin, ‘a son called Carlo maybe…  but hey, there’s no harm in having fun in the meantime is there? Are you telling me you’re leaving me for a lovely girl?’

‘Ach! There’s no talking to you is there?’

***

 

Another night shift. Dawdling down the familiar streets waiting for something or nothing to happen. It was usually something and this night it was a ‘shots fired’ callout. They arrived at the scene at the same time as a black and white patrol car. A kid was standing in the street screaming – ‘they’re over there! Over there!’ Pointing at a car rammed into the wall. Another kid was lying in the street, unmoving. ‘Another drive by?’ Giannini looked at Svensson and they cautiously approached the crashed car. ‘Not much of the “by” … looks like they’ve done our job for us,’ said Svensson. In the car the driver was draped over the wheel, apparently unconscious, and the passenger looked almost out of it, drugged or concussed.

‘Police! Throw out your weapons!’ yelled Giannini. Two guns skittered across the tarmac. Svensson kept his eyes and gun on the car as Giannini stepped carefully forward to open the near door. But then several things happened at once. Svensson registered a movement from the back seat, there was a shot and Giannini fell to the ground.

‘No!’ yelled Svensson.  The sound and sight of it hit him like a kick in the chest as he ran forward and dropped to Giannini’s side. ‘Al! You ok?’ A dark figure ran past them and was tackled by the uniformed officers. ‘Get an ambulance!’ Alex didn’t look good, Svensson thought. He hadn’t given the usual prayed-for reply. How many times had he lived through this fear? So many near misses… and they would joke about it like it didn’t matter, like lucky charms really worked. But then Giannini spoke.

 

‘You ok, Carlo? I think they got a bit of me this time.’ And his hand reached out. Karl squeezed it hard, and managed to respond.

‘You’ll be fine – just another scar to impress the ladies with.’ And Al’s face twisted in a kind of grin. As Svensson smiled back, relief washing through him, he found himself thinking, ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ But he doubted he would ever have the strength to cut himself adrift.

***

Adjacent to the hospital grounds were open fields. Giannini’s walks often took him down there where horses grazed, and sometimes in their company he began to feel a little peace.

Another case conference.

‘Any change with Giannini?’ Walker asked one of the nurses who’d been keeping an eye on him.

‘He’s still hardly talking – gone back into his shell I’m afraid.’ Nurse James blushed a little at the memory of her attempts to engage with him. ‘But he seems to like being around the horses.’

‘Now that’s an idea – let’s have a word with the livery yard, see if we can get him some more time with them. He doesn’t need to talk with a horse…’

And later still.

‘So I heard Giannini has asked for an appointment with prosthetics.’

‘He has? That’s great!’

So the weeks went. Giannini still rejected any talking therapy but began to spend all the hours he could at the stables, a quiet presence, filling buckets, grooming, mucking out. While in the company of horses it seemed that his mind was filled up with something else, a hint of that wholeness he had once had – a blessed relief from the consuming emotions and obsessive thoughts that had filled his days and still filled his dreams.

And a day came when the hospital agreed to let him go. The livery owner had suggested he might find work somewhere similar and a place was found at a stableyard out near the state park. ‘Not the best location,’ thought Walker. But Giannini seemed content with the arrangement.

‘A success story then, Walker. Well done, I never thought you’d do it,’ said Drake as they watched him go. And so it seemed – follow-ups and checks with his employers were all promising. Giannini was now a competent rider, in spite of the artificial foot, and a steady if uncommunicative and solitary employee.

18 months later, Walker spotted a minor news item in the local paper.

‘Inquest verdict on body recovered from state park: suicide. – The body of ex-detective Alessandro Giannini (38) was discovered in the woods off Rte 123 two weeks ago, cause of death a single gunshot to the head. Ballistics report states that only one bullet had been fired from an otherwise empty gun. The case is now closed. The police had no further comment on the sad loss of another of their colleagues. (Giannini’s partner Karl Svensson died 3 years ago in a traffic accident.)’

Jesus! We shouldn’t have left it like this, Walker thought. Let him cut himself off again. Too bloody willing to pretend we’d fixed him. If only…

***

 

At the end of a long and somewhat drunken night, slumped on a sofa in Giannini’s apartment, Karl raised his glass. ‘Well, we made it this far, partner. Here’s to another five years.’ Alex acknowledged the toast and then, a little sheepishly, pulled something out of his pocket.

‘I got us an anniversary gift…’

Raising his eyebrows, Karl took the small pouch hanging on a cord, and opened it. ‘A bullet…?’

‘Yeah…er … I got one for me too…’ pulling an identical pouch out from inside his shirt. ‘See … I had this thought … you know they say we’ve all got a bullet out there with our name on it? Well, I thought if you had the one with my name on it and I had yours, we’d be ok. Stupid, I know, but once I had the idea it felt like I had to do it.’ Karl peered at the bullet in his hand and made out the fine engraving: ‘Alex Giannini’.

‘Ok… you’re a superstitious idiot but … ok.’

***

Knowing it could not assuage his sense of guilt, Walker went to the stableyard, looking for an account of Giannini’s time there. The stable boss was sombre, leaning into the ugly old gelding he’d been grooming.

‘Alex had been riding up into the woods quite a lot lately. Staying out overnight sometimes. I thought he was turning into a bit of a mountain man. He seemed settled, calm, you know? You couldn’t call it happy, but accepting … he and Toby here made a good team.’

‘D’you think he’d been working himself up to it then? Going out there so many times?’

There was a long pause. The old horseman looked up towards the hills. He watched two broad-winged birds in the far sky, drifting in slow spirals higher and higher, their sharp calls dropping like pine needles to the forest floor.

‘Working himself up to it…? No… I think he’d made his decision a long time ago. … I think … he was just making sure Toby would know the way home.’

***

 

Epilogue: Karl’s dream

 

A white room, filled with light. Karl looks down at Alex, sitting on the edge of a wide bed, looking at his feet on the floor. ‘Want a hand?’ Alex looks up at Karl’s offered hand. Reaching up, he grasps it with both of his, but instead of standing, he leans back and twists. Karl is pulled off balance and lands, laughing, stretched out on his back beside him. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Bringing you down to my level… Come here…’

 

But Karl doesn’t move and Alex rolls on to his side to look at Karl’s face, the eyes moving under closed lids. He reaches a hand up and softly runs a finger across Karl’s lips. Karl turns his head and opens his eyes, lifting his own hand to brush his knuckles over Alex’s cheek and jaw. They stay for a moment, poised, eyes exploring the tiny details of each other’s face. Then Karl whispers, ‘I have so longed…’ and, turning his body towards Alex, he kisses the fragile skin below his eyes. Retreating again to look, he laughs and says, ‘I love your face.’ A tear brims over. Alex touches Karl’s wet cheek, the corner of his jaw. His fingers follow the long neck muscle down from jaw to throat. ‘Teach me.’ Then hands find flesh, taut tendons, muscles flex and grip, entwined, engulfed. Whose limbs, whose hands, whose sublimation?… It is all one, until they lie still again, coiled in deep lassitude, still but for a lift and fall of breath, and a murmur: ‘Love, let this be true…’

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Copyright © 2014 Fliss Watts