‘Where are you going?’
Such a simple question. Yet the man who asked George was not a simple man. He was eager to talk because he had lost many things; money, wives, houses, friends and George had seen the books left lying around, with bright titles promising change in 10 steps. Perhaps this question was step three. Let him read on until he got to ten. George carried on walking, deaf and careless, smiling at his secret purpose.
Listening to another voice was a novelty for George today as he wanted to explore everything by himself, with himself, without the company of any straightforward kind. For today she had promised to return. It was the anniversary of her reckless death and their first meeting. The sunshine was gentle, thoughtfully responding to George’s laughing prayer that the weather would be kind to their reunion.
They had always enjoyed talking in bright light, hands averting the dazzling rays whilst puzzling out each others’ faces, words tumbling out between them, dancing somehow. She had spoilt him for conversations with others. Those felt like electronically operated cattle prods. I say this. you say that. Now I say something else. You follow, never saying anything that was genuinely alive. That made him feel alive.
He carried on walking away from the house and its visitors.
Words were risky tricks. He hummed to himself. They could light up or sing out, like prisms throwing colours onto your day when your day has been happy to be nothing else but grey.
But where was she? And how would she know the place again? He wondered about her voice. Did the dead sound as clear in this world once they had left it? perhaps it would surprise him to hear the accent. The deep hoarse voice had always been like honey. Eucalyptus honey.
