In fact she had two main instincts. The first was for honesty, and the second told her that the oranpendic was alive but that he was afraid. The threat of discovery terrified him. So he kept hidden.
She wrote to Ronny.
Hes afraid, Ronny. I know that much. He lives and walks in fear. Some days, if I wake early, I go out alone just after dawn. Everything is glazed. The air is full of moisture. Its as thick, as dense as a woollen scarf pressing down on to my lips and up into my nostrils.
At these times I dream Ill see him. But hes pale like the mist and hes so afraid that its as if hes only a ghost. I always have the camera not Louiss big professional thing, I have my own, a cheap one that Ive never yet used, just in case but I sometimes imagine that if I tried to photograph him, the fear, the focus, the technology, would obliterate him. And all that would remain in the camera, in the world would be vapour. A mist and a smell.
Fear has its own special aroma. Like soil. Like cider vinegar. Did I lose you yet, Ronny? Did I? Could I?
Heres the truth. If I saw him I would not photograph him. It would be so rude, dont you think? Ive never told Louis I feel this way. Hed scoff. I mean thats why hes here, after all. He has more to lose than I do. Hes been publicly and uniformly ridiculed and slandered, so thats fair enough.
But if I saw the oranpendic I would not photograph him. I would kneel and I would hold out my hand. I would not stare. Id look off sideways, like a friendly cat. Thats what Id do. Id adopt a submissive posture.
Oh God Ronny I wish you were here. Im sorry you lost your hair. I am. Did I ever say that before? I cant remember. Do you miss me? My own hair is long now. I tie it back. Otherwise it catches on twigs and on branches. Its stupid and impractical but Im growing it as a tribute. Im growing it for you.
You feel very close at this moment. Is that stupid? Are you near me? Are you out there, hiding in the jungle, watching, waiting but I just cant see you? Is it me whos dense or is it the forest? Is it me?
Shut your eyes Ronny, and imagine me here. Close your eyes. Close them. Do you see me? My hair is longer. My nails are dirty. Do you see me? I am kneeling: I am holding out my hand.
Take it. M.
Ronny continued to stare at his shoes. White shoes. Then he stirred himself and picked up his bottle of weedkiller. He had walked five miles that day. Hed sprayed every crack in every bit of pavement. No weeds would come after hed been. There would be no green after hed been. No lush diversity in the pavements monotony. Hed seen to that.
It was hot inside his helmet. But Ronny walked and he sprayed. Like a tomcat, scenting all those docile miles with the stink of poison. He didnt think of the poison though, only of Monica. His own breath soaked his face. The forests were hot and airless. Like this, he supposed. He was close to her. She was right. He was very close. And she was certainly a rare bird.
Five
He drove home later than hed anticipated and hit the rush hour. In his keenness to evade it hed skipped changing, so wore his white skin-suit, in full, but without the helmet. From the neck downwards he resembled an alien. Or an astronaut. He even wore his plastic gloves, which generated a curious friction on the steering wheel as he turned corners.
Pulling up to a roundabout in Lee Green, Ronny noticed something exceptional. A man was standing on the island in the centre of the roundabout. He was tall with a beard, his arm was extended, his left arm, and in his hand he held something that shone in the glare of many headlights. Something gold.
The traffic was heavy. Ronny waited his turn to join the flow. He stared at the man. Someone flashed their lights behind him. He took his chance. He pulled into the traffic. He did one circuit. He did two. On the third circuit he indicated left and slid into a parking space outside the World of Leather showroom. He sat for a while and gazed at the showroom through his windscreen. Then he climbed out of his car and walked back over to the road. He stopped at the kerb, put his hands to his lips and yelled.
RONNY!
The other Ronny gave no indication of having heard him so he whistled and called again.
RONNY!
The other Ronny turned, cocked his head to one side but did not move. Ronny waited for a gap in the traffic and then jogged over. The other Ronny continued to hold out the glittering object. It was a watch.
Ronny raised his voice over the honk of the traffic. What are you doing here?
The other Ronny showed him the watch.
Im holding out this watch.
Why?
Im offering myself. Im offering my time. To this island.
After a pause he added, I like that suit. You look like the Michelin Man.
Its protective clothing.
Ronny stared at the watch. It seemed familiar. The other Ronny caught him looking.
Recognize it?
Ronny swallowed, suddenly unnerved. Should I?
I dont know. Its just that I think it might be yours.
Ronny took a step backwards. I dont own a watch.
Yes you do. Youre wearing one.
Ronny blinked. I mean I dont own that watch.
It has an inscription on the back
The other Ronny turned the watch over. Engraved in the gold were the words: To Big Ron, with love, your Elaine.
Ronny began shaking. His suit quivered and it made a strange synthetic sound, a noise like a gust of wind hitting the canvas jib of a small sailing boat, a sound like the beat of a swans wings in flight. It was clearly audible but the other Ronny seemed not to notice.
I wish I could whistle like you do, the other Ronny said, but I cant whistle at all. I never learned.
Whistle? Ronny scowled, and then recollected. Oh As a kind of strangled appendix he added, In fact its my fathers watch, and then, with startling synchronicity, his nose began running.
He rubbed at it with the back of his glove, but the glove was plastic and soaked up nothing. Instead it smeared moisture across his cheek for the chill evening air to tip-toe over.
The other Ronny continued to inspect the watch. It looks expensive. Will he be wanting it back?
No. Ronny shook his head and then sniffed violently. The other Ronny glanced up. Is something wrong?
Nothing.
He focused in on Ronnys face. His gaze was like the pure sweep of a bowling green; it was flat and it was plain and it went on and on. Ronny was alarmed. He began blinking rapidly. A nervous tic.
The other Ronny looked crestfallen. Ive brought back some bad feelings. Im sorry.
He curled his hand around the watch so that Ronny was no longer obliged to look at it. Ronny said nothing but he kept on blinking. If he stopped blinking hed start crying and that wouldnt do. Hed never cried.
But he remembered the watch. Very clearly. And mixed in with the memory was the scratch of rough hessian and the pungent taint of cider vinegar. Something acrid.
Is he dead?
Who?
Big Ron.
Yes. Ronny nodded.
The way you spoke earlier made it sound like he was still living.
He is living, Ronny struggled. I mean, in my head.
Again he put his gloved hand to his face.
Actually, the other Ronny intervened, you have a rash. On your cheek. You should stop touching it.
Ronny took his hand from his cheek and swore softly. My gloves might have chemicals on them.
You shouldve taken them off then.
Ronny took his hand from his cheek and swore softly. My gloves might have chemicals on them.
You shouldve taken them off then.
Theyre attached to the suit. I was in a hurry to return the car. It isnt mine.
The other Ronny craned his neck to peer over at the car.
Green Volvo, he mused, unhelpfully.
Yes. Ronny spun around and jogged to the edge of the island. His nose was still running. His eye began stinging. Hed been clumsy. He hated himself for it.
The other Ronny watched impassively as he jinked through the traffic.
Back at the car, Ronny unzipped his suit and unrolled the top half down to his waist. It was a complex manoeuvre that took several minutes, during which time the pain in his cheek intensified.
He scrabbled around in the sidepocket on the drivers side of the car and located a bottle of water which he unscrewed, sniffed and then poured on to his hand and dabbed over his cheek. He repeated this process several times and then inspected his face in the side mirror. His cheek, nose and left eye were slightly puckered and swollen. He applied some more water.
Do you want the watch back?
The other Ronny had deserted his island and was now standing behind him, holding out the watch.
Ronny prickled, like he was full of static. Not at all. Youre welcome to it.
Hows your cheek?
Itll be fine.
You must be cold. Here
The other Ronny took off the old brown cardigan he was wearing and proffered it.
Actually I have a change of clothes in the boot.
As he spoke Ronny noticed the other Ronnys arms. They were skeletal. He put his hand to his mouth. He felt an unexpected combination of deep alarm and lurching nausea.
What?
The other Ronny inspected his cardigan with some confusion as though Ronnys distress had been generated by it and not by him.
Your arms, Ronny managed, through his fingers.
The other Ronny looked down at his arms, grimaced, and then put his cardigan back on again.
I cant keep the watch, he said quietly, I would feel beholden.
Ronny was shivering. He went and grabbed his clothes from the boot of the car and began dragging them on. He felt sick. His mouth was drowning in a sweet saliva. Was it poison or was it pity? He couldnt tell.
Pawn the watch, he said thickly, and get something proper to eat.
The other Ronny didnt appreciate this suggestion. I would never consider selling it, he said and then turned to go, patently wounded.
Ronny panicked, he didnt know why. Where are you going?
To my island.
How long will you stay there?
I have no idea.
He left him.
Ronny bundled his white suit into the back of the Volvo and then sat down in the driving seat. He adjusted the rear-view mirror, initially to inspect his cheek and then to try and catch sight of the other Ronny.
The other Ronny was back on his island. Ronny sat watching him for a while. He wanted to go. But something stopped him. An unfamiliar impulse. He was late. He wanted to go, he wanted to, but he couldnt.