Wordsworth
once said that the chimes of Trinity’s Great Court Tower in The
Shire For Men Who Understand were both male and female. A brass
hourly notification that life was mortal. Ding. People in the town
couldn’t escape the chimes, dong, no matter what they were doing,
ding, thinking, dong, laying logs on the fire, ding, channelling
ideas, dong, falling in love, ding, choosing a drink….
Larry raised an eyebrow, nodded and laughed, but nobody else was at
the table. He shot his arm up into the air and flapped a banknote
with his long fingers. The barmaid was collecting glasses. She looked
at him, then up at the money flag. They were all lined up in a
military, downward gradient; the tulip shaped wineglass, with traces
of rich burgundy, the colour of his velvet smoking jacket, the
neighbouring half of stout, with creamy top hat, the palette
cleansing water chaser, the wood scented whisky, consumed with
squinted eye. His long reptilian tongue darted around the rim of his
glass, like a flesh brush. Larry laughed again to himself as he
relived an early conversation he had with Octavia, many years ago in
the library. He watched the barmaid disappear into the alehouse as
the church bells chimed seven. In exactly one hour he would be there.
Or rather, one hour to decide whether or not to go.
*
Larry first met Octavia in the old library at St John’s. He was
from next door, Trinity, the place where the daffodil man once
studied (Wordsworth’s digs were above the kitchen on F staircase.
It was the first piece of information that Larry sent to his parents
on postcard). He thought he recognised Octavia, at first, and
couldn’t work out where he had seen her before. But watching
Octavia’s distinctive mannerisms, like how she gazed open mouthed
when deep in thought, confirmed that Larry hadn’t met her before.
He liked to sit by the bay window and stare at the statue of Newton,
with his marble index of mind, voyaging strange seas of thought,
alone. That’s where he went to think and dream. Away from
interfering humans. He would often sit there deep in thought,
reliving a long conversation, or on the cusp of a new idea. Octavia
wasn’t aware of his attention, at first, anyway.
*
Years
ago there was a race between St. John’s and Trinity to build a new
clock that didn’t interfere with each other’s
chimes on the hour. Trinity being Trinity,
cheated, and finished their clock tower in wood (while St.John’s
built theirs with stone). The terms of the deal meant that Trinity
chimed the hour twice; first time for Trinity, and then, immediately
afterwards, for St. John’s.
*
The
bells chimed seven. Octavia looked in the bathroom mirror of her tiny
room at Dorothy’s B&B. She touched her face; a creased map she
tried to smooth out, to conceal the life that she led without Larry.
What does he look like now? Will he
still be mad at me? All her clothes
were around the room, draped over the TV, yesterday’s damp dress
over the bath, she might want to wear
that one again, a stray blouse in her
suitcase, clashing scarves rolled into fat cigars, a selection of
beige stockings, mainly frayed at the tip by sharp toenails. Larry
always said she had fine legs. She
liked to wear men’s cologne, perfume being too sweet for her taste.
She sprayed some onto her wrists and kissed them together. You
look well, Larry. No. What if he doesn’t?! It’s so
wonderful…Larry! I can’t believe it’s you….You haven’t
changed much…no, too clichéd, Larry, my old friend, look at you!
False. It’s me, Larry! Your Oct! (ridiculous…it’s not a
Hollywood film) Larry, my Larry, no. He is not my Larry. Hell. Leave
it until the time. Let our emotions talk for themselves.
*
The bells chimed once for Trinity and once for St.John’s.
Once
for Trinity and once for St.John’s.
Once
for Trinity and once for St.John’s.
Once
for Trinity and once for St.John’s.
Once
for Trinity and once for St.John’s.
Once for Trinity and once for St.John’s.
Once
for Trinity and once for St.John’s.
Once
for Trinity and once for St.John’s.
Once
for Trinity and once for St.John’s.
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