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By Root 741 0

I haven’t been, and we’ll finish sooner. A friend of mine in the Merchant Navy I coincided with on the Viking used to write his name on the doors of toilets in dockside bars, “Carnocho I was here”. He went through life pretending he was a king from Mount Alto. Had I done the same, I’d be more famous than Captain Nemo, since I’ve travelled a fair bit more than Carnocho I. But I prefer to avoid the publicity. One night I was on board, on duty, I read a book called The Invisible Man from beginning to end. That’s an ideal state. Not normal or abnormal. Paranormal. A few years ago in South Africa, in Cape Town, I was walking down a long avenue, feeling exhausted, and was relieved to see a bench. The bench was perfect, in the right place, under a tree, for a quick snooze. When I went over to it, I found a large notice on the back. “Europeans Only”. Blasted bench. An abnormal bench. I circled it a few times. Paranormally. Should I or should I not sit down? Was my bum European? Only the blacks seemed normal. They walked as if they hadn’t seen us, the bench or me. They’d obviously decided they couldn’t sit down. I again circled the bench paranormally and found an inscription on the other side, “Carnocho I was here”. I’ve been to more ports than I can remember. I could relate many different adventures, sexual exploits and the rest, but the funniest thing that happened to me was in Korea.’

‘There’s a North and a South Korea,’ said Miguel.

‘Precisely. The captain explained that the city we were going to, Incheon, was in the south, but the port was on the border, right between the north and the south, on what they call the demarcation line.’ He pointed to a spot on Korea’s head and said, ‘Incheon must be here, right here. A line was painted on the ground. I was in a hurry to get out. As I disembarked, the captain said to me, “Stick to the line, don’t leave the line for any reason.” There were soldiers on both sides of the border, two rows facing each other. With me in the middle. You could hear the grinding of silent weapons. On board the ship, someone had said more than nine million people had died in the Korean War. That’s a lot of dead. I never thought there were so many. There was that comic book, Hazañas Bélicas, whose hero was an American called Sergeant Gorilla. He’d kill Koreans four at a time. I thought to myself, well, it must be true. All the dead on both sides seemed to be looking at me. I advanced slowly along the line, feeling dizzy, as if the line was in fact a tightrope. One false move on my part and a world war could break out. That’s when I understood what it is to be on the edge of the invisible. At one point, I froze. I couldn’t move forwards or backwards. The horror! How I would have liked to read on the ground: “Carnocho I, second engineer”, was here. But there was nothing. Just a line.’

He moved Miguel’s head like a globe, ‘Here you can’t see the line so well.’

The phosphorescent diver is very impressed by the underwater rifle Manlle bought for Zonzo on his travels. ‘Blimey, this could kill someone!’

Your Name

All Olinda remembered was my name. That’s a lot if you’re the one being named. Of all the names, the thousands of words, the only sound that comes out of her mouth (because she doesn’t complain, sob, groan or moan) is your name. What’s that? And she says your name. Like a stone figure suddenly calling out for you. She rounds her lips. Draws your name. That’s a lot of weight. Like carrying someone on top of you. Not inside or around, but on top of you. Only your name. She could have said anything. She could have howled. I’d have understood that, a howl rising from deep inside her. But no. She says your, my name. All she gives out is my name. A wee-wee, a slight trickle. Droppings, chestnuts, quails’ eggs, balls that get harder and smaller, like the pips of watermelons or morello cherries. Pips of life. You feel like planting them to see if they’ll grow like seeds. Putting them in damp cotton. They might just sprout. Lentils. Finally a few jewels, precious, shiny droppings like ladybirds. Spit,