Coming Through Slaughter - Michael Ondaatje [18]
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There is only one photograph that exists today of Bolden and the band. This is what you see.
As a photograph it is not good or precise, partly because the print was found after the fire. The picture, waterlogged by climbing hoses, stayed in the possession of Willy Cornish for several years.
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The fire begins with Bellocq positioning his chairs all the way round the room. 17 chairs. Some of which he has borrowed. The chairs being placed this way the room, 20′ by 20′, looks like it has a balcony running all the way around it. Then he takes the taper, lights it, stands on a chair, and sets fire to the wallpaper half way up to the ceiling, walks along the path of chairs to continue the flame until he has made a full circle of the room. With great difficulty he steps down and comes back to the centre of the room. The noise is great. Planks cracking beneath the wallpaper in this heat as he stands there silent, as still as possible, trying to formally breathe in the remaining oxygen. And then breathing in the smoke. He is covered, surrounded by whiteness, it looks as if a cloud has stuffed itself into the room.
Horror of noise. And then the break when he cannot breathe calm and he vomits out smoke and throws himself against the red furniture, against the chairs on fire and he crashes finally into the wall, only there is no wall any more only a fire curtain and he disappears into and through it as if diving through a wave and emerging red on the other side. In an incredible angle. He has expected the wall to be there and his body has prepared itself and his mind has prepared itself so his shape is constricted against an imaginary force looking as if he has come up against an invisible structure in the air.
Then he falls, dissolving out of his pose. Everything has gone wrong. The wall is not there to catch or hide him. Nothing is there to clasp him into a certainty.
Under the sunlight. I am the only object between water and sky. There can be either the narrow focus of the eye or the crazy chaos of white, that is the eyes wide, wishing to burn them out till they are stones.
In the late afternoon I walk back along the shore to the small house and it is against me dark and shaded. Robin and her friends. I am full of the white privacy. Collisions around me. Eyes clogged with people. Yesterday Robin in the midst of an argument flicked some cream on my face. Without thinking I jumped up grabbing the first thing, a jug full of milk, and threw it all over her. She stood by the kitchen door half laughing half crying at what I had done. She stood there frozen in a hunch she took on as she saw the milk coming at her. Milk all over her soft lost beautiful brown face. I stood watching her, the lip of the jug dribbling the rest onto the floor.
Jaelin and the others in the room silent. I very gently placed the jug on the table, such a careful gesture for I wanted her to see I was empty of all the tension. Then getting one of the big towels and placing it over her wet shirt. And then like a wise coward leaving the house till late evening when they had all gone to bed. When I got back she was still in the living room, almost asleep in the armchair.
Let’s go for a swim. I want to get the milk out of my hair.
I’m sorry, try and forget it.
No I won’t forget it, Buddy, but I know you’re sorry.
Well it’s just as well it happened.
Yeah, you’ll be better for a few days. But which window are you going to break next, which chair.
Don’t talk Robin.
You expect to come back and for me to say nothing? With Jaelin here?
Look you’re either Jaelin’s wife or my wife.
I’m Jaelin’s wife and I’m in love with you, there’s nothing simple.
Well it should be.
How do you think he feels. He said nothing, even when you went out. Do you really expect me to say nothing.
Yes. I’m sorry, you know that.
Ok … let’s swim Buddy.
She grins. And there is my grin which is my loudest scream ever.
In the water like soft glass. We slide in slowly leaving our clothes by the large stone. Heads skimming along the surface.
As long as I don’t hurt