Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

       I want to live forever.  I don’t care what anybody says.  It was Flanders, supposedly a romantic holiday in Bruges. ‘Revive your marriage!’  is what my dear mother said.  In Flanders, where my wife drove through land as distant from war graves as you could imagine, with industrial units lining a motorway of juggernauts. She was cursing their spray when I hit it (or it hit me). It was a wall of ice, a cold I’d never experienced before.  I felt alone and envied her faith. The coldness went right to my core.

       ‘You are going to die’, it insisted.  ‘One day you won’t be here and the world will go on as if you’d been a fly zapped by spray.  You will be nothing’.

       I couldn’t argue back.  Man had invented heaven to explain the one thing totally beyond comprehension. Hell was an ideal way of asserting power.  That moment in Flanders - where so many had been slaughtered - I shivered and could not stop the freezing thoughts which filled my veins. It paralysed me. I could talk about so many forbidden things, but not the D-word.

       She focussed straight on, dead on. The map sat on my lap like a reluctant child I patted occasionally.

       I knew I had to defeat it.  It wouldn’t go away. I remembered nothing about the time before I was born, but that had been shared, a communal place like a vast, cloudy waiting-room.  I could see the temptations to create your own version:  angels serving tortillas and guacamole, the best bitter straight from the barrel, with their feathers white as your age and a line of cirrus for every wrinkle.

       Yet, there was always a doubt, sins counting against me. Something I shouldn’t even believe in which still crept in.

       We’d gone to Belgium to avoid the heat of the Med.  What did we get but 35 degrees in the shade and unbearable night-time stickiness?  A twin bed with a crevice down the middle even Chris Bonnington would have problems crossing. The first night back home I awoke to piss out that delectable Trappist beer we’d brought back and couldn’t get back to sleep. I sighed steeply for lack of sex and woke my wife from her snoring bliss.

       ‘What’s the matter?’

       ‘Can’t sleep’.

       ‘I gathered that - just relax’.

       ‘I’m going to die, Hannah!’  There, I’d come out with it. To avoid telling the truth, initially, but it was vital just to utter those words.

       ‘What?  Is your stomach playing you up again?’

       ‘No.  I mean I’m definitely going to die.  I can’t stop thinking about it’.

       ‘Have you got a date for it?  Have you turned Red Indian? For goodness sake Dave, stop going on.  You practically spoiled our holiday with that bloody bed.  You always need something to worry about.  You won’t have time when we’re back at work’.

       ‘I’m sorry.  I just -’.

       She turned her back and went to sleep, as if she could switch it on and off.  I can see what drives people to drink, where there’s no tomorrow and no consequences. I can see how people lose their brain-cells when they get old, not just from disease but desire. It’s too dark out there.  For a species who can clone, we haven’t a clue.  Even if I became a spirit, who’s to say I’d be summoned to appear? No! I want a 0.3333 recurring guarantee.

       I’ve even contemplated visiting my wife’s church and going to confession.

       ‘Yes, my son.  What mortal sins have you committed?’

       ‘I’m absolutely terrified of dying, Father’.

       ‘Well, as long as you’ve been a good Christian, you’ll go to heaven’.

       ‘I have no faith, Father. I need a ticket, preferably a return, just  to get a glimpse of the place.  I’d like to accompany my wife.  You see our holiday - ’.

       Or a travel agent’s, would they oblige?  Neil Roberts, who used to work in our office, works in one down town. I could try him.

       ‘Neil, can you do me a cheap flight to Hades?’

       ‘Hades?  Let me see, is that one of the Greek islands?’

       ‘Close in terms of temperature.  No, it’s supposed to be hell’.

       ‘So why go there?’

       ‘Just to experience it’.

       ‘Dave, you always were off it’.

       Will I burn there, Neil?  Will sun-block work where no parasols or trees give shade?

       After Belgium, the moles appeared, my skin a pocked lawn. One, in particular, was inflamed, itched and bled. I began to avoid the sun like she avoided sex.  A mere touch of its rays and I’d scurry for cover. I’d examine streets for shade like a lizard after camouflage.

       My wife wanted children desperately, though how exactly we were going to achieve this without intercourse didn’t seem to enter the equation. We’d been tested and neither of us seemed to have any defect, but I got the blame. My sperm were as bloody-minded as me. As she constantly spurned me, I became convinced she was seeing someone. I even followed her to church, but our car was parked outside. Halfway home it occurred to me that either she met him there or he lived nearby!  Sniffing around her when she returned, she got very uppity.

       ‘Are you turning into a bloodhound, David Hopkins?’

       ‘New perfume?’

       ‘Shut up!’

       ‘Incense in church?’

       ‘Give over, will you? You’re driving me crazy!’

       I went to the doctor’s with my irritable mole.  In the waiting room I did feel it was trivial, even though I was convinced it was cancerous. The female doctor told me inflamed moles were common, especially with middle-aged men. I was just about to announce that I was dying when she dismissed me politely.

       I vowed to tell Hannah that I’d to go for more tests and that it was serious. Maybe pity would open her to me?

       As I walked back to the car in the fading light, I could make out someone in the distance. He had his back to me and was tampering with the bonnet.   I yelled out, ‘Hey!  What are you doing?’  He ran off without turning and I had a curious feeling that he was wearing an old coat of mine, a green frayed one I’d used in the garden.

       By the time I got home I’d convinced myself the man was Hannah’s lover, that she’d given him my coat and he was investigating the car in order to kill me.

       But the coat was there on its peg and by the time she came home from the office, I knew I’d make her feel guilty.

       ‘How did the doctor’s go, Dave?’

       I toyed with my chips instead of the usual hearty construction of a chip butty and crack-jaw gobbling.

       ‘It doesn’t look great.  I’ve got to go for further tests’.

       ‘When?’

       ‘Don’t know.  The hospital will contact me’.

       ‘I’m sure you’ll be okay, Dave’.

       ‘I knew we should have taken out life insurance - just in case’.

       ‘Don’t be so silly - mind, you have got a point!’

       ‘What?’

       I glared incredulously. Pushed aside my plate. Left the table, moping and hurt.  Lay on the bed, curled up.  She joined me - after the news - and stood over me, impatient.

       ‘Why don’t you lie down, Hannah?’

       ‘Dave!’

       ‘Come on, why not?  We used -’.

       ‘One moment you’re dying, the next you want sex! I give up!’

       We didn’t speak the rest of the evening.  Going to bed I stared down our quiet street. Blocking the narrow alley at the end of the close was a figure, under a street light.  He was about my size and as I strained to make him out, he appeared to lift an arm in acknowledgement.  Hannah lay in bed, hunched and self-contained as ever.

       ‘There’s a weird bloke standing over there.  I’m sure it’s the same one I saw messing with our car earlier. Come and see if you recognise him’

       ‘What? - Dave, you woke me up!  Just get into bed and shut up, will you?’

       A look back and he’d gone.  Probably strolled off down the alley.

       I pestered Hannah and eventually she gave in, more to get some sleep than out of genuine interest. She kissed the worst mole and it stung, but I didn’t react.

       By morning it had almost vanished.  It was flat, boring and didn’t look a threat.  When she noticed I claimed it was a miracle.

       ‘You see, sex is good for my moles.  Several times a week and they’ll be cured completely’.

       ‘God, Dave, you’ve turned into a bloody hypo!’

       ‘Yeah, I made up the bleeding and itching’.

       ‘Well, you won’t have to go to hospital’.

       ‘No I won’t, ’cause I made that up as well!’

       Her brown eyes squinted as they always did when she was unsure.

       Later that week she dyed her hair with a yellowy tinge and I got really worried.  As often happened when I was in a quandary, events took over.  My present post had arrived like that, a chance encounter with the man (now my boss) at a struggling computer firm I used to work for.

       I left work early to meet Hannah. I don’t know why but I did have it in mind to make it up to her, if only to destroy her ‘barrier method’!  As I parked close to the plush new office of accountants and solicitors where she worked, I spied him quite clearly. This time it was his back, leaving the building and heading for the County Hall. Just as before, he wore that old coat, only with the hood up. He was hunched and awkward, a gait which resembled my own.

       I wanted to scream out so he turned, but instead all my anger sped me to Hannah’s office.  She was sitting at her desk, calmly talking on the phone, preoccupied till I stood in front of her, hands raised in exasperation.  She made an excuse and put down the receiver.

       ‘Dave!  What the hell’s the matter? Why aren’t you at work? Have you been - ’

       ‘He’s been here, hasn’t he?’

       ‘Who?’

       ‘The bloke.  Him! The man I saw. The bloke from the alley!’ I spat.

       ‘Dave, keep your voice down! For Chrissake, what are you on about?’

       ‘I saw him outside. Who the fuckin’ hell is he, Hannah?’

       ‘Look!  Just stop shouting, will you?’

       At that point one of her senior partners, Richard, came in, attracted by the commotion.

       ‘Everything okay, Hannah?  Oh, it’s you, Mr. Hopkins. I thought it was some rowdy divorcee or something.  I’ll leave you to it’.

       ‘Not far wrong, Richard’, she muttered as he left the room.

       ‘Who is he, Hannah?  I want to know.  ‘You’ve got to come clean!’

       She laughed mockingly.  I felt small as a scolded child.

       ‘Look, Dave, I don’t know and I don’t care.  I just wish you’d stop being so bloody paranoid.  I can’t take much more of it’.

       I gazed deep into her.  She seemed so credible.

       ‘It’s a strange coincidence, that’s all. He keeps cropping up’.

       ‘Maybe he’s a stalker’.

       ‘What, after you?’

       ‘No, he could be stalking you. After all, you were in the surgery and then he has got a thing about your coat’.

       ‘The coat. Yeah, you’re right’.

       And with a curt goodbye I rushed home. If she’d stolen it to give to him, I’d soon find out.  But it remained on the peg as usual, looking unruffled.  I hauled it outside and flung it onto the garden path. I put a match to it and watched it burn, as if I was guilty of a crime and destroying the evidence.  Onlooking neighbours would be suspicious.

       When Hannah returned she soon noticed the coat had gone, its distinctive blue cheese whiff missing.

       ‘What did you do with it, Dave?  Eat it on crackers or something?’

       ‘What?’

       ‘That old coat!’

       ‘Why should you notice it?’

       ‘Just because - ’   

       ‘I set fire to it!’

       ‘What’s the point of that? It was a museum piece. You’re definitely mad!’

       I walked off in disgust, thinking of what she’d previously said. Stalking me?  It didn’t make sense; was she trying to put me off the trail?  I had a mission to finish.  I had to track him down and confront him.

       Lunchtimes - normally sacrosanct - were devoted to his pursuit.  I parked my car at various locations, then walked to a vantage point. There I’d look back and wait to see if he’d tamper with it or snoop. But there was no sight of him.  Sometimes I just wandered around the shops, stopping in doorways and peering back to see if he was shadowing me. I relished this detective work, though it was fruitless. Then my boss asked to see me urgently. He was gentle but threatening.

       ‘Dave, you know I’m a tolerant man, but this is going over the top’.

       ‘What is, Gwyn?’

       ‘This lunchtime business.  Every lunch hour you’re out and you come back late. If you’re meeting someone, for God’s sake do it out of business hours.  You’re costing us!’

       ‘I’m sorry, honest.  I didn’t realise’.

       ‘Just get it sorted, will you?’

       ‘Okay, definite  By the way, Gwyn, how are the boys? Not causing you any distress, I hope’.

       ‘Just worry about yourself.  All right?’

       He knew I had him. His sons had been arrested for criminal damage, but when arrested he’d pulled ropes rather than strings. I couldn’t push him too far, but neither could he risk being exposed. Moreover, what else did our firm produce but roller-blinds for shops? And his two little darlings were actually found smashing the windows of several businesses who hadn’t purchased our products. An odd coincidence.

       I decided to restrict my investigations to twice a week, preferably when Gwyn was out visiting clients.

       Before going to bed I still checked the street. I stood with binoculars fixed on the alleyway, when Hannah came upstairs.

       ‘Dave, what are you looking for? A full moon?’

       ‘Hannah, just give over. He could come any time’.

       ‘Which is more than I’m likely to do. Well, at least it’s stopped you going on about death all the time’.

       ‘No’, I thought, ‘this is a much more vital obsession’.

       On an impulse, the next day I again parked round the corner from her office, this time during lunch. Several people exited, including Hannah herself, which was strange as she always claimed she had a working lunch. I dipped down in case she turned, afterwards realising she’d have recognised our car anyway.

       Suddenly, he came out. No green coat, of course, but a creamy jacket that was unmistakably mine. I saw him from behind, the slouching walk singling him out.  I rushed from the car, sprinted up to him, grabbing and twisting him round forcefully.  I began to punch and swear. He shoved me away and I was aghast. The jacket was nothing like mine and he resembled someone from Hannah’s work. His jittering eyes spelled recognition.

       ‘Er - sorry -I’m mistaken!’ I stuttered, retreating to my car, pale and shaking.

       ‘Hey, come back!  What the hell’s going on?’ I could hear him yelling as drove off.

        That evening I knew Hannah would interrogate me.

       ‘My God, Dave, what have you done now? Mr Symons, one of the accountants, you practically strangled him! You could get done for assault.  It was caught on the closed circuit.  Are you deliberately trying to humiliate me?  Do you want me to lose my job, or what?’

       ‘I’m really sorry, Hannah. I thought it was him’.

       ‘So who’s stalking who? Now you seem to be the bloody stalker, don’t you?’

        I sulked upstairs, out of the way, and scanned the street again, hoping to prove her wrong.  A figure came down the alley, but it was only Jim Davies from up the street, trying desperately to sober up before he got home.

       The phone rang and she answered.  I could hear her murmuring and crept onto the landing, ear low like a child to a railway line.      
       ‘Dave! It’s your mother, she wants a word’. Her tone was ominous.  I hurried downstairs.

       ‘Yes, mum, what is it?’

       ‘David, I’m most concerned. Hannah tells me you’ve been behaving very strangely. Don’t you think you should get professional advice?’

       ‘You mean a shrink?  Okay, what’s she been saying?’

       ‘You accosted one of her colleagues, David.  It’s not like you. It would be for your own good. Maybe you've been working too hard - ’   

       ‘Just leave us alone, mum. I’ll sort it out, honest. You’re right, it’s the pressure of work.  I promise I’ll visit soon.  Now please don’t fret. ’Bye’.

       I put the phone down before she could broach her usual question. It was more than I could face at that moment.  Hannah came from the kitchen, smugness drawn across her features.

       ‘Why tell her?  Why involve her, when she’s got enough to worry about with dad’s illness?’

       ‘Maybe you’ll listen to her, that’s why. You just ignore me’.

       I stood over her with knife-point eyes.  She didn’t flinch, laughing at me without making a sound.

       ‘You think I’m a bloody nutter. Well, we’ll see!’ 

       I returned to my look-out post.  It was a clear night, the full moon at its height.  If she wanted to dub me a lunatic, then the time was ripe. Our street was deserted and quiet as downtown Sunday.  I could hear her guffawing at Victoria Wood on telly. So close together, yet so many miles away. I shifted focus to the top of a slight hill in our Close and spotted a man leaning against a garden wall. There was no street-light where he stood, so I couldn’t distinguish him exactly.  It could be someone waiting for a friend or walking the dog, of course, but he seemed to be echoing my stare. He moved down-hill a little way and it was as if moonlight caught him. The coat resembled the one I’d burned the other day.  It couldn’t be! 

       No rushing. Cool and calculated this time. Passing Hannah with, ‘Going for a quick walk.  See you’.  Sharp kitchen knife slid into my pocket.  Kidnap him, evidence at last.

       But as soon as I unlatched our gate, he put up his hood and began to stride away.  All my intended calm disappeared.  Seeing my prey go round the corner, I ran in a frenzy.  Up the street, round the bend, heart triggering my loathing.  He started to run too and I flung myself at him, dragging him round to face - 

       I pushed him away instantly with revulsion. My own features mocked back at me, grinning. A nightmare? Madness? He was real enough, I could feel. 

       Instinctively, I drew out the knife.  He spoke. I spoke.

       ‘What good will it do to harm me? You’ll only be hurting yourself’.

       ‘Who are you?  I’ve got no twin.  My mother never - ’

       I held up the blade so it almost touched his cheek, defying the mask to slip.

       ‘Do you know everything?’  He sneered and seemed to read every thought as if it were print.

       ‘Why have you been following me?  What do you want?’

       I kept the knife high, but he showed no fear.

       ‘Me following you?  That’s a laugh!  Anyway, I’ve got something you need. We could do a deal’.

       ‘How do you mean. You blackmailing me? Is this something my mum shouldn’t know about?’

       ‘No, it’s here’. He touched his trouser zip.  ‘Do you want me to show you?’

       ‘What are you trying to say, you bastard?’  I lunged the knife at him, but he dodged out of the way, chuckling and pointing accusingly.

       ‘You want children;  I can give you them. Well, not you, but your wife. Tell you what, I’ll give you this coat back and for that I get to screw her till she gets pregnant. How’s that?’

       ‘What? Don’t be so fuckin’ stupid. You’re crazy!’

       ‘No, you’re the one who’s mad not to accept. You can return to your wife after and she won’t know any difference’.

       At that moment I could have murdered him, this impostor, wearing my face as though he owned it.

       ‘Let me go with her and you won’t see me again. Your face will be your own.  If you refuse I’ll be back.  I won’t let you go’.

       A stray dog came along the street, sniffed at his trousers and was about to cock a leg when he kicked it. I knew I had to live with his presence, in the same way I had to come to terms with death. I gave him a hefty shove and he staggered.  He righted himself and hurried off, muttering, ‘I won’t give up!’

       He left so many questions, I couldn’t disentangle them.  My head buzzed.  A twin?  Adoption?  Had I hallucinated?  Did she spike my tea with tablets to induce madness?  Did he think I’d agree to his plan?  But kids - wouldn’t that solve so much?  I even felt a sense of regret.  Perhaps I should have got to know him?

       Back to the childless house. No toys, no photos and cuttings of success.

       His face had been hollower than mine, his eyes sunken and skin more stretched.  He was paler, yet claimed something I’d never possess.

       Back in our lounge, Hannah stood at the window. There was a gap in the curtains. The lights were off.

       ‘What were you up to, Dave?’

       ‘I told you, I went for a short walk’.

       ‘Short walk?  You were haring up the close like a maniac and what’s that knife doing in your hand?’

       I gazed down at the kitchen knife I still clutched.

       ‘It’s all right, there’s no blood on it!’

       ‘Oh, that’s a relief.  So you haven’t actually killed anybody then? Just practising, is it?  Honestly, Dave, I give up!’

       She sank into an armchair.  She’d made a decision. I could read that in her eyes. If only she knew the sacrifice I’d made. After all, I had to live with that man. The stalker, whoever he was.

       I sat opposite her, but she avoided my glances. It was a warm night, but I felt that same icy wave rush into me and remain.  One day you will be nothing, it repeated.