carrying a mop and brushes. I didnât have time to check if I was bloodstained. I probably was. Maybe people donât care any more. Maybe in the modern world blood is no surprise. But me I was always old-fashioned.
â Housekeeping, she said.
â But Iâm still here, I said.
â This room is not occupied.
â But Iâm here, I said.
I was trying to sound very hopeful, like I always do. She looked in and I suppose she maybe saw a pair of naked feminine legs. She looked at me. It was just about plausible that I was a mini donjuanish type, or at least Iâd like to think so.
â They said you gone, she said.
â Weâre leaving, I said.
â Ten minutes. Ten minutes, mister.
It was probably then that my plan became obvious to me, which I still believe was a plan of carefulness. I was thinking that there were maybe two or three things that were true. That I needed to get Romy some medical help, that I needed to do this unbeknown to the hotel authorities, so that possibly it would also remain unbeknown to Candy and my parents, and that speed was very necessary. It was a difficult trio but maybe not impossible. I wanted Romy to be OK and I wanted to return to my ordinary life, or at least the possibility that such an ordinary life existed.
in the manner of many catastrophic myths
I suppose other people have their ways of thinking this through. I know that in such a situation my father would calmly acknowledge the presence of the Devil, for although he is not so devout he has his symbolic moments. For him there is a prosecuting spirit everywhere. I think this is in fact one of my earliest memories, standing in my water wings, waiting for my father to return from shul so that he could take me to the swimming pool. My father very softly and very secretly believes in devils, and while I have never managed to be quite persuaded, as I say this it does occur to me that I often fear many monsters. I call my devils monsters and in the end perhaps thereâs no big difference. I remember the ancient mutant monsters in the national museum and they make me very fearful still, those pictures of the green god and his dog-god of judgement, the devouring god with his crocodile head and the single feather of truth. Although at least the dog-god stays down below, in his alabaster hall. Whereas this scene in a hotel room felt more like what happens when the gods decide to lope up their ladder to earth, and when they do, they kill you. Have you ever met a god? Itâs like this. They just canât help themselves. Theyâre very sorry, the gods, but they are going to fuck you up. Like the child-eating goddess who would very much like to but just cannot, really cannot stop herself from guzzling your little daughter. Or like the gods who once demanded that three temples should be built for them in one night. But dawn, so goes the record, came too soon â and therefore these aforementioned deities appeared and smashed the scaffolding up, like gang-rape footballers.
but nevertheless he does his best
So I began the crazy project of delivering Romyâs body privately to the care of trained professionals. It was kind of the time desperation of being on a Game Boy with the battery run down to zero when youâre poised to triumphantly enter the Hi-Score table. But obviously also worse. It was like time was gone, but also stretched. As gently as I could I dragged Romy, under the armpits, so that her legs flopped onto the floor beside the bed, then lowered her torso to the ground. It wasnât totally easy but still it was easier than dressing her in her dress again. That was like dressing a difficult toddler, like maybe a toddler whoâs overtired and isnât wanting to leave the dance class. Her arms were difficult and her legs were suddenly longer than seemed possible. Still, I dressed her in a way. But before we could leave I realised that first I also needed to make the room look