#WAIT I WENT THROUGH THIS WHOLE POST WITHOUT MENTIONING THE MAN IS PICO. PICO IS WHO THIS POST IS ABOUT

[michaelbartram]

Illusion

Chapter 2

 Originally Claudio had persuaded Felicia to live with him (at some inconvenience given their differences) to discourage her from sleeping with anybody else.

He did not love Felicia. He was fixated on her. Obsessed. Above all, he dreaded losing his young girlfriend.

But the cocaine nights were getting to be a problem. The chaos was making their life together untenable. ‘Out with friends’: what a mountain of youthful idiocy the phrase conjured.

It was 8 o’clock in the morning. Felicia had just come in, still off her head. Yet to come down, when she would lie with her face to wall, so bleak and guilty.

Before she’d arrived back, despite anxiety about her night-long absence, he had been shaved and showered, his maroon silk dressing gown on, coffee ready. He’d been about to start the day. She stumbled in, half-falling off her heels, traces of white powder up her nostril, flinging her jacket over the kitchen stool.

Then the high-speed monologue. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been enjoying myself! We had such a laugh. The cab driver was an idiot. He tried to overcharge me, said it was a night fare because I’d been out for the night. Idiot. Bel was there. She’s come out. Her parents have banned her. Well, you know what they’re like. They’re such good Catholics they’d lick the Pope’s bare arse. She’s in love – not with me, don’t worry! With this woman – she was there for a bit till she punched this girl who was coming on to Bel and the bouncers came for her. Bel asked how you were – you know, how we were. She’s of the firm opinion, Claudio, especially now she’s a militant lesbian, that all men are idiots. But I said, what can you do – I meant what can I do – if I don’t fancy women. Do you know what she said, she said that she only started fancying women when she was seventeen. A woman hit on her and she liked it – a whole lot! And when they did it, you know, she was much better than any man. Think about that. I might try it. Only joking! Anyway, after this first demon girl lover, Bel said she found men’s picos ridiculous, that’s before you even get to what men are actually like, I mean their characters. I said, they’re not all bad but I have to admit Claudio is a bit of a shit!’

‘Ah, well that’s nice,’ said Claudio. ‘How very edifying it all sounds.’

Felicia twisted her face into a mask of clichéd scorn – a ‘new’ expression – Claudio could swear it didn’t exist in his youth, a generational tick for cynical times.

‘Darling,’ he said, ‘your opinions when you’re this far gone aren’t worth a dime. That’s all I’ve got to say.’

‘Don’t come over all moral with me, Claudio. You like a drink with your fancy friends when it suits you.’

‘Felicia…’

‘Anyway,’ she went on, biting into an apple she had snatched from the fruit bowl, ‘at least I’m faithful to you.’ She sat down and flung her feet up on another chair.

He turned away on the pretext of pouring his coffee. This he hadn’t expected.

He prepared his own mask and turned. She fixed him fiercely. ‘You, on the other hand, Claudio. Do you know what you are – a love cheat, a typical porteño. You don’t see yourself as a generic Buenos Aires skirt-chaser. You’re too “civilised”. Precious vegetarian in a country of meat-eaters. Poet. Novelist – except that you haven’t had a novel published for years. Living off the income from your grandparents….’

‘Leave my grandparents out of it. They were hardworking Jewish immigrants who…’

‘I will leave them out of it!’ she shouted, thoroughly fired up. ‘I’m talking about you.’

‘What about me?’

‘You’re a cheating, middle-aged ponce, with your out-of-date grooming… your shiny shoes, your manicure. Your hair with grey flecks all done up in a sweep to make it look thicker.’

‘I’m not listening to this.’

‘You better listen, cheater!’  

‘You’re contemptible,’ he muttered.

‘Deny it, hijo de puta! You know all the tricks. You did it with me. Some low-lit bar, you all world-weary. Putting your head to one side. The flickering eyelashes. The candlelight gleaming in your slimy, cheating eyes. You toy with the stem of your glass. You swirl the wine with trembling hand. You utter some deep and meaningful bollocks. Next thing it’s back to her place. And then she’s in for a real disappointment. But Claudio has another one to write in his little book. I bet you’ve got a book by the way. I’ll find it… I bet…’ She slowed, looked down to the floor and suddenly seemed to fade before his very eyes.

‘I need some coffee,’ she said.

He poured her a cup. She put her feet down, sat up and sipped slowly and thoughtfully. Staring down she whispered into the cup, ‘Little cup, why does he cheat on me? Aren’t I good enough for him?’

He moved over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Felicia… these nights out… the drugs… you get things all wrong… it’s got to stop.’

And that Claudio did believe – even if mainly for selfish reasons.

Felicia said, ‘Claudio, I’ve been thinking about Arcadia…’

‘Oh, not that…’

‘Yes, that.’

Later, as she came further down and grew sad and anxious, a better atmosphere arose between them. They went through to the bedroom. His love-making was intense. Her response was tender. Afterwards they lay quietly together.

‘I’ll get clean there,’ she murmured, burying her head in his naked chest. ‘Then I’ll make a new start back here in Buenos Aires. I’d already thought of that when Lazar was here but I wasn’t ready. I was in denial. Now I’m ready... Oh God, I shouldn’t have gone out last night… Never again.’                                                                                                                                                                             He murmured approval, suppressing his scepticism.

Nevertheless… Might there be something to be said for Arcadia? Did the abstinence rule offer hope? Maybe if the two of them could be away from everything in a place where she couldn’t get cocaine, she could find out she was better off without it and be a little more amenable.

They continued to lie side by side. Claudio stared up and saw… Arcadia.

He projected on to the ceiling the image of a graceful mansion set in a natural paradise. In the centre of it all, a ‘clean’ Felicia, devoted, available day and night. His heart beat faster. Perhaps, with plenty of time at their disposal, they would feel relaxed enough get into some seriously interesting sex games. He closed his eyes.

‘By the way, Felicia, did you already know Lazar?’

‘No. He’s your friend. What makes you ask?’

True answer: suspicion of Lazar; suspicion of Felicia; jealousy of any man in Felicia’s vicinity.

‘Nothing… just a thought.’

‘Do you think I’ve met him somewhere and fucked him?’

‘Felicia. No.’ It was precisely what he was wondering. ’You know, my love, I’m coming round. I have to say Arcadia beckons to me now. It could be good for both of us. Truth to tell, I’m a bit jaded myself.’

‘You’ve changed your tune. That’s good.’

He needed her again. He moved his hand ‘expertly’ between her thighs. There was a pause. He smiled his winning smile. As he lifted himself on to her she looked up past his shoulder at the pale ceiling which had held his dream.  

Afterwards he said, ‘You call Lazar, will you? I don’t always feel like talking to him.’

The call was made and Lazar visited the next evening.

As soon as he had settled himself at the table with maté Lazar picked up where he had left off.

‘There’s no clear definition of what to take with you to Arcadia. You use your taste and imagination. You wouldn’t be invited if you didn’t have taste and imagination!’

‘Isn’t it a bit… boring?’ asked Felicia.

‘It depends how you define boring. Competitive games are not allowed. I know some people would hate that. Their main idea of a holiday is to find someone to thrash at tennis or golf and while away the evening at billiards or poker. No, no golf course, no tennis or badminton courts, no croquet, no bochas.’

‘So what is it,’ asked Claudio, ‘meditation and yoga, all that stuff?’

‘Absolutely not. Climbing, riding, boating, collecting flower and rock specimens. Theatricals. Flirting – with the utmost decorum. Do you enjoy flirting, Felicia?’

‘What Argentine doesn’t flirt?’ she replied. ‘Men are worse.’

‘Anyway,’ continued Lazar, ‘The idea is to re-create the way the English aristocracy entertained themselves in their grand houses a century ago.’

Lazar and Claudio had studied English literature at the boarding school they had attended together which, though Jewish, had been modelled on British lines. Dickens, Robert Louis Stevenson and Agatha Christie had always been a shared reference.

‘Then why no croquet or billiards?’ asked Claudio. ‘Surely they’re essential along with drink – tea-time Madeira, port when the ladies have retired after dinner.’

‘A good question. I will swiftly answer it. Significant as is the Victorian, Anglo-Saxon “dream” at Arcadia, there is another idea which is even more important. From this there can’t be any loss of focus due to people messing about or getting drunk.’

‘Good heavens,’ murmured Claudio, ‘what is it?’

‘I mentioned it to you before, Claudio. No machines.’ Lazar leant forward and spoke with sudden intensity. ‘No cars, No gadgets. No transistor radios, calculators, electric razors and hair curlers.’

‘What about watches?’

‘The exception. A modern thing allowed at Arcadia because, like Yorick’s skull in Hamlet, a watch is silent and helps philosophical thinking. Apart for that no post, no telephone, or cameras of any kind,’

‘What about the Victorian masters of photography: Fox Talbot, Julia Margaret Cameron? They did all their work in country houses.’

‘Wait, Claudio, I’ll explain.’

Felicia was fidgeting. ‘Come on you two, this is getting boring. We don’t need the finer points.’

‘Felicia is right,’ declared Lazar. ‘There is only one central point. The machine. Arcadia is fixed in the past, but, let me tell you, a past that was heading for a different future from what actually happened. A past that said no to machines except the simplest. Any machine that is incapable of being understood or repaired, come to that, by an ordinary person is an enemy. Alienation. Marx, Marcuse and all that. Remember? None of this “harnessing science” rubbish. Computers: shit. Machines that we can’t understand are shit. They make idiots of us. People are slaves to them.’

Felicia got up and, leaning her forehead against the window, stared down at the traffic-choked street. ‘Rush hour… Look at them all.’

Lazar, sitting across from Claudio, was drumming his fingers on the table. ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘if you take binoculars to look for that condor, they will have to be antique. An ancient brass telescope might be more in keeping.’

Felicia turned from the window. ‘Let’s decide once and for all, Claudio. After a day like today I’m feeling that computers are shit too. Let’s get away from this pollution, from all this noise and mess. The city stinks. We can’t get rid of the cockroaches here in the kitchen. I need a break. It sounds all right.’

‘Well…’ Claudio rubbed his chin.

‘While you’re thinking about it,’ said Felicia, ‘why don’t you offer Lazar a tinto.’

Claudio silently cursed that this would mean he would have to endure Lazar’s company for longer, but he was not averse to a drink. ‘I’ll open a bottle,’ he said.

He got up and headed for the wine rack. He busied himself. The cork popped.

‘Tinto, Lazar?’

They drank. Before long they were on to a second bottle.  Claudio rustled up some food, partly to get away from the intensity of discussion with Lazar. While he cooked, Felicia and their guest went into the other room and seemed to be swapping Buenos Aires gossip.

Outside, darkness fell. The moon pushed its way up over the muddy Plata into a sky rancid with police sirens. The windows were wide open but Claudio felt no trace of a cooling breeze. Staring out, spatula in hand, he thought again about Arcadia. A contrast… luxury, quiet… Heaven maybe…

‘Lazar,’ he called out, ‘Are you hungry? I will be honoured if you will sample my vegetarian stroganoff.’

When they came through Claudio asked Lazar casually, ‘By the way, will you be at Arcadia this summer?’

‘No, I’m staying here in town.’

This decided Claudio. ‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ he murmured.

He put the food out. Felicia poured more wine.

‘Buen provecho!’ said Claudio. ‘Thank you for your idea, Lazar. We have overcome our doubts. We cannot resist your blandishments. We are ready.’

The three raised their glasses to Arcadia.