Amnesia by Carey Peter

Author:Carey, Peter [Carey, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Literary, Thrillers, Technological, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780345814906
Publisher: Random House Canada
Published: 2015-01-13T08:00:00+00:00

FELIX MOORE’S PRESENT RESIDENCE had been built on a sandstone outcrop which, in the shadow of lantana, and in secret places beneath the floor, looked like a fine-ground concave lens. It showed silky sedimentary lines in mustard and ochre, but when he wanted some pretty rocks to secure his papers against the wind, there was no sandstone of a useful size.

The rocks that finally held his fluttering papers were dark reddish-brown, volcanic and blobby, or quartzy, sometimes white, streaked with black veins. They did the job, holding his information fast through two lashing storms, although nothing could be done about the rain which had, during the second “weather event,” blown straight through the hut, causing him to flee up the ladder to the bed where he sought the comfort of the previous tenant’s padded overalls.

Now he was confronting the resistant nature of the information in the carton. This was not, in any sense, a “source.” It was the sort of shit schoolgirls left in their abandoned bedrooms, old projects, medals, ribbons, school reports, VHS tapes, CDs, lipsticks, thirty types of cassette tapes of bands they were ashamed to say they ever liked. These tapes were not music. He knew that from the start. The microcassettes were Gaby’s, the motley lot Celine’s. On and on they talked, on and fucking on, invisible to the reporter, without an editor to rein them in. Other presumably vital evidence was provided by spiral-bound books with pasted photographs and scraps of art, larger books with brown paper pages not unlike those “guard books” they used to keep in the advertising departments of newspapers, awful old ads for dreary suits held in place by so-called “milliner’s solution.” A flat airless soccer ball might have lifted his spirits, but instead there were enigmas beyond all understanding e.g. a book with a hand-lettered title in Flintstone block capitals. WANK, it said. This caused the pathologist to play unhappily with the scraggly edges of his moustache. What would it serve to open this unsavoury door?

In “The World of Wank” (as it was subtitled) each of the pages had another glued on top of it. Their distinctive fold marks suggested they had been through the mail.

<ROOM ANTECHAMBER

(LOC ROOMS)

(DESC “Small Room”)

(EAST TO LIVING-ROOM)

(DOWN PER TRAP-DOOR-EXIT)

(ACTION ANTECHAMBER-F)

(FLAGS RLANDBIT LOCKEDBIT)

(GLOBAL STAIRS)>

RLANDBIT, he thought, LOCKEDBIT, he thought. AGENBITE OF INWIT. U.P.:UP. FUCK YOU.

Time passed. There remained just two casks of Hunter Valley red to deal with. He had found a single stick of pale blue chalk inside his overalls and with this he drew a circle on the floor and placed the book inside it.

The water slapped against the shore. Ah hate this place. All ah hear all day is them damn waves, floppin’ down. What garbage he carried in his head. There seemed no order or meaning in the contents of the box, but this was all he had been given, like his too long arms and too short legs. He turned off the mother and increased the volume on the daughter, and

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