The Mark and the Void by Paul Murray

Author:Paul Murray [Murray, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2015-05-29T23:00:00+00:00

In the mirrored wall of the lift I examine myself. Bila clings to my lapels and shoulders, glowing faintly like magical dandruff. I brush it away as best I can, though I can do nothing about my eyes, which are red and streaming, and instead of a sophisticated gallery owner make me look authentically deranged. Nevertheless, as I descend, I feel exhilarated, transfigured, as if I have found my way at last into Paul’s unwritten book, waiting here all along at an invisible angle to the truth …

The café is empty of customers, and in one corner the chairs have been lifted on to the tables. ‘We’re just about to close,’ the blonde waitress tells me.

‘I have a message for Ariadne,’ I say.

The girl goes to fetch her. A moment later Ariadne emerges from the kitchen, carrot peelings stuck to her hands; what a thing, to envy a carrot peeling. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she says, in what strikes me as a slightly louder voice than is necessary. Behind me I sense her golden-haired colleague stop what she is doing in order to monitor the situation.

‘Yes,’ I say, trying to maintain my composure over my pounding heartbeat, the bila chattering in my veins. ‘I just wanted to …’ But my attempt at an apology is exploded by a violent sneeze, and my apology for this first sneeze is overwhelmed by a second, even more violent, which ushers in a fit of minor sneezes and sneezelets. With a tsk of concern, Ariadne hurries over with a bouquet of paper tissues.

‘Thank you.’ I dab at my eyes, which are streaming again.

‘You have a cold,’ she chides, going behind the counter then returning a moment later with a mug of herbal tea. ‘You boys are all the same, you don’ take care of yourselves.’

‘Thanks.’ I sniff again, taking the mug. It seems Ish’s aphrodisiac has played its part after all: my copious sneezing rules me out as any kind of threat, except as a disseminator of germs. I drink my tea, surreptitiously take in her dark beauty, shimmering against the backdrop of the rain-teeming window. Everything is just as it should be; my line presents itself as if I have the page right in front of me. ‘About the other day.’

‘Don’ worry,’ Ariadne says. ‘Your Dr Cyrano has come in and explained everything.’

‘Who?’

‘Dr Cyrano – the psychiatrist?’

I roll my eyes, then realize this makes me look more bipolar. ‘Oh yes, of course.’

‘He told me about this experimental drug you’re taking that makes you act weird around women?’

‘Yes, that’s right, the experimental drug. However, I have stopped taking it now. In fact, I am completely cured.’

‘Oh, that’s great!’

‘Yes, I wanted to let you know. And also to apologize if I alarmed you.’ I pause, looking down at my knees mysteriously. ‘There was something else I wanted to ask you.’

‘Oh?’

‘It relates to your paintings.’

She lights up. ‘You want to buy one?’

‘It’s a bit more complicated than that. If you have a few minutes, maybe we could

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