Ideas Above Our Station Read online
Table of Contents
Verso Page
Contents
Aubrey
It’s A Hard Rain
Always Swing Upright
Reading Into
Taxi Driver
The Dress
Middle Spirit
On A Roll
Love Of Fate
The Categories Of Ernest Bookbinder
In Attendance
Side Exit
The Temptation of Pogo
Trying to Find Van Breukelen
Missing You
Author Biographies
Route
Verso Page
First Published by Route
PO Box 167, Pontefract, WF8 4WW
e-mail: [email protected]
web: www.route-online.com
ISBN: 978-1907862-02-1
Editor:
Ian Daley
Editorial Support:
Isabel Galán, Susana Galán, Roger Green, Manuel Lafuente, Tony Maguire, Oliver Mantell, Susan Tranter
Cover Design
Andy Campbell
www.dreamingmethods.com
All Rights Reserved
No reproduction of this text without written permission
Contents
Aubrey by Alexis Clements
It’s A Hard Rain by Penny Aldred
Always Swing Upright by Sophie Hannah
Reading Into by Adam Byfield
Taxi Driver by M Y Alam
The Dress by Charlie Cottrell
Middle Spirit by Michael Nath
On A Roll by Tania Hershman
Love Of Fate by Anthony Cropper
The Categories Of Ernest Bookbinder by Nathan Ramsden
In Attendance by Paula Rawsthorne
Side Exit by Daithidh MacEochaidh
The Temptation Of Pogo by Guy Ware
Trying To Find Van Breukelen by James K Walker
Missing You by Rosa Ainley
Aubrey
Alexis Clements
There were three things that Aubrey did every time that she got home from a long day, or any day, really. First, she would switch on all of the lights in the apartment, the most important one being the long fluorescent light in the kitchen because she was convinced that fluorescent light was a sun-substitute of sorts, in as much as it was really, really bright and always made her feel more awake than all the other dull, yellowish lights in the rest of the apartment. The second thing that she did, after she had all of the lights turned on, was turn on the radio, talk radio, so that it sounded like there was someone else there with her. And the last thing that she did was to pour herself a nice, tall, stiff drink, usually with two fresh ice cubes from the freezer.
She did all three of these things before anything else; before setting down her bag, before looking at herself in the mirror, before going to the bathroom, before laying down on her bed and staring at the ceiling, and even before starting to think about what she would have for dinner. Doing these three things was very important to her, and it had been that way for at least eight years now, maybe nine, maybe longer.
***
‘Hi, John. Hi, it’s Aubrey. Aubrey Haltzman, from Grover Junior High. Hi, how are you? Yeah, I know, it’s been, gosh, let’s see, fifteen, maybe sixteen years. Yeah. I know, I know, it wasn’t easy. Actually I got your number from Suzie Tyler. You remember, Suzie, you two used to kiss in the costume room during drama class. Of course, yeah. She gave me your number. I know, it is weird isn’t it? So, how are you? Doing well, I hope. Oh, you know, I just wanted to see what you were up to. Every once in a while I like to get in touch with someone I haven’t seen for years and find out how they are, see how they’ve changed. Is that a child’s voice I hear in the background? Oh, right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I guess I didn’t figure that this was a cell phone number. Right. Well, no, I also wouldn’t have guessed that you were raising pot-bellied pigs, but that’s what’s so great about getting in touch with old friends. You just never know how people will have changed, and how they’ve stayed the same. Yeah, right, well, okay. So, I hope I get a chance to talk to you again some time. I’ll tell Suzie that you said hello if I talk to her. No, not regularly. I talked to her about two months ago for the first time since I ran into her in Kentucky ten years ago. Yeah, weird, right? Okay, sure. Sounds like they’re getting hungry. You must have to feed those things all the time. Pigs. Crazy. Okay. Nice to talk to you. Okay. Bye.’
***
The man at the counter had been waiting for Aubrey to give him his ticket for three full minutes. There wasn’t anyone else in line behind him and none of the other ticket booths were open. Aubrey went on talking: ‘People don’t really appreciate the aubergine for all that it is.’
‘No, I don’t suppose that they do.’ There was a brief pause as Aubrey sighed, and the man seized the opportunity. ‘Did you have my ticket there?’
‘Oh, yes, sorry. Here it is. The planetarium show starts at three, which gives you plenty of time to do a little bit of exploring before that. I recommend the exhibit on predatory insects. The poisonous beetles are particularly good.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Thank you for coming. Enjoy your time here, and come back soon.’
The crowd on Tuesday mornings was always a bit sparse, to say the least. In general, a rickety old natural history-cum-science museum wasn’t a big draw any time of the week, but Tuesday mornings were particularly quiet, especially since the school groups had stopped coming three years ago because of an incident with the falling whalebone. But Aubrey didn’t mind, she liked the museum, and liked her job there. She liked talking to people about what the museum had to offer. She liked having contact with the public. She had heard that working with the public could be a drag, but she felt it wasn’t so bad. People always smiled and acted very politely, always said how interested they were in her suggestions and that they would be sure to have a look. And they often left with the feeling that they had learned something, even if they would soon forget what that was. She felt she had a purpose in the grander scheme of things, as if she was witnessing the minute shifts that took place in the universe that most people never noticed.
***
‘Hello. This is Aubrey. I was hoping to get in touch with Mavis. That’s right, Mavis Beechum. She was my mother’s cleaning lady for about six years. No, I didn’t know her, not really, but I just thought it would be nice to talk to her. Is she around? Out to the store. Oh, no, that’s alright. But please, let her know that I called, and say hello from my mother. It’s Aubrey Haltzman. That’s my name. My mother’s name is Georgiana. That’s right. Will you let her know when she gets back? No, no, just let her know. Thank you. It’s been nice talking to you. Okay. Bye.’
***
On her way to and from work in the mornings and evenings Aubrey preferred to take the long route, not the quick one. Every day she woke up between 7:22 and 7:27 depending on if she was dreaming or not, or if it was sunny or cloudy, or if she’d had a little bit too much to drink the night before. She took care of her morning business – getting dressed, having breakfast and all of that – and was out to the bus stop by around 8:04. Then she would wait for the bus to come, as it usually did between 8:13 and 8:26. After taking the first bus into town then she had to switch for a different bus that went out around the park, which usually took about twenty-eight minutes, and then she would catch a third bus which would take her to the taffy factory, two blo
cks down from the museum, getting her into work at roughly 9:38, or thereabouts. She did the same thing to get home, except in reverse. She preferred the long way to the quick. She didn’t like trains very much.
The only time in eight years that she was forced to take the train was about a year and a half ago when her bus pass fell through a hole in the lining of her jacket and she had to run back home to get change, which caused her to miss her first bus, which meant that she wouldn’t make the second or third buses either, and wouldn’t make it into work at her usual time unless she took the train.
That day on the train she ran into Sidney. Sidney had been working for the museum when Aubrey had just started. Aubrey only got the job because a professor of hers had mistaken her for someone else, she had never made much of an impression in college. Sidney was working as a janitor there and didn’t seem to make much of an impression either. She hadn’t seen Sidney since starting at the museum and had never really liked talking to him.
‘Andrea,’ he never got her name right. ‘Is that you, Andrea?’
She didn’t respond to him. She held her bag tighter and tried not to make eye contact with anyone else on the train.
He stood and came closer. ‘Andrea, right? I thought it was you.’
She hugged the bag tighter.
‘You still working for the museum? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on the train before. I ride it all the time. You must be running late.’
She wondered how he knew.
‘You haven’t changed a bit. Are you still selling tickets? I figured you would have left that place by now, got yourself a job doing something else, at some big important place downtown, a smart girl like you.’
She looked down at his shoes.
‘That old museum hasn’t changed a bit since I left. I brought my grandson there a while ago and it’s just the same. Don’t think the new janitor’s doing his job though. There were lights out in the astronomy room and dust all over the apes.’
He had on old-man shoes with Velcro instead of laces. He used to wear laces. Aubrey wished she hadn’t dropped her bus pass.
‘Seems like people wouldn’t want to look at the same stuffed apes year after year, but they never complain, do they?’
She would sew the hole in her pocket up at lunch, sew it three times over again.
‘Well, nice to see you. I’ve got to get off here. I’m working at the bookbindery now. I clean up all the extra bits of paper that get sliced off the edges to make the books nice and even. I like the smell of the freshly cut paper.’
Aubrey didn’t look up to see him go.
That was the only time that she had missed her buses.
***
‘Marjorie? Hi, Marjorie, it’s Aubrey. Aubrey Haltzman. I used to come into your shop all the time. Aubrey Haltzman, you remember don’t you? I used to love your shop. You do? Do you really? Yes, with the yellow ribbons, that was me. I know, ages. Ages. I looked it up in the phone book. I remembered your name from the deliveryman who used to come and you would have to spell it for him every time because he always got it wrong. Ages, I know. How are you? Oh, he did? Really? Well, I’m sorry to hear it. I’m sorry about that. I can understand. I can understand that. My gosh, that’s too bad. Really. Oh, no, I keep to myself, pretty much. I work at the science museum. No, no, that’s the big art museum. No, I work at the science museum. Well, then you should come visit. It’s a great place. There are a lot of other things to do, that’s true. I know. You know you always sold the best chocolate bars. It’s true. Well, I guess they are pretty much the same. Oh, well, you had better go and take care of that. I’m so glad that I got the chance to talk to you. Okay. Bye. Bye.’
***
Sitting in the kitchen with her drink resting on the table and the radio chattering in the background, Aubrey began to carefully read over the letter that she had been working on for a while now, a few months really. She wanted the letter to be just perfect before sending it to the director of the museum. She knew it was a long shot; she knew that it wouldn’t be easy to convince anyone that the aubergine deserved its very own display case, but she thought it was worth a try, at the very least.
She first had the idea for the exhibit about eight months ago, about six months after missing her bus and around the same time that she switched from regular, cheap Scotch to the expensive kind. She was in her favourite grocery store, wandering through the produce area, thinking about all the different things that she could eat in the coming week, all of the different vegetables that she could include in those meals, and one vegetable kept appearing in the back of her mind: aubergine. She had always had a certain affinity for the aubergine. It was such a nice vegetable, the deep purple colour and the thick green stem, that lovely organic shape, and the hefty feel of it in your hand. It was a significant vegetable, as opposed to a shallot, for example. A shallot, in the grand scheme of things, was a relatively insignificant vegetable. But Aubrey was never sure what to do with an aubergine, so she had never bought one.
On that particular afternoon she approached the speciality vegetable section as she normally did, carefully observing the vegetables that the ordinary shopper didn’t have the time for or the interest in. Aubrey was certain that she was no ordinary shopper. She stood in front of the speciality vegetable section pondering the choices available to her, the time and skill that their individual preparations required. And as she stood there one of the produce clerks approached with a cart full of boxes. He saw her silently contemplating the food options before her and after a brief pause he said something that Aubrey couldn’t quite understand, his heavy Slavic accent distorting the words.
‘What was that?’ she asked.
‘I zed, ef you can’t dezide, take ze ekkplant.’
She thanked the man for his advice and watched as he nodded and pushed his cart further down the aisle towards the apples and bananas. What an odd man, she thought, as her hand reached out and picked up the largest of the eight or so aubergines lying in a basket at the rear of the case.
When she arrived home from shopping, after having turned on all the lights and the radio, with her tall, stiff drink in hand, she took out the weighty aubergine and placed it on her cutting board. Taking a chair from the table she sat down opposite the vegetable. For roughly twenty or thirty minutes she remained there, sipping her drink, staring at her newly acquired aubergine. She hadn’t had much real contact with eggplants in her past, no vast pool of experience to draw on, no insights or interesting tidbits of information. This was new for her, a new experience. She was excited, aroused even. She finished her drink as she contemplated the purple thing in front of her.
Eggplant parmesan was the only meal that she had ever heard of that featured aubergine as the main ingredient. She wasn’t sure if she had ever actually eaten eggplant parmesan, but she had definitely seen it on menus in restaurants before. Pleased with the idea, she pulled from her refrigerator a half-full bottle of week-old spaghetti sauce and a faded canister of parmesan cheese. She wasn’t sure exactly how it would work out, she didn’t have a recipe for it, but she felt inspired, and so, into a small baking pan she placed four thick slices of aubergine, doused them in sauce and cheese, put them in the oven for as long as it took for the top of the cheese to turn golden brown.
She was disappointed with this first attempt, it tasted only of old spaghetti sauce and cheap cheese. She was dismayed to have turned a speciality vegetable into such an unspecial mess. Thus began her mission.
The science museum had a library near the back of the building, behind the boiler room/employee cafeteria. And so, during one of her lunch breaks not long after her first aubergine attempt, she made her way back to the library to do a bit of research. There was no official librarian, just an older, deaf man who kept things tidy and made sure that people didn’t steal. Aubrey went over to the ancient card catalogue and began searching for a card on eggplant. Without much searching she found just the thing she was looking for, Ode to the Aubergine, by
Sir Thomas Hancock. Taking the card with her, she walked down one of the many rows until she came to the ‘H’s and with the aid of a small step stool, she plucked the book from its place on the highest shelf.
Every lunch for the next month was spent poring over the pages of the book, which she unfortunately couldn’t take home because of the library’s strict no-borrowing policy. Each day she would leave her counter, her purple notebook in hand, find her way through the maze of corridors and displays to the old library, where she would sit, diligently taking notes on every nuance, every subtlety, everything there was to know about her beloved solanum melongena.
The aubergine, refined cousin to the potato, had a noble and exotic history, having travelled from deep within the Orient into the kitchens of the world despite its originally quite strong and bitter flavour. After years of careful breeding and cultivation the aubergine evolved into a much more subtle and palatable vegetable appreciated for its variety and heartiness, its density and whimsical colouring. Aubrey was sure that she had found something worthwhile, something that had a role in the grander scheme, that spoke to the heady world of science as well as to the hearts of man.
Occasionally the little library man would come around and peak over her shoulders to see what she was reading. She would have loved to tell him all of the fascinating things that she was learning, but he would not hear it.
After two solid months of rigorous study and bi-weekly attempts at various recipes Aubrey felt that she knew everything that there was to know about the aubergine. She was now, perhaps, the foremost living authority on the subject, seeing as how Sir Thomas Hancock had died approximately one hundred and twenty-six years earlier. It was at this point that she began drafting her letter, the letter proposing that the museum devote an entire display case to the aubergine, the eggplant, solanum melongena. She had written seventy-three drafts of the letter before coming to what she felt was a concise, articulate, and compelling argument for the aubergine. It was a long and arduous process involving many drinks and interrupted by many calls to check up on past acquaintances.