THE WATERMARK Here he was, Thomas Drew, about to start his new life!

He looked down as the plane banked over the blue sea, turning to come in to land at Faro Airport. And as it turned and leaned over the land, Thomas could see a series of blue pleasing shapes between the blocks of houses, which he suddenly realized were actually swimming pools. The few times he had flown, had been when he and Julie had gone on package holidays, always to Torremolinos, always in the same hotel, always with Julie's sister Rose and her husband Phil. He'd never once got the feeling of adventure. They'd spent most of the time by the swimming pool, and at night they would drink themselves silly with a crowd of Brits, who also went there every year. But now he had the feeling of an adventure! He also felt very nervous; he was doing something he wasn't sure about, He was trying to get it into his head: he was going to be a teacher of English! Carl, his best friend since school, had said there would be a job for him starting Monday. He had also reassured him, as only Carl could, that it would be easy he just had to teach from the book. And after all it was his language, not theirs. And what better background could he have; fifteen years in a library; well! But the thought of standing up in front of a class.... him a teacher...? But,he kept telling himself he just must. When he and Carl had met at school, aged eleven, they had been unlikely friends very different characters. While Carl had been outspoken, out-going (full of himself, some said),

Thomas had been quiet, shy. Carl was good at sports, which Thomas hated. Physically, Thomas was shorter and broader, while Carl was tall and slim. Their friendship could not have thrived, had it not been for the one thing that had always bound them; their love of books. They both had been great readers with similar taste. They would read stuff and pass it to each other. First it had been the adventure stuff; the Famous Five, and Sherlock Holmes stories, and such like, but later, it had been those modern classics popular with coming-of-age teenagers; titles such as: Lord of the Flies, Catcher in the Rye, To kill a Mocking Bird. Carl, at school, had been full of pranks and forever in trouble with the teachers. Which made him very popular with the wilder kids, and he soon became the leader of a gang, and because Thomas was Carl's friend, he was tolerated, though some of the gang treated him like a trail of slime, and would have crushed him, if he hadn't been Carl's 'catch fart,' as they called him. As teenagers they had dreamed about being famous writers; well, Thomas probable more than Carl. Carl had all sorts of wild dreams; he wanted to do and be everything so many dreams, so many lives, so many places to go, adventures to have, women to love, to write, to act, to paint, and maybe, a pop star! He imagined himself having a Byronic-troubadour existence, which he had lifted direct from the pages of books! Sometimes he and Carl would go for walks on the Yorkshire Moors. They would take a picnic and their books and paper, and play poets in rapture! Carl would take his guitar. And they would sing and drink cider. They would talk of all the stories they would write... making up their plots

while they roamed the carpeted, purpled with heather, swelling hills. How they laughed and squirmed over the details; the glee, the horror, the adventure, as if it were all at that very moment happening to them! Their dreams matured with their friendship, and it was agreed they would, in fact, each write a great book! Though neither of them had at that time produced very much. They both wrote bits and pieces, which they would read to each other. Carl had managed only to write a few song lyrics, poems, and short stories. While Thomas, had started a few big books, but even now, after all those years, he had only succeeded in writing twelve chapters of a novel which he had with him based on his father's World War Two experiences. His father had seen the worst of it, and had been stationed in France after the liberation. He had died when Thomas was ten. After school it seemed Carl ripped up life's rule book, which he thought, didn't apply to him, anyway. To Carl, life should be like sitting in an open cockpit of a fighter plane whoosh! Thomas found a job in the local library, while Carl took a little better paid job in a warehouse. Thomas was quite satisfied with working with all those books, and thought it a good start for a would-be writer. Carl liked the money he earned, but couldn't stick the work. He began chopping and changing between a bunch of wack-jobs. At weekends they would go out, get quite drunk, and try to pick up girls. When they were around twenty years old, Carl suddenly announced he was going hitch-hiking around Europe. A few weeks later he just gave up his job and took off! Thomas thought he would be gone a few months and would be back

when the money ran out. Then Carl wrote to say he'd settled in Rome, working as an English teacher. The next year he was teaching in Greece, then it was somewhere else, and this continued. Now ten years later he was teaching in Lagos on the Algarve. At first, Thomas had missed his friend badly; he wasn't very good at making friends. He would sometimes go out with people from work, but it wasn't as much fun as with his only real friend... Carl came home rarely, full of crazy stories. He'd stay for a couple of weeks, and then be off again. He had never been the family type; he came from a large family, with four older brothers who bullied him rotten, and whom he was happier away from. He had become, what he called himself: a bird of passage! When he was home he would continually urge Thomas to quit his job and join him. Although, Thomas thought about it, and sometimes told people he would be going soon, he never did. 'What had Sally Owing a girl he worked with at the library said to him after he had talked for so long about joining Carl, yet, never had? 'You're too Bovine, Thomas! You will never leave!' To Thomas it seemed like too big a step; he had grown up, as an only-child, and was still living with his mother. Plus, maybe he was a little afraid; he thought Carl was the type of person who didn't think about the consequences of his actions; the type who got an idea and went for it, with little forethought or planning, and that had always made him nervous. When Thomas was twenty five, and while out one night at a disco, he had met a girl called Julie. She became his first real

girlfriend. Within a year they were married; she'd told him she was pregnant the wedding was three weeks later! But she didn't have the child she said she'd lost it! Carl, the next time he came home, and after a night out together, had accused her of tricking Thomas into marriage; he called her a snare, said it to her face! What a showdown that had been they argued like thorns. He couldn't now remember what had sparked it off. But Julie, after that, refused to see Carl ever again. She had called Thomas weak, for not standing up for her. Thomas had found it easier to pretend he wouldn't see Carl again. 'If he doesn't respect your wife why would you want to see him?' Thomas lied to Julie, just to keep the peace. Whenever Carl came home on one of his infrequent visits, Thomas would tell her he was going out with people from work. And he never told Carl that he wasn't supposed to be seeing him. Then out the blue, and all at once, a lot of things happened to Thomas. After four years his marriage ended, with Julie having an affair with a jerk called Norman. Then the next year he lost his job, when the Library made him redundant. Depressed and lonely, Thomas moved back with his mum. But after about a year, desperate for a change, he wrote and asked Carl, if there were still a chance of taking him up on his belated offers. What did he have to lose? Here he was thirty years old, unemployed, divorced, and living with his mum. He felt he had wasted enough time. He had his redundancy money; he would go to Portugal, be back with his old mate, live the life of a writer, and finish his book. So here he now was! And if it all went wrong, he could

simply return; though, the idea of failing and retuning sent a cold shiver down his spine. He had rather talked up his move to all the people back home the big break and all that.... As he stepped out the customs' area, there was Carl waiting for him. He looked different. They hadn't seen each other since Carl's last visit, about two years earlier. He looked leaner, suntanned. His blonde hair was long and sun bleached. He wore cut-down denim shorts, a white thin cotton shirt, and brown leather sandals. It was hot and Thomas felt over-dressed in his grey slacks, and dark suit jacket. They shook hands smiling, and Carl told him he had borrowed a car from a friend of a friend and he had to get it back, but they would be able to relax and get something to eat and drink when they got to Lagos. Carl drove the brown Renault Four, while telling Thomas about Lagos, the job, and the house in which he would be staying. Lagos is a small beautiful seaside town, with great beaches, though, invaded with tourists in the summer. The job wasn't so well paid, but you could live from working a five-hour day, and three day week, and you could always pick up some private lessons, or even ask for work more hours. He told him, he and a group of people a little crazy but nice had just rented a large house right in the main square, and Thomas would have the best room at the top of the house, with the patio right outside his door. Thomas told him a little more about what had happened with Julie.... Then a thought suddenly occurred to Thomas. 'I didn't know you drove Carl!'

'I don't!' he laughed. Thomas laughed, too, but felt nervous, What if the Police should stop them? It was typical of Carl. He wondered what a friend of a friend meant.... He forced himself not to think about it. Instead, Thomas spoke about being nervous about the job, but Carl reassured him it would be no trouble. 'They know you are coming, and I told the headteacher you've done a bit of teaching in Britain; they are short staffed, so wont want to see any qualifications. You only have to follow the curriculum from the book; a piece of pie really!' They drove into Lagos. Thomas was impressed by the size of the great stretch of curving beach beyond the sand dunes, and the towering dramatic cliffs he could see on the other side of a little harbour, complete with colourful little bobbing fishing boats. Carl parked the car on the main road, then they walked Carl carrying one of the two bags for Thomas into a busy main square, which was lined with the tables of cafs and restaurants, and strewed with stalls selling cheap jewellery, paintings, and other tourist stuff. They went down a small side-street and into a small bar called 'Lost Nights'. The bar was dark and cool, and empty, but for a middle aged guy small, going grey at the sides. He was sitting behind the bar looking vacantly out the window smoking a cigarette. 'Hi Carl!' he said in an Australian accent when they came in, 'How'd you do?' 'Yeah, no problem.' Carl gave him the car keys. 'This is Thomas, Casey.' They shook hands.

'Hi Thomas! So you made it. Coffee or something stronger?' 'I'll have a beer, Casey,' said Carl. 'Me too,' said Thomas. They put down the bags, and sat around for about half an hour filling in Thomas on the day to day life of Lagos. Then they left and went back across the main square to a small house door squeezed between a caf and a shop with t-shirts on racks outside. Carl opened the door with a key and gave it to Thomas, saying, 'This is yours!' They went inside, and along a dark passageway with doors to the left and right, then up a flight of stairs and into a kitchen area, with more doors to other rooms, one of which was Carl's. Carl pointed everything out to Thomas, explained the the cooking arrangements, showed him the toilet and shower, then they continued up another flight of curving stairs, and stepped outside on to a Patio, from which there was a skyline view of down town Lagos. On the patio there was a long wooden table with white plastic chairs, and a window and door to a small room, which Carl pushed open, and they entered. Inside was a low double bed with a blue quilt, a chest of draws, a small table and chair. Carl put down the bag on the bed, and said he'd get a couple of beers. They sat chatting and drinking on the Patio in the sunshine. Then voices could be heard below, and two faces appeared from the stairs. 'Hi!' they echoed each other, when they saw Carl and Thomas. 'Guys, this is Thomas, and Thomas this is Greg and Kent,' said Carl. 'They are a kind of Canadian double act, who

really don't know how funny they are!' 'Watch it, Teach,' said Greg, 'remember we still owe you money!' 'You see what I mean.' said Carl. They all laughed, and they both shook hands with Thomas. Greg and Kent were very young; around twenty or so, fresh faced, with great mops of dark curly hair. They had brought beers up with them, and they took chairs around the table. Carl explained to Thomas that they both worked at the most popular bar in town: Hot Rats, which, like most of the bars in Lagos, was where crazy things happened, and it was the workers job to encourage it to happen, with outrageous drink-like-fish games. And Hot Rats even employed people to throw pails of water down from a gantry in the rafters to keep the frenzied tourists cool. 'But we're behind the bar,' said Kent, we're not your common aquarians! 'No, we're your common alcoholics!' Greg said. 'So, what's new?' Carl asked them. 'Well,' said Greg in a playful announcer's voice, 'It's thirsty Thursday again! And we all know what that means....!' Carl explained to Thomas, that Maggie, an American, and a real lush, who had a room off the kitchen, worked six nights a week in a restaurant, and her only night off was Thursday. When she would hit the town, drank herself paralytic, then the next day would awake to find herself in strange places, and/or in weird situations, and unable to remember anything from the night before! People would have to tell her the outlandish details of her night's escapades and adventures. Several items of her underwear were, at this very moment, on display in a couple of the bars!

Thomas laughed at some of the following narrated antics she had got up to! This was really going to be an adventure, he thought! Nothing like this ever happened back home. More people began arriving on the patio. Thomas was introduced to an array of men and women of different nationalities; some were from the house, but others were friends of the house, or Carl. One woman in particular, introduced as, Amanda, caught Thomas' attention. She was very beautiful. She had a prominent forehead, dark hair, incredible brown eyes, she was tall, slim, with, a heavy tan. She told him she painted, and had a couple of rooms on the ground floor. Someone went out and bought more wine and beer. And Kent lit a small round barbecue, and filled it with sardines. They ate them with chunks of bread. Then Greg and Kent went off to work. It began to get dark, but no cooler. Thomas was regularly refusing the spliffs being spun on the table. Carl, years ago, on one of his visits, had tried to talk Thomas into trying it, but he didn't like the idea of losing control. He noticed Carl smoked more than he drank. Everyone talked and talked, and laughed, and Thomas, was sometimes lost in the conversation, unable to follow some of the themes. It became very loud and animated! At one moment a guy called Ron got down on the floor as if he were about to do some press-ups, but then did a strange slow motion imitation of a lizard complete with hissing and shooting tongue that sent everyone into hysterics! As the evening wore on the table thinned out to a smaller group, who were obviously Carl's more intimate friends. The talk became less chaotic, and more interesting. Thomas was surprised and transfixed by the conversations of Carl and his

friends, though a lot of it went over his head. They would one minute be talking knowledgeably about such topics as The Volga Vikings...? and the next minute about the Delphi Oracle. Carl, to Thomas' amazement talked for what must have been an hour or more about Quantum Physics. He talked of Dancing Wu Li Masters, neutrinos, probability patterns, and the Uncertainty Principal it sounded like mysticism! He couldn't figure out how Carl knew so much about it all. In the occasional letters he'd had from Carl, no interest in this kind of stuff had been remotely mentioned; not the slightest hint of it. And he also noticed Carl now used strange expressions all the time: 'I burn to do this, and I grok that.' Thomas wondered where all that had come from.... As the night progressed to early morning, Thomas began to feel very tired, and rather drunk. He said his good-nights and went into his small room, fumbled out of his clothes and lay on the bed listening to the conversation, until he heard someone suggested they all go to some place to hear some Fado. Then it was quiet, accept for the sound of music coming over the roof from the main square. Thomas drifted into sleep. He was awoken a few hours later by gales of laughter coming from the rooms downstairs. He could hear the voices of several people. There would be moments of silence, followed by squirting sniggers, then shrieks of subversive merriment, and laughter that leapt like leopards. Thomas listened till it went quiet again, and he could sleep further. He awoke once more with the urge to go to toilet. The house was quiet, so he got up pulled on his trousers and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen.

There, to his utter shock, lay a blonde girl on the couch, out cold, naked except for a very small pair of pink panties, with her hands and feet trust up with layers of brown duck-tape. And what a mess someone had made of her...! There were all kinds of ornaments, ashtrays, candlesticks, and such, heavily taped to parts of her body, giving her a half robot look! And the whole of her milky white body had been illustrated with graffiti and childish drawings! They had given her a clown's face with lipstick. On her large breasts were drawn squadrons of Second World War aeroplanes involved in a dog-fight! Intricately drawn, in coloured pens: front views of on-coming Spitfires; propellers spinning, spiting red tracer bullets before them. Planes with swastikas spiralling down in flames off the curve of her breasts! Thomas was aghast, and didn't know how to react, he was embarrassed by her nakedness, he wanted to go back to his room, but the pressure on his bladder forced him into the toilet. By the time he came out he had decided he would free her he couldn't just leave her like that! He bent over her and began trying to pull the tape from her hands, but was getting nowhere. He looked around the kitchen and saw a large knife on one of the worktops. He took it up and tried getting the blade behind the tape to cut through it without hurting her. But it was difficult because of all the stuff taped to her. As he was pulling at the tape the clown's face suddenly came to life, the eyes sprang open, saw the knife in the hand of a stranger -- a semi-naked stranger and began to scream like a burning soprano, which deafened Thomas and made him jump back!

He tried to calm her. But her panic stricken eyes saw only him and the knife. She struggled frantically, but unable to move she screamed ever louder for her life, she thought she was about to lose! Suddenly, the doors to the kitchen began to burst open and there was Carl, Greg, and Kent, standing in their boxer shorts, and from the stairs below came the guy called Ron, followed by Amanda wearing a very short red satin wrap. As Carl took in the situation, he removed the knife from Thomas' hand, while Amanda ran to Maggie's side for that was who the weeping girl was. Greg and Kent had looked at each other, and burst into uncontrolled laughter. Thomas was shaking. Carl was trying to tell, the now sobbing Maggie, that Thomas was the new lodger. Thomas began apologizing, telling her he had meant her no harm; he was only trying to cut her free. It took a long time to calm her down, and get her loose. ***** So that was how life was at 'The Love Shack,' as it started to be known around the scene. From day today Thomas found it curiouser and curiouser! The house -- a mix of bar workers and artists, and hangers-on would from day to day swing from merely strange to utter madness! The next day, it seems Carl had had words with Greg and Kent, and one or two others in the Hot Rats, about the stunt they'd pulled on Maggie. He told them they had gone too far! And they say, it had almost come to blows, when one of the bar staff made a sick joke about Maggie and Carl! Well that was at least typical of the old Carl, thought Thomas; he was always

chivalrous! And he hated bullies! Over the following days Carl showed Thomas around the town, taking him in the bars and introducing him to whoever they met. Sunday after taking coffee on the square, they strolled down to the beach to one of the beach-bars the place to be where every Sunday a lot of the off duty bar crews hung out, drinking, playing volleyball, or swimming. Monday, was Thomas' first day at school, and even though he was really nervous, everything went without a hitch, just as Carl had said it would. He only had to spend a little time looking over the planed lessons to understand what was expected of the students. He had only five hours a day, three days a week. His working day was from twelve until five. The classes were small, a maximum of eight students, mostly in their twenties. The lessons were only forty five minutes long, which enabled him to sit in the garden and smoke a cigarette, and prepare for the next lesson. It only took a couple of weeks for Thomas to really get the heft and hang of it, and he found himself actually enjoying it. His days were from Monday to Wednesday, from two till seven, while Carl worked from ten until three Tuesday till Thursday, so sometimes they met over coffee in the school garden. He got the impression Carl was a little aloof from everyone there, which he couldn't understand. Greg and Kent had, after the incident with Maggie, started referring to Thomas as Norman Bates, or just Norman. Whenever he appeared they would mimic the music from the Psycho shower scene; 'DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!' Thomas took it stiffly, would force a sliced smile; he felt uncomfortable around them. He was becoming an easy tease. Greg was dry and sarcastic, while Kent was more jolly with

his banjo-playing-smile. Both it seems were a couple of blades with the ladies. Whenever he came home he never knew what would await him; they seemed to have an unending reportage! A theatre of indiscretion and bad taste! But he also realized they were just young, and weren't really bad guys. And when they were alone each became more agreeable characters. Amanda, the painter lady, Thomas thought interesting, but they rarely met. She spent a lot of her time in her studio on the ground floor, or trying to sell her work from a stall in the square. She was reserved, and except for Carl the only one invited into her studio --- she didn't mix much with the people in the house. Thomas would say hello when he saw her on the square, surrounded by her pictures; mostly of the harbour. But Sundays, she was always a part of the scene at the beach-bar. Always wearing a skimpy light blue bikini. Thomas couldn't keep his eyes off her, and she always swam topless. After a week or so, Carl stopped taking Thomas out. He said he was cutting him free leaving him to his own devices that he should start to explore Lagos for himself. Thomas thought Carl had really changed over the years. He thought about how he used to be how they used to be, and then how he was now. He thought about that first night on the patio had Carl put on a show for him -- with all that talk of Quantum Physics and stuff was it all to impress him? It was obvious Carl was popular here, as he would be anywhere. He always seemed to have people to meet, or somewhere to be. Sometimes he would be gone for a couple of days or for a long weekend on the West Coast; 'to get away from the tourists,' he'd say. He would always show up

just in time for his lessons at the school. Greg would tell Thomas, 'Carl having another dirty weekend teaching beach!' Or 'He's getting jiggy, or throwing shapes on the West Coast with one of his students!' Thomas was also having trouble with the weather. He was always too hot! The sweat would run into his eyes, and his shirt would stick to him, sometimes it was just so irritating..., and at night it was difficult to sleep...! He would lay on the bed with the window and door open, trying to let some air into the hot little room, which would also let in all the sounds coming from the packed square: the monotonous sound of the panpipes of the Peruvian musicians, or the bars playing loud rock and roll, and the voices of the crowds from the square humming like a hive of giant bees. When it all became too much, Thomas would walk down to the beach, or to the Rooftop, a bar, Carl had shown him, which was actually on a roof top, and was cooler, and you could listen to the Fado singers till the early morning. This was where many of the barworkers came after work another one of the places to be! The streets were crowded with tourists so full you had to walk very slowly among them. Carl would sometimes suggest different places for Thomas to go where he could eat at reasonable prices. Thomas would follow his instructions of how to get there, and he would end up in some god-awful, grubby, little place in the back streets, where no one spoke English, and he didn't feel safe. At which, Carl would laugh when he told him. So he had begun eating at the more expensive places in the square, or along the promenade. He had his redundancy money, and the money from the school, so felt he didn't have

to economise. During the day, when he wasn't working, he would hang out in the cafs or go to the beach bars, or to Lost Nights to drink a beer and chat with whoever was working there. Evenings, Carl would often turn up at The Rooftop with a woman, or a group of friends, whom Thomas had never seen before. Carl would introduce him to them, as his friend from England. Most of them would ask him if he was on holiday. He would make a point of saying he worked here it sounded good not to be a tourist. These people were always arty types, who Thomas found hard to talk to. He felt something was being measured in him, or against Carl. He wasn't sure if he was up to that... Time seemed to be going fast. And he was spending most of it alone. He began to feel he didn't fit in! Felt excluded from everyone, and Carl just didn't seem to be Carl! He had become an unknown element. Whenever he met people, who Carl had introduced him to, they would always finish up talking about Carl! And the things they said about him never sounded like the Carl he knew. It was as if they were talking about a total stranger! ***** The thing to do and place to go on Sunday afternoons was down to the beach-bar; the scene switching from the cafs of the square in the morning. Those who arrived first always got the shady places to sit under the awning or the outer standing large umbrellas, which had waiter service, and was where the in-scene always sat. Thomas, so far, had always come too late, to get any table, and had to sit frying in the hot sun on his towel on the sand

wait hope to get a place in the shade, and feeling out of. It wouldn't be long before he'd take-off back over the dunes to the shade in town. Thomas had decided he wasn't really a beach person. But this particular Sunday, Thomas set off early, determined to get one of those comfortable places. He was so early, there was only a couple of tourists sipping long cold drinks. He ordered a cheese toasty and a beer, and sat under one of the umbrellas closest to the awning, so as to be near to where the in-scene would sit. Half an hour later, as he sat reading a book, Amanda appeared. They said hello, and she sat under the awning quite close to him. She was wearing a bright red warp over her blue bikini. They had hardly spoken more than a few words since he'd arrived in Lagos. Now she asked him about the book he was reading. He passed her the paperback. 'Eyeless in Gaza, I never read that one.... is it any good? She was reading the summary on the back page. 'Is this one also brave and new?' Thomas smiled and said 'I don't know, I haven't read enough to decide.... it jumps about a bit. Carl gave me it -he thinks its good!' 'Oh! Well,' she smiled, 'then it must be good he's read almost everything!' she said, with mock conclusion in her voice. Yes,Thomas thought, he had noticed Carl's shelves of books in his room. 'And you, too, I expect,' she added? 'Carl told me you were a bookworm.' Thomas didn't deny it, even though he hadn't read so much in the last years, much less after he'd married Julie! She wasn't a reader, and had begrudged the time he'd spent reading she thought it was boring! She liked her TV.

'Do you read much?' he asked. 'Not as much as I would like.... more when it gets slow on the square, then, I can get through two or three a week. But not so many in the Winter, cause I'm mostly painting for the Summer.' 'I like your paintings!' 'Do you? I don't!' 'You don't?' He said surprised. 'No, it's really not my thing, but it pays the rent!' 'Do they sell well?' 'Reasonably. You know... if they can hold it up in front of them, and compare it to the harbour to their left, then they might buy it. So, essentially, I paint the same picture over and over! Always sunrise, sunset my only fun is moving the boats about. All I'm really doing is selling plastic dreams from a stall. It can get really, really boring! You know, you can just look straight through those pictures.... The stuff is so accessible that if you did actually hang it on a wall, in a couple of weeks they would look so dead and finished.... just like looking at dirty wallpaper!' Thomas laughed. 'Carl told me you were also a writer.... are you any good?' Amanda tested. 'I don't know! What did Carl say?' Amanda laughed, although Thomas hadn't meant it as a joke. But he quickly smiled to take advantage of the serendipity. Smiling, Amanda said, 'Well actually he doesn't really know; he said he hasn't seen your stuff for years. He's been waiting for you to show him something... 'Well, he didn't ask! Thomas heard the snap in his own

voice. 'Well, that just isn't the way... Carl's under the impression that you will show him something when you are ready!' 'Did he say that?' 'In so many words.' Thomas was silent as he thought over what she'd said. 'Well, Thomas, you should give him something if you're ready.' 'Sure,' he said, I have a few chapters I'd like him to see.' He asked about Carl's writing. What had she read? 'Most of the short stories and a lot of the book.' Short stories! Book! Thomas was surprised. Carl had said nothing, he hadn't asked him to read anything he felt totally let down... He thought about his own writing, The truth was, he hadn't touched his book for a couple of years he could still hear Julie taunting him 'You and your Fantasy book!' a left jab to his chin! The mood at the bar changed as people started arriving; bar people with a few hours, or the whole day, off; the crew from the Hot Rats, including Greg and Kent, who came and sat under the awning. One group had began punching a ball to and fro over the net on the make-shift volleyball court. As the terrace became quite crowded, Amanda moved over to Thomas' table. Someone passed her a joint, which she pulled on a couple of times and passed to Thomas. Who surprised himself by accepting it! But, after pulling on it selfconsciously a few times, he'd passed it on, he felt nothing..., and concluded the stuff was overrated! Amanda said, she wanted to swim, and asked Thomas to look after her bag. As she headed for the sea she pulled off her warp. Thomas, entranced, scanned her small brown

twitching buttocks, her swaying hips, and her long slim bare back all the way down to the water, until she dived, and disappeared into an almost flat blue sea. 'DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA- DA watch out guys Norman's lining up his next victim!' Greg joked. Kent and one or two others laughed, but most of them didn't seem to get it. Thomas couldn't help laughing! Well, it was funny! He felt quite relaxed. His eyes and thoughts went back to Amanda bathing. As Amanda returned, She picked up her bag and told Thomas, she was going to take a walk along the beach. To his surprise, he heard himself asking if he could join her. Sure, she said casually lifting her shoulders. As they were leaving, Greg and Kent were nudging each other, and giving Thomas undisguised winks, which he hoped Amanda hadn't seen. They walked slowly, close to the slow lapping water. Thomas felt an urge to hold her hand, but in the end didn't. She asked him about himself. He told her about his life with Julie. Had he been happy, and why was he divorced? Thomas avoided most of the gory details of his break-up, and said, they had simply grown apart. She asked about his friendship with Carl: when and how had he and Carl met? What was he like at school? Was he always a good writer? 'Well,' said Thomas, 'neither of us ever really wrote very much: a few short stories and poems, and such it was more just kids dreaming we didn't have much to write about!' After ten minutes or so, she stopped walking, and asked if he'd like to sit awhile. They spread their towels next to each other and sat watching the sea. She made a joint of pure grass, and passed it to him. He took it, but coughed each time

he inhaled it. But nonetheless, suddenly he could feel its pleasant effect, very calming! He asked her about her life, and listened without questions, while she spoke in a matter-of -fact way about herself. 'The Black Sheep Story,' she called it! Middle class; well, lower middle class, from Middle England; daughter of an engineer. She had studied art in Liverpool, then moved to London to 'live in poverty' the starving artist bit; offgalleries, communes, jolts around Europe, then married her biggest mistake! never again a disaster movie! A junkie, who wanted to possess her and bring her down to his level. But she had been saved she looked thoughtfully out to sea for a moment before she carried on 'he over dosed!' She had then begun to focus afresh on her painting -- a kind of meditation. 'Art as religion!' Really! She loved her own real painting! She said it was maybe time to return to London to concentrate again on her own work. She thought most people didn't understand art. 'Who was it said, ''The philistines be upon thee?''' Thomas wished he knew. 'Being cultured,' she thought,'was something like coming to terms with oneself you had to have asked certain questions of yourself, looked at yourself in a certain serious, objective way... and maybe we artists are the ones who ask, and try to answer all those hard kinds of questions with our expressions...' For her it was how she escapes the mundane, and stops her thinking about all the silly conventions. He found her talk intoxicating he was impressed. She spoke knowingly and richly, she quoted people: Wilde, Nietzsche, Camus, Proust. He had never met this kind of woman; this was the stuff of novels. Although he had the ambition to be a writer, and had

worked with books for the last fifteen years, he wasn't, in fact, so well informed. When he thought about those last fifteen years: well, he didn't know what to think about those years... At first, working at the library had been like a child in a sweet shop: reading everything, but spoilt for choice. But then he had just slowed down. The true readers were the regulars in the library; it was they who had prompt his choice of books with their endless enthusiasm, and inquiries and searches! Amanda talked about her love for the sea the beach. But how she loathed the swarming tourists in the summer. And how every Thursday she takes the day off, lets a friend takeover her painting-stand in the square, and heads up the coast to the nudist beach. She told him how this beach, though not very far away , was in fact, away from everything; the tourists never find it! She packs lunch and a bottle of wine, and spends the whole day just soaking up the sun. And if it gets too hot, there is plenty of shade from the dramatic cliffs. 'You should come along,' she said, 'a bit of chill-out-time would do you good!' He said he would love to join her. Thomas' imagination zoomed off the edge of reality! He saw himself making love to her both naked in one of these shady places! He lay next to her on his stomach, she on her back, her bevelled brown body exaggerated by the shadows cast by the strong sunshine. She suddenly sat up, and said, she was going to give him a massage. Thomas was overwhelmed, He enthusiastically turned on his stomach, and she straddled his back with her long brown legs, and began gently kneading his flesh. Her hands seemed to melt into him. A current like a wave of electrons smoothed him out and put his stoned

mind into the alpha state a singing moment. He lay there his mind buzzing, dreaming of making love to her on the nudist beach, and telling himself that when she was through with the massage he would take her in his arms and kiss her. But in fact, when she did stop he felt so stoned and unsure of himself, he didn't have the courage to take the situation to its natural conclusion. There was a moment when she looked at him in silence her eyes so penetrating eyes that seemed to be full of that same fluent energy that now sought his inner self. But Thomas looked away. That had been the moment to act; ahe felt it had been an invitation, which he had let pass. Later he cursed himself for not following his inclination. He was baffled and maddened at himself. 'Why was he always so timid?' As they walked back to the beach-bar he became very aware of his body; it seemed he somehow moved more smoothly and nebulously over the sand back to the bar. There was a volleyball game in full swing. Carl was now among the group sitting under the awning. Thomas and Amanda took their chairs, which Greg had saved for them, and soon they became absorbed into the stream of repartee, laughter, dope and beer with the others. Thomas sat with Amanda by his side feeling more relaxed than he had felt since his arrival in Portugal. He sometimes had to struggle to keep his thoughts off her and on the banter. Then he gave up! He couldn't take his eyes from her long, brown, shapely legs. He was sure she knew he was watching her. He thought her the loveliest creature he'd ever met! His stay in Lagos finally seemed to be turning into the adventure he had hoped it would be. And he also thought the smoke was interesting it wasn't as he'd imagined it! not like alcohol hard to

describe... But it certainly lightened everything up! The world seemed to be expanding in front of him, and his soul seemed to stretch in response! Later, leaving, Amanda, Carl, and he were a part of a group walking back to the town over the sand dunes, Carl and Amanda dropped behind and were lost in talk. Thomas feeling happy hummed to himself; now Thomas never hummed...! That evening, he took the manuscript of his book to Carl's room who looked surprised. Thomas didn't say anything about his talk with Amanda. 'Just tell me what you think don't pull any punches. I can take it!' Thomas said.' Carl didn't say much, only, 'Yeah, yeah, sure Thomas. And I've something for you.' And he pulled a manuscript out of a draw by his bed. Thomas read the title. It was a collection of short stories 'Stories Lost and Found.' ***** Thomasa didn't see Carl until the following Wednesday. They met at the school, and during a break they took a coffee sitting on the patio by a small lawn. Thomas was excited to know what Carl thought about the chapters he had given him. He had read Carl's stories; he couldn't believe how good they were! Stunningly good! He had read them in one sitting, long into the evening! He couldn't put them down! They were so imaginative, intelligent, full of love, sex, drugs, travel, and ironic wit! He found it hard to believe these stories, with their rich almost flesh and blood characters, could have come out of Carl's imagination the Carl he had

known! 'I loved your stories, Carl! I couldn't put them down! I read them in one night! 'Really! you liked them?' 'Yes, really great Carl! I loved them all! You must really try to get them published. I'm sure they'll jump on them!' 'Well, I am working on that. A friend of mine is trying to get an agent for me she says it's the way to do it. I may have to move to London to help it along, though! 'Oh! London! Well, I'm sure you'll have no problem. I loved them all... And the novel, is that ready?' 'No, not quite, but it won't be long, a few more chapters. I'll let you look at it when it's there. 'Did you get a chance to look at mine?' Thomas asked. Carl's face became that of a messenger of gloom. 'Well, Thomas, you told me to be honest.... I.... it didn't really work for me.... Some of it was good, but I thought, maybe it's the subject matter... It was your dad's war, after all! Your heart didn't seem to be in it! It had all the dates, but I didn't feel the characters could have been real people... you tell us who they are, and what they did, but they don't seem to feel what is happening to them they don't seem to become who you say they really are... you know, what keeps them awake at night...? Thomas looked drained. A long mulish empty look hung from him. 'Mmmm...', He couldn't raise his eyes to meet Carl's. 'I must look at it again,' he mumbled. 'Well,' Carl ventured, bending and taking some papers from his briefcase. 'You should see what's good about it, and work with that. I made some notes for you to look through..., but if

they don' make sense, you should just ignore them. But added, 'that's what it's all about, Thomas! I've done so much rewriting... you wouldn't believe it! Thomas was overcome with disappointment, he had expected Carl to be enthusiast. He sipped at his coffee, hoping to cover up his welling feelings. 'Sure, I mean, I'll go to work on it. It's not even a first draft anyway, and I think I need to do a lot more research...' 'Maybe you should try some shorter stuff....' 'Mmme,' was all Thomas said. He felt torn! 'So, Amanda told me you were getting stoned on Sunday!' Carl said, changing the subject. So now you're a weed-bird! 'Yeah,' Thomas said through a forced smile. 'I really liked it, I felt so relaxed..... I wanted to ask you where I could buy some. I have a date with Amanda tomorrow at the nudist beach, and wanted to have some to smoke with her. 'You have a date?' Carl looked surprised. 'Yeah, she invited me last Sunday. It's not far is it? 'No, ten minutes on the bus.' Carl was quiet for a moment before he added, 'You can get some smoke from Casey, or ask Kent or Greg.' There was a sucking silence. Thomas then asked Carl if Amanda was seeing anyone. Which Carl answered sharply by asking, 'Didn't you ask her?' Thomas looked at Carl, then said Angrily 'Well, no, I didn't the situation didn't arise. What's the problem, Carl? Listen Thomas!' said Carl, 'Amanda....you know... she's a. free agent.... And yes, a bit of a flirt, But she doesn't do boyfriends...! So please, just don't get too serious with it! That's all I'm saying!' Thomas found this so condescending, he snapped 'No, you

listen, Carl! I like Amanda yes, she's maybe a free agent but I also think she likes me! Although, you don't seem to think that's possible! Or are you afraid she might be just trying to snare me, you know, like Julie...?' Carl looked shocked, he shook his lowered head, then raised it, and said simply, in a calm, and controlled voice, 'fine!' He stood up and simply walked away, leaving Thomas shaking at the table, and nursing his cold coffee. ***** The next day Thomas took the bus to the nudest beach. Someone at the school had written the name: Porto de Mos on a piece of paper, to show the driver when he paid. He sat in the nearest seat to the driver, so he could be easily signalled where to get off. He had a small rucksack with him, in which, along with his bathing stuff, he had a bottle of white wine, and a small package of raggy looking grass he'd bought from Casey in Lost Nights. The bus ride was along the very dynamic coastal road west. To his left was always a frightening drop of the high cliffs, and sometimes a small cove and a beach. To his right only steep hilly, dry, red, sun-burnt fields, with the occasionally villa, or hotel. There seemed to be a diamond sparkle to the day. Ever since the experience with Amanda on the beach his mind had been occupied by her. He wanted so much to make a closer connection to her. But in that little whisper corner of his mind, he was also thinking about Carl. He hadn't seen him since their disagreement yesterday. And he regretted what he had said to

him. After all they had been best friends for so long blood friend, Carl had once called him. But, he felt sure Carl was wrong about Amanda. As for the criticism of his writing, he thought Carl was right. He had read his chapters again after reading the notes Carl had written for him and the good comments and bad ones all made sense. And he wanted to tell Carl this, and that he was determined to work on it all again. But there was also the news that Carl would soon be leaving for London when he thought about it, something delicate and lonely welled up in him had he lost his only real friend? He felt a hollow sob in his chest. And Amanda, too, had said she wanted to leave. Which meant he would be friendless here in Lagos. He had the feeling his life was being pushed into a dark stairwell. The bus ride took only about ten minutes. Where the driver told him to get off, there was no sign designating a bus stop, nor the name of the place. But he saw a little cove and the beach below. This was the place. Amanda, had been right; there were very few people: maybe twenty naked bodies lying on the beach taking the sun, or strolling along the water's edge. Thomas scanned them: and there she was! Lying on her front, exposing her slightly lighter tanned buttocks to the burning glare of the sun. He thought to shout to her, then changed his mind, thinking it would be cooler just to appear before her. He noticed there was another towel laid out next to her. 'She was expecting him!' So, it was correct what he had said to Carl: she did like him! He hurried along the cliff looking for a way to get down. He came to a place where a thick rope attached at one end

to a strong metal ring, set in concrete in the ground continued over the cliff edge. The rope then threaded three or four dangling, metre and half long, sharp metal rods like large sewing needles. It was obvious that these rods, at one time, had served as a rail, but being so flimsy had been dislodged from the cliff. So they served no purpose, which left only the rope! The cliff must have been about fifty feet high. Thomas looked at the forty-five degree slope that went down about ten metres, then there was a large bulge, which the rope disappeared over. Was it a sheer drop after that? He walked to the left and right of the rope, but couldn't get a view over the bulge. He walked further along the cliff hoping to find a better way down, but the cove soon came to an end. He walked fearfully back to the rope. He couldn't believe it. Was this a trick on the nudists of whom they; the Portuguese, disapproved of or a Portuguese compromise? To provide a place for nudists stuck out in the middle of nowhere (out of sight), and make it an obstacle course to get there no wonder there were so few people here! Thomas stood looking down the cliff terrified, then over to where Amanda was now laying on her back with her wonderfully shaped, proud standing breasts, and a dark thin line of pubic-hair exposed to both him and the sun! A battle between terror and lust began within him. Should he just go back to Lagos...? It wouldn't take long to walk..... He could just tell Amanda that he was unable to make it some excuse... But it didn't take longer than a couple of minutes for lust to win-out! as it always does with young men with a lot of testosterone pumping through their systems!

Thomas reasoned that Amanda, and those other people all got down in one piece...! So reluctantly, and mumbling oaths and blasting Christ, he took the rope tightly in hand, and began backing down over the edge, and then down the acute slope.... He noticed a series of footholds had been cut into the side of the cliff, which he could use. Slowly, shaking ignoring the dangling rods he reached the bulge, he could now see over it to where, it did indeed, become an almost sheer drop of about three metres, before the forty-five degree slope continued down. He began edging his way over it, trying to keep his body as near as possible, at a balanced angle to the cliff. Then suddenly both his feet slipped, which caused his hands to begin to slide down the rope. His reflexes made him grip the rope tighter, which managed to stop the sliding, and a fall. He crashed painfully against the cliff! But hung on for dear life! The rope-burn to his hands was excruciating. With a blistering racing heart, and his raw hands he gingerly managed to lower himself down the rope to the next slope, then finally down to the beach. Falling to his knees, he struggled out of his rucksack, and rolled onto his back exhausted, sweating and panting! The next thing he did, which is always the case in these circumstances, was to look around to see if anyone had been watching his undignified decent. Luckily it seemed no one had. He sat in the shade of the cliff inspecting his chaffed raw hands, and eyeing Amanda, who was now only around fifty metres away. When he had recovered a little, he picked up his rucksack

and strolled over to her, trying to look as casual as possible, although his hands were afire, and he was still shaken, and sweating. His only worry now was about getting naked in front of her! He had put his swimming trunks on under his shorts, because he didn't want her to see him in white yfronts 'uncool!' Amanda was lying on her front again, head in a thick paperback, wearing nothing but her wrap-around shades. He stopped a few paces to her right and said 'Hi!' Her head turned towards him, but said nothing, for a moment she didn't seem to recognize him. She took off the shades and said 'Oh hi!' She half turned her body, propping herself up on her arm, exposing her truly amazing breasts to his stare. They seemed to have a life of their own! 'You came!' she said. 'Yeah,' he said looking away, 'the cliff was a bit of a surprise....' 'Mmm, you have to be a bit of a mountain goat, don't you!' she smiled. 'But, you found it, alright?' 'Yeah, it's not very far. Have you been here long?' 'No, about an hour or so.' Thomas wanted to lay down on that towel at her side, but felt too self conscious to ask or just do it. He wanted her to invite him, but she didn't! He put down his rucksack, and took out his own towel and spread it about a foot or so from hers. He took off his shirt, and slipped off his sandals, then slowly took off his denim cut-down shorts. He sat down on his towel about to take off his trunks, when a large shadow fell on him! He looked up to see a very large! No! a giant naked man standing over him! Thomas gave a little jump. The guy had massive muscles,

and looked like the Hulk. Not green, but dark-brown from a heavy tan. His face was large with wooden-like features, like one of those American-tobacco-store Indians, and his sheer bulk and bearing reminded him of a ships figurehead! 'Hi!' The Hulk said, then, 'Bom dia!' Amanda introduced them. She said his name, but Thomas didn't even try to remember it; it didn't register, he was too taken-aback by this presence. 'He doesn't speak English,' she said. The Hulk smiled at Thomas, then sat down on that towel on the other side of Amanda, and began stroking her shoulders. 'Jesus!' Thomas thought. He was completely gutted! He felt the blood rising to his face. It burned like his sore hands! Amanda, spoke in Portuguese with the Hulk, while glancing around at Thomas, who sat looking like a very peeved gargolean hare. She was obviously explaining to the Hulk Thomas' sudden, and it seemed, unexpected appearance! He felt as if he had been pole-axed! He felt ridiculous, like some worthless discarded toy. He didn't want to be there. He got up, still in his trunks, and said he was going down to the water to freshen up. His emotions came soaring up to the surface, his eyes filled with tears. 'You bloody fool!' He drifted slowly down to the water's edge, it was as if he were walking through the very wreckage, of what earlier had been images of his burning desire for this woman! 'Why,? Why? Why?' He halted mechanically. Stood dazed before the large ferocious waves as they crashed nosily onto the beach. Echoing the blood thundering in his ears, brought on by the waves of his turmoil and despair dashing against his slowly crumbling stunned consciousness. He bent and bathed his stinging hands in the salt water, then

cupped them to his tear-wet face salt to salt! What he did next, and why, he would later reflect on, and be unable to work out! Was it the anger, the humiliation, or just the desire to disappear from sight as he looked around and realized people were staring at the only person on the beach who wasn't naked? He felt something twist inside his straining brain, it suddenly snapped like a metal ribbon with the vibrations that follow vibrations like a tuning fork that ran the length of his torso and out along his limbs! He wasn't a strong swimmer (not seaworthy), and the height of those bloody waves would normally have scared the hell out of him. He remembered he heard the cry of a gull like a siren, just before he ran for the surf. He dived over the top of a metre and a half breaking wave, and disappeared into its curl! It whirled him like a dead fish in a washing-machine, scraping his back along the rough stony bottom. He was unable to struggle against its strong, sweeping undertow. The stiff powerful curl held him, as the procedure was repeated again and again. The light was strange and glassy as it swirled him around as if in a bottle! Then there was a lull, as between two breaths, a slow rocking motion, and his mind suddenly clicked into survival mode, and he began fighting upward towards the source of the light to find the surface. He managed to brake the surface with a desperate gasp as he was swept forward and taken up by next wave. And he saw, to his dismay, he was now about fifty meters from the shore, and yet another next great wave loomed up behind him. It hit him, but he managed to keep his prone position. And

ride it. He felt its great push, as it covered him, but was quickly followed by an even greater drag! He pressed and kicked with all his strength against it.... Alas, when he surfaced, he saw he had made little gain. The next wave also ploughed him forward, then sucked him back like a coke. His limbs felt numb the kick of his legs pathetically ineffective. The following wave like a moving ridge swamped him, and again turning him head over heels! He felt his remaining energy and will, give out; he couldn't fight he had nothing left! He thought he was about to die; he saw the sharp face of death! The thought took away all sound and breath, and he took water into his aching lungs. Then suddenly, something griped him around the chest something stronger than the undertow! Up he went to the surface. He spluttered and coughed and took air. He realized the force was human, he saw black hair, pulling him. Then there was a face talking to him. What was it saying? He couldn't understand, but he clung with his last strength to the shape that held him! He was coughing and sucking air, his senses were beginning to return. The facehe knew...yes....It was the large face of the Hulk. In a few moments he was being carried like a wet rag-doll out of the surf and onto the beach in the large powerful arms of the Hulk. Ironically, like a large fish out of water, Thomas lay prone coughing, and fighting for breath on the beach, with the Hulk kneeing over him talking in Portuguese, and gently pressing his back to help him breath. Amanda, and a crowd of onlookers were standing over him. Her eyes glared at him like brown crystals her face disgusted, as if he were a damp

patch on one of her pictures. She shouted hysterically! 'Why did you do that, you idiot, didn't you see the red flag?' Her tongue was a little red flame in her mouth. After about twenty minutes his breathing had normalised, and Thomas had recovered enough to thank the Hulk, and apologize to Amanda for giving her such a scare. He felt so tired, he made his way over to the dark honey-shade of the cliff, and fell into a strange jelly sleep. When he awoke he felt alien, and not at all himself.... he went over to where Amanda and the Hulk were laying. The Hulk, through Amanda, offered Thomas a ride home in his car, which Thomas declined, saying he wanted to walk to clear his mind. Then he thanked the Hulk again, and to Amanda's obvious disgusted she speaking only his name, curtly and coldly he took out his wallet and offered him some money.... Which produced, from the Hulk, only a grimace, a tut, and a look to the heavens! In the end it was settled with a handshake and a simple goodbye. Thomas looked again at the sea's hungry tongue still licking at the shore! He knew he would now always be afraid of the sea! He began climbing the cliff, which he was surprised and relieved to find, was much easier going up than it had been coming down! Upon reaching the top he set-off back to town; he needed to think, and his mind was like an electrified spider's web connected to his tortured nerves. He lit a cigarette that made him cough. His lungs ached and seemed too big for his chest. He could feel every part of his body moving separately as if it had been taken apart, then badly put together again. And his ears hissed like a snake-pit.

He'd had a near death experience, and now a pale vision of death fractured his being. He pictured his white, lifeless body lying down there on the beach. A picture of absence! His mind was still weighted by the fear of his compulsive actions, that had come from a dark-side, which he hadn't seen in himself before! 'I just can't understand why I did that!.... Such an idiot!' he spoke out load. To drown so the utter panic the senselessness his come-to-naught-life and death! He imagined the sad face of his mother getting the news! It was horrible! His skin felt uncomfortably too tight for his body. He thought how burlesque in death he would have been! A clown making a theatrical exit! And after all, he had jumped; he wasn't pushed. How the day had started with so much temperament! And how a few hours later it hung like callus metal to his flesh. But he was alive, and so grateful not to be buried in the deep bosom of the sea. Being still alive seemed to put all life's problems into a new perspective.... life has no security when one can simply in the next moment act in such a reckless, mindless manner go bananas! He had surely experienced his own naked spirit felt it down there! But by sheer luck he had cheated the jaws of the sea, and he would get another throw of the dice. And he just couldn't comprehend how, and why he had walked so blindly into the situation with Amanda? 'How can I face her again?' He had somehow let himself be blinded by obsessive desire. It was as if he had been hypnotized. And Carl had tried to warn him!

Yes, sure she had led him on.... Didn't she? 'But still.... my whole life has been a kind of sleepwalking.... with Julie.... I was like one of those nodding dogs obeying!' His words were metallic tasting in his mouth. And Julie had left him like a fly strung up in a web a spider's dinner! She had tied up all the loose ends before she left! But he knew he and Julie had never had anything in common! Not at all! And it occurred to him, Julie wasn't his loss his hurt pride was his loss his dignity. Julie was just a symbol of that loss. She had not loved him and he had not loved her. Many was the time he had wanted to shout 'No! No Julie!, No!' But he had been too weak, and she had always been stronger, and always the organiser. It pleased him now to think that Carl had metaphorically spit in her face! Carl had seen through her.... But what had happened to him over all those years? How bottled his life had become; hackneyed by sameness desensitized to the richness all around him. A long list loomed up before him a list of the undone, the left-out, passed-over, missed, dismissed, unnoticed, unrealized, overlooked, the many unuttered possibilities of being alive the myriad details of a life! He had lived as though the entire world was in one place even losing the pleasure of his beloved books, and writing! Thomas thought about the time his dad had died.... For that ten year old boy it was if a door had closed on him! As if a part of his life had just fallen away. He felt there must be something that lay in this.... had this made him timid? He stopped walking a moment to collect his thoughts.... to try to remember.... Nothing came, the tracks of his memory

disappeared into the mist of the past. If it hadn't been clear then, why should it be now? And when he came out here, what had he expected? To live the life of a Lotus Eater; to just forget everything? What is it he wanted, what had he been doing, where had he been heading? Had he only been drifting following in Carl's wake? He had been eating himself slowly since he got here. If it was for adventure he'd come looking .... well, he had got the full thrill-menace of an adventure.... but it was far more than he'd expected! And there had been nothing back home! Nothing he wanted no life there no direction! He had only been marking time! Denying life! 'A jumbled man in life's loop!' He suddenly felt like a stranger to himself! Only his name was familiar. He walked on, his mind turning over, his thoughts jarring against the hard stone of logic. Then a little awakening voice spoke to him, and it came to him all at once with an electricbite! He froze like a machine! Carl and Amanda....'yes!' of course, they were, in fact, an item! 'Yes....! Yes .!' he knew it! And he knew it in his bones..... 'Sure! Maybe it was a kind of loose or open relationship.... two artists.... ''She's a free agent!'' And Carl thought I would complicate things for him! And that's why she'd took a sudden interest in me! -- Carl's oldest friend... and now, they are both planning to go to London was that it? Why hadn't he got that sooner?' He thought of them as a couple. They were well suited.... He knew he had never been for her.... He felt again a sudden crush of his feelings! A hard wail sprang from his chest!

Tears welled up again in his eyes and he sobbed loudly! He walked on, wiping the tears from his eyes with his still fiery hands, trying to control himself. 'But now! 'What now? Back to England like a whippeddog?' He imagined being back in England, living with his mother again, and Sally Owing, the girl from the library with her knowing remarks! 'But I just can't stay....!' He imagined what it would be like when the story got out here! Imagined the endless ragging, the sallies of non-stop wit from Greg and Kent! And he must, as yet, still face Carl! 'No, I can't stay... Humiliating!' 'I'll give notice to the school tomorrow make some excuse-- maybe something with mother.... write Carl a letter, take the next plane home.' This decided, he dried his eyes on his t-shirt. 'But why go home!' it suddenly occurred to him. 'I have my redundancy money.... I could go where I want.... Rome!.... or even Paris; not too hot there! He needed a chance to make a new start, and see with a new perception! He was resolved to try! It suddenly occurred to him that all this; the all strange baffling trip, the people, everything, could be a story! And for the first time, he could really feel how life and stories were linked. Sure, he had always known all this, but there was knowing and knowing! Life is a story and a writer just adds and mixes, and enquires. And it always has a meaning beneath it, and he knew he would be able to figure it all out! Yes, he could write it! And he knew just how it must be written. He could

imagine it. He saw it ready for his simple reach.... Coming so close to his own death had suddenly opened his eyes made him understand just how precious life was! He would never forget! If there were such a thing in life as duty, it is to live; not just to exist he had been doing just that but to accept life as a challenge, and to embed oneself in the full richness of its possibility. He had been living a linear life, and now he wanted a parallel one! The life-bell was now ringing loud and clear in his head! He stopped again to think, and looked out, with an over-therainbow-stare, at the full-fire-sun-licked sea! That's what he should do, he suddenly thought. Go to Paris and write his story! Fiery images now filled his brain, and an urgency seized his sinews! He now had an egg in him -- a surprise he could not predict, but he could imagine its content! And at that moment he also realized it would be his first real piece of writing, and his unfinished book would remain just that it was dead! He thought about all the stories his father, and later his mother, over the years, had told him about his father's war, and he was now convinced it wasn't his story to tell! The writing had no colour Carl had been right! Writing had to be about real things to the writer, even if the plots were imagined. He walked on.... Lagos now came into view!