In Quotes

You have an optimistic and trusting nose, Priya says.

How can you tell? I ask. What have noses got to do with anything?

You can see everything in the nose, Priya says. And the chin. And in the shape of the eyes. And you have such kind fingers, though your thumb looks rather stubborn.

Is this how lovers talk? I ask.

I really wouldn’t recall, Priya says.

What about with Alan? I ask.

That was years ago, Priya says. I’m not sure I want to remember.

Was there a honeymoon period? I ask.

There’s always a honeymoon period, Priya says. Then there was a humdrum period. Then there was a blue period – a fifteen-years-together-and-what-for? period.

And what period are you in now? I ask.

The illicit period, Priya says.

You’re what they would call an attractive couple, I say.

Oh I’m sure we are, Priya says. But I really don’t want to think about it.

You must be comfortably off, I say. Your joint salary …

We’re the bourgeois you no doubt despise, philosopher, Priya says. Upon whom you’re getting your revenge right now … You’re sticking it to the Man, right? Or rather, the Man’s wife.

It’s not that.

What was it like the first time you did it? Share your memories, philosopher.

I’m not saying a thing.

Really? Not a thing? It would help me feel close to you. And you want me to feel close to you, don’t you? Didn’t it go well? Didn’t you perform? Is that the trouble?

Not saying. No fucking way.

I lost it at uni. To some poor fool. Some fumbler. I felt I was dissociating. I felt I was miles away and that it was being done to me. Very common experience. It wasn’t a trauma, or anything. It didn’t fuck me up. And what about you, philosopher? What was your formative sexual experience?

I told you. I’m keeping stumm.

You’re essentially a masturbator: I can see that. It’s been all about the masturbation. How many relationships have you actually had? I want numbers. How many lovers have you had? One-night-stands? Aren’t you going to tell me?

One-night-stands are nihilism.

I’ll bet you think relationships are nihilism. Well, aren’t they? They probably get in the way of your work. Come on, philosopher. You’re a man like anyone else. You have needs, like anyone else.

I’ll bet you’d see prostitutes, if you could afford them. I’ll bet you’d go for the girlfriend experience if you could pay for it on an academic salary. Well, wouldn’t you? Someone to be nice to you. To say all kinds of nice things. Everything on your terms. Exactly when you wanted it. When you needed a break from all your work.

Would you pay for me, philosopher? Wouldn’t that make it simpler? Make it all a transaction? What would you pay for? What would you like done to you? What services could I render? What do you want? I just want to find out what you want. Don’t you like me being sexual?

You’re like a cat, purring. You’re totally at ease with being at ease. You luxuriate in luxuriance. You’re enjoying your enjoyment. Savouring it. Luxuriating in it. Like a cat.

I like my body when it’s with your body – that’s the thing. I like your body. I like what it does. I like how it does it.

Look, I’m trying to work out how to be with you – don’t you see? I want to know who I am for you. What I mean to you – if I mean anything.

You mean something.

So terse … Is this what it’s like to be a philosopher? Never involved. Never real. But your body’s real …

You’re not really here, are you? You’re not … listening.

I’m listening.

I’d like to know your entire sexual history, philosopher. When it began, who with, and what happened after. Were you ever with a man? It might suit you, being with a man. Would you prefer it? Ever tempted? I’ve been with a woman.

Of course you have. On your bucket list, was it: losing your gay virginity?

So sardonic. Maybe it shouldn’t be just the two of us. It’s very intense, isn’t it – just the two of us. Always the two of us. No one to bounce off. No one to set us off in new directions. No one to talk about. No other couples, or anything. It’s very … self-devouring …

You think we need a third person?

Do you?  We could invite another woman along to pep things up. Or a man. Maybe we should be a thruple. It’s an option, right?

All this talking …

You’d just like to get back down to it, would you? Is that how you think it works? You’d like a silent, enigmatic mistress, wouldn’t you? You’d like me to be solemn. You’d like me to be serious. You’d like me to say sparingly enigmatic things and to know my place as a muse. Face it: you want some arthouse romance.

Do you ever feel everything you say is in quotes, philosopher? Like it’s been said before? By someone else, maybe. Or by us in another life … Do you ever feel that all this happened before, and we’re just living it again? That all this is part of the whole of life flashing before your eyes as you die?

Who am I, when I talk like this? It’s like someone’s speaking in my place. It’s like someone’s taking my place. Like … I’ve swapped places with the air. Like the air’s speaking. Like the light is speaking. Like the day’s speaking.

It’s like I’m at the brink of something. Like I’ve been lifted up to some … threshold. And I can say all these things. And I’m not who I was anymore. And I’m not even drunk. Or high. Or anything.

And I don’t feel confused, I feel lucid. But I don’t understand what I’m saying. Lucid – full of light. Only it’s not my light. It’s got nothing to do with me.

As though I’ve been hypnotised. Mesmerised. And that I’m saying things that are true. Very true. Truer than I am. Realer than I am.

Do I sound pretentious? I’ll bet I do. Desperately pretentious … Insufferably pretentious … But that’s the sort of thing you like …