[1] black suit…

Anyway this is about how domestic life began, how I moved to language, its a simple story that is slow and ordinary. A friend of mine has a habit of taking his portable folding bike with him whenever he goes to other cities for work or holidays. He’s been doing this for east ten years. At a time when most people are hiding inside their hotel rooms or rented apartments, buying tapas and drinking in bars he gets on his bike, with his rain poncho strapped on the pannier, perhaps a bottle of water and some Japanese beer (don’t ask) he peddles off into the city. Hy cycles for thirty minutes, takes some photographs and perhaps goes to the nearest cafe, bar, bookshop… If he is unlucky and its very dark, two in the morning perhaps, he sits down on a nearby bench, watches the city and has a drink and then after a whle he cycles back to the hotel, following the gps route… But if the cafe, bar or bookshop is open he goes in and surveys the humans and the animals. Usually they have retreated into their social groups or are alone. Sometimes people are dancing and once in a while a solitary woman will pick him up and take his to a place for anonymous sex. Once in a while they exchange viruses or bacteria as well as pleasure. Once he ended up in a ZOO, and ended up sitting in front of the elephant cage chatting to the elephant about life and death and tusks, he very much like the zoo keeperess and regrets her quite a lot. She felt sorry for him and asked him about the scars from the bullet wounds. Imagining he is borderline. He isn’t but that’s another story.

My friend has a nice flat in the city with an empty bedroom for guests which i stay in occasionally when I am in town, I lived in another city to the south. He owns a nice car, various sets of collected writings and a perfect kingsize bed. Everytime there is a funeral that I have to attend I stay in the spare bedroom.

>>Hello, can I stay over on Tuesday as I have another funeral to attend << I asked.

>>Sure, come over. Before or after the funeral? <<

>>Before and then after the funeral, stay overnight? << I said

>>sure, good. see you then. << he said.

When I arrived he had pictures of elephants on the white table. His fridge full of zero and ordinary beer. And some food of course.

>>The other day I was in Hokkido and went to the zoo, took these photos of the elephants and the zoo keeperess. << He said.

>>Is that the zoo keeperess? << I asked referring to the one mentioned above.

>>Yes, I know her name now. And well, some other things. I’m going back in a few weeks. We exchanged addresses. Perhaps later she’ll come here. << He said.

We talked about the difference between Japanese Elephants and the ones here. Talked about his cycle rides around parts of Hokkido. We watched the videos he had filmed whilst cycling. Drank a few beers. Ate some lightly seasoned ramen noodles with chicken and vegetable broth and after some more beers, we slept.

In the morning i told him I was sorry to keep doing this to him but people keep dying. And I think its because I bought this black suit. With its stretch: this garment has added stretch for extra comfort. The company was investing in better cotton, massbalance.>> Sorry << I said again. And dressed in the black suit and tie, drank some tea, ate something or other.

>>How many funerals is this? << He asked.

>>Too many, not too sure how many…<< I said. And left taking a taxi to the funeral service.

Later towards the end of the line of deaths and funerals, This was during a few years of death, friends and people I worked with simply kept dying. At this time I still thought it was accidents and illnesses. My friends and colleagues that were all around the same age as me. Some a little older some younger. Dying younger than they should I think. A few examples should help explain. It was four in the morning, I was listening to Coltrane in my sleepless office, nobody else was there I was reading documents and writing code, when the massacre began. It was an ontological crisis as if an assassin was sitting in a car holding an imaginary gun or sword and sending death across the spacetime between us and them. One minute I was listening to Coltrane and the next minute all I could hear were my fingers on this keyboard and the sound of the air conditioning. The crisis descended with a ping. And that’s how messages of death arrive. ping. ping. A book is always a book, a keyboard is always a keyboard, a death is just a death, and a bad hollywood movieissimplyamovie. A Black suit is not just a suit.

[[The first to move from reality to unreality, from existence to nonexistence was the child of my Uncle. He taught english was married and had a child, his wife had taken the baby to her parents. He was on his own so he went to the shop, bought some food, a bottle of Polish Vodka (brand censored). Got in the bath, drank the vodka and slit his wrists. His wife found the body two days later when she returned. Suicide the coroner ruled. Did anyone know? No. He left no suicide note. I wore my black suit to the funeral. A month after the funeral another person died whilst swimming in the sea in Cromer, accidental death. And then someone had a heart attack on the roof of the apartment block she lived in. She fell down onto the safety net and was discovered the next morning. The next one drove at ninety miles an hour into a bridge on the E79. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, the road was empty. He missed the tree he was probably aiming at. For these deaths were all quick they probably didn’t even know they were dying. Who nows though we cannot ask them. The one who died from the heart attack said to her boyfriend, I’ve just got to make a phone call, he fell asleep on the sofa whilst she died on the roof.The next two who died were together, one was a young twenty six year old and the other twenty nine. It was a summer night and in a small open top sports car they collided with a bridge support on an empty road, a tragic banal death. The police said it was an accident. So here, hear here we are, a stream of relatively insignificant deaths, there were hundreds of thousands of others but these are the ones I went to the funerals of… ]]

>>You need to get rid of that suit. <<

I was back at my friends, talking about the funerals and how they had died.

>>You have been a little sad recently,<< he said .

>>I know its all the death,<< i said.

>>Perhaps your thinking too much.<<

>>Probably, I know I’ve been awake to many many times at three and four in the morning. <<

>>All beings think too much at night. Even my cat thinks too much in the middle of the night. <<

The phone rang and he went to his bedroom to take the call, it was his zookeeperess girlfriend, surprisingly he now had a girlfriend, I didn’t think it was possible for him to find a someone who found him bearable. They spoke in english and Japanese. He told me they were negotiating a hybrid existence between their two languages, i am a different person when I speak Japanese than I am speaking English. I wanted to call it a day and go back to the hotel but he was on the phone for ages, but felt I had to say goodnight. It was still early evening so I switched on the TV. It was a large screen hanging off the wall, with a pale grey keyboard control. I explored the network and streaming channels, before ending up on an english language news channel. Another 100 dead people people people in the middle east war, exchange rates announced, interest rates, bitcoin values, new EV and Hydrogen restrictions, religious lunatics wanting restrictions on gender and sex. All these people seemed like children in a debating society.

>>Anything interesting? <<he asked

>>Nothing at all, they need mandatory psychotherapy.<<

>>Do you watch TV?<<

>>No, not really.<<

He pressed the off button.

>>It’s good for game playing.<<

The screen faded to black. The led went red. We sat there for five minutes with me say I was going. and that I’d see him later. His phone rang again.

<<Ok, i’ll see you in an hour. My girlfriend will be here in an hour. >>

<<I’ll go>> I said.

<<Will there be other deaths?>> He asked me.

<<Always, some ways of dying don’t end in funerals, just vanishing…>> I said. We stopped speaking as I collected myself together to leave. Now I have no idea what we were talking about. I was tired and needed to go to the hotel. I wanted to avoid meeting his zookeeperess girlfriend.

There was a party in New York which I attended a few months later, I was in New York to see my Uncle and explain to him him that I did not want to inherit the family business and that he should run it, own it. That I was unsuited to live as a part of the war machine that is the family business. If a war machine does not suit you, the only thing to do is to leave. I was in New York to sign the handover contracts, to hug my uncle and say that <<I’d miss him…>>. Actually it was three or four days after signing the contracts. If I had been at home it would have been very difficult. I had gone to the party rather than the dinner just in case they made me regret my choice.

So I went to the party at a bar/club on Green street, most of the tables had been rented for the occasion. What occasion? I have no idea. A quartet played, and there was nice food and drink, I knew nobody but still I chatted to people about New York, the USA, people that had never heard of home, what it’s like to be rootless, liquid, nomadic. The piano played. I thought of how just down the road my people, my uncle, were expecting and not expecting me to put in an appearance. It was best I didn’t say goodbye to the the war machine. A nomad should vanish over the horizon, even if that meant standing still in an anonymous place. It wasn’t my thing, and nor really was the party, but i couldn’t hide in the hotel, couldn’t be easily traceable by my Uncle in case he sent someone to find me. Eventually I lent against the bar and ate tapas whilst drinking lemonade, enjoying myself sitting on the stool, relax, have a drink, enjoy the music and the happiness. Nobody bothered me, nobody explaining how the pandemic was an illiusion and how homeopathy could save me.

And then the barwoman, I’d say barperson but it’s probably important that she was she. There was a woman sitting close by who was talking to her. Both of them were looking at me. She turned towards me and spoke to me. After a few sentences, words, paragraphs, phrases I turned away, but instead of moving away she moved closer, a shot glass of some clear spirit in her hand.

<< I wanted to be introduced,>> she said. <<I know this>> she said and joined in singing <<oh show us the way to the next whisky bar, oh don’t ask why, oh don’t ask why, for we must find the next whisky bar, for if we don’t find the next whisky bar…>> And stopped. She had a good voice for singing Brecht. She wasn’t the type of woman who made you look at her, though she was attractive, nice in her loose black trousers, black ankle boots, white tee shirt and black linen jacket with red threads and dots. I had no idea how old she was, younger, older, the same age as me? She could easily have made herself look younger, more attractive, but she certainly didn’t care. I think she had a ring on one finger. Her hands looked muscular and hard.

>>You remind me of someone I used to know, << she said, <<your face and body, the air of melancholy. It’s remarkable. I’ve been watching you ever since you came to the party.>>

Beyond her I could see people looking at us. Women looking and perhaps sniggering, a couple of men standing at the far end of the bar watching.

<<If he’s really like me, I’d like to meet him, though if he’s family I cannot as I have just signed away everything. >> Perhaps I could have sad something more interesting but I was a little adrift.

>>You would? Why? << she asked carefully avoiding the second half of the sentence.

<<What would it be like to meet another version of myself? Someone similar? >>

<< Sadly you cannot, >> she smiled a little. <<He died a while ago. It was my fault.>>

<<Really? why is that?>> I asked. Offering her another drink.

<<I killed him.>>

The quartet started the second set. A Monk tune.

<<Do you like the music? >> The killer asked. Though actually I had no idea that she was at that moment, perhaps if I had understood things might have worked better at the time.

<<Yes, they play well. Do you work for my Uncle?>>

<<No, for the council. It’s a nice world so there is nice music like this. The air vibrates and I wish there was less noise so I could hear it better.>>

I thought she meant a district council. <<That’s true, me to. >> Understanding what she meant about the noise.

<<I sat in a bar once where Mathew Shipp played with William Parker, it was late and I was waiting to be paid, there was hardly anybody there. Perfect. They asked me if I had any requests… I said no, i don’t know how to. >> She said.

<<I’m not good at requests, either, I can never think of anything when asked. I can play piano, not as well as that though,>> I added.

She poured us both another shot, ordered some espresso from the barwoman who was idlely wiping the bar with a cloth and looking at us with interest. <<Are you OK honey? >> The barwoman asked her. I had no idea why, and never will. Perhaps they knew each other.

<<Yes, I’m good. What is in the bag? >> She asked me.

>> My black suit. I have to throw it away because it’s cursed. I thought I’d leave it on a train, everytime I wore it it somebody died, like the curse of the black suit people by Sax Rohmer. In which whenever the black suit wants to be worn somebody has to die.>> I explained.

>> You should. I’ll have to buy that.>> She said.

>> There have been six whilst I owned that suit. I thought on coming here toseemyuncle that i might be the seventh. So I am here talking to you. Too much death, to many funerals, the suit has to go…<< i explained.

>>Perhaps your thinking too much. << She said. >>We were talking about the person who I used to know who looked like you.<<

>> Yes. How did you kill him?<<

>> I pushed him into a wasps nest. <<

>> I like wasps, << I said, >> you’re joking of course.<<

>>Perhaps. << She said.

Instead of smiling I sipped the shot and drank some of the espresso. They both tasted delicious.

>>Legally I’m not a murderer, nor ethically.<<

>>So even so, you killed them.<< I said smiling at her.

>> Yes and it looked like you.<<

The quartet had stopped playing and only the sound of people talking, glasses and movement filled the bar. People shouted. My heart was beating very fast. I didn’t know why. I wanted to touch her face, her shoulder, her breast, her hand perhaps. But couldn’t, I imagine my face was full of desire. She swallowed.

>> It took about ten seconds, more or less for the wasps to kill him. They were angry.<<

>> Not surprised, we would be, << I said, pausing stopping speaking.

We looked at one another neither speaking, trying to decide what to do with this other person.

>> What are you willing to share? << She asked.

>> I have no idea, << I said.

>> Do you think about the constraints you live within? << she asked.

>> Yes, that’s why I have signed no inheritance contracts and given everything to my Uncle. For better or worse. Perhaps one day I can visit my Uncle and tell him about my life. Doubt it will ever be possible though. <<

>> Yes, that sounds nice. Do you like your Uncle? <<

>> I always have, but recently i thought he might be scary. Its a small company, in the scheme of things he is unimportant low management. <<

>> Like a low priest, << SHE is smiling at me. I think she looks attractive. >> Can you draw rabbits?<< she asks.

>> Yes, I can also draw hares. why? <<

>> Its a personality test.<< She licked her lips.

>> Don’t do that, it’s..<< I stop myself, she could probably see how much I wanted to speak. Instead I said, >> There is an SF story by Eric Frank Russell called Wasp… perhaps your that wasp. << i stopped myself in time. >> There is an SF story by Eric Frank Russell called Wasp… perhaps you are that wasp. << I said. Relaxing in the repetition.

The piano plays. A fast progression.

>> Sorry. You passed. I think you will be fine. Nothing to worry about, you’ll live a long life, perhaps you’ll even be happy. <<

>> Thankyou. I hope you can be happy too.<<

>> In my line of work only the good live a long time. Are you staying in a hotel?<<

>> Yes, I can’t go back there tonight, probably never, I have to avoid my uncle and his people.<<

>> Understandable, good choice…<< She smiled at me and pointed at herself >> Nishi, call me Nishi<< She said lying.

>> In English, Niklas << I told her, which was true. The bar woman was smiling as we left.

Perhaps it was inevitable that she would take me back to her apartment but who knows really. <<What are you willing to share>> Nobody died. We had a perfect time that summer. Just not enough time to learn to speak properly to one another. The summer was too short, the constraints were too much and we didn’t know how to speak about them. One evening she received a phone call and the next morning she left. A few days later I flew east to London.