Story for performance #430
webcast from London at 08:05PM, 24 Aug 06

Amongst the Fray

August 24th, 2006

Dearest sweet Larissa,

Thank you for your wonderful letter, which I received, quite miraculously, only ten days after you sent it. The others still love to tease me about our ‘snail mail’, but I like it. I like it very much. I don’t think the authorities even bother to give letters much of a security check these days, which is probably why it got through so quickly. Too busy doing word searches for Peroxide or suicide or Underground in people’s emails. I mean, the computer is fine for urgent things: for updates, for the ‘postcards’ of life, but there is truly no substitute for a hand-written letter. Or to be more precise, one of your hand-written letters.

It was grand to hear news of Marvin finally swimming. At last. What it has taken to get that boy in the water! He certainly has more than a little bit of the cat about him, don’t you think? He’s always hated water. And you say it was Artie who did it? Just threw him in? Astounding. Something I could have seen myself doing, although perhaps not quite so easily now. All that sink or swim stuff…not so sure…you?

And Elspeth’s pregnant. What a miracle! Truly a rebirth baby, huh? New life sent to replace…well, in replacement, let’s say. I am thrilled for her, please tell her so from me, won’t you? That Mikey is thrilled.

And I’m so glad your paper went well, darling; the presentation sounded truly awesome, and I’m sure you managed to convert quite a few listeners to a much deeper understanding of the possible applications of flight theory into the automotive industry.

Some people around here could do with a better understanding of flight theory…oh…no…anyway.

And what about Walter? Any news from him lately? He must be due for another show soon, surely? He’s just got better and better as he’s aged, hasn’t he? Talk about hitting your prime at sixty. You won’t believe this, I’m sure, as my past record with art has been less than impressive, but honey, I think this time round we should really try to find the money, don’t you? I’m sure we can find the money this time. I would really like one of those landscapes he does, you know one of those really minimal ones, that you can just get lost in, for the bedroom perhaps, to gaze at…as I hold you…tightly…

Oh yes, and the mittens! Cute. Really cute. I’ll wear them in our first winter together.

Benson says hello, and to watch out for the RSI (from the hand-writing he means!) and that if you’re in the mood to make any of that lemon slice that we’d sure all appreciate it.

And we would. We really would.

As for life here, well, what to say, darling, what to say…

During the last few weeks I’d been thinking that at last there had been some kind of breakthrough, that perhaps at last they’d realised that we don’t want to take over, that we don’t want their country, that we’re just as keen as they are to see the end of all this fighting…this mayhem. But then there was that suicide on Thursday morning. Market morning. Forty-seven people dead. I know they don’t show this on the news, but you must realise who gets to clean it all up. With no extra pay.

Somehow the boys haven’t quite managed to leave that one behind. Heck knows why, this time, apart from the others. I have my theories of course, but that’s how they’re going to stay. Vaporous entities inside my frame.

So yes, it’s a sombre feeling around here now, I tell you. The canteen is dreadful. Horrible. Two hundred-plus soldiers sitting silently, eating. Yeah, that’s right, there’s pretty much absolute silence. All that happy, normal, soldier talk is gone. No happy talk of guns or booze or even boobs.

It’s frightening. Well, not frightening exactly, but well, yes, actually…it is a bit frightening. And then, you’ll never guess, but then I saw a chicken with two heads. Sorry…I really did though. Yesterday. Just walking aimlessly, crazily, toward me, down the street. I saw it and I panicked. I wanted to run, Larissa. I wanted to get the fuck away from it. Sorry. But from a chicken! What a chicken, huh?

Anyway, it’s all made me realise why they sent Vera Lynn out to the troops all those years ago. We could do with her. Or perhaps Kylie? I wonder how much she’d cost? For an evening of blissful escape for us troops in Iraq. The cost shouldn’t matter. We goddamn need it. So much…

Ah, you know, it’s not too bad, really. At least we still have peas. And the occasional strawberry.

And letter…

Larissa…

Larissa, I hold something of you in my hands, something which you, not so very long ago held in your hands, leant over, pressed upon. It has your scent!

I know you’ll be alright, I know you’ll be alright my darling, because you are so very wonderful. Such a wonderful person, Larissa. And mother. How lucky our boys are!

Try not to get too angry. They are all idiots, of course, but it is those who hide behind the clowns that are the truly evil men. Just get as much out of them as you can. Squeeze them. Squeeze them with your fierce eyes and your strong soul. You promise? You promise me, Larissa Kate?

Good-bye darling,
Your letters, you, are next to my heart.

Mike

Adapted for performance by Barbara Campbell from a story by Caroline Lee.