Spicy
I felt as though I was being studied, which was a lot more comforting than The Writers smug disinterest. Still smiling from my retort The Gentleman’s academic gaze hadn’t broken, straightening my chest I attempted to smile back.
He had asked me what I was drinking, something from the Derbyshire region, I quipped as I fiddled with the plastic ring around the treaded part of the bottle.
“You’re a very impulsive man” he said through warm crow footed eyes. “I cant stand when someone just says water.” His direct demeanour was comforting but stirred strange waves of anxiety in me, presumably from my catholic school days, causing my eyes to flick glances in morse code across at The Writer who shared nothing but an uninterested gaze.
“You’re a very impulsive man” he said through warm crow footed eyes. “I cant stand when someone just says water.” His direct demeanour was comforting but stirred strange waves of anxiety in me, presumably from my catholic school days, causing my eyes to flick glances in morse code across at The Writer who shared nothing but an uninterested gaze.
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The Gentleman was of a different era, I wasn’t sure which. His bobbled red jumper sung like a fireplace by an armchair, a pair of thick-rimmed modernist glasses spoke like art school and his tan overcoat made no noise whatsoever, as expensive things tend to do. Something about me had enticed The Gentleman, my aloofness? My derisive
turns of phrase? Whatever It was it now had him reaching into his front blazer pocket, eyes still glued to mine, and producing a small metal tin with soft rounded edges. His heavily knuckled fingers fished around his inside chest pocket and after unsheathing them from what I could only assume was a delicate silk lining, soon wielded a thin pair of metallic tweezers held precisely against his plump thumb and forefinger pointed directly between my eyes. I noticed his thumbnails reached right to the edges of his fingertips, the absence of any flesh cushioning them reminded me of walking on a wet changing room floor. My toes clenched at the sound of a whistle blowing somewhere in my gut sending my hands to my nose and saliva to my mouth.
“Do you like spicy food Jim?”
I suddenly felt hyper aware of a patch of stray eyebrow hairs I’d left to flourish, my tortoiseshell frames just about hid the burgeoning monobrow which had grown in alongside my diminishing personal hygiene that I’d adopted in the 3 month period my girlfriend had been away photographing a party of chimpanzees at Seattle Zoo that had been choreographing a small series of cabaret performances. The night previous she had called and told me that the big closing number had almost brought her to tears. She regretted to tell me that she had been called by a Casino in Carolina and was now on her way to check out a Spaniel named Phillip who was on a crazy hot streak in a weeks long game of poker. She wouldn’t be home for another week or so.
“Is that really spicy?” I said looking at a collection of textures I hadn’t come into contact with before.
The Gentleman didn't reveal much, but he told me that spicy would be selling it too short. That one leaf was so potent it bordered on psychedelic. He’d never taken it himself, said he had no desire to, that he was fascinated by the reaction to it more than anything.
“Some people fall to their knees, others stand dead still. Not one person I’ve given it to has screamed or yelled, many just walk away in silence, It really is the most fascinating thing” He directed that last comment to The Writer who’s face held an unreadable sag. I suddenly felt the most focused I’d been in days. A fizz behind my eyes told me I had to try it. He added,
“I won’t pay you, this is just if you want to”
I made myself laugh, breaking my concentration. ‘what the hell, sure.” Sticking my tongue out, The Writer covered her mouth glancing back to the rest of the guests whose uneventful hum still washed out the room.
He pinched the tweezers around a frill of an almost see through film-like thing. I tried not to imagine what part of the world it came from, what part of anything it was. I saw the tastebuds of a whale, the hymen of a Komodo dragon, or some algae grown on the surface of a semi precious mineral in Tasmania. A glinting subterranean surface reflected the overhead lights on its way up toward my mouth. I saw myself as a child primed for communion, tongue out, shirt neat and rejoicing for a brief respite of motion. The unholy Eucharist landed on my tongue with a surprisingly hard, spongelike texture that had disappeared before I could properly register it.
Rubbing my tongue around in my mouth I waited for whatever feeling was to come. Regret isn’t the word I’d choose, I was fascinated by my lack of questions. As I waited for the feeling I looked back on the last 2 weeks of my life and the staggering deficit of choices I had made leading to my my current absurd situation. I started to panic in the gap between the choice and sensation, only to be calmed by The Writers expensive blow-out hair bobbing as she darts from my eyes to The
I made myself laugh, breaking my concentration. ‘what the hell, sure.” Sticking my tongue out, The Writer covered her mouth glancing back to the rest of the guests whose uneventful hum still washed out the room.
He pinched the tweezers around a frill of an almost see through film-like thing. I tried not to imagine what part of the world it came from, what part of anything it was. I saw the tastebuds of a whale, the hymen of a Komodo dragon, or some algae grown on the surface of a semi precious mineral in Tasmania. A glinting subterranean surface reflected the overhead lights on its way up toward my mouth. I saw myself as a child primed for communion, tongue out, shirt neat and rejoicing for a brief respite of motion. The unholy Eucharist landed on my tongue with a surprisingly hard, spongelike texture that had disappeared before I could properly register it.
Rubbing my tongue around in my mouth I waited for whatever feeling was to come. Regret isn’t the word I’d choose, I was fascinated by my lack of questions. As I waited for the feeling I looked back on the last 2 weeks of my life and the staggering deficit of choices I had made leading to my my current absurd situation. I started to panic in the gap between the choice and sensation, only to be calmed by The Writers expensive blow-out hair bobbing as she darts from my eyes to The
Gentleman’s.
Stepping back toward the snack table I saw a disappointing smattering of nearly scraped dry hummus and pathetic corners of pita chips. The carrot sticks and Kofta had long since been demolished in the first wave conversations while I had been sequestered outside with the amateur painter from Glasgow. He had told me an anecdote about the time he had to have his entire tongue replaced due to the fact that he had no taste. He’d spent 2 weeks without a tongue before a donor was found and finally grafted on his replacement, when I asked
‘what's the best thing you’ve tasted since the procedure’ he admitted that nothing really took his fancy, that he mostly stuck to nuts and puree’s. He smelled like stale tee shirts.
I waited and breathed. I couldn’t tell you when my eyes closed but It took a Herculean strength to pry them open when I felt the sensation of wetting myself. Lo
Stepping back toward the snack table I saw a disappointing smattering of nearly scraped dry hummus and pathetic corners of pita chips. The carrot sticks and Kofta had long since been demolished in the first wave conversations while I had been sequestered outside with the amateur painter from Glasgow. He had told me an anecdote about the time he had to have his entire tongue replaced due to the fact that he had no taste. He’d spent 2 weeks without a tongue before a donor was found and finally grafted on his replacement, when I asked
‘what's the best thing you’ve tasted since the procedure’ he admitted that nothing really took his fancy, that he mostly stuck to nuts and puree’s. He smelled like stale tee shirts.
I waited and breathed. I couldn’t tell you when my eyes closed but It took a Herculean strength to pry them open when I felt the sensation of wetting myself. Lo
oking down to a pair of unsoiled khaki trousers I breathed a sigh of relief. I was scooping dollops of hummus into my mouth and as they hit my tongue I felt a series of countdowns go off in my sinuses. My mouth didn’t burn, nor did I pant, or yell just as The Gentleman had said. The sensation was blindingly overwhelming. Lights had a buzz, the already hideous pattern on the writers shirt was somehow more repulsive, The Gentleman’s untrimmed nose hairs felt like catching a hangnail on a jean pocket. I was tasting everything. I was picking up on the brogues of stale incense and ochres of candle smoke, tinges of unwashed hands and the months of dust that had collected atop the paintings around the bar stuck to me as I winced in discomfort. It was somewhere between a burn and a sting, my mouth throbbing as little particles of things passed over everything else and settled caustically in the back of my throat. I blinked thinking I was getting used to it. I was just stood, It was all I could do. The sensation was all I had.
I couldn’t feel anything, only faint memories of past feelings, which for the first however long was quite pleasant. I saw people moving across candles flickering, In the
I couldn’t feel anything, only faint memories of past feelings, which for the first however long was quite pleasant. I saw people moving across candles flickering, In the
corners of my vision I saw taupes and whites and greens. In the middle of it all things were blue and other times they were brown. There was light and shadow and misunderstanding. I took it all in, I had no choice but to feel it all.
I remember falling down to my knees aside a mirror in the furthest corner of the room and doing my best to avoid looking in it. The Gentleman appeared somewhere in my periphery and as he leant down he spoke gently into my ear.
“Do you know what you are?”
I had no clue. My fingertips tried to sink into the tight fibres of a deep red Persian rug and years of dirt and grime kicked up into the back of my throat. I don’t know how I knew it, but recently someone had been stood here who’d visited a beach in Northern France. A voice inside said Brittany, and then a voice outside said it “Brittany.” Again I tasted salt and sand and picked up on the delicate notes of a weather worn wooden boardwalk. My eyes burned and as I blinked I answered his question.
“I haven’t any clue what I am.” I sat back on my haunches and noticed the sparseness of guests left in the main hall, someone I recognised as the guest speaker was leant on the back of an uncomfortable looking chair on the carpeted Dais.
I remember falling down to my knees aside a mirror in the furthest corner of the room and doing my best to avoid looking in it. The Gentleman appeared somewhere in my periphery and as he leant down he spoke gently into my ear.
“Do you know what you are?”
I had no clue. My fingertips tried to sink into the tight fibres of a deep red Persian rug and years of dirt and grime kicked up into the back of my throat. I don’t know how I knew it, but recently someone had been stood here who’d visited a beach in Northern France. A voice inside said Brittany, and then a voice outside said it “Brittany.” Again I tasted salt and sand and picked up on the delicate notes of a weather worn wooden boardwalk. My eyes burned and as I blinked I answered his question.
“I haven’t any clue what I am.” I sat back on my haunches and noticed the sparseness of guests left in the main hall, someone I recognised as the guest speaker was leant on the back of an uncomfortable looking chair on the carpeted Dais.
“I walk like a man and make the noises of a man but when I'm left alone in a calm breeze I don’t feel like anything at all.”
“I look at you Jim, and I don’t see a man at all”
My eyes were locked on a gilded sconce uttering some light up a reproduction rococo wallpaper.
“I see a Lynx.” He rested a hand on my head
“I look at your mouth and right above those thin lips I see whiskers. Lots of thin wisps framing your face. I see brown and gold fur running down the back of your head” his gentle palm settled on the nape of my neck.
“listen to that Jim… you hear it too, the chaos?” I couldn’t admit it at the time due to my near catatonic state, but yes I could hear it all, the grinding and the muttering and rustling. I was far too aware of it, and it was all his fault. Whatever that thing I ate was had completed a line of code somewhere in my gut and lit a beacon, warning my senses of the tidal wave to come.
“look at your ears. They’re magnificent, you’re a predator Jim, those are the ears of a hunter. Look how they stand on end, how they shift. Look at those tufts of
“I look at you Jim, and I don’t see a man at all”
My eyes were locked on a gilded sconce uttering some light up a reproduction rococo wallpaper.
“I see a Lynx.” He rested a hand on my head
“I look at your mouth and right above those thin lips I see whiskers. Lots of thin wisps framing your face. I see brown and gold fur running down the back of your head” his gentle palm settled on the nape of my neck.
“listen to that Jim… you hear it too, the chaos?” I couldn’t admit it at the time due to my near catatonic state, but yes I could hear it all, the grinding and the muttering and rustling. I was far too aware of it, and it was all his fault. Whatever that thing I ate was had completed a line of code somewhere in my gut and lit a beacon, warning my senses of the tidal wave to come.
“look at your ears. They’re magnificent, you’re a predator Jim, those are the ears of a hunter. Look how they stand on end, how they shift. Look at those tufts of
hair. Show me your teeth” I did as he told me
“my god they’re beautiful, sharp and clean and ready. I can see remnants of gristle stuck in your teeth. What have you been hunting? Let me smell your breath, will I smell the musk of a Chamois? You’re a beast Jim, a magnificent beast. I look in your eyes and I see fire. You’ve tried putting it out but I can smell the smoke, there’s a oaky throng about you James. Why do you have such great paw’s if instead of clambering over rock you shit in porcelain and sleep in polyester?”
“my god they’re beautiful, sharp and clean and ready. I can see remnants of gristle stuck in your teeth. What have you been hunting? Let me smell your breath, will I smell the musk of a Chamois? You’re a beast Jim, a magnificent beast. I look in your eyes and I see fire. You’ve tried putting it out but I can smell the smoke, there’s a oaky throng about you James. Why do you have such great paw’s if instead of clambering over rock you shit in porcelain and sleep in polyester?”
Standing up by a pale brick train station in too thin of a jacket I thought to myself that he looked far more distinguished against the deep blue of the night sky. I remembered seeing the stars and wondering when the last time I had last seem them was? It must have been years. I saw a shooting star as he patted me on my back. I traced its path down behind a near by tree line and felt it land with a thud next to a silver birch. I shoved myself up to my feet and felt grounded by the coarse grip of a northern wind funnelled through the surprisingly harshly lit station.
“You handled that very well Jim.” Blinking, I felt the sticky hands of the night on my body “you kept dropping this.”
“You handled that very well Jim.” Blinking, I felt the sticky hands of the night on my body “you kept dropping this.”
He handed me my wallet, and as I slotted it into my back pocket I noticed a morbid sweat under my armpits and around the waistband of my pants. Then like a premonition I felt a low hum in the backs of my knees as though warning me of his outstretched hand. Ignoring the feeling I took his somewhat limp hand in mine and shook it as my train pulled into the station. I walked toward the door and waited for the hiss, he reached over pushing the door open button for me. Stepping aboard I stared at The Gentleman and his soon to be bald patch. He began nodding to me in a way I read as ‘kindly’ as he was pulled out of sight as I watched platform run out and be replaced by near darkness. Soon all I could see was the faintest of hints of a burgeoning sunset against a horizon adorned with the once verdant boughs of now leafless trees, dead pixels, phone lines and the skeletal crags of pylons and network towers. I melted into my carpeted seat and made friends with the ringing in my ears.