The End?

In Iraklion…

…I go straight down to the harbour. There is an overnight ferry leaving for Athens in two hours and this time I buy a proper ticket.

A month. That’s what they said so I should just do it. Couple of days to spare in fact. Easy. If they come back that way that is and if they stop and if I’ve got the damn geometry right and we do….intersect….if…..

Okay…

…good. So I walk down into the nearest village and I’m lucky the bus to Iraklion is about to leave.
“Iraklion,” I say to the driver and he replies and I don’t understand but nod anyway, profer a note and he tilts his head in agreement, it is enough, takes it, punches buttons on his machine turns the handle and gives me my ticket and change. On the radio the first familiar plangent notes of the bazouki herald the start of Zorba’s Dance as I move down the bus to my seat.  The vinyl hisses as I sit, lean my head against the glass.

Jesus.

I have to find her. I have to give myself, offer myself up. Now as I am without any of the made-up make-up I painted myself with. And if it’s too late well, fine but I have to find her and try. I just gave up. I can’t believe it. I just gave up. Great. And now she’s got a three week start. And I had her. I had her. Me and her. There. A whole contry, Greece. Well not the whole of Greece probably. They were going to the Pellopenese for a month maybe. That’s what they said, planned and what Franz plans……shit, he changes. Suppose they only took two weeks. Oh God. Suppose they changed their plans completely. They would have to go back through Athens though, wouldn’t they, on their way back north and they might stop. I know I have to be there, that it is my only chance and somehow I have to get in the way. Intersect. Geology and now Geometry. Work out the angles. Should Old Harry Catch A Herring Trawling Off…..Athens. Maybe. Do they even have herrings in the Med? The Acropolis. Can’t have a the. Trawling off A cropolis. But then it’s a c not an a. And my names not Harry. And does that mean Hana is a herring… Well she is German. No….Athens. Has to be Athens. Tangent. Opposite. Adjacent. That was the trouble, too many tangents, too much opposite and not enough adjacent. Improve the probability. That’s what I have to do. Sod the angles. Just make sure I get in the way. Work out what’s likely. I’m packing by the way. I can ramble and pack. I’m finished with Crete and I’m packing. Packing, packing, packing. Sleeping bag, tent, clothes, drawings……dry? Yes. They’ll do. Packing, packing. All the time. Yes sir. Improving the probability and packing. Working out the angles. Packing, packing. All the time. Must get in the way. Stop her. Yep. Make her see. See the real me. Right. Now. Right. Now, now.

What on earth am I doing here?

Wasting time that’s what and there is no time. I should have gone after her, followed her, right away. I knew where they were going. Shit, shit, why didn’t I, why did I come here?

…and it’s like a revelation…

…and because I never fight for anything and because of her damn guide books and Zorba I get straight on the first fucking ferry and I end up here.

I feel jittery with panic. All this time. All this time when I could have been……what a fuck up.

and I look at all the paintings…

…the drawings, the collages and I realise none of it makes any difference, if I draw or if I lay faint washes or pile the paint on or cut and paste….or not I still can’t see her face and I know she is looking out at me me from behind these granular masks, this ink judging me, mocking. Or is that me, my guilt? Yes, she wouldn’t do that, she would be sad, disappointed, angry oh yes angry and it’s then that I realise that I’m coming at it all wrong that I’ve done it all wrong, that I had her and I let her go and gave up because I didn’t want her to know what I was like I was too embarrassed to let her see me for what I really am and preferred to let her go, preferred not to fight than take a chance and risk her contempt.

How stupid. I remember her questions. She knew. She knew what I was like all along and she kept giving me chances to tell her. She wanted me to tell her. And it would all have been alright. What have I done? I remember her talking about us meeting and how it was meant, how life was meant to be about change and chance and seizing these chances and changing and she knew that and I…

No, that’s not quite right either…

…she was mine, right at the begining, she was mine, the lies were nothing, unimportant, we’d have laughed at them, she didn’t care, she wanted me to tell her everything, caution is only natural with strangers, safety, it was the fact that they went on and on and I didn’t stop and so there were always these lack-of-trust undercurrents: of her and of myself. I never made her that gift. Of myself. I never made it, I just stood there on the brink for six weeks and then I stepped back.

…and there was just no joining…

… no coming together, no meeting, that was the trouble. I was too frightened. To make it real. To come clean. Because I thought I might lose her and in the end I lost her because I didn’t.

…and she…

…the sea…

…the sea…

…the sea…

…the sea…

…you’re such a fucking give-up…

…why do you bother with anything eh because it’s always the fucking same isn’t it, if anything gets a teensy weensy bit too difficult, it’s oh I didn’t want to do it anyway and in fact, I never did, THIS IS WHAT REALLY I WANTED TO DO.

Look, Marta gave you their address didn’t she, so all you have to do is get yourself back up to Berlin middle of sept and hang around, that’s if you want to and you’ll see her. Okay she might not want to see you but at least you’ll know won’t you?

Yes yes but I’m not sure I want to go up to Berlin in September, it’ll be cold and expensive and..

…and Marta will let you crash with them wont she at least for a couple of nights or why would she give you the address eh?

Spose.

So you might as well go and see eh?

Yeah spose so.

A bit more enthusiasm wouldn’t…….and I realise that I’m talking outloud, both voices…..

YEEES, ALRIGHT, I’LL GO AND SEE. HAPPY NOW?

Yes.

Yeah right.

Go and see.

See the sea…

The sea, the sea…

…never going to see her again…

…not in this life anyway.

Jesus…

…yeah…fuck it…

…

because I’m probably…

…oh fuck it…

…

And then suddenly I’m not sure what I’m trying to do…

…these pieces seem to be exaggerating the distance between us, between now and then and not closing the gap and anyway am I not justifying my behaviour in some way by making art out of it. And by making a more heroic scene out of what after all was nothing more than a squalid betrayal, an example of intense mental cowardice am I not guilty of a tawdry attempt to rewrite history. My portrayals of her, these ideals, these…these goddesses to be worshipped are a lie. They must be or I wouldn’t be here alone on this bleak, sun-blasted clifftop.

I look at the unused ripped and cut-out fragments in front of me, drawing me. I can feel them skewing the perspective, lying now, crafting feelings and emotions I never had.

…and we…

…