(9) Another Perspective On Policing
Amazing himself and his dire predictions, Andrew somehow managed to fall into a deep sleep. Deep and untroubled. Soaking in a hot bath probably helped. And he did not appear to dream, another surprize. Around four he surfaced to the warm shadowy embrace of his bedroom and a soft distant plash of waves. Images of Lara and walking through hills floated about, similar to other occasions since she passed. They’d lain in long grass and looked up. Probably. It was lovely to feel her so close and yet frustrating to find it so vague. And yet here he was, so blessed by fortune. His mother would say God of course. And so at one time would he. But that time had passed into embarrassed memories and politeness. Now he was some kind of rational mystic. Placing anomalous psychic experience into smart categories and then speaking of them coolly and intelligently seemed to neutralize one’s anxieties over finger pointing and tittering. It kept you safely within the consensus reality, the citizen who enjoyed the honour of conforming.
After a two hour return to the land of nod, he showered and breakfasted. It was two plus hours before he met up with Dennis, so nibbling on toast and cheese while sipping an Assam tea and catching up on all the latest developments on the world stage seemed like a good idea. Tragedy competed with comedy for pre-eminence. Celebrities strutted their questionable stuff. Some new discoveries had been made and some old ones deposed from their former glory. Well, we were wrong about that, the experts said. He recalled his Uni pal Graeme’s line on the sciences, It’s all about getting a doctorate in U-turns. Degenerates committed gruesome acts upon children and small animals. Sometimes Andrew felt the very act of incarnation should be reserved for, oh, he didn’t know, folk that had passed some kind of course, he guessed. He’d brought the point up, rather huffily as he recalled, with Jordan, who’d insisted magisterially that it was an even playing field, and that every soul desirous of a womb got one and that the process was fair and equitable. Andrew had smirked and chosen not to believe him. Jordan had said Fine. You’re gonna go with religion are you? Atheism? Humanism? Monday nights at bingo? This was followed by one of his irrepressible guffaws, generally issued when he was confronted by the ridiculous. He had this unnerving ability to laugh off conventional views as child’s play, particularly when uttered by the type of intelligentsia who fancied themselves as cultural icons. Andrew enjoyed his repartee but preferred to stand apart from its more peculiar, and let’s face it, unsupportable assertions.
Obama and the bankers. Did the big fish always get the big feed? Looked like it. Just think of their mortgage payments, not to mention the fees at Harvard and Yale. And those pricey vacation spots, you can bet they had to tip triple there. And those ten- thousand-a-night escorts, probably had to get one for the wife too. Double double everywhere you go, poor lads. And those cheesy little bonuses likely didn’t cover the half of it. Mind you, he could talk, this mini-mansion was mortgage free. Better not let that out or Obama’d have to pony up his fair share of the loot. Here Andrew, this is for not buying Lehmann Brothers, smart move.
Dennis found him in a surprisingly chipper mood, and commented so. Andrew was darn glad to see him and said so. Dennis entertained with tales of Europe. His delivery seemed very well oiled, as if years of entertaining Vee had allowed perfection of practice. He had to admit he was a little envious. Then again, he’d never been in any relationship remotely like this. Dennis’s silent acknowledgement and occasional gentlemanly hints carried odours of 18th century France in their cultured discretion, like liaisons dangerouses without the dangerouses. Or maybe it was more upper class English circa 1920, a Noel Coward song left in his closet and lost.
