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Bohemia
Along the Oude Binnenweg are several bars. Being alone I chose what lookedto be the most intimate. Despite the window being full of people, once I wasinside I found an empty table adjacent to the bar and sat down after orderinga beer. The barman with a large handlebar moustache brought me a beer thatI hid behind and began to feel comfortable. Everyone appeared to know everyoneelse and all were somewhat lubricated. The Dutch when in full flow appear tomimic goldfish. Their guttural language having them force large solid Germanicvowels from the back of their throats and out through wide-open jaws. Greatglobular sounds resounding around the room. I listened to the poetic rhythmswithout making too much effort to decipher the conversation that was beingbatted along the bar. Slowly I lost myself in a trance as the atmosphere soothedme. I was on my second beer when a beautiful woman sat down next to me. Shelooked round the room several times, more out of what appeared curiousity thanto see if anyone had followed her into the bar. After being served a beer shesat back in her chair and I was able to study her. Her make up was thicklyapplied with thick brilliant red Mae West type lipstick, though for all theimpasto on her face she didn't look cheap, the make up was skilfully executed.Catching me looking at her out of the corner of my eye she turned to me.
'What do you do?' She asked with apparent genuine interest.
'I'm a poet.' I lied. I was really a data input clerk with a fantasy tobe a poet. An English BA honours failed. My problem was my penchant for thevices. At university I was too interested in experiencing my own Xanadu thanreading about Coleridge's and seducing my own Coy Mistress than contemplatingMarvel's. I was in Rotterdam for the poetry festival.
'Interesting.' she said.
'Not really.' I replied acting nonchalantly.
'I'm a whore.' If she wanted to freak me out she was saying the right thing.I knew immediately I was out of my depth. It's not that her being a whore thatso alarmed me, in my fantasy I liked to dabble as much as the next man in suchopen sexual encounters. My real fear was for my erection to fail me at thecrucial moment. My prowess shrivelled to a disappointing punch line in a badjoke.
Recognising my alarm she tried to calm me down 'Don't worry I'm off duty.'
It was not enough to stop my palpitations 'Interesting.' I said rather pathetically.I was obviously not hiding my anxiety.
'Calm down.' She urged 'I'm not going to suck your balls off.' Before decidingto change the direction of the conversation 'What are you doing this evening?'
Well that certainly wasn't going to work. I had started to have images ofa sex hungry woman devouring me and being disappointed at such a weedy meal.'I'm going to a poetry reading.'
'Will you read some of your own poetry?' Sensibly aware I felt better onmy own territory or so I thought.
'I hope to in the open session.' I said feeling more comfortable.
'Nooo!' she exclaimed 'Will you read some now. Here!' I babbled somethingthat now escapes me. She stood up and clapped her hands, silencing the bar.'We are going to have some poetry!' My palpitations instantly returned. 'Whatis your name?'
'Terry.'
'Terree is going to read one of his own poems!' She announced. To my surprisethere was some light applause to this idea, which emboldened me so I stoodup.
'Verdomme! Ik verstaan Engels niet!' (Damn! I don't understand English!)Boomed a voice, followed by some fist banging on the bar 'Musik! Musik! Musik!'I looked in the direction of the commotion to see a six foot five docker type.He was built like King Kong, with a face that looked like it had been run overby a catapillar track and topped with a coiffured explosion of auburn hairthat made him look like he had a bush fire on his head. This was encouragementenough for me to bolt for the door but my feet were firmly frozen to the floorby absolute fear. Under my fomenting panic rumbled a miserable feeling I wasgoing to pee myself.
'Houdt je mond dikt, Jaap!' Commanded the shrill voice of my beautiful neighbour.Jaap's mouth immediately slammed shut. 'Bedankt.' She said. 'Terree zal eengedichten leezen.' Before looking at me to prompt my performance 'Terree.'
Drained of all self-confidence I took my notebook out of my pocket and fumbledthrough it to find a short poem to read. I quickly scanned the room for theprobable directions of incoming missiles. Then I began.
We have two choices
We could fuck or sit in silence
And let our skulls crack open
You propose a third option
"We could talk"
But my tongue is knotted
And my brain is whipped
There is a fourth option
We could sleep
And let what's between us fester
There are plenty of other days to ruin
Silence! A second can possess extraordinary elastic qualities, not only inlength but also in tension. The po-faced crowd extended into the far reachesof the room as it elongated with stretching time. I waited for the eternalsecond to snap and twang back in my face. The atmosphere cracked and the roombroke into applause, I gulped the air. Jaap despite not speaking English wasthe most enthusiastic of all, something that disturbed me somewhat. I was takingthe endorsement with more relief than pleasure when the beautiful woman tuggedat my sleeve to signal me to sit down.
'Very good.' She smiled as she silently but intimately clapped me. 'I'm Inke.'Finally revealing her name. The barman put another couple of beers on the tablewhen something that felt like a shovel hit me between my shoulder blades.
Once my lungs had reinflated I looked behind me to see Jaap grinning, havingjust given me a friendly slap on my back 'Prima jongen! Prima!' Somehow I hadimpressed him and he had come to join us at the table. Inke decided that sinceI was on my own that she and Jaap should accompany me to the poetry readingas moral support. I was uncertain of this offer though with the beer my anxietyhad dropped and I was beginning to genuinely enjoy their company.
By the time we left the bar I was beginning to marinate. I was steeped inthe warm glow of alcohol and followed my new companions rather than lettingthem follow me. Before we had got to the poetry venue we had visited at leastthree or four bars but the vagueness of my memory prevents me from naming aprecise number. As we made this detour we assembled an entourage of itinerantbar flies, lounge lizards and misfits. None of who where seriously out of sortsbut all displaying peculiarities that made me question their true dispositionsand all of who had been convinced by Inke that for some reason I needed theirsupport. This group of self-modelled bohemians, enabled me to begin to liveout a fantasy that I had fabricated in my under occupied head, whilst I wasfeeding mindless information into a blank eyed computer. I was now a misunderstoodpoet who had a band of disciples, who alone had the intellectual insight intounderstanding my genius. It may appear to be an oversight on my part that onlyone of this band of fans had ever heard and understood a poem of mine but theywere all giving substance to my fantasy.
The invited poets on the bill were mainly South American and East Europeanswith the odd Dutch poet for home consumption. The main inspiration of thesepoets seemed their belief in the power of poetry to change the world whetherthrough political or socially minded writing. I myself however was not beyondthe frivolous and saw the power of poetry enduring no longer than the timeit took to read, recite or remember a poem. My newly acquired followers, whoprotested at the initial rejection of my request for an allocated five minuteson the "open mic" spot, due to it being fully booked up, reinforced this irreverentapproach. The sight of a masculine looking female threatening to burn her brawas too much for the earnest liberal organisers of the event, who prevaricatedand then crumbled at a further threat from a rather camp gentleman who threatenedto reveal the contents of his jock strap.
Happy that I had my allocated time in the limelight, my supporters got themselvesa drink and settled at a couple of vacant tables, from then on their behaviourwas impeccable if one took account of their eccentricities. The venue was alarge bar with tables scattered around the floor, benches against the wallsand at the far right hand corner a podium for the poets. To the left of thepodium were the emergency exit and the toilets for anyone wanting to escapethe tedium of the poetry. My companions were baffled by the array of languagesof the poets, surely no one in the room could speak to such fluency poetryrequired in all the languages being performed. Dutifully we all clapped atappropriate times, laughed when prompted by the more knowing members of theaudience and sank into unresponsive melancholy when dulled by the monotonousdrones of an unknown language.
The "open mic" spot came around which generated an excited buzz in the audience,even amongst the earnest connoisseurs of international poetry. The truth wasmost of the "open mic" poets were Dutch and therefore able to be understood.The audience became animated, heckling bad poetry, whooping brave experimentalpoetry and cheering good poetry. By the time it was my turn I was not onlydrunk on alcohol but drunk on my fantasy of being the poet of bohemia. I climbedthe steps onto the podium with such enthusiasm the momentum took me staggeringacross the stage, missing the microphone as I reached out to grab it and offthe opposite side and into the audience. This got the biggest cheer of theevening. Helped back onto the platform I took more care to come to a halt infront of the microphone. Another cheer! The lucky thing about being Englishin Holland is that ninety five percent of people understand you. Not only dothey understand ones language but also one's behaviour. To see a drunken Englishmanis to see an Englishman in his natural state. I scanned the audience, the auditoriumhad expanded into a vast stadium in my mind.
'HELLO ROTTERDAM!' I bellowed. A cheer went up! I was a man transformed.'FUCK OFF!' I yelled. Another cheer! This was easy I was beginning to think.I steadied myself by taking hold of the microphone and looked out at the crowd.All I could see was a kaleidoscope of faces and candles slowly spinning likea great ferrous wheel. 'Do you…hic…want some poetry?' I tailedoff. A mighty 'YEAH!' came the reply. I took my notebook out of my pocket,squinted and began. I had successfully navigated two short poems when I starteda third….
'You choose your car
Like you choose your lover
(Dominique began her weird French discourse)
Not necessarily the most beautiful
Nor the fastest
It could be a little dated
With the springs a little stiff!
But it's the overall package
The kudos of having something "autre"
Angelique insisted on the Mini
(Insisting it was possible)
Pull your knees up…hic…er…into..shit!…tits..Imean..er…er..breasts
Yeah that's...hic…breas…'
'We want poetry!' Shouted a member of the audience.
'Bollocks!' I replied immediately and unimpeded by the drink.
'Get off!' Came another shout. I answered this one by turning round, droppingmy jeans and bending over. 'Ass hole!' Was the audience's response.
I stood up and turned back to face the audience. 'You've got it…hic…youbunch of arseholes!' I was aware of the cursing coming out of my mouth andthe obnoxious attitude of the performer speaking through me but who was thisperson? Something hit me or did I just collapse? I wasn't sure of anythingother than I was on my back and holding onto the floor for dear life as theceiling revolved ever faster above me. I was vaguely aware of boos and hissingbut it never registered as anything more than sound. From then on I can onlyremember brief moments of semi-consciousness. I was aware of being in a car.
'Is hij dood?' (Is he dead?) Asked Jaap.
'Natuurlijk! Waroom denkt jij hij in de auto sitten.' (Naturally! Why doyou think he's in the car?') Replied Inke. Missing any sense of irony I triedto indicate to my rescuers I was not dead but just incapacitated but the effortwas too much and I lost the will and lost consciousness.
I woke up cold, feverish and disorientated. My initial reaction was "My GodI'm blind!" as my eyes detected nothing but absolute darkness. I instinctivelystruck out with my arms to try and discover my surroundings but they flailedhopelessly in space. Lifting my head I hoped to right my vision but an axeburied itself in my forehead and as I winced a fist full of hatpins stabbedmy eyes. I fell back onto the floor where I lay as still as possible untilthe pain subsided. My mouth tasted like a public crapper and my stomach churned,I became nauseous, breaking out in a cold sweat. Rolling over onto all foursI noticed a thin thread of light splitting a wall, I crawled over to it todiscover it was a door. I opened the door, it led out into a hallway and oppositeanother door. I stumbled across the hall, bursting through the door oppositeto find the toilet bowl. Sticking my head down the pan I retched and retchedand retched until my stomach was empty of its malevolent contents. ExhaustedI remained with my chest propped against the pan and my head hung into it.Tears and mucous dribbled from my facial orifices, collecting on the tip ofmy nose before plopping into sour brew collected in the toilet pan. EventuallyI pushed myself up and collapsed into the corner of the bathroom. I remainedthere for some time with my eyes closed as I allowed my weak and feeble bodyto recover its strength.
Crumpled against the wall with my head thrown back I prayed eternity wouldn'tmake a premature visit when I heard music and voices from above. It didn'thave a celestial origin unless Marvin Gay was performing some sexual healingon the angels. Almost pulling the wash basin off the wall I pulled myself tomy feet. My body was wracked with aches and pains from the cramp and the coldof the bathroom. At least my confinement in the cold damp atmosphere had numbedmy head. I felt my way along the hall to the upward flight of stairs and squintedup the stairwell but there was nothing but darkness above. Bracing myself Istarted to ease my way up the stairs by pulling on the banister to help myaching legs. By the next landing the noise was louder but still coming fromabove. I followed the banister round and up the next two flights of stairsto what must be the attic I thought. The music was on the same level as meand chatting and laughter accompanied it. Starting to edge round the banisteragain I realised the sound was behind me, I turned to see a partially opendoor. Curious as to who could be causing the party noise I stepped lightlytowards the door. Were these the same tenants of the room I had woken up in?Gently I pushed the door open to be met with such a sight I forgot how to blink.
I swear I saw a hairy arse stuck in the air and just about to be piercedby a woman with a huge phallus, when Inke suddenly appeared all but naked.
'How are you feeling?' She asked in the imbecile tones of a mother to herinjured toddler. 'Your head must be ringing.' I ignored her question. My eyescould not absorb enough information. Inke put her arms around me and pressedmy head onto her shoulder 'There, there, you must be feeling terrible.' Itwas then a man wearing a dental clamp of sorts put a large glass of jeneverin my hand and using improvised sign language urged me to drink it in one.Foolishly I did, I immediately felt its fumes fill my head as it burnt itsway down my gullet. Inke led me across the room and told me to sit on the edgeof the bed because I looked unsteady on my feet. I sat down only to feel thebed rocking. I looked round to see two women sat on a male, one on his groinand the other apparently on his face. I stood up immediately should I be accusedof being a pervert for showing too much interest in their activities and movedover to the fire place. There I was then confronted by a chap leant againstthe mantelpiece wearing an all in one latex suit. The suit covered his headand face with a hole for his mouth and a slit in the groin where a proud erectionwas protruding through it.
"Damn thing literally burst its seam!" He exclaimed in a muffled but disappointedtone and then sucked a cocktail through a straw.
'It's a bit of a pisser.' I empathised hoping I didn't sound as if I wasmocking.
Inke came over to me and spared me the anxiety of making a social gaff andput a large splif in my mouth 'There. This will make you feel better.' I tooka large draw, filling my lungs and holding in the opiate before exhaling. Inkeurged me on and so I repeated the process several times before she abandonedme and took the drug with her. Someone called Joke handed me a drink and introducedherself. She mentioned something about the poetry earlier in the evening butby then my inhibitions had gone again and I was studying her breasts, whichdidn't seem to phase her in the least. After Joke there is not much I rememberother than being fascinated by body piercings and tattoos that decorated suchintimate parts of the anatomy that I winced more than once on somebody else'sbehalf. There was the effeminate male I remembered from the entourage earlierwho asked me if I wanted to see the bee on his sting. I looked blankly at abee tattooed on his foreskin.
He gave me a shrug 'You aren't interested are you?' I was but not in beingstung by his bee, even after so many jenevers. I went and sat on the couch,the dope and the alcohol was beating me. There I was joined by a series ofpeople who chatted for awhile but nothing I can remember, as far as I am awarethe evening ended for me at that point.
Even though it could only have been a few hours later I found myself in adeserted room. All the smoke had cleared though the low winter sun that litup the room through dirty windows, gave the impression of a smoke filled atmosphereas its rays were defused by the grime.. The stale stink of cigarettes and alcoholhung in the air with the smell of rancid sweat and sexual fluids. My head rangwith a dull throb and my neck had a crick in it from the awkward way I hadlain against the arm of the couch. It was through this mental investigationof my physical well being I felt cool air around my groin with a distinct discomfortto my penis. I look down to see I was missing my jeans! I sat up bolt uprightand instantly covered my genitals with a cushion from the couch but there wasindeed no one around. Slowly I lifted the cushion and looked beneath it. Mypenis was in an exceedingly diminutive state, red with soreness from apparentvigorous use but what sent a shot of adrenaline to my brain and back to mypenis, was a smudged ring of brilliant red lipstick that circled it!
For reasons of emotional security I searched for my jeans and found themon the floor where I assume they had been discarded. I was relieved no onehad thought about making a jest and hiding them, my anxiety levels were alreadydecidedly uncool for a bohemian poet. I pulled them on without hesitation andsat back on the couch happy that that was one anxiety that had been eased andpondered the state of my penis. The more I scoured my memory the more convincedI was I had not indulged in any sexual activity. Annoyingly I had a vague recollectionof an erotic dream that slipped from my memory the more I tried to grasp thestrands that lingered in my imagination. The few images I had left flickeringin my brain were too surreal to reveal any intelligible clue as to any meaningso I gave up and went back to contemplating my penis's condition. The evidencewas there, I had been doing something or someone had been doing something tome and who used brilliant red lipstick? Inke of course! I sat back in smugsatisfaction at the thought of the beautiful Inke performing fellatio on me.It was of little consequence to me that I had not been awake to experiencethose big red lips sucking at my penis but the knowledge of their indulgencein my groin was enough to ease the grind of my throbbing head and bilious gut.
Fortified enough by the conclusions my powers of deduction had arrived atI set out to find the kitchen to complete my recovery with a strong coffee.I found myself downstairs on the same floor as the room I originally woke upin. At the end of the hallway was a kitchen, its white interior reflectinglight along the dark corridor. With a little nervousness I poked my head aroundthe door should I find myself an unwanted visitor in a strangers kitchen. Onecan never tell in these old houses just where one persons territory ends andanother begins. I had no need to worry as Inke was sitting at the table pushedover against the opposite wall. She was dressed in pink lace underwear, hermake up still immaculate and those big pouting red lips, simply perfect.
'Coffee?' She simply said as way of invitation.
'Please.' I replied and sat down on the opposite side of the table as Inkepoured me the dark brew and spooned a couple of sugars in the cup. Her delicatehands moved with such grace as she stirred the coffee and placed the spoonon the saucer. I looked up at her and smiled but she gave no indication ofmentioning our intimate liaison, in what I had in the light of day drawn theconclusion was an orgy.
'Toast?' She asked. I simply nodded and watched her gracefully get a plateout of the cupboard above the kitchen work surface. Her buttocks were firmand round and stretched her panties to the point where she would be less revealedif she was naked. She sat down, placing the plate in front of me and put twoslices of bread in the toaster.
'You was very good last night.' She commented. Very good? What was that supposedto mean and how am I supposed to know if I was in a drunken stupor? 'In factyour first two poems were very expressive and…and…' She searchedfor a word 'Faultless?' She snapped her fingers. Oh my poetry I thought.
'I can't really remember much' I confessed.
'But you know…' pausing as a way of telling me I should take noteof what she is about to say 'If you are going to insult your audience you reallydo have to deliver a brilliant performance.'
'Something hit me didn't it?' I inquired.
'Yes.' She said before going on to explain 'A glass.' Then she slapped herforehead with the palm of her hand 'Right in the middle of your forehead.'Shaking her head with disbelief 'A brilliant shot.'
'Oh.' Not being able to think of what to say.
'The crowd really got ugly.' She buttered my toast and pushed it in frontof me.
'I'm sorry.' I said feeling ashamed.
'Damn!' She exclaimed 'There is no need to apologise.' And laughed 'It wasthe best night out we have had for a long time!'
'Well I'm pleased I contributed to everyone's evening.' I lamented but whatabout the orgy?
'That's why we came back and partied.' She said as she rolled a cigarette'We didn't want the night to end.' Good we are getting somewhere I thoughtjust when….
'Goeie Morgen, jongen!' (Good morning, son!) Said a booming voice in thedoorway. I turned to see Jaap leaning against the door with a big silly grinon his face. He was wearing a pink skin-tight latex mini dress with white latexfrills and a big pink silk bow on his head tying his mop of hair up. His lipswere painted with brilliant red lipstick in the style of Mae West. Smudged!My jaw dropped. I looked at Inke, then at Jaap before returning to look atInke again. Inke raised her eyebrows as if to encourage me to say what wason my mind. I looked at Jaap again before returning to Inke.
'N-nothing.' I said.
'Are you all right?' Inquired Inke 'You have gone very pale.'
'I-I'm fine.' I replied as I looked at Jaap again. There was nothing to say.The vision in front of my eyes said it all but I was not sure if I was alonein understanding the significance or my companions knew more than me. I didn'task. I really didn't want to know.
'Voel jij goed jongen?' (Are you feeling good son?') Jaap laughed.
I ate my toast and drank my coffee in silence, unable to think of anythingto say. My palpitations had started again and I broke out in a sweat.
'You really don't look well.' Said Inke.
'Perhaps I should get some fresh air.' I answered and got up and left thekitchen. As I made my way down the stairs, Jaap's loud voice bellowed a hugeguffaw after me, down the stairwell and out onto the street.
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