23.11.03
Here are two things that happened to me this week:
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We heard them through the plaster walls. They were shouting in French. None of us understood what they were saying, but Laura found him in the kitchen holding his head between his narrow fingers.
I stepped into the hallway and saw one dark hand against the white doorframe, fragile and surrendering. I did not think he could bear the weight of re-entering that room for another round.
He was the one who called the police. "Joe," they said, shortening his name without permission. "You can't stay here," they said. "Joe. Do you have anywhere else you can sleep? If not," they said. "We'll have to take you with us."
In the following thirty seconds, Rob had offered, and I found myself standing in my untied boots with my socks in my pocket. We slid, silently, into the back of the police car. Rob and I said nothing. Joseph clasped his hands.
The policemen drove us home and then as Rob cleared the laundry from the spare bedroom, Joseph wrapped his fingers around a different doorframe. He looked lost, with nothing to love.
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On a traffic island between two cities of some significance, and near a small town of none, I saw the most extraordinary sight.
There were three chairs. The two outer chairs had IKEA written on them. The centre chair had a large question mark painted on it.
Behind the two outer chairs were the Blues Brothers, standing in tableaux.
--------
We heard them through the plaster walls. They were shouting in French. None of us understood what they were saying, but Laura found him in the kitchen holding his head between his narrow fingers.
I stepped into the hallway and saw one dark hand against the white doorframe, fragile and surrendering. I did not think he could bear the weight of re-entering that room for another round.
He was the one who called the police. "Joe," they said, shortening his name without permission. "You can't stay here," they said. "Joe. Do you have anywhere else you can sleep? If not," they said. "We'll have to take you with us."
In the following thirty seconds, Rob had offered, and I found myself standing in my untied boots with my socks in my pocket. We slid, silently, into the back of the police car. Rob and I said nothing. Joseph clasped his hands.
The policemen drove us home and then as Rob cleared the laundry from the spare bedroom, Joseph wrapped his fingers around a different doorframe. He looked lost, with nothing to love.
--------
On a traffic island between two cities of some significance, and near a small town of none, I saw the most extraordinary sight.
There were three chairs. The two outer chairs had IKEA written on them. The centre chair had a large question mark painted on it.
Behind the two outer chairs were the Blues Brothers, standing in tableaux.
