LAPIS LAZULI
That day in Marsala had been so hot there were times when I thought I would pass out. It was nearly forty degrees - a temperature not much given to my pale and pasty non-tan. A low-slung sandy breeze softly whispered tales of remote deserts and dense sub-tropical rainforests. Rain. Some hope...
Realisation: I had to adjust to mid-summer life in Sicily, or spend the rest of the trip in the shower. You see, we were on holiday. We were visiting the island for the second time in as many years - fascinated by the culture, the people and yes, the weather. But I could make it through the heat, I reckoned. With the essential input of gelato, sparkling water and re-applied sun lotion, I felt slightly more prepared for the 2km traipse back to the train station and whatever the rest of the day had in store.
*
Thirty-eight degrees. That's what the temperature meter read at the station concourse. Mind meltingly hot and just as humid. The sweat dribbled down my neck and back with a strange sense of loving oppression, forming rivulets of liquid heat. I imagined myself bathing in the sea. Not swimming, drowning or waving, just bathing; safe, relaxed and cool.
Through this quagmire of thermal dynamics, I dazedly asked how long the journey back to Trapani would be. With the reassuring answer of "just a couple of hours", I returned to my sweating and we boarded the train.
That's when I first felt it. Something other than the droplets of perspiration winding their way down my flesh and around my ribs. Something other than the elemental force of the sun beating and pounding my on-fire brain. Something other than the overpowering weakness I felt in my body and my soul.
No, this feeling had been an ice-cool stab of silver through tendons and spine. If I was a synesthete, I would say that it felt like a bright blue light. But I'm not. So I won't.
Just as suddenly as it had arrived it disappeared. In its place was a face; the earnest visage of one who came to define our lives and experiences. The intense and unblinking face that for the rest of my existence I shall never be able to forget. Not for a second.
*
The Face was addressing us. It was speaking Italian with an accent I didn't readily recognise. I don't happen to speak the language, but as a citizen of the country, D does. They responded to the gradually appearing countenance with a few rapidly chosen words. I assumed that they were informing the visage that we both spoke English. This Face was fiery sunburnt and steely blue-eyed. Topped with sandy coloured light brown hair, it belonged to a person in their late 20s or early 30s. Lapis...
*
The stranger began to talk animatedly in a curious accent that told its own story of many months away from home. In simultaneously awkward and confident tones, they explained that they were from Finland and had been travelling in Italy and Sicily for the last few months.
From the look of the sunburned skin and dishevelled attire, it was clear that a fairly large percentage of that time had been spent sleeping rough. This, plus the extremely large backpack with a sleeping bag tied to the top that they were carrying as they made their way onto the train. They were eager to discover what kind of sleeping arrangements they could find in Trapani, the town where we were also staying.
The talk took a turn for the odd as they proceeded to present us with a surreal lecture on jewellery, metallurgy and, in particular, the attributes of the precious item Lapis Lazuli. It gradually became apparent to me that the weather-beaten Finn was obsessed with the substance. In my mind, I named them 'Lapis'.
*
Lapis would jump from one topic to the next, seemingly motivated by lack of sleep and solar energy. Art and design colleges, the joys of smoking cigars, Finland and Italy, metallurgical tools, the power of the heavenly bodies... This hyper-disjointed mode of communication was seemingly not due to any form of nervousness or unease, rather, the passenger exuded a curious kind of poise and self-belief. They seemed to be displaying a psychological condition of some kind. Or perhaps they were just sun-tired and hadn't spoken to anyone in a while.
*
The end of the train journey steadily came into sight. And with a great sense of relief - both mental and physical - we disembarked from the vehicle.
Lapis had barely paused for breath during the entire trip. Even when I turned my head to look out the window - as I did for most of the second half of the uncomfortable expedition - they seemed physically incapable of being able to stop talking.
I remained calm, despite the heat sapping me of my ability to feign any kind of interest. I lapsed into a pathetic puppet model of smiling and occasionally nodding. After all, this is what our society had eventually brought me up to do - to remain polite in the face of ongoing disquiet and anxiety.
*
We hurriedly said our muffled goodbyes to the sunburnt one and made our way out of the station, leaving them on a mission to find cigars and a suitable sleeping space. The height of the day had passed, so it was not quite as taxing for me to walk the short distance to the hotel.
*
From the crimson-ended smoking article stuck in their wide mouth, I could immediately see at least one of Lapis’s mission objectives had been successfully achieved. Amidst a steady stream of smoke, they launched into another oddball diatribe of observation, which I hurriedly cut short by explaining that we were just on our way to dinner.
To make it clear that I was drawing a line under our meeting, I wished them good luck with their jewellery-making endeavours and journeying. They nodded quietly and, if memory serves, somewhat sadly. And with that, we were off, leaving them by the side of the road, disappearing into a puff of blue and white cigar smoke.
*
The pizzeria located on the platforms of the Trapani railway station was quite a place.
I remember the first bite, but very little after that. This was for one simple reason; they were there.
They just stood there, in the ever-growing early evening shadows. Clouded and obscured, staring out at us as we ate and drank. They didn't say anything or call out, just wandered, seemingly aimlessly, constantly looking in our direction.
“Let's just ignore them,” I stage whispered over our wine glasses. “They’re bound to get bored and piss off soon.”
*
Our return to the demanding blur of London life brought with it both new and established challenges. The beautiful memories of our summer sojourn gradually became less distinct, as did the vision of that burned, scarlet face.
London, to my mind, seemed to be taking on an untenable aspect. Commuting to my dull office job became more of a struggle every year. Social activity was marked by a similarity to a bad-tempered house party where people kept arriving and never left.
Those weeks and months in the post-Sicilian sun haze were a jumble of hopes, vague desires and aloof dreams. For me, it was also a time of health concerns. I had recently been diagnosed with a neurological condition and an incident that occurred in Sicily had confirmed it.
Proof that something was going on with my neurons had happened a few days after last seeing Lapis at the Trapani pizzeria.
I can still remember the dazed confusion that struck me as I awoke and could not see out of my left eye. I was completely half-blind. The right side was normal, but the left was totally occluded. There had been no indication of anything like this in the days preceding it, and other than an indistinct sense of dread, there was no pain or discomfort attached.
Sensing that something was unusual about this, I decided to wait until we got back to London to visit the hospital. As I was in no immediate danger or suffering any pain, I thought it best to return to the UK first.
When we did, I went through the usual rigmarole of waiting. Waiting for appointments, waiting for results, waiting in waiting rooms. The long wait. Eventually, they told me what I suspected to be true for a long time. I had Multiple Sclerosis.
*
In real physical terms, the eye problem - in medical language, 'optic neuritis' - was not the first related health worry I had had. The initial symptom of the condition had been an attack two years ago that had led to being hospitalised for several days.
From that point on, I had known that some sort of follow-up was likely, but it wasn't until this one that I could be formally diagnosed. You see, a diagnosis of MS requires some sort of evidence of more than one attack. My dodgy eye was just that: confirmation.
*
We had dreamed of moving to Berlin for years and we weren't going to let a neurological condition get in the way of that. After a spot of easily conducted research, I found that I could be perfectly monitored at the city's Charité hospital. With a reputation for having the best and most extensive research facilities in the whole of Europe, I saw no reason to alter our plans.
*
Straying too far from the forest path and my family, I remember staring at my reflection in the stream. Voices were all around me, whispering a commentary on what I had learned so far. Thinking back to that time, it felt exciting, almost comforting. The early stages of such internal activity were nothing to be alarmed by. They were all just another aspect of life. The fainting fits came later.
*
The small club night was run by a friend of ours who we had known in London. Oskar hailed from Helsinki and had moved out to Berlin a few years ago.
The amiable Finn, known for his love of schnapps, stimulants and 5-day weekends, had built up a reputation as a promoter and DJ in the clubbing capital of Europe. They’re the perfect example of the kind of character who does so well here - bright, ambitious, and able to carry on partying for days on end.
Oskar's night 'Last Exit' took place at the Herausforderung bar in the Friedrichshain area of the city. This event was dedicated to disco synthesiser music and appealed to many of Berlin's ex-pat community, including a large contingent of Oskar's fellow Finns and Scandinavians.
The flash of sparkling blue eyes framed by futuristically styled fair hair greeted us wherever we went in the industrially-themed venue. Everywhere people were smiling, laughing and dancing. With a decent-sized dance floor space and booming sound system, the night they were promised to be a lot of fun.
We drifted downstairs to the main music room, cocktails firmly in hand. The dizzying ambience of strobes and lasers was in full effect, bringing an almost hallucinatory sensation to the event. I remember I felt myself dipping in and out of the room, my sense of reality drifting along to the mesmeric strains of energised synth waves and hypnotic bass loops.
Oskar belted out tune after tune of powerful space music. To this otherworldly soundtrack, we said our hellos to friends, and friends of friends, pulling on cigarettes and sipping on cocktails as we circled the luminous room.
We met plenty of friendly revellers, all displaying the same shimmering smiles and gleaming eyes. People danced by, greeting us in German, Swedish, Norwegian, Danish and Finnish before finally settling on English. In this arena, everyone seemed to know everyone else; they were studying in Berlin, setting up a start-up business or working in IT...it was the sort of place where thoughts, ideas and, yes, people, could become interchangeable and unknowable.
And there they were. Lapis.
*
Their eyes met mine and they slowly and determinedly approached where I was standing, waiting alone at the bar. This time there were no words exchanged. Their demeanour had altered entirely. A look of anger and resentment was etched across the still sunburned face. Their accusatory expression fixed itself into my brain. There was no understanding or forgiveness, merely quiet fury. And as soon as they had appeared, they were gone. None of our friends had seen them or seemed to know who or what I was talking about... just another face in the crowd.
*
From that point on I would see them everywhere. Appointments at the hospital, shopping at the local markets, watching films at the cinema... everywhere they were there. Always watching me. My own personal judge, jury and slayer.
*
Please forgive the cliché, but it did all happen so fast. I had felt like a long walk and wanted to go up rather than across, so I climbed up the stairs of the Deutscher Dom, Berlin's historic cathedral.
At the summit of the building, as I admired the view, they were there. Again. They were staring at me with such undiluted malice of unwavering intensity! Why were they always there? Always following me, always judging me? Always there, always there!
*
BACK AT HOME IN THE PARK NEAR THE RIVER FEELING CALM FEELING CALM BACK AT HOME IN THE PARK NEAR THE RIVER FEELING CALM FEELING CALM FEELING CALM FEELING CALM FEELING CALM FEELING CALM FEELING CALM FEELING CALM...
*
It’s been said that I pushed them off the top, laughing as I did so. I don't know. I can't remember. I just remember the face. Their face... That face, my face, once so serene and placid, now transformed into a raging mask, choking on hilarity and dreams of violence.
I'm writing this in my school diary. I don't know the date is, or what time it is. I don't know who I am. The only thing I know for sure is that I'm still waiting.
Waiting for something.
Waiting for.
Waiting.