Only in the past do the dead talk
“I would simply call you brilliant,” said Diane, sounding as if she really meant those few words about me. Of course, I only heard it spoken in reported speech. And true meaning can be lost in transit.
“Well, thank you for telling me what she said and the way she said it, Densil, but do you think you’ll be able to contrive a meeting. No doubt she’ll be on tenterhooks as to my appearance. From what you have said about the beauty of her large innocent eyes, she’ll be a treat for my large guilty ones.”
Densil continued to pretend he was Diane talking directly to me:
“No, I don’t want to meet you. I’d rather have my own image of you from your stories, Mr Lewis. People in real life have a tendency to come apart at the seams.”
Densil’s imitation of Diane’s voice was almost laughable, but I was certain of the subtext: although she considered me brilliant, it was only the stories I wrote that were brilliant, not me in person and, even without meeting me, she knew instinctively that I was not somebody with whom she would wish to associate. For her, I was related, no doubt, to those strangers that her parents once said little girls should not talk to.
“Yet, Diane talked to <I>you</I>, Densil. You are as much a stranger as ever I’m likely to be. In fact my real name is well known in certain literary circles, whilst yours, Densil, is concealed by a multitude of pseudonyms!”
“It’s nothing personal. I just don’t want my illusions shattered.”
Her voice was pitched at a level that indicated that she was becoming slightly hysterical, which Densil found most difficult to mimic.
“Densil, this <I>is</I> getting out of hand. I’d be grateful if you’d tell Diane that I am no ogre and, if she is judging me from your example, then she has certainly got the wrong end of the stick. My lips are not so thick as yours. I’m still sprouting hair on my head and I don’t have a leering look in the eyes, as you do. I really do think it was a mistake appointing you as my spokesman as demonstrated by this case in point.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Mr Lewis, but Densil has been very sympathetic with my fear of his appearance. As soon as I saw him, I cringed. I can’t bear rubbery lips, you see, nor his bulging bloodshot eyes - and the teeth, God, the teeth! - so obtruding and brown-stained, I wonder if he isn’t a stale vampire, one that’s gone past the undead-by-day! Yet with all that, Densil has bucked up my spirits with his inner personality. He <I>is</I> a nice man, whatever people say of him - and he has calmed my nerves about the appearance that God gave him even if he doesn’t deserve to wear such ugliness (if one can use the word ‘wear’ when talking about appearances).”
Densil spent much time in meticulously pronouncing Diane’s words to me. It was almost like listening to her talk directly, even though I could not be sure, never having met her nor been privileged to handle a photo of her face.
‘This can’t go on, Densil!”
I immediately smothered him in kisses, as second best. I’m sure I loved Diane, you see, beyond anything.
He gagged on my tongue and brought up his dinner, which turned out to be a better thing to kiss.
So, yes, Diane actually appears here in person, albeit regurgitated. It should make me an even more brilliant writer in her large innocent eyes - having so brilliantly conveyed this postively frightful image.
“You’re nothing if not a genius.”
At which I blushed, then smiled, ignoring any second thoughts.
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