The Big Pink

LIVINGROOM

  Levin MacHill and Levin and James were in the Livingroom. James was supposed to be in class; Levin MacHill and Levin were supposed to be in class. Were they? No. They were in the Livingroom. They may have been playing Worms, they may have been drinking, they may have been listening to music and talking rubbish. It doesn't matter. As it happens Pink Floyd's 'The Wall' was playing on Levin's cd player and they were smoking a joint. But that is not important. What was important their helplessness to resist. And their awareness of this fact.

  'The Livingroom is sucking my willpower away,' complained Levin MacHill, puffing.

  'Wha?' replied Levin.

  On a Tuesday in late November these three individuals were not at class where they were supposed to be. James was supposed to be in a music theory tutorial but he wasn't. Levin MacHill and Levin were supposed to be in Jordanstown, studying catering and hospitality and computers respectively. But they weren't. They weren't sure why not. Everyone had risen in good time, which traditionally is the trickiest obstacle of the day. They had eaten breakfast and then popped into the Livingroom to fritter away the remaining few minutes before departure. Now, two hours later, they were still in there, listening to 'The Wall' for the third time and smoking their eighth joint.

  Around lunchtime they heard the front door being opened and being shut. Someone walked down the hall into the kitchen. There was a distant sound of food being prepared.

  'Mm. I could really do with some food right now,' said Levin MacHill.

  'That means getting up though,' said James, rolling a joint.

  'Ah,' said Levin MacHill.

  There was a silence.

  Then Levin: 'Go'ne make us some lunch man.'

  This titillated Levin MacHill. 'Make you lunch?' he said, mirthful. 'Fuck off.'

  Levin pulled a face. He was not happy.

  Neil came into the Livingroom with some freshly-made salad and a milkshake.

  Neil took a look around, and then a second look around, and then a third. He was evidently struck by this scene of three wasted corpses, beaten by life at the beginning of a dry Tuesday afternoon late in November.

  'Hello chaps. What's happening?'

  'Not much,' chortled Levin MacHill. 'Just stuck in the Livingroom.'

  Neil heard the capital letter and frowned. He felt uncomfortable with the degeneration of spirit it entailed.

  'Go'ne give us some of that salad man,' said Levin, ravenously hungry.

  Neil gave him a look which succinctly expressed the feeling: 'This is my salad, not your salad, I'm not going to make you salad.' He then said 'No.'

  'Uhh,' said Levin, almost expiring.

  James saw the truth.

  'We're going to have to get up man.'

  Levin saw it too. He moaned and suffered, and in ten minutes was on his feet by the Livingroom door. Levin MacHill, emboldened by this display of energy, actually leapt to his feet. 'That's used up all my strength,' he acknowledged. He staggered slothfully out to the kitchen.

  Levin was about to follow. James saw his chance; he made a request.

  'Man, in my cupboard, there's a loaf of bread. Get me two slices of bread and put some butter on them. And then go to the fridge. Open a packet of ham and put one slice between two slices of bread. And get me a cup of tea.'

  Levin stared at him. He marvelled at the insolence.

  'No.'

  'Aw, but I'm makin' a joint man! By the time you get back it’ll be ready. We can have a nice joint with tea and sandwich.'

  In Neil’s regard, this whole scene was extremely amusing. He slurped some of his milkshake.

  'Sounds reasonable,' Neil said. ‘A division of labour.'

  'See,' James added, holding up the tobacco pouch. 'I'm using Drum mild, not even cigarette tobacco. So it'll be a really nice joint.'

  Levin shook his head. 'I don't know why I'm doing this,' he said.

  He shook his head all the way to the kitchen. He made James and himself a sandwich. Levin MacHill made himself something more delectable: home-made cheeseburger and chips.

  The kettle boiled for what seemed like eighteen minutes. When the nightmare of eternity had ended Levin made himself a cup of instant with four spoonfuls of sugar. He left James's tea steeping for as long as temporally possible. Treacle-like, the tea resisted the removal of the bag. It gave, with effort

  Levin made it back to the Livingroom. James had finished rolling the joint and Levin MacHill was polishing it off.

  'Oh! Sorry man!' chimed Levin MacHill merrily, stubbing it out.

  Levin just stood there, betrayed; even his emotions were betrayed.

  James said: 'Man, you took so long we just had to smoke it. Is that my sandwich and my tea? Nice.'

  He reached out long fingers for the food but Levin remained where he was. The sheer brass-neckedness of it.

  There was a sound of someone coming in the front door, the rattle of the lock and the squeaking of the hinges. This seemed to knock Levin out of his frozen misery. He took two halting steps towards James and laid the traitor's food on the arms of the chair without saying a word.

  'See?' said James, pointing to his lap. 'Making another one.'

  Levin continued to be silent. Indeed, he was extremely stoned.

  Emmett came into the room just as James was putting the roach in and Neil was polishing off the last of his salad.

  'Oh, hello chaps,' he said, as if surprised to see everyone in the Livingroom, which to him was just the livingroom.

  'Wee j?' said James. He stuck it in his mouth and sparked it up.

  Emmett hesitated. He had good intentions to fulfil. His day so far had been quite productive: he had attended all his lectures, including his early morning 9 am one. He liked this good feeling. It gave him the right to have a simple toke of a joint.

  He sat down.

  They chatted about this and that. Complaints abounded of Bush's militaristic stance: 'Why the fuck does he think that military intervention is the solution to every damn thing? Fuck him and fucking Rumsfeld.'

  Emmett agreed. 'It is like fixing a broken TV with a lump-hammer.'

  They all appreciated this. 'Good analogy man.'

  'Thank you.'

  James had a question: 'What is a lump-hammer?'

  'Don't know,' Emmett shrugged. 'A very unsuitable hammer.'

  'A hammer for lumps.'

  'You wouldn't have that problem.'

  'Not after this many joints, no.'

  'Must get up and do some work,' said Neil for the third or forth time. He stayed exactly where he was, in a state of nearly-getting-upness, except that the main weight of him was still entirely contained by the sofa.

  'You know, these sofas are angled so it is physically impossible to get out of them.’

  'I know what you mean, man,' said Emmett. 'There’s a slope and a give under the cushions which make it more work getting up than from a normal chair.'

  There came a knocking upon the door. Each looked at the other asking who would open the door. No-one rose.

  'Could be someone bad like the TV license,' said Levin.

  'Better not open the door to anyone,' said Levin MacHill, who had advanced up the stoney mountain and was feeling paranoid.

  Erwan's face appeared at the window. He cupped his hands and waved at the shadows he could no doubt see lurking within.

  None moved.

  'Go'ne let the man in,' said Levin.

  No-one had the strength.

  Erwan rapped the door another three times. Someone descended from upstairs to let him in.

  'Thanks man,' they heard. It was Erwan.

  'No bother.' That was Hamish's voice. 'Don't know if anyone's in.'

  They came into the Livingroom together.

  'Hello,' said the denizens of the Livingroom.

  Erwan cursed them roundly.

  'Here, have a joint,' said James stretching one out to him.

  Erwan hesitated briefly. He took it, then sat on the sofa beside Levin MacHill and Levin. He took
a few puffs before handing it on.

  Hamish said: 'Did none of you'uns hear the door?'

  They looked sheepish, or at least Levin did.

  'Couldn't get up man,' he said.

  Hamish sat down on the sofa beside Emmett.

  ‘Will we have a game later? Barry'll be back at four.'

  'What time is it now?'

  'Two.'

  'Aye.'

  ‘Right, I'll tell him.'

  'Who'll you be?'

  'What game are you talking about?' asked Erwan from across the Livingroom (he was sitting on the opposite sofa, the one against the wall, while Emmett and Hamish sat on the sofa by the front bay windows which had venetian blinds).

  'Warhammer,' said Hamish.

  'Wha?' Erwan didn't know this term.

  'Game of ultimate geeks,' said Emmett. 'Or ultimate game of geeks as you prefer. It’s why I have small men standing on the shelves in my room.'

  'Aye,' said Erwan uncertainly. He had no idea what Emmett was talking about.

  'You do man. The ones in my room.'

  'What about them?'

  They’re for the game. It's good. Its strange you’ve never heard us talk about it.'

  'Aye, you should play it. Levin too,' said Hamish.

  'No, chess is good enough for me. I don't want to go down that road.'

  'You're better off,' said Emmett. ‘Games Workshop make a mint off selling the pieces. I’ve spent a fortune. Keep out of it.’

  'Naw, it's a class game!'

  Two hours later they were watching daytime TV. Diagnosis Murder was on, a programme about a busy, hardworking doctor who abandons his patients at the slightest provocation to meddle in crimes which are none of his concern. Emmett and James were wondering whether a TV show about a policeman who strolls about a hospital performing complex surgery would be equally popular.

  'This is a nightmare,' Neil was saying, clutching his head. 'Why can't I leave this Livingroom?'

  The shadows had grown deeper. Dusk was descending and smoke filled the air like fog, disguising the people on opposite sofas from each other. Only the flickering lights of the TV relieved the gloom - or perhaps it cast that gloom into yet deeper shadows.

  'Somebody close the curtains … would you?' Levin MacHill said, troubled by the outside world. 'Close those blinds … over.'

  This was the right thing to do. And yet it was hard to accomplish.

  Emmett groaned trying reaching the toggle as it was slightly out of reach. 'Can't … get it man.'

  'Man!' cried Levin MacHill. But he could not get up to do it himself.

  Erwan felt sufficiently motivated to stagger out of his seat and visit the toilet. On his way back he pulled the cord to shut the blinds.

  'God, well done … man. How did you do it?' asked James.

  'I found my magic abilities increased … by the doctor,' Erwan claimed.

  'Uhhhh,' groaned Neil, stretching and rubbing his face. It was the third time he'd done it in two hours. He was no closer to commencing his studies upstairs.

  ‘Problem?' inquired Levin.

  'No,' expressed Neil.

  'Hmm,' said Levin.

  The sounds of the front door being unlocked reached their ears. The Livingroom door then swung open.

  'Jesus. What’s going on in here?' he asked, straining his eyes through the infinite gloom.

  'Barry!' shrieked James, in imitation of Barry's usual screeching of his own name.

  'James!' screeched Barry back, punch his fist through the air in mock-threat. 'You stole that from me. I will have my revenge, you bastard.'

  'Speaking of revenge. That game?' asked Hamish.

  'You set it up?'

  ‘Naw. Only take ten minutes sure.'

  ‘Sure. You playing, Emmett?'

  Barry looked over his glasses at the sorry wreck.

  'Ah man,’ said Emmett, giving a long sigh. ‘Why does it have to be right at the top of the stairs?’

  This was an exact statement of the problem. Hamish occupied the top room of the house. To reach it a chap had climb three steep sets of stairs. In addition the final set was particularly steep; the top floor was a converted attic. By the time one reached this point one was beggared. James lived in the room next door. It prompted speculation how the pair got that far every night.

  'Well, there's nowhere else to play it,' said Hamish, answering Emmett’s question. 'There's only room in mine.'

  'Play it in the kitchen sure.'

  'No,' said Barry. 'Too much filth.'

  The kitchen was not too filthy at this point – only two day's worth of dishes, and not many crumbs on the floor. This was as clean as it had been for a few weeks. But still unsuitable for board games.

  'No, I'll skip this one actually,' said Emmett.

  Barry shook his head in disgust and left to make something to eat.

  'I am too stoned to do anything tonight,' said Emmett.

  'There's a cure for being too stoned to do anything tonight,' said Erwan. 'It's called having a cup of tea.'

  This was ignored.

  'I am too hungry. Need to get food,' said Neil.

  'Mmm,' said Levin, eyes lighting up.

  'That'll solve all our problems,' said Erwan. 'We'll go get some food, and while we're in the kitchen, make some tea.'

  'Maybe Esperantos,' said Neil, trying to will himself to rise from his chair.

  Levin nodded in interest.

  'Mmm, good idea! With a cup of tea,' Erwan pointed out.

  In the end Erwan’s persistent message was heard, and it became too much effort to resist it. He, Levin, Neil and Emmett partook of a reasonably strong cup of tea and got some Esperantos before it kicked in. Then they had a jolly old time descending on drifting feathers into the stoney abyss. Levin MacHill didn't partake; he had to struggle into bed. Hamish and Barry ended up not playing Warhammer but hung about in the Livingroom influenced by the fog of confusion and weirdness that wrapped about them like gloves about a swollen appendix.