We call it a ‘fertile void’, she said.
So, that’s what it is. Something to be cherished, welcomed, a home-from-home kind of nothing. A blank space, the white of Jenny Diski’s now, no doubt, long gone bedroom. And when I’m feeling brave I do welcome it. With open arms. That emptiness waiting to be filled with possibility. And when we talked through that luscious hour of anything-is-possible I felt full of purpose, of rightness. She is a good woman, compassionate, bright and potent. I have been fortunate. We were a good fit. So often it can be a bit of a ‘bran tub’ thing. Stick your hand in and see what you get. She is good. I shall miss her.
Another clear sky this morning but pitch, even though the moon, though only half, was out. Is the ‘star’ just beneath the moon the space station? I know nothing of these things but the wonder of them doesn’t escape me. There was one ‘star’ that was moving and moving fast. Was it the light from a helicopter? It seemed to be following me. Could they see me, with my torch lighting my way along the Perygyl? I find things to please me to make my early walkings more palatable, less dread-ful. One of which is the feel and sound of my feet on the Perygyl. Its wooden slats give slightly under my step, they are soft, yielding. And the sound is mellow, soft. Wood is a sensuous material. Warm. Smell tends to be the other sensation that I find ways to delight in that blackness, and they are often intensified like the jasmine in Nerja. The bakers shops have not been playing ball, I’ve sniffed and sniffed but nothing. Perhaps the lack of wind is to blame. No yeast odours, no warm sweetness of rising doughs, no saltiness. Don’t they know that I need this, a compensation for my lack of bread consumption?
We sat in the sun on our bench on North Road. The first time this year, he said. The air was still cool but the sun was warm on my face. I wanted silence but he recognised a painter and decorator so they chatted. A nice, gentle man, I think. Did you mind? he asked later. No, I said, but I didn’t know how to join in. Oh, you didn’t need to, he said, besides what would you have said, it was just Aber talk.
A beautiful, generous email from one of my ‘inner panel’ of judges. I was so touched and had to express it although it was decidedly uncool to do so. He writes with such elegance. An elegant man who makes restrained, beautiful work. And he celebrated me. I am blessed. It was worth it. Absolutely. Now to the void.
