Chapter 7 Rumpus

As Dot races north towards Orleans, my mind mind races too, thinking of all the stories to write and tales to tell. There are the tales of the stuff and the things, tales of waitings, oh the waitings, tales of markets, of fallen women and stripy bags, of doings and not doings, tales of Impreza journeys with back wrenching acceleration, tales of touristic Rocamadour and hell like Collonges la Rouge. There is a tale, that Molly couldn’t possibly know, as it’s not remembered until this journey to Orleans, of a teenage boy who dives head first through his first floor bedroom window, to finally escape his drunken alcoholic mother, who won’t stop, no matter how hard he begs, telling him how to be. There are tales of wasting resources and trying to apologise and make it all better, but none of these tales will be told as this is the last story, from me at least.

I have come to Orleans because the Cathedral here is special to me. I was first here as a small boy with my parents, those years weren’t all bad. I preferred Orleans to Chartres because it was less fussy and touristic but with the same spiritual majesty. As I near the cathedral I realise that I recognise the modern buildings that surround it. That can only mean that this is another of daddy’s special places in France to which my long suffering children were dragged. I have come here hoping to end the story.

I have that end already planned in my head. Central to it is the novel ‘Narziss and Goldmund’ by Hermann Hesse. This was a favourite book of my first ever lover. At the time she would make me out to be the handsome Goldmund, the ‘dionysian’ sculptor who leaves a trail of lovers, drunken parties and beautiful works of art in his wake. I on the other hand would claim to be his friend, the ‘ascetic’ Narziss, who teaches at the monastery at Mariabronn. There is a moment towards the end of the book that seems particularly pointent now. Goldmund has returned to the monastery sick and dying from one last adventure claiming that ‘it’s all over with the dancing and the women’. Hesse is in late middle age when he writes the book and it is not an impossible to see Narziss and Goldmund as different aspects of the same character. As Narziss is saying goodbye to Goldmund on his deathbed, it is really a man saying goodbye to that lustful romantic side to concentrate on pursuits of the mind in his later years.

I have come here to create that moment in my own life. To say goodbye to my own Goldmund, to vow only to travel alone from now on. The cathedral would have things differently though. It is not the majestic spiritual place I had hoped for. Instead a voluptuous singer is warbling in an operatic style accompanied by a grinding organ. As I walk around I can find none of the peace that I’m looking for and the decision to give up on the lustful partying me just won’t come. Instead the words of the tune ‘God is a DJ’ come to me and I realise as I look at the beautiful stained glass around me that this is not my church and this is not where I heal my hurt. I look at my watch. It’s 5pm in Orleans and there is a Rumpus party in London tonight. If I stock up on redbull and put my foot floor I might just get there. So that is what I do, and I make it, and with the dancing and embraces of my friends I do begin to heal my hurt.

Before the driving and the party though, there is one special moment, as I reach the very door of the cathedral, the fat lady stops singing and as the applause of a solitary appreciator rings out, I know deep in my heart that this particular adventure is over.

Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.