The Character and the Writer by Glenn Fisher

1
The character sits at a table outside Le Refuge, a small café tucked into the corner of Rue Lamarck and Rue Pierre Dac. He is reading a paperback copy of Georges Perec’s Life: A User’s Manual and, on the table in front of him, is a small glass of imported Dutch beer. Though he seems the focus of my pen’s attention thus far, it is unfair to yet burden him with the mantle of protagonist. Perhaps better to refer to him simply as Théo. His name, now, is Théo.

2
Where am I? I’ll be honest. I am sitting with a friend, a bear of a man who wears a wonderful thick black beard. We are sitting at a small table in a quiet café on Bethlehem Street in an English town called Grimsby. We are sitting by an expansive window, which allows a wide view of the high street outside. It is raining, heavily. If we were looking, we would see traffic moving silently past, sending arcs of water onto the kerb. We would see business suits striding hurriedly between the sheets of rain. We would see twos and threes of teens huddling under colourful but impractically small umbrellas. We would see elderly gangs, unperturbed by the downpour, carefully navigating the cracks in the pavement, shuffling plastic bags stretched transparent with bread and milk and tins of vegetables, tins of meat. But we are not looking. My friend is talking. I am listening.

3
Théo wonders if there really are only a limited number of puzzle pieces. Perec has sketched them out. It is a revelation to Théo. It seems to suggest order where he thought only chaos. He lets the book fold shut, his index finger acting as a bookmark. He takes a sip of his beer. He has interrupted his reading to consider the bustle taking place around him. It is the end of June, and a heat wave has spread across Paris. Behind Théo, between the roofs, the central dome of the Sacré-Cœur forms a perfect white cloud in an otherwise clear azure sky. Tomorrow’s paper will report today as the hottest on record. Bicycles weave between tourists. Tourists trace zigzags between short-fused motorists in stuttering cars. Residents go about their business. Cafés pull it in. Théo realises the chaos, like a puzzle, is understandable when it is reduced to its limits. He is happy to see this. Across from him, a new bag of pieces is emptied onto the street from the metro station. In his mind he turns each new piece over, card-side-down, to see the detail. His attention is suddenly snared.

4
My friend is a painter of sorts. He is telling me an anecdote about a portrait of a woman he was asked to paint in the weeks since I last saw him. The woman is of high standing in the town: she is the wife of its mayor. As a gift, the mayor commissioned the portrait to be painted by my friend. After sitting for several hours, the mayor’s wife admitted she had requested the commission herself. She had an ulterior motive: the opportunity to be alone with him. (He is renowned locally for more than just his painting.) Predictably, as with so many of my friend’s stories, it ends crudely. Whether it ever happened is irrelevant, my friend tells me merely for the punch line, the explanation behind the unique shine of the finished piece. Perhaps it is my friend, the painter of sorts, to whom the title of protagonist should be awarded? Forgive me if I am hesitant to do so. I realise you like him. His bold beard, portly presence, and his wicked sense of humour. He is fun, I concede. You should hear what else he gets up to! But here he is only support. He is here to help the protagonist explain.

5
One specific piece stands out to Théo. It is a beautiful piece, slim and summered. It is a piece he would leave until last, a piece to save from the united chaos of the puzzle. She pauses for a moment, surveying the street. Théo is sure her eyes, for the briefest moment, find his. He is sure her cheek rounds with the whisper of a smile. He watches her enter the tabac on the corner. He rummages in his pocket to find a few euro, which he chimes onto the saucer of his bill. He is pulling on his jacket as the girl exits the tabac, unwrapping a yellow box of Parisiennes. He advances onto the kerb, brushing his hand through his close-cropped hair. It feels hot, having been warmed by the sun. A cyclist darts before a car. The car jerks still and the driver leans from his window, gestures angrily at the cyclist. Théo’s heels hang on the kerb’s edge. The car moves away again. The girl has disappeared, a puzzle piece lost to the street.

6
On a plane to England something strange happens to Théo. First, he realises he can no longer speak French. When the airhostess asks if he would like a drink, he tries to say ‘bien sûr’ but the word ‘sure’ leaks out instead, in a voice he barely recognises. At East Midlands airport, at passport control, when he is asked for his passport, he digs in his pocket but withdraws a British one. He hands it over. The attendant checks his face and nods but addresses him by another name. As he is ushered into arrivals by the other passengers, unsure of himself now, he hears the name again. A rotund man in paint-stained trousers and a thick blue jumper is shouting it. The character recognises the man as a friend. He recognises the wonderful thick black beard he wears too. But he is unable to recall his name, only that this man is his friend.

7
Whilst my friend is in the toilet, my attention turns to the street outside. The rain is still heavy, ricocheting, filling the air with a fine mist. A bus stops across the street. Its two storeys temporarily fill the window of the café. My eyes cannot avoid the advert for an American film that dominates the vehicle’s side. Finally, it pulls away. Left struggling with an awkward umbrella is a girl. She scurries beneath the canopy of a grocer to wrest control of the umbrella. It opens and she steps into the street, ducking under its cover. She stops. She looks in my direction. Her eyes cut through the rain and glass. I stare back. A puzzle piece finds a place in the chaos of my memory.

………………..

Glenn Fisher is a writer who lives on the east coast of England. He is currently working on his debut novel.

Twitter: @allgoodcopy