Mortimer
Even before he arrived, he’d become a thing –
at the dinner table his chair was there, and was his chair, before we knew a thing
about the kind of man he’d be. Which was an absent man,
for his luggage arrived and spent a day in his room before the man
himself caught up with it. After that it was footsteps
along the oh-so-green carpet outside our rooms, and even footsteps
in snow back from the library.
We searched for his books in the library
and found that he’d been here at least twice before
but had only left behind his copies of other writer’s books. Before
too long we were asking the Director if we’d ever meet
him. The Director said, in his usual way, ‘What exactly do you mean by “meet”?’
At every dinner
we speculated about why he hadn’t joined us for dinner.
Finally, on the sixth day, during which three bananas
disappeared from the fruit bowl, only to be replaced by different, greener bananas,
Mortimer came quietly down the stairs. Mortimer
walked slowly through the hall. Mortimer
said ‘Hello’ to the Director. Mortimer
looked at us and said, ‘Why did you call me “Mortimer”?’
Hawthornden, 2018
