Editing an Author's story

“All shots on me!”

Bellowed a shamelessly inebriated girl, standing atop the bar counter. Her grungy outfit and her bun of dishevelled, rough hair gave away the aura of an unconscious artist. At one glance, I, along with the few remaining cultured people present in the bar, had recognized her. The notoriously famous living paradox in the realms of literature and publishing industry, the well-renowned author of sensational literature: Phihana Gagule. The author, whose works have been considered arguably parallel to those of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie, was at the moment right in front of me, standing on top of a bar counter, making merry with drunkards.

Her alcoholism was the very reason for her notoriety. Her controversial slights to the critics have rendered them to raise their eye-brows in indignation or scoff off her words as irrelevant to their career. However, such a lightly taken author has never ceased to create works that have amazed her critics and have compelled them, to use a stronger word, forced them to give her a 5-star rating for her impeccably written works that express subtle character development with obvious indications and her revelations of complex human psychology and emotions. The most horrendous consequences of vindication and hatred have been penned down by her.

A noteworthy author, whose only flaws seemed to be her candidness and drunkenness. I watched her as she held her glass of gin with excited preoccupation, unaware of it getting tilted and threatening to spill its contents. However, it only seemed to be a metaphor to my desires. There she was a drunk, yet, vibrant author and here I was a sober, yet, desultory editor. She held the position that I coveted so sloppily, yet with such a tight grasp, just like the glass she held now; tilting, but not slipping.

“Let’s celebrate this gloom with a drink or two or even MORE!”

She yelled, taking a magnanimous sip from her glass and raising her arms clothed within baggy sleeves to express her exuberance. The bar reverberated with the sound of the many people who exclaimed and cheered along with her indulging words. She cheered in response with such energy that she almost toppled off the counter upon which she stood precariously. I had an urge to warn her of her ridiculous state, but, she didn’t know me. However, even at 27 years, I didn’t have any sort of self-enlightenment; what was there to know about myself? With experience, I have only realized that the inner self is a maze, a nearly impossible maze to exit, as you’re within it. It is easier to know others, as you view their mazes from an elevation. Hence, this habit of watching others and ignoring myself.

I decided to approach her. Maybe to just have a listless conversation with a drunkard as bored people do in such enclosed spaces filled with snob strangers. I was certain to not have a sensible talk with one as drunk as her, yet, hope never ceases to thrive even within my pessimistic heart.

An opportunity arose when she had difficulty in getting off her current position. She squatted on the bar counter after getting into a squabble with the irate bartender who had, indeed, borne far more than his share of outrageousness. She seemed to be explaining to him in an intellectual voice, that she would gladly do him the favour, but she couldn’t. Apparently, the bartender had taken her dimness far too personally and began threatening to call the bouncers. I had an intuition that his threat wasn’t the sort that would remain just that and so I had to curtly interrupt their nonsensical argument.

“If you don’t mind, sir.” I began, addressing the bartender who was florid with agitation, “I think I can get her off your back.”

The man noticed me and in his irritability, took some time in comprehending my words. Finally, he sighed at me and his juvenile expression changed into a more professional one, except the frown in his eye-brows remained.

“Thank you, sir. I’d be obligated if you could help her in her disability.”

His words had a consistency of both politeness and sarcasm. I wasn’t sure if it was an essential part of his profession to be sarcastic; however, I ignored his immaturity to do what I had promised.

I looked at her distinctly, for I had been watching her even during my conversation with the bartender through the corner of my eye. She seemed very much intrigued by my sudden appearance. She stared at me, as if I was a never-before beheld apparition. Such interest in one’s eyes, I had never seen when regarding me. Her eyes were sparkling with the glint of the bright yellow lights above and with jocundity.

We remained there; with her staring at me (I must’ve looked like a fascinating specimen of human refinement) and with me trying to find an appropriate starter for conversation.

“…So…” I began with discomfort at her too keen staring, “hello.” I greeted with ostentatious demure. Her glazed eyes flickered at my greeting, she probably thought, ‘Oh! It can speak!”

“Hello! How do you do?”

She greeted and asked, as if I were a very intimate, long-lost friend. However, her friendly demeanour relieved me of my uncertainty.

“I am fine.” She was about to say something, probably about her state, however, I abruptly continued. “However, I would be better if we could continue this enthralling conversation with both of us on solid ground.”

She giggled, apparently at what I had said and looked at me with bright drooping eyes, her body slightly swaying, still squatting upon the counter.

“Is that how you really speak?”

She asked, her voice expressing her drunkenness in her lazy and slow tone.

“Yes. Although, I don’t really understand what you mean by that question, but, you need to get down.”

I outstretched my palm for her support, however, I expected it to not get immediately accepted.

“But, I can’t.” she whined sounding like a small child. “The view from here is truly fascinating.” She said, outstretching her arms, embracing the crowded bar, reeking of alcohol and filled with drunk people giving the sight that could induce either amazement or disgust at humanity (depending, off course, on your perspective).

“I insist, as I truly believe that nothing could surpass my company.” And also, that nothing can surpass the wrath of an irate bartender with pent-up temper.

“Prove it.”

She commanded with an authoritative tone, her eyes glittering with malice and mischief.

“Off course! However, to prove myself, I need you to converse with me and for that, I need you to come down.”

I replied calmly and sedately. I was talking to her the way I talk to stubborn, little children who needed reason and analysis for not doing what they were set on doing, or doing what they were set on not doing. And hence, I knew that she would rejoinder with something that was meant to baffle me.

“We can talk just as well with me squatting up here.”

“No, we can’t.” before she could argue, or ask the reason, I abruptly continued. “We can’t because; you are squatting on the counter and blocking the people from ordering their drinks, so you’ll have to keep shuffling out of their way. Also, the bartender wants you to get down, and will keep nagging, not allowing us to converse in peace. And…” I pondered upon a third reason, while she stared at me waiting patiently.

“… And it’s more comfortable to stand and talk than to squat and talk.” I concluded triumphantly.

She looked at me for a few seconds, and then giggled again, grabbing my hand and clumsily swinging her fluid limbs to reach the tiled ground reflecting the lights attached to the ceiling. I felt a little embarrassed at the way she giggled for peculiarly no reason. It wasn’t a giggle that emanates from a drunk person, but one that has an incomprehensible purpose, which I had to know.

“Why are you giggling?”

She steadied herself, still supporting her weight against me and unclutched my hand to adjust her baggy clothes. And then she looked back at me ready to answer my question.

“I am giggling because you have a peculiar manner of speech. You express yourself very well without the usage of unnecessary words or phrases. However, people have the habit of exaggerating the way they speak and you compensate this human characteristic by swaying your thin, pale fingers too much.”

For a drunk person, she was exceptionally observant. However, her characteristic while speaking was that, she had a faraway calculating expression that made one feel simultaneously, secluded from and included in her thoughts. I realised that she had very interesting reasons for laughing. I vaguely guessed the reasons that would render her to cry, however, I couldn’t imagine such a thing.

“What is your name? If you don’t mind me asking.” She asked with a more steady voice. I had the impression that her intoxication was wearing off.

“My name is Tobias Grange.” She nodded and was about to state hers, before I interrupted her. “I believe yours is Phihana Gagule, if I’m not mistaken.”

She smiled to herself.

“Another peculiarity that you own is that you interrupt people before they speak. Although, the insight that you’ve shown so far, is not very impressive, I am really intrigued about how you know my name.”

“Every person remotely associated with the literary world knows your name.”

“Are you flattering me as a way of flirtation or simply stating an obsolete fact.”

The idea of flirting or having any such intimacy with her hadn’t occurred to me. She wasn’t exactly the sort of woman I could have or for that matter afford to have feelings for. The reason was simple; despite all her credentials and capacity, she was alcoholic and that doomed any sort of romantic relationship with her, right from its very inception.

“Simply stating a fact. I am also an editor for a publishing company and I have a habit of collecting such obsolete facts.”

One of her eye-brows rose and she had a rather knowing smile.

“You’re rather obsessed with this habit, aren’t you?”

“That’s how I get by…” I was going to utter her name, however, thought better of it, “…my life is quite simple and uncomplicated. However peaceful it seems to be, I thrive on mind-exalting things, and so I am aware of all sorts controversies associated with authors.”

“Either you’re a workaholic or you regularly escape from your life, ignoring its complexities getting absorbed in the useless complexities of others.”

She sounded quite smug as she stated this with certainty and conviction, as if she had deliberately delivered a blow to my ostentation. However, I didn’t take her words as stings, rather facts that I was being told despite already knowing them.

“I am both and much more than you can ever analyse. There isn’t anything that you can say about me that you are above of. Every individual has a characteristic of escapism, which is why we have ceased to evolve. If giraffes had escaped from their fate of having to feed on leaves growing on tall trees they would never have grown tall necks. Besides, your escapism is not very mystical, is it?”

The immediate change in her expression conveyed to me that, somehow, my words had affected her. The smirk had wiped off giving into a pondering frown. I let her ponder in silence, feeling neither exhilarated at her detachment nor neglected. I was used to being pushed in the recesses of darkness for the more important and virtuous things.

Finally, she smiled a more humble and modest smile which I wouldn’t have ever imagined on her countenance, if I hadn’t seen it and if this encounter was, for some reason, prevented.

“You are very different from the people I’m used to meeting. No one has ever been able to accuse me of my vices in so subtle, yet, strong a manner.”

“Somehow, whatever happens to you is because of your actions. If I have said anything that has moved you, it is because you instigated me.”

She had a sardonic and a queerly lonely expression.

“I have instigated so many and rebelled against far more, yet, none, not even the departure of the love of my life has moved me from my stubbornness.”

I noted her confidence, however, I didn’t remark on it. I didn’t know the depth of delicacy associated with her lover’s ‘departure’. My mind began interpreting the various meanings of the last phrase; some too tragic and some relatively commonplace. For instance, by departure, she could mean her lover’s death due to alcoholism, which she had adopted due to grief, instead of learning from it. However, ‘departure’ could also refer to lapse of commitment or love due her habit.

“I frankly doubt my words have had any permanent impact upon your habit. A drinker doesn’t merely stop his drinking, unless, he adopts a strong conviction.”

She looked at me, her expression quizzical and slightly perturbed.

“You don’t think I have the capability to adopt such a conviction?”

I blew air out of my mouth in thoughtfulness.

“Based on my recent observation.” I looked at her meaningfully. “I wouldn’t say you don’t have the capability at all. However, the pleasure that you seem to derive from it might restrain you.”

I smiled humorously, trying to make light of the maudlin conversation.

“It’s really strange, if you have noticed,” She said looking at me, with that faraway expression again. “that our most desperate pleasures are derived from things that would eventually cause us displeasure.”

I realised that she relished macabre conversations a lot more that shallow, superficial ones and it wouldn’t affect her emotional well-being much. It might sound rather cruel of me to think that she was already far too broken to be broken further.

The devil in me decided to display its sadistic nature and I was compelled to ask, before I could reconsider; “What exactly happened between you and your lover?”

Her eyes shifted to mine with a faltering suddenness. The question had undoubtedly startled her and I began to think that I had offended or disgusted her by giving the impression of being a busy-body. However, her eyes held a queer serenity and gratitude; it was then that I noticed that she had clear, sea-green eyes that were deep, intense and very expressive.

“Your habit is very irresistible to you isn’t it?” she said softly with a reconciling tone. I didn’t respond and waited for her to continue with a strange tightening knot in my chest.

“I don’t mind telling you, however, you have to honestly answer a question.”

She said, looking piercingly in my eyes. I didn’t really mind her condition for I really had no spectacular secret that was unheard of before. I nodded in affirmation reciprocating the look of camaraderie that she had shown.

“I just wanted to know if you want me to tell you about my tragedy because of your interest in controversies, or because this encounter was enough to make me human enough to be your friend.”

I was surprised at the question. I thought that the answer to it was rather obvious to her. However, I realised that even with her prodigious perception, she had decided to not presume my intention behind a clouded mist of thoughts and just ensure my deliberations with the clarity of words and directness.

“Why, off course, I’m asking because, I want to know more about you. I want to know what could break such a head-strong and exceptional woman and what could render her to be so cynical of her surroundings and people.”

Her eyes brightened at my outburst and she searched my flushed face and widened eyes. I had somehow surprised her with my eloquent, yet, excited speech. Finally, she adopted her serene expression and prepared for what seemed to be a rather tragic and dreadful tiding.

“Well… to be honest… Wait… let me state the mysterious lover’s name.” she said, looking at me for affirmation. I didn’t react and just maintained my expression that expressed natural interest.

“His name is Jake Hansom. He was an acquaintance from my university. We both had studied together in the same department, yet, he had never struck me as someone brilliant, neither by appearance, nor intellect. However, to be fair, I couldn’t really judge as I had never really conversed with him. It was during one of those juvenile and naïve days, when I had an inevitable opportunity to get to know him and we both shared an intimacy and happiness that humanity recognises as love. You may wonder about what it was about him that had stirred such emotion in me. However, I have never bothered to reveal the reason, because it is really very simple: it was just the way he was that had struck a chord in me. It was that peculiar way of his that had enraptured me. I honestly couldn’t express my reason better, because, my reason begins where my vocabulary ends. We were in a steady relationship for a considerably long time, before my insecure and unwarranted work had affected my temperament. It was during the early days of my career, so full of rejections and unbearable despondence that I needed some sedative to calm myself. I began to drink and adopted it and professed it as an additional talent.”

She stopped speaking for a while, as if to replenish her strength to brave her own confession.

“I do not need to point my gradual success. However, along with it, my alcoholism gradually became an indispensable habit. My partner got tired of it, and the controversies associated with it had shamed me in the society and also began to affect him and his career. He left me for that very reason, before waiting for me to begin what I had resolved to do: restrain my alcoholism. After he left, this habit only became stronger, however, I don’t blame him for his decision. To mend something broken, one cannot break himself. My brain registered his reason, however, my heart couldn’t, and since then, I haven’t been able to see reason as to why I should stop.”

She looked at me, awaiting my judgement. There was no fear in her eyes, just a fierce confidence and power, as if determined that whatever I would say would be taken positively and would be considered.

“Well… I am honoured to be your confidante and I have no intention of judging you. However, being daft and emotionless in such delicate matters I don’t really comprehend what reasons you lack for restraining yourself.”

She looked at me and grinned.

“I think, I can perceive your perspective and I do aim to rid myself of such weak resolve and heart-ache.”

She said with her eyes filling and tears streaming down her face. I realised that she was finally releasing herself from her own chains and boundaries. And I realised that since, she was so eccentric, her reasons for crying would be as eccentric. While most people smiled whilst happy, she expressed her joy and peace through tears. And with those tears she shed, I felt the void within me shedding. I had never felt my worthiness until now, sheltered within my own walls of cynicism at my abilities and self-worth.

The knot within my chest squeezed tighter as I saw her countenance express true serenity and realised that love grew from the queerest of places and situations. Love for self and love for another. Maybe, in saving her, I was truly saving myself and had found my worth by seeing validation in the eyes of the person I admire.

“You have truly brought clarity to my vision clouded with my selfish sorrow and stoic pain.”

My heart felt light and released and suddenly, I felt far more courageous than I have ever felt in my life.

“Phihana, it may sound awkward for I’m not used to expressing such mundane things, but please listen.”

She smiled mischievously perceiving my far too apparent intention given away by my flushed visage and what I hoped, a sincere expression. She smiled and blinked gently, encouraging me to speak.

“I think you’ve struck a chord in me. And I believe I feel what humanity generically specifies as ‘love’. Although, I do find it queer that something so undefined can have such a definite name, for I feel far more that this mere four-letter word can express towards you and I can’t really express this any better, because I feel something that, for some reason, I believe has never been felt before by anyone else before. This love… this euphoria is only mine, so pure and unadulterated an emotion, I feel and only towards you.”

Phihana stayed silent gazing at me, as if gazing at a bright star in the deep recesses of darkness. Her face was flushed and for a change it wasn’t because of a drink.

“Tobias, you really waste your precious time in expressing what you consider mundane in so beautiful a manner. All your peculiarities have a strange sensitivity that lures me and I believe that this feeling is very much the same that you have expressed, only more elegantly and simply put.”

She smirked and I was compelled to smile in return, after all, I believe a good beginning deserves a smile.