"Hallo, it's Rob here," said a familiar voice. Slightly high in tone, but smooth with a hint of Northern.
I was pleased to hear from him even though I knew the call was not entirely spontaneous. He had received a sort of hint earlier in the day which had obviously prompted him to phone back.
"Sorry, I've been really tied up with one thing and another and I haven't been in touch with any of my friends."
I didn't mind. I understood. Rob was intelligent, single and just forty. He had a life.
Had he seen that latest Chinese movie, what was it now, the one that had been playing at the ICA for a few weeks. Cheunking Express.I asked because I knew he had a passion for those original Hong Kong gangster movies, based on Hollywood, weepies even; a beautiful sad woman, an anguished gangster and so very many bullets. Someone had counted the number of gunshots once in the Guardian Guide; it came to well over a million and that was in just one film.
No, he had not been to see Cheungking Express. He'd thought about it but quite honestly it was rather hackneyed compared to those originals of the earlier years. The new one emulated Hollywood too well, it was too glossy.
I thought one of those 'oh' sounds but I didn't say it.
No, we didn't get to see it either I said.
We changed the subject.
I asked how his three day a week editing job was going. He'd been doing it for years. It was ticking along nicely in the background, he told me, bringing in the money to keep him going whilst he got on with the other and more important projects in his life.
What were those?
Research work for television companies about various aspects of arts culture, retro culture, Hong Kong movie culture, arts technological stuff, you know the biz babe. Don't wanna say too much about it, keep it quiet. Don't croak and rock the boat for me babe. Too much invested.
He'd been to Amsterdam to see about another libretto for an opera. I'd met the guy he worked with. I liked him. He was ok. It had been a long time ago but then I'd sort of lost contact. You know the old stuff, babies and school work and money problems. You sort of lose your touch.
Finally we came to the end of the many things he'd done./P PHe said what about you. I haven't seen you for how long?
About six months. But, there was that evening at the avant garde music festival. The concert. We were all there but you didn't have time.
What about me? Oh I haven't done very much really.
Oh sorry, must go, something's come up.
Goodbye. Bye.
The white parcel - Box a fable
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zofia dluzewska