DEAR ESTHER Dear Esther. I sometimes feel as if I’ve given birth to this island.Somewhere, between the longitude and latitude a split opened up and it bea hed remotel! here. "o matter how hard I orrelate, it remains a singularit!, an alpha point in m! life that refuses all h!pothesis. I return ea h time leaving fresh mar#ers that I hope, in the full glare of m! hopelessness, will have blossomed into fresh insight in the interim. Dear Esther. The gulls do not land here an!more$ I’ve noti ed that this !ear, the! seem to shun the pla e. %a!be it’s the depletion of the fishing sto # driving them awa!. &erhaps it’s me. 'hen he first landed here, Donnell! wrote that the herds were si #l! and their shepherds the lowest of the miserable lasses that populate these Hebridean islands. Three hundred !ears later, even the! have departed. Dear Esther. I have lost tra # of how long I have been here, and how man! visits I have made overall. (ertainl!, the landmar#s are now so familiar to me that I have to remind m!self to a tuall! see the forms and shapes in front of me. I ould stumble blind a ross these ro #s, the edges of these pre ipi es, without fear of missing m! step and plummeting down to sea. )esides, I have alwa!s onsidered that if one is to fall, it is riti al to #eep one’s e!es firml! open. Dear Esther. The morning after I was washed ashore, salt in m! ears, sand in m! mouth and the waves alwa!s at m! an#les, I felt as though ever!thing had onspired to this one last shipwre #. I remembered nothing but water, stones in m! bell! and m! shoes threatening to drag me under to where onl! the most listless of reatures swim. Donnell! reported the legend of the hermit$ a hol! man who sought solitude in its most pure form. Allegedl!, he rowed here from the mainland in a boat without a bottom, so all the reatures of the sea ould rise at night to onverse with him. How disappointed he must have been with their hatter. &erhaps now, when all that haunts the o ean is the rubbish dumped from the tan#ers, he’d find more pea e. The! sa! he threw his arms wide in a valle! on the south side and the liff opened up to provide him shelter$ the! sa! he died of fever one hundred and si*teen !ears later. The shepherds left gifts for him at the mouth of the ave, but Donnell! re ords the! never laimed to have seen him. I have visited the ave and I have left m! gifts, but li#e them, I appear to be an unworth! sub+e t of his solitude. At night !ou an see the lights sometimes from a passing tan#er or trawler. ,rom up on the liffs the! are mundane, but down here the! fugue into ambiguit!. ,or instan e, I annot readil! tell if the! belong above or below the waves. The distin tion now seems mundane$ wh! not ever!thing and all at on e- There’s nothing better to do here than indulge in ontradi tions, whilst waiting for the fabri of life to unravel. There was on e tal# of a wind farm out here, awa! from the rage and the intoleran e of the masses. The sea, the! said, is too rough for the turbines to stand. the! learl! never ame here to e*perien e the be alming for themselves. &ersonall!, I would have supported it$ turbines would be a fitting ontemporar! refuge for a hermit. the revolution and the permanen e. 'hen !ou were born, !ou mother told me, a hush fell over the deliver! room. A great red birthmar# overed the left side of !our fa e. "o one #new what to sa!, so !ou ried to fill the va uum. I alwa!s admired !ou for that$ that !ou ried to fill whatever va uum !ou found. I began to manufa ture va uums, +ust to enable !ou to deplo! !our talent. The birthmar# faded b! the time !ou were si*, and had gone ompletel! b! the time we met, but !our fas ination with the empt!, and its ure, remained. Those islands in the distan e, I am sure, are nothing more than reli s of another time, sleeping giants, somnambulist gods laid down for a final dreaming. I wash the sand from m! lips and grip m! wrist ever more tightl!, m! sha#ing arms will not support m! fading diaries. Reading Donnell! b! the wea# afternoon sunlight. He landed on the south side of the island, followed the path to ba! and limbed the mount. He did not find the aves and he did not hart the north side. I thin# this is wh! his understanding of the island is flawed, in omplete. He stood on the mount and onl! wondered momentaril! how to des end. )ut then, he didn’t have m! reasons. Donnell!’s boo# had not been ta#en out from the librar! sin e /012. I de ided it would never be missed as I slipped it under m! oat and avoided the librarian’s ga3e on the wa! out. If the sub+e t matter is obs ure, the writer’s literar! st!le is even more so, it is not the te*t of a stable or trustworth! reporter. &erhaps it is fitting that m! onl! ompanion in these last da!s should be a stolen boo# written b! a d!ing man. The mount is learl! the fo al point of this lands ape$ it almost appears so well pla ed as to be artifi ial. I find m!self easil! slipping into the delusional state of as ribing purpose, deliberate motive to ever!thing here. 'as this island formed during the moment of impa t$ when we were torn loose from our moorings and the seatbelts ut motorwa! lanes into our hests and shoulders, did it first brea# surfa e then4 A wonderful sight. The moon resting the +un tion between the liff path and the stone ir le. It ast a shadow of the ridge a ross the bea h, all the world as if !ou had signed !our name a ross the sand in untid! handwriting. 'hen someone had died or was d!ing or was so ill the! gave up what little hope the! ould sa rifi e, the! ut parallel lines into the liff, e*posing the white hal# beneath. 'ith the right e!es !ou ould see them from the mainland or the fishing boats and #now to send aid or impose a ordon of prote tion, and wait a generation until whatever pestilen e stal#ed the liff paths died along with its hosts. %! lines are +ust for this. to #eep an! would5be res uers at ba!. The infe tion is not simpl! of the flesh. The! were godfearing people those shepherds. There was no love in the relationship. Donnell! tells me that the! had one bible that was passed around in stri t rotation. It was stolen b! a visiting mon# in /116, two !ears before the island was abandoned altogether. In the interim, I wonder, did the! assign hapter and verse to the stones and grasses, mar#ing the geograph! with a superimposed signifi an e$ that the! ould a tuall! wal# the bible and inhabit its ontradi tions4 'e are not li#e 7ot’s wife, !ou and I$ we feel no parti ular need to turn ba #. There’s nothing to be seen if we did. "o tired old man parting the liffs with his arms$ no gifts or bibles laid out on the sand for the ta#ing. "o tides turning or the shrie#ing gulls overhead. The bones of the hermit are no longer laid out for the ta#ing. I have stolen them awa! to the guts of this island where the passages all run to bla # and there we an light ea h others fa es b! their strange lumines en e. I 8uote dire tl!. 9A motle! lot with little to re ommend them. I have now spent three da!s in their ompan! that is, I fear, enough for an! man not born amongst them. Despite their tedious in lination to 8uote s ripture, the! seem to me the most godforsa#en of all the inhabitants of the outer isles. Indeed, in this ase, the ver! gravit! of that term : forsa#en b! god : seems to find its ver! ape*.; It appears to me that Donnell! too found those who wander this shoreline to be adrift from an! han e of redemption. Did he in lude himself in that, I wonder4 Dear Esther. I met &aul. I made m! own little pilgrimage. %! Damas us a small semi5deta hed on the outs#irts of 'olverhampton. 'e dran# offee in his #it hen and tried to onne t to one another. Although he #new I hadn’t ome in sear h of an apolog!, reason or retribution, he still spiralled in pani , thrown high and lu id b! his own dented bonnet. Responsibilit! had made him old$ li#e us, he had alread! passed be!ond an! on eivable boundar! of life. I threw m! arms wide and the liff opened out before me, ma#ing this rough home. I transferred m! belongings from the both! on the mount and tried to live here instead. It was old at night and the sea lapped at the entran e at high tide. To limb the pea#, I must first venture even deeper into veins of the island, where the signals are blo #ed altogether. <nl! then will I understand them, when I stand on the summit and the! flow into me, un orrupted. I would leave !ou presents, outside !our retreat, in this interim spa e between liff and bea h. I would leave !ou loaves and fishes, but the fish sto #s have been depleted and I have run out of bread. I would row !ou ba # to !our homeland in a bottomless boat but I fear we would both be driven mad b! the hatter of the sea reatures. I find m!self in reasingl! unable to find that point where the hermit ends and &aul and I begin. 'e are woven into a sodden blan#et, stuffed into the bottom of a boat to stop the lea# and hold ba # the o ean. %! ne # a hes from staring up at the aerial$ it mirrors the dull throb in m! gut where I am sure I have begun to form another stone. In m! dreams, it forms into a perfe t representation of 7ot’s wife, head over her shoulder, staring along the motorwa! at the approa hing traffi , in a va uum of fatalisti alm. This hermit, this seer, this distant historian of bones and old bread, where did he vanish to4 'h!, as#ed the farmers, wh! as#ed =a#obson, wh! bother with !our visions at all, if !ou are +ust to throw !our arms up at the liff and let it lose in behind !ou, seal !ou into the bell! of the island, a museum shut to all but the most devoted. He still maintains he wasn’t drun# but tired. I an’t ma#e the +udgement or the distin tion an!more. I was drun# when I landed here, and tired too. I wal#ed up the liff path in near dar#ness and amped in the ba! where the trawler lies bea hed. It was onl! at dawn that I saw the both! and de ided to ma#e m! temporar! lodgings there. I was e*pe ting +ust the aerial and a transmitter stashed in a weatherproof bo* somewhere on the mount. It had an air of uneas! permanen e to it, li#e all the other buildings here$ erosion seems to have evaded it ompletel!. The vegetation here has fossili3ed from the roots up. To thin# the! on e gra3ed animals here, the remnants of o upation being eviden e to that. It is all si # to death. the water is too polluted for the fish, the s#! is too thin for the birds and the soil is ut with the bones of hermits and shepherds. I have heard it said that human ashes ma#e great fertili3er, that we ould sow a great forest from all that is left of !our hips and rib age, with enough left over to thi #en the air and repopulate the ba!. I dreamt I stood in the entre of the sun and the solar radiation oo#ed m! heart from the inside. %! teeth will url and m! fingernails fall off into m! po #ets li#e loose hange. If I ould stoma h, I’d eat, but all I seem apable of is saltwater. 'ere the livesto # still here, I ould turn feral and gorge. I’m as ema iated as a bod! on a slab, opened up for a premature sour e of death. I’ve rowed to this island in a heart without a bottom$ all the ba teria of m! gut rising up to sing to me. I have be ome onvin ed I am not alone here, even though I am e8uall! sure it is simpl! a delusion brought upon b! ir umstan e. I do not, for instan e, remember where I found the andles, or wh! I too# it upon m!self to light su h a strange pathwa!. &erhaps it is onl! for those who are bound to follow. Dear Esther. I have now driven the stret h of the %> between E*eter and )ristol over twent!5one times, but although I have all the reports and all the witnesses and have ross5referen ed them within a millimetre using m! ordnan e surve! maps, I simpl! annot find the lo ation. ?ou’d thin# there would be mar#s, to serve as some eviden e. Its somewhere between the turn off for Sandford and the 'el ome )rea# servi es. )ut although I an alwa!s see it in m! rear view mirror, I have as !et been unable to pull ashore. Dear Esther. This will be m! last letter. Do the! pile up even now on the doormat of our empt! house4 'h! do I still post them home to !ou4 &erhaps I an imagine m!self pi #ing them up on the return I will not ma#e, to find !ou waiting with da!time television and all its omforts. The! must form a pile four feet high now, m! own little 3iggurat$ a megalith of fools ap and manila. The! will fossilise over the enturies to follow$ an uneas! time apsule from a lost island. &ostmar#ed <ban. it must have been sent during the final as ent. Dear Esther. I have found m!self to be as featureless as this o ean, as shallow and uno upied as this ba!, a listless wre # without identifi ation. %! ro #s are these bones and a areful fen e to #eep the pre ipi e at ba!. Shot through me aves, m! forehead a mount, this aerial will transmit into me so. All over e*posed, the nervous s!stem, where Donnell!’s boots and !ours and mine still trample. I will arr! a tor h for !ou$ I will leave it at the foot of m! headstone. ?ou will need it for the tunnels that arr! me under. Dear Esther. 'hilst the! atalogued the damage, I found m!self afraid !ou’d suddenl! sit up, stret h, and fail to re ognise me, I orbited !ou li#e a sullen omet, our histor! trailing behind me in the solar wind from the fluores ent tubes. ?our hair had not been brushed !et, !our ma#e5up not reapplied. ?ou were all the world li#e a bea h to me, laid out for investigation, !our geograph! telling one stor!, but hinting at the geolog! hidden behind the uts and bruises. I have found the ship’s manifest, rumpled and waterlogged, under a stash of paint ans. It tells me that along with this present argo, there was a large 8uantit! of anta id !oghurt, bound for the European mar#et. It must have washed out to see, @od #nows there are no longer gulls or goats here to eat it. There must be a hole in the bottom of the boat. How else hermits have arrived4 ould new It’s onl! at night that this pla e ma#es an! sluggish effort at life. ?ou an see the buo! and the aerial. I’ve been ta#ing to sleeping through the da! in an attempt to resurre t m!self. I an feel the last da!s drawing upon me : there’s little point now in ontinuation. There must be something new to find here : some noo# or some rann! that offers a perspe tive worth linging to. I’ve burnt m! bridges$ I have sun# m! boats and wat hed them go to water. All night the buo! has #ept me lu id. I sat, when I was at the ver! edge of despair, when I thought I would never unlo # the se ret of the island, I sat at the edge and I wat hed the idiot buo! blin# through the night. He is mute and he is retarded and he has no thought in his metal head but to blin# ea h wave and ea h minute aside until the morning omes and renders him blind as well as deaf5mute. In man! wa!s, we have mu h in ommon. I’ve begun to wonder if Donnell!’s presented. How disappointed not to "o wonder he hated the inhabitants barna les mindlessl! linging to a ro #4 )e ause it is the onl! thing o ean. Into oblivion. vo!age here was as prosai as it was have found the bones of the hol! manso. To him, the! must have seemed li#e mer ! seat. 'h! ling so hard to the that stops us from sliding into the An imagined answerphone message. The tires are flat, the wheel spins loosel!, and the bra#e fluid has run li#e in# over this map, staining the landmar#s and rendering the oastline mute, ompromised. 'here !ou saw gala*ies, I onl! saw bruises, ut into the liff b! m! la # of sobriet!. I don’t #now the name of the wre # in the ba!$ it seems to have been here for several !ears but has not !et subsided. I don’t #now if an!one was #illed$ if so, I ertainl! haven’t seen them m!self. &erhaps when the heli opter ame to lift them home, their as ent s ared the birds awa!. I shall sear h for eggs along the north shore, for an! eviden e that life is mar#ing this pla e out as its own again. &erhaps it is us that #eeps them at ba!. I remember running through the sands of (romer$ there was none of the shipwre # I find here. I have spent da!s ataloguing the garbage that washes ashore here and I have begun to assemble a olle tion in the deepest re ess I ould find. 'hat a strange museum it would ma#e. And what of the orpse of its urator4 Shall I find a glass offin and pretend to ma#e snow white of us both4 'h! is the sea so be almed4 It be #ons !ou to wal# upon its surfa e$ but I #now all too well how it would shatter under m! feet and drag me under. The ro #s here have withstood enturies of storms and now, robbed of the tides, the! stand muted and lame, temples without ause. <ne da!, I will attempt to limb them, hunt among their pea#s for the eggs, the nests, that the gulls have learl! abandoned. I had #idne! stones, and !ou visited me in the hospital. After the operation, when I was still half submerged in anaestheti , !our outline and !our spee h both blurred. "ow m! stones have grown into an island and made their es ape and !ou have been rendered opa8ue b! the ar of a drun#. I have begun m! as ent on the green slope of the western side. I have loo#ed deep into the mountain from the shaft and understood that I must go up and then find a wa! under. I will stash the last vestiges of m! ivilisation in the stone walls and wor# deeper from there. I am drawn b! the aerial and the liff edge. there is some form of rebirth waiting for me there. I have begun m! as ent on the windless slope of the western side. The setting sun was an inflamed e!e s8uee3ing shut against the light shone in b! the do tors. %! ne # is a hing through onstantl! raning m! head up to tra # the light of the aerial. I must loo# downwards, follow the path under the island to a new beginning. I have begun to limb, awa! from the sea and towards the entre. It is a straight line to the summit, where the evening begins to oil around the aerial and s8uee3e the signals into earl! silen e. The both! s8uats against the mount to avoid the ga3e of the aerial$ I too will reep under the island li#e an animal and approa h it from the northern shore. 'hen I first loo#ed into the shaft, I swear I felt the stones in m! stoma h shift in re ognition. 'hat harnel house lies at the foot of this ab!ss4 How man! dead shepherds ould fill this hole4 Is this what &aul saw through his winds reen4 "ot 7ot’s wife, loo#ing over her shoulder, but a s ar in the hillside, falling awa! to bla #, forever. 'hen the! gra3e their animals here, Donnell! writes, it is alwa!s raining. There’s no eviden e of that rain has been here re entl!. The foliage is all stati , li#e a radio signal returning from another star. In the hold of the wre #ed trawler I have found what must amount to several tons of gloss paint. &erhaps the! were importing it. Instead, I will put it to use, and de orate this island in the i ons and s!mbols of our disaster. (romer in the rain$ a s hool trip. 'e too# shelter en masse in a bus stop, herded in li#e attle, the tea hers dull shepherds. The sand in m! po #et be oming damper b! the se ond. The both! was onstru ted originall! in the earl! /1AAs. )! then, shepherding had formalised into a areer. The first habitual shepherd was a man alled =a obson, from a lineage of migrator! S andinavians. He was not onsidered a man of breeding b! the mainlanders. He ame here ever! summer whilst building the both!, hoping, eventuall!, that be oming a man of propert! would se ure him a wife and a lineage. Donnell! re ords that it did not wor#. he aught some disease from his mal ontented goats and died two !ears after ompleting it. There was no one to arve white lines into the liff for him either. Inventor!. a trestle table we spread wallpaper on in our first home. A folding hair$ I laughed at !ou for bringing amping in the la#es. I was un omfortable later and !ou laughed then. This diar!$ the bed with the bro#en springs : on e asleep, !ou have to remember not to dream. A hange of lothes. Donnell!’s boo#, stolen from Edinburgh librar! on the wa! here. I will burn them all on the last morning and ma#e an aerial of m! own. 'hen the oil lamps ran out I didn’t pi # up a tor h but used the moonlight to read b!. 'hen I have pulled the last shreds of sense from it, I will throw Donnell!’s boo# from the liffs and perhaps m!self with it. %a!be it will wash ba # up through the aves and erupt from the spring when the rain omes, ma#ing its return to the hermits ave. &erhaps it will be ba # on the table when I wa#e. I thin# I ma! have thrown it into the sea several times before. Three ormorants seen at dus#$ the! did not land. This house, built of stone, built b! a long5dead shepherd. (ontents. m! ampbed, a stove, a table, hairs. %! lothes, m! boo#s. The aves that s ore out the bell! of this island, leaving it famished. %! limbs and bell!, famished. This s#in, these organs, this failing e!esight. 'hen the batter! runs out in m! tor h, I will des end into the aves and follow onl! the phosphores en e home. %! heart is landfill, these false dawns wa#ing into whilst it is still never light. I sweat for !ou in the small hours and wrap m! blan#ets into a mass. I have alwa!s heard the waves brea# on these lost shores, alwa!s the gulls forgotten. I an lift this bottle to m! ear, and all there ever is for me is this hebridean musi . In a footnote, the editor omments that at this point, Donnell! was going insane as s!philis tore through his s!stem li#e a drun# driver. He is not to be trusted : man! of his laims are unsubstantiated and although he does paint a olourful pi ture, mu h of what he sa!s ma! have been derived dire tl! from his fever. )ut I have been here and I #now, as Donnell! did, that this pla e is alwa!s half5imagined. Even the ro #s and aves will shimmer and blur, with the right e!es. He left his bod! to the medi al s hool and was dul! opened out for a rowd of students twent!5one da!s after his passing. The report is in luded in m! edition of his boo#. The s!philis had torn through his guts li#e a drun# driver, s rambling his organs li#e eggs on a plate. )ut enough definition remained for a ursor! e*amination and, as I suspe ted, the! found lear eviden e of #idne! stones. He is li#el! to have spent the last !ears of his life in onsiderable pain. perhaps this is the root of his laudanum habit. Although its use ma#es him an unreliable witness, I find m!self in reasingl! drawn into his orbit. 'hat to ma#e of Donnell!4 The laudanum and the s!philis4 It is learl! not how he began, but I have been unable to dis over if the former was a result of his visiting the island or the for e that drove him here. ,or the s!philis, a drun# driver smashing his insides into a pulp as he stumbled these paths, I an onl! offer m! empath!. 'e are all vi tims of our age. %! disease is the internal fermentation of !east. ombustion engine and the heap =a#obson’s rib age, the! told Donnell!, was deformed, the result of some birth defe t or perhaps a traumati in+ur! as a hild. )rittle and overblown it was, and desperatel! light. &erhaps it was this that finall! did for him, unable to ontain the shattering of his heart. In half5 light, his s#eleton a dis arded prop, a false and al ified seabird. The! found =a obson in earl! spring, the thaw had onl! +ust ome. Even though he’d been dead nearl! seven months, his bod! had been fro3en right down to the nerves and had not even begun to de ompose. He’d struggled halfwa! down the liff path, perhaps loo#ing for some lost goat, or perhaps in a delirium and e*pired, urled into a law, right under the winter moon. Even the animals shunned his orpse$ the mainlanders thought to bring it home unlu #!. Donnell! laims the! dragged it to the aves to thaw out and rot, but he is proving an unreliable witness. The! found =a obson in earl! spring, the thaw had onl! +ust ome. Even though he’d been dead nearl! seven months, his bod! had been fro3en right down to the nerves and had not even begun to de ompose. His fingernails were raw and bitten to the 8ui #$ the! found the phosphores ent moss that grows in the aves deep under the nails. 'hatever he’d been doing under the island when his strength began to fail is lost. He’d struggled halfwa! up the liff again, perhaps in a delirium, perhaps tr!ing to rea h the both!’s fire, before urling into a stone and e*piring. The! found =a obson in earl! spring, the thaw had onl! +ust ome. Even though he’d been dead nearl! seven months, his bod! had been fro3en right down to the nerves and had not even begun to de ompose. All around him, small flowers were rea hing for the wea# sun, the goats had ad+usted happil! to life without a shepherd and were gra3ing freel! about the valle!. Donnell! reports the! hurled the bod! in fear and disgust down the shaft, but I annot orroborate this stor!. I will be ome a tor h for !ou, an aerial. I will fall from the s#! li#e an ient radio waves of flawed on rete. Through underground springs and free3ing subterranean rivers. Through the ba teria of m! gut and heart. Through the bottomless boat and forgotten trawlers where nobod! has died. 7i#e the hermit and 7ot’s wife, I will fossilise and open a hole in the ro # to admit me through. To e*plore here is to be ome passive, to internalise the +ourne! and not to attempt to brea# the onfines. Sin e I burnt m! boats and ontra ted m! si #ness, this has be ome easier for me. It will ta#e a number of e*peditions to traverse this mi ro ontinent$ it will ta#e the death of a million neurons, a ornu opia of prime numbers, ountless servi e stations and b!passes to arrive at the point of final departure. This bea h is no pla e to end a life. =a obson understood that, so did Donnell!. =a obson made it halfwa! ba # up the liff. Donnell! lost faith and went home to die. I have the benefit of histor!, of progress. Someone has ere ted an aerial to guide me through these bla # waves, a bea on that shines through the ro #s li#e phosphores ent moss. (limbing down to the aves I slipped and fell and have in+ured m! leg. I thin# the femur is bro#en. It is learl! infe ted. the s#in has turned a bright, tight pin# and the pain is rashing in on waves, winter tides against m! shoreline, drowning out the a he of m! stones. I struggled ba # to the both! to rest, but it has be ome lear that there is onl! one wa! this is li#el! to end. The medi al supplies I looted from the trawler have suddenl! found their purpose. the! will #eep me lu id for m! final as ent. ,rom here, this last time, I have understood there is no turning ba #. The tor h is failing along with m! resolve. I an hear the singing of the sea reatures from the passages above me and the! are promising the return of the gulls. Did =a obson rawl this far4 (an I identif! the s rat hes his nails ruined into the ro #s4 Am I following him ell for ell, in h for in h4 'h! did he turn ba # on himself and not arr! through to the as ent4 Donnell! did not pass through the aves. ,rom here on in, his guidan e, unreliable as it is, is gone from me. I understand now that it is between the two of us, and whatever orresponden e an be drawn from the wet ro #s. Donnell!’s addi tion is m! one true onstant. Even though I wa#e in false dawns and find the lands ape hanged, flowing in onstantl! through m! tears, I #now his rea hing is alwa!s upon me. It was as if someone had ta#en the ar and sha#en it li#e a o #tail. The glove ompartment had been opened and emptied with the ashtra!s and the boot$ it made for a rumpled museum, a shattered e*hibition. I first saw him sat b! the side of the road. I was waiting for !ou to be ut out of the wre #age. The ar loo#ed li#e it had been dropped from a great height. The guts of the engine spilled over the tarma . 7i#e water underground. The! had stopped the traffi ba # as far as the Sandford +un tion and ome up the hard shoulder li#e radio signals from another star. It too# twent!5one minutes for them to arrive. I wat hed &aul time it, to the se ond, on his wat h. There is no other dire tion, no other e*it from this motorwa!. Speeding past this +un tion, I saw !ou waiting at the roadside, a one last drin# in !our trembled hands. I’m traversing m! own death throes. The infe tion in m! leg is an oilrig that dredges bla # mu # up from deep inside m! bones. I swallow fistfuls of dia3epam and para etamol to sta! ons ious. The pain flows through me li#e an underground sea. If the aves are m! guts, this must be the pla e where the stones are first formed. The ba teria phosphores e and rise, singing, through the tunnels. Ever!thing here is bound b! the rise and fall li#e a tide. &erhaps, the whole island is a tuall! underwater. I am travelling through m! own bod!, following the line of infe tion from the shattered femur towards the heart. I swallow fistfuls of pain#illers to sta! lu id. In m! delirium, I see the twin lights of the moon and the aerial, shining to me through the ro #s. In m! final dream, I sat at pea e with =a#obson and wat hed the moon over the Sandford +un tion, goats gra3ing on the hard shoulder, a world gone to weed and redemption. He showed me his fever s ars, and I mine, between ea h shoulder the nas en ! of flight. 'hen I was oming round from the operation, I remember the light the! shone in m! e!es to he # for pupil ontra tion. It was li#e staring up at a moonlit s#! from the bottom of well. &eople moved at the summit but I ould not tell if !ou were one of them. This annot be the shaft the! threw the goats into. It annot be the landfill where the parts of !our life that would not burn ended up. It annot be the himne! that delivered !ou to the s#ies. It annot be the pla e where !ou rained ba # down again to fertilise the soil and ma#e small flowers in the ro #s. I will hold the hand !ou offer to me$ from the summit down to this well, into the dar# waters where the small flowers reep for the sun. Headlights are refle ted in !our retinas, moonlit in the shadow of the rematorium himne!. This is a drowned man’s fa e refle ted in the moonlit waters. It be a dead shepherd who has ome to drun# drive !ou home. an onl! The moon over the Sandford +un tion, headlights in !our retinas. Donnell! drove a gre! hat hba # without a bottom, all the reatures of the tarma rose to sing to him. All manner of s!mbols rudel! s rawled a ross the liff fa e of m! unrest. %! life redu ed to an ele tri al diagram. All m! gulls have ta#en flight$ the! will no longer roost on these out rops. The lure of the moon over the Sandford +un tion is too strong. I wish I ould have #now Donnell! in this pla e : we would have had so mu h to debate. Did he paint these stones, or did I4 'ho left the pots in the hut b! the +ett!4 'ho formed the museum under the sea4 'ho fell silentl! to his death, into the fro3en waters4 'ho ere ted this godforsa#en aerial in the first pla e4 Did this whole island rise to the surfa e of m! stoma h, for ing the gulls to ta#e flight4 I sat here and wat hed two +ets arve parallel white lines into the s#!. The! harted their ourse and I followed them for twent!5one minutes until the! turned off near Sandford and were lost. If I were a gull, I would abandon m! nest and +oin them. I would starve m! brain of o*!gen and suffer delusions of trans enden e. I would tear the bottom from m! boat and sail a ross the motorwa!s until I rea hed this island on e again. <f fire and soil, I hose fire. It seemed the more ontemporar! of the options, the more sanitar!. I ould not bear the thought of the reassembl! of su h a ruins. Stit hing arm to shoulder and femur to hip, harting a line of thread li#e traffi stilled on a motorwa!. %a#ing it all a eptable for tearful aunts and traumatised un les flown in spe iall! for the o asion. Redu e to ash, mi* with water, ma#e a phosphores ent paint for these ro #s and eilings. 'e shall begin to assemble our own version of the north shore. 'e will s rawl in dead languages and ele tri al diagrams and hide them awa! for future theologians to muse and mumble over. 'e will send a letter to Esther Donnell! and demand her answer. 'e will mi* the paint with ashes and tarma and the glow from our infe tions. 'e paint a moon over the Sandford +un tion and blue lights falling li#e stars along the hard shoulder. I returned home with a po #et full of stolen ash. Half of it fell out of m! oat and vanished into the ar’s upholster!. )ut the rest I arefull! stowed awa! in a bo* I #ept in a drawer b! the side of m! bed. It was never intended as a meaningful a t but over the !ears it be ame a #ind of talisman. I’d sit still, 8uite still, for hours +ust holding the diminishing powder in m! palm and noting its smoothness. In time, we will all be worn down into granules, washed into the sea and dispersed. Dear Esther. I find ea h step harder and heavier. I drag Donnell!’s orpse on m! ba # a ross these ro #s, and all I hear are his whispers of guilt, his reminders, his burnt letters, his neatl! folded lothes. He tells me I was not drun# at all. ,rom here I an see m! armada. I olle ted all the letters I’d ever meant to send to !ou, if I’d have ever made it to the mainland but had instead olle ted at the bottom of m! ru #sa #, and I spread them out along the lost bea h. Then I too# ea h and ever! one and I folded them into boats. I folded !ou into the reases and then, as the sun was setting, I set the fleet to sail. Shattered into twent!5one pie es, I onsigned !ou to the Atlanti , and I sat here until I’d wat hed all of !ou sin#. There were hemi al diagrams on the mug he gave me offee in$ sti #! at the handle where his hands shoo#. He wor#ed for a pharma euti al ompan! with an offi e based on the outs#irts of 'olverhampton. He’d been travelling ba # from a sales onferen e in E*eter. forming a strategi vision for the pedalling of anta id !oghurt to the European mar#et. ?ou ould tra e the onne tions with !our finger, +oin the dots and whole new ompounds would be summoned into a tivit!. There were hemi al diagrams on the posters on the walls on the waiting room. It seemed appropriate at the time$ still5life abstra tions of the pro esses whi h had alread! begun to brea# down !our nerves and !our mus les in the ne*t room. I ram dia3epam as I on e rammed for hemistr! e*aminations. I am revising m! options for a long and happ! life. There were hemi al stains on the tarma . the lea# of air onditioning, bra#e fluid and petrol. He #ept sniffing at his fingers as he sat b! the roadside waiting as if he ouldn’t 8uite understand or re ognise their smell. He said he’d been travelling ba # from a sales onferen e in E*eter$ he’d stopped for farewell drin#s earlier, but had #ept a areful e!e on his inta#e. ?ou ould hear the sirens above the idling traffi . &aul, b! the roadside, b! the e*it for Damas us, all ti #ing and ooled, all feathers and remorse, all of these signals routed li#e traffi through the ir uit diagrams of our guts, those badl! written boats torn bottomless in the swells, washing us forever ashore. 'hen &aul #eeled over dead on the road to Damas us, the! resus itated him b! hitting him in the hest with stones gathered b! the roadside. He was lifeless for twent!5one minutes, ertainl! long enough for the o*!gen levels in his brain to have de reased and aused hallu inations and delusions of trans enden e. I am running out of pain#illers and the moon has be ome almost unbearabl! bright. The pain in m! leg sent me blind for a few minutes as I struggled up the liff path. I swallowed another handful of pain#illers and now I feel almost lu id. The island around me has retreated to a ha3ed distan e, whilst the moon appears to have des ended into m! palm to guide me. I an see a thi # bla # line of infe tion rea hing for m! heart from the waistband of m! trousers. Through the fugue, it is all the world li#e the path I have ut from the lowlands towards the aerial. I will drag m! leg behind me$ I will drag it li#e a rumpled hat hba #, t!res blown and spar#ing a ross the dimming lights of m! vision. I am running out of pain#illers and am following the fli #er of the moon home. 'hen &aul #eeled over dead on the road to Damas us, the! restarted his heart with the +ump leads from a rumpled hat hba #$ it too# twent!5one attempts to onvin e it to wa#e up. A sound of torn metal, teeth running over the edge of the ro #s, a moon that asts a signal. As I la! pinned beside !ou, the ti #ing of the ooling engine, and the alling from a great height, all m! mind as a b!pass. I’ve begun m! vo!age in a paper boat without a bottom$ I will fl! to the moon in it. I have been folded along a rease in time, a wea#ness in the sheet of life. "ow, !ou’ve settled on the opposite side of the paper to me$ I an see !our tra es in the in# that soa#s through the fibre, the pulped vegetation. 'hen we be ome waterlogged, and the age disintergrates, we will intermingle. 'hen this paper aeroplane leaves the liff edge, and arves parallel vapour trails in the dar#, we will ome together. If onl! Donnell! had e*perien ed this, he would have realised he was his own shoreline, as am I. =ust as I am be oming this island, so he be ame his s!philis, retreating into the burning s!napses, the stones, the infe tion. Returning to m! ar afterwards, hands still sha#ing and a head split open b! the impa t. @oodb!e to tearful aunts and traumatised un les, goodb!e to the phenomenal, goodb!e to the tangible, goodb!e 'olverhampton, goodb!e Sandford, goodb!e (romer, goodb!e Damas us. This liff path is slipper! in the dew$ it is hard to limb with su h an infe tion. I must arve out the bad flesh and sling it from the aerial. I must be ome infused with the ver! air. There are headlights refle ted in these retinas, too long in the tunnels of m! island without a bottom. The sea reatures have risen to the surfa e, but the gulls are not here to arr! them ba # to their nests. I have be ome fi*ed. open and staring, an e!e turned on itself. I have be ome an infe ted leg, whose tra #ing lines form a perfe t map of the +un tions of the %>. I will ta#e the e*it at mid5thigh and plummet to m! Esther. The stones in m! stoma h will weigh me down and ensure m! des ent is true and straight. I will brea# through the fog of these godforsa#en pills and a hieve larit!. All m! fun tions are logged, all m! veins are ho#ed. If m! leg doesn’t rot off before I rea h the summit, it will be a mira le. There are twent!5one onne tions in the ir uit diagram of the anti5lo # bra#es, there are twent!5one spe ies of gull inhabiting these islands , it is twent!5one miles between the Sandford +un tion and the turn off for home. All these things annot, will not, be a o5in iden e. )ent ba # li#e a nail, li#e a hangnail, li#e a drowning man lung onto the wheel, drun# and spiraled, washed onto the lost shore under a moon as fra tured as a shattered wing. 'e leave, we are flight and suspended, these wret hed pain#illers, this form in onstant. I will ta#e flight. He was not drun# Esther, he was not drun# at all. He had not drun# with Donnell! or spat =a obson ba # at the sea$ he had not areered a ross the lost shores and terminal bea hes of this nas ent ar hipelago. He did not intend his bonnet to be rumpled li#e a spent tissue b! the impa t. His winds reen was not star5studded all over li#e a map of the heavens. His paintwor# et hed with ir uit diagrams, strange fish to all the gulls awa!. The phosphores en e of the s#id mar#s lighting the %> all the wa! from E*eter to Damas us. )lind with pani , deaf with the roar of the aged traffi , heart stopped on the road to Damas us, &aul, sat at the roadside hun hed up li#e a gull, li#e a blood! gull. As useless and as doomed as a s!philiti artographer, a d!ing goatherd, an infe ted leg, a #idne! stone blo #ing the traffi bound for Sandford and E*eter. He was not drun# Esther, he was not drun# at all$ all his roads and his tunnels and his paths led inevitabl! to this moment of impa t. This is not a re orded natural ondition. he should not be sat there with his hemi als and his ir uit diagrams, he should not be sat there at all. I have dredged these waters for the bones of the hermit, for the tra es of Donnell!, for an! sign of =a obson’s flo #, for the empt! bottle that would in riminate him. I have s oured this stret h of motorwa! twent!5one times attempting to re reate his tra+e tor!, the point when his heart stopped dead and all he saw was the moon over the Sandford +un tion. He was not drun# Esther, he was not drun# at all, and it was not his fault, it was the onverging lines that doomed him. This is not a re orded natural ondition, the gulls do not fl! so low over the motorwa! and ause him to swerve. The paint s ored awa! from his ar in lines, li#e an infe tion, ma#ing dire tl! for the heart. A gull per hed on a spent bonnet, sidewa!s, whilst the sirens fell through the middle distan e and the metal moaned in grief about us. I am about this night in wal#ing, old bread and gull bones, old Donnell! at the bar gripping his drin#, old Esther wal#ing with our hildren, old &aul, as ever, old &aul he sha#es and he shivers and he turns off his lights alone. I have run out of pla es to the air. limb. I will abandon this bod! and ta#e to 'e will leave twin vapour trails in the air, white lines et hed into these ro #s. I am the aerial. In m! passing, I will send news to ea h and ever! star. Dear Esther. I have burnt m! belongings, m! boo#s, this death ertifi ate. %ine will be written all a ross this island. 'ho was =a obson, who remembers him4 Donnell! has written of him, but who was Donnell!, who remembers him4 I have painted, arved, hewn, s ored into this spa e all that I ould draw from him. There will be another to these shores to remember me. I will rise from the o ean li#e an island without bottom, ome together li#e a stone, be ome an aerial, a bea on that the! will not forget !ou. 'e have alwa!s been drawn here. one da! the gulls will return and nest in our bones and our histor!. I will loo# to m! left and see Esther Donnell!, fl!ing beside me. I will loo# to m! right and see &aul =a obson, fl!ing beside me. The! will leave white lines arved into the air to rea h the mainland, where help will be sent. Dear Esther. I have burned the liffs of Damas us, I have drun# deep of it. %! heart is m! leg and a bla # line et hed on the paper all along this boat without a bottom. ?ou are all the world li#e a nest to me, in whi h eggs unbro#en form li#e fossils, ome together, shatter and send small bla # flowers to the ver! air. ,rom this infe tion, hope.,rom this island, flight. ,rom this grief, love. (ome ba #(ome ba #...