Body and Soul

Tags: non-erotic (You've been warned!)

Peter Samuel Albright's soul left his body as he was walking home from East Finchley station one breezy October Monday. He didn't feel a thing when it happened. The separation was quick, painless and complete.

It was a Miracle!

"His body"? His soul? Whose?

Is Pete's body, which is now walking towards the front door of his house, the property of his Spirit? Or, vice versa, is the mass of cells collectively known as "Pete" still the rightful owner of this errant ghost floating a yard above it, and maybe a foot or so to its right?

Oh, for Pete's sake, who cares? Who gives a shit about philosophy? And anyway the question is wholly immaterial. The body is in the "I" of the beholder.

For Pete's sake, let's forget the pedantry and let's try to show some compassion here, because these separations can make life a living hell for all concerned.

Or if not for Pete's sake, at least for the sake of his beautiful wife, Angela, who's running to unlatch the French window of the living room at the back of their house.

After Angela opens the French window, her lover, Jerry dashes out into the garden and around the side of the house. Will He Make His Escape?

I can answer that one: Yes.

Angela dashes back into the living room, looks around wildly for a prop to assist her in an alibi. She grabs her cigarettes from the coffee table, runs out through the French window into the garden and fumbles to light one up. The lighter won't work, it's too windy out there.

Pete opens the front door which creates a through-draft, slamming the French window shut. He opens it and lets Angela in.

The cigarette decoy works perfectly:

"So, this is what you get up to while I'm at work!" laughs Pete.

"Yep, you caught me red-handed," laughs Angela.

"What are you doing back so early?" she asks once the hilarity has died down.

"I was feeling a bit flu-ey this morning, but it's passed. Anyway, I thought I'd better take the rest of the day off," says Pete.

Lies. All lies. In fact, Pete doesn't even have a job. Not anymore, not for the last two weeks.

Life, especially the life of the fictional people I'm writing about here, is just a Tissue of Lies from beginning to end.

I'm sorry, I can't let this mendacity thing go, I have something to say on the subject before I go on with this. I'm not pleading here, it's just that I don't think you should judge people until you know the whole story.

Here are some Big Lies you may have heard before:

"Honesty is the Best Policy".

"The Truth Never Hurt Anyone".

"God is My Witness".

May God help you if you're gullible enough to swallow any of them, especially the last one. What a whopper.

The fact is, lies are the only thing we can tell. I'm telling you, homo sapiens just has to open its mouth, out pops a Big Lie. Actually that's not fair: Occasionally we just make honest mistakes.

While Pete is at the French window discovering Angela's little secret, Pete's Soul drifts silently through the walls of the house, emerging in the side passage, out by the rubbish bins and rusty mountain bikes, and discovers Angela's bigger secret. Pete's Soul watches Jerry trotting silently along the passageway and out through their driveway. With grim satisfaction, Pete's Soul sees Jerry bang his hip against the wing-mirror of their BMW.

Pete's Soul doesn't exactly react with surprise to the sight of his wife's paramour sneaking away. You see, he's had his suspicions. Oh, he's had his suspicions for a long time about Angela. He really should have mentioned it to Pete while he had the chance.

That evening. Pete's Soul looms unseen five feet above the living room coffee table. Pete and Angela are on the sofa, hunched forward over the table, eating Chinese. They never cook these days.

A movie on the TV is making Angela uncomfortable, as it's about a married woman having an affair with another woman's husband. It's Uncomfortably Close to Reality.

Pete is slowly and deliberately picking the shrimps from his special fried rice with his chopsticks and placing them in the ashtray. Angela tears open a spring roll angrily.

"For God's sake, if you don't like shrimps, why the hell do you order it every time?"

Pete puts the chopsticks down.

"I thought you liked it," he says.

"I don't."

"Sorry."

Pete waits five seconds. He assumes, wrongly, that it's now okay to pick up the chopsticks again.

Angela mutters, "I've never liked it. You don't know anything about me."

Pete's Soul silently shouts at Pete: She wants to talk. Talk to her. Listen to her.

And maybe, thinks Pete's Soul, Pete can hear him, for Pete stops eating and wipes his mouth with a paper napkin. He puts a hand on Angela's thigh, smiles at her, and says:

"Well, I do know one thing about you: You've started smoking again."

But Angela pushes his hand away.

Pete stares dully at the TV. "Are you enjoying this?"

"What, life?"

Pete acknowledges her wry response with a wry snort.

"I meant the film."

"Are you?"

Pete hasn't really been paying attention to the film. He's been thinking about -- what has he been thinking about? He frowns.

Angela watches him. "Well?"

"She's nice. Cate Blanchett."

"What about the plot? What about the story?"

"I dunno. Look, Angie, I- "

Pete's Soul shouts inaudibly: Tell her. Tell her that you were fired. Tell her why you were fired.

Pete doesn't tell her. Instead, he clears the food off the table and takes the dishes into the kitchen. While he's doing the washing up, I'll tell you why Pete was fired:

Pete was fired because he didn't have sex with a woman from work. They were just talking in a hotel room. But you know how rumours grow. The whole thing is a Tissue of Lies, in fact.

If you don't like the phrase "Tissue of Lies", perhaps you'd prefer "Web of Deceit". Both phrases are total bullshit anyway.

You may be interested to know how it feels for Pete to have no soul. I'll say it again: The question is completely immaterial. Pete feels just fine, thank you very much. How do you feel, anyway?

It's Tuesday. Pete gets up at eight and is out of the house by eight-fifteen. He has the routine down pat, after three years working for the same insurance firm. But he has a new routine now, ever since he got fired for not having sex with a woman from work.

What Pete does instead is to go to a cafe in Hampstead and plug in his laptop to the mains supply, and Go Online. When he's Online, he checks his emails to see if he has a job offer.

Pete has a plan. He plans to get a job offer, and start work at the new job, after which he'll tell Angela that he wasn't fired from his last job, but that he quit. This would make him appear to be Master of his Own Destiny, instead of a Hapless Victim of Circumstance.

"Master of his Own Destiny." There's another Big Fat One. Where do people come up with this shit?

Anyway, so Pete is hoping that with just a couple of extra strands of Lie Tissue, and a bit of luck, he'll be able to return to a normal life and Angela would be none the wiser.

But when he checks his email this Tuesday, there are no job offers. But there is an email from the woman from work, who, thankfully, isn't also called Angela, because that would make my life difficult. Even if she were called Angela, I'd have no qualms about giving her a different name for the purposes of this story. That's the kind of thing you have to do when you're writing. Bend the truth.

No, the woman from work is called Zoe, which is about as far away from "Angela" as you can get, alphabetically.

Zoe uses Courier font when she sends emails. She's tried to kill herself three or four times. I don't know if the facts are related. I asked a Scientist about that: She said to me that if they are related, it's not a causal relationship. The suicide attempts and the use of Courier probably both have an underlying cause, related to some combination of low serotonin, or a genetic defect. And in turn, those two things may or may not be causally related. Isn't Science wonderful?

Anyway, here's what Zoe wrote in her Courier font:

"I feel so bad about that night in Basingstoke. Not about what happened, for it happened I believe for a reason, as does everything in life.

"I also feel bad about what Alison did to you, firing you like that. Not that it will make you feel any better, but irony of ironies she's now moved to my department, so I'm now her boss! Trust me I'm giving her a hard time! I guess I was lucky, in the right place in the right time if you will, so I had another iron in the fire afterwards and I could move to the Comp. Dept. (manager: Jimmy Strand)

"I can't promise anything, but there may be an opening here, I can put in a word, and Jimmy's a great bloke, great laugh, etc. You'd like him. Of course, that is, if you could handle being under me. Fnar fnar."

When Pete finishes reading the letter, he reads it again. He Smells a Rat: Zoe, the woman he didn't sleep with, has manoeuvred herself into being his former manager's manager, getting Pete fired along the way. So it was all Office Politics. Fnar fnar.

Yes, he Smells A Rat. Or Does he? Maybe it's that he simply prefers to think of himself as caught in A Web of Deceit rather than as a Hapless Victim of Circumstance.

Then, Pete replies to the email, and this which shows what a consummate Liar he can be: He thanks her and is "keen to hook up with Jimmy". What a crock of utter shit.

A waitress asks Pete if she can take his coffee cup. He looks up at her. She's a pretty Polish girl. He tilts his head back to sip the last drop of espresso from the cup, and hands it to her. As he does so, he flashes her a Winning Smile.

What does a Winning Smile look like? And how does it compare with a Losing Smile? I'm not sure. Actually, someone once told me I have a Winning Smile.

Pete's Winning Smile, coupled with his quiet strength and rugged good looks, make it easy for him to attract women. I share Pete's Winning Smile, but I don't have a quiet strength, or rugged good looks. I just checked in the mirror, and my smile isn't Winning anymore. So what happened to me? Oh, plenty of stuff.

Did I say that Pete is thirty-three years old? That's the same age as Jesus when He was crucified for our sins. For our sins? Wow, talk about forward planning.

Pete, if you pressed him, would call himself a Christian. The denomination he belongs to is Church of England. He was married in an Anglican church.

The minister had asked him,

"Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

And Pete had answered,

"I will."

It was a statement of intent, not a prediction. After all, people change.

In the meantime, Pete's Soul is playing Private Dick, watching Angela and her goings-on behind Pete's back. His motive? Simply a quest for Truth. Or call it "voyeurism" if you prefer to be cynical about it.

He listens in while Jerry and Angela talk in the kitchen. Angela lights up a Marlboro. At Jerry's quizzical look, she tells him:

"Oh, he knows about these now."

"And does he know about us?"

"What do you think?"

"Maybe you should tell him."

Angela stubs out the cigarette after two drags. Maybe because they're no longer illicit, cigarettes fail to give her pleasure.

"Really? Why should I?"

"Angela, shall we -- do you want to -- go upstairs?"

"Well, to tell the truth, no. Why don't you go home to your wife."

"Well. I guess that's it then, isn't it?"

"I guess. If you want."

"What do you want?"

"Just go. Bye."

Jerry tries to kiss her, but she doesn't let him.

Jerry, who's a happily married man, goes home to his wife, where he belongs. What's with all these married people sleeping around? It's all happening in Finchley these days, I must say.

Pete's Soul doesn't know what to make of it. In fact, he can't make out Angela at all, especially after what he'd seen earlier that morning. Witness:

Earlier that morning, Pete's Soul had floated after her into the bathroom, and saw her pee onto a pregnancy strip. And then both of them had watched intently as the little blue '+' appeared, making her 99% certain to be pregnant. She hadn't seemed too happy about it, considering. In fact she'd been in danger of flooding the bathroom with her tears.

No, Pete's Soul didn't know what to make of her. I'd be totally overjoyed if I saw that little blue '+'. Well 99% overjoyed anyway. The Miracle of Life!

Now I have to tell you something. Can you keep a secret? I know the sex of the baby: It's a girl.

Angela doesn't yet know the sex of the baby, but believe me, she'll be thrilled when she finds out. I even know the name she'll give the baby, and all kinds of other wonderful stuff about how the girl grows up to be -- Oh, sorry, that's another story. Gosh, it's fun being a writer. You can make up any old guff.

Pete's Soul guesses that the father is Angela's paramour, Jerry.

Of course, if he'd have been thinking clearly, Pete's Soul could also have guessed that he himself have been the father, by calculating from the dates. But he didn't come to that conclusion, for two reasons:

Firstly, Pete's Soul had been absent the last time Pete and Angela had had sex. In fact Pete's Soul is always absent when he and Angela have sex. Typical spiritual behaviour, if you ask me.

The soul tends to make itself scarce while you're having sex, or gorging on pasta alla norma, or singing yourself hoarse in the pub. When you're being an animal like this, sometimes your soul goes to an art gallery, sometimes it floats up to Primrose Hill and watches the glorious sunset.

Another reason Pete's Soul doesn't think that he might be the father of Angela's unborn baby girl, is not for any reason related to his lack of corporeality: It's simply that, like most men, Pete's Soul tends to jump to conclusions where women are concerned.

Why did Angela almost flood the bathroom with tears, instead of laughing with joy, when she discovered that she was pregnant? Maybe because she knows that the father of the child is, as Pete's Soul suspects, Jerry, and that Jerry is never going to leave his wife.

And Angela would be hard put to pretend that little Annie -- there, I gave the name away -- was Pete's child. Little Annie's skin would almost certainly be, in fact it will turn out to be, brown like Jerry's, and not pink like Pete's. So all in all, that could explain the tears.

But if you want to know the real reason why Angela wept with sorrow when saw the little blue cross, I'll tell you: She was mourning the death of her mother. Her mother will never see her little granddaughter. I based the character of Angela on a real-life woman I know. The mother of the real-life woman was called Anne, sadly, now dead. She was a wonderful lady, full of wisdom and love. She would have made such a great grandma. Angela will name her little daughter Annie to keep Anne's memory alive.

So that's why she cried. She felt sad and lonely, and missed her mother. Simple.

Tell me something: What happens after you die? Here's one answer, which was given to me by a woman I know: Your soul leaves your body and ascends into heaven. Good riddance, I say: Just look what mischief the soul of Peter Samuel Albright gets up to, that very night:

Pete's Soul doesn't need sleep. This gives him an advantage alongside being able to float through brick walls. It gives him a lot of time to snoop around and spy on people's private lives. At around eleven pm, he decides to check up on Zoe. Like Pete, Pete's Soul Smells a Rat when it comes to Zoe.

He floats through walls into Zoe's bedroom, and watches her. He finds out three things.

Firstly, Zoe, when she thinks she's alone, likes to play with the little silver crucifix hanging between her breasts, and talk to herself. Mostly she asks a lot of questions.

Secondly, she has enough pills in her bedside drawer to kill herself eighteen times over, should the fancy take her.

Thirdly, she's crazy in love with Pete.

How does Pete's Soul find out about Zoe being crazy in love with Pete? Easy: He just ups and asks her. And, Miracle of Miracles, she hears him! She hears his voice as coming from inside her, near where her heart is, just behind the little silver crucifix hanging between her breasts.

Pete's Soul tells her that she must call Pete and let him know how that night in the hotel room wasn't all Office Politics.

"But how does he feel about me?" she asks Pete's Soul. Or maybe she asks the little silver crucifix hanging between her breasts.

Pete's Soul, or maybe the little silver crucifix, tells her that whatever happens, she must tell him how she feels. She owes him that much. Besides, The Truth Never Hurt Anyone.

I don't know about "The Truth Never Hurt Anyone", but I suppose I'd better tell you the truth about what happened in the hotel room that night when Pete and Zoe didn't have sex, but just talked.

It took place in the Basingstoke hotel, during a sales conference. I used to work in the insurance business, and I've been to some of these sales conferences. They're a lot of crap. But there's plenty of alcohol, and it's a weekend out of town, so people mostly enjoy themselves.

During the meal, Zoe enjoyed herself at one table, Pete enjoyed himself at another table. Zoe drank mainly Prosecco, while Pete drank mainly Merlot and Glenfiddich. In addition, Zoe had taken her prescribed medication, which consisted of:

Methylphenidate,

Nomifensine,

Modafinil,

Valium,

Amitriptyline.

Anyway, later, there they were in Zoe's hotel room, and As God Is My Witness, neither of them knew how they got there, they were that stoned.

And then they talked a while. Pete told Zoe that he and Angela were separated, which we all know is a Lie.

Zoe talked about how she hadn't ever been married, because she hadn't yet felt That Spark with anyone. She didn't add "--till now". But there was definitely something about Pete that gave her a thrill. Not his rugged good looks, nor his Winning smile, but something else: his quiet strength. She felt instinctively that she could be as bipolar as all Hell with him, and he'd just sit there and take it.

Pete didn't like to talk about Sparks and whatnot, because the whole subject of Sparks seemed to be a sidetrack from what he wanted to talk about, which was how sexually attractive he found Zoe. So instead, he complemented Zoe, by calling her Beautiful. That word, used in that way, is really a euphemism for "sexually attractive."

You want to know the difference? Angela is beautiful, you'd want to paint her picture, and then maybe have sex with her, while Zoe, when she's manic, is sexually attractive, you'd want to have sex with her, and not waste time painting pictures. You'd be Putty In Her Hands.

Now, I'm going to tell you something nobody knows except me: Besides talking, Pete and Zoe also took off most of their clothes, and Pete kneeled at the end of the bed, and Zoe lay on the bed, on her front, with her feet towards the pillows, her fingers on his balls and her lips around his dick. He was so drunk that his dick stayed soft as putty.

And then they lay down in each other's arms on the bed, and kissed and held each other for a while, and then Pete's dick grew hard, and then they fucked, and then they went to sleep. But not before Zoe whispered to him "I love you".

And when they woke up, they remembered next to nothing, so they agreed between them that probably next to nothing happened, except talking and maybe some snuggling.