The Lesser Bohemians by Eimear McBride Read Free Book Online

feed to her Him. So the cigarette gets to like the leg. The arm wonders what it should do with itself. Nicks with a razor but then gets a band-aid for for fuck’s sake what are you at?
    *
    River run running to a northern sea. Thames. Needle skin brisk and the eyefuls of concrete. Lead by the. Strip for the. National Theatre. Go on. Get a ticket. Go in.
    Here the vault and not Hawk’s Well. Smacks of the hell-less or at least of the sensible. I’d be. What I’d be. Is this the Olivier? Yeah, on upstairs for you. Through and oh to its canyon. I never saw so many chairs. On beyond uncurtained stage – You may take and have me, please. But Saturday matinee. Sole in my row. Where is everyone else?
    In the dark comes spiders out of art and first I’m sleuthed away. Measuring up the vying worlds. Meandering into the emphasised words but under neat speeches are oceanous platitudes and so I slide and slide. Up. Don’t sleep. Don’t. You do not. Settle my head back on my neck but the veining of boring expands and contracts until I’m left to myself. And soon I’m judging a hupped toupee. Then predicting a spit trajectory. Right down, I’d say, to that redhead asleep. Too far from here though. Over there would be    Over there       ov    is it? With black specs on? Really?    such a dead cert knit, and for London. Him. Of course it is.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â              And the air makes whistles.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â                     And my brain makes hay.
    Guts to gorge. Look at him. Be sure? It is. oh god. But if I sitstill. Live for the stage. Focus on the actors and glorious fake and. Look again is he looking at me? Read at the programme.
    Then he definitely isn’t.
    Then it’s the interval.
    Look again. He gets up pray for poise . More as he excuses himself across. Yet more at my aisle. Please poise at my step. Hello, I thought it was you, he says and I remember and I remember and make some word like Hi. Enjoying it? Yes I. Really? he says I thought I saw you nodding off? I wasn’t      it’s just my first time     I mean     you know     I was looking around. He solemn nods but somewhere smiles So how have you been? I scaldcheek Fine    and you? Fine, he says Coming out for a smoke? an unlit in his fingers. No, I No thanks, and go at reading biogs. like War and Peace. He loiters further but I am shame sealed. Well, I’ll leave you to it, he says Nice to see you again. You too, I say and don’t look up. Do not watch him climb the steps. Nor think at all Why were you rude? Only Bladder, why have you forsaken me now? Just wait til he’s gone, then go.
    Right, stick on that nonchalant smile don’t buy an ice cream like a child and get what urbane I possess into line as I go back in. But at the bottom of the steps he’s all chat to some girl. Close and smiling. She giving laughs. Him too, or thoughtful, pushing his hair back. Gets kissed on the mouth too at the bell, and offered permutations of See you soon then, before he heads back to his row. And so what of it? What do I care? I am here for the Art.
    And the dark swims over. And the play winds on.
    In twenty minutes, he’s up again. Maybe leaving? Should I wave? No. Oh here. He crosses aisles instead, comes up to my row then drops in the seat beside. You pissed off with me? he asks, leaning his long self in. No, why would I be? Don’t know,that’s why I’m asking. Well I’m not, and glare at the stage. I had a good time the other night, he says I know it got a bit weird at the end but Don’t, I say Just don’t. Alright, with his eyes wandering down my face So let’s go. What? Let’s go, this show is shit and it’s not going to improve. It isn’t. It is, you liar, he says Come on,