SF. Pt. 11d. Somewhere in Turkey.

From Simon’s notebook:-

So here we are in Eastern Turkey. It’s winter. Bloody cold. I am writing this by candlelight. We are sitting on a rickety double bed in a damp room made of straw and mud or something. We arrived ‘here’ after about 18 hours in the back of a truck crammed full of terrified sheep. We had to stand for hours. The wind was howling down from Armenia or somewhere. The land around was bleak and dun-coloured. Not many Turks to be seen. I suppose they were all squatting round smoldering dung in their mud hovels, like this one, half buried in the frozen ground, chewing on raw turnips. What are we doing here?

From Arthur’s notebook:-

This place is rough. It’s a sort of hotel made of mud in the middle of nowhere. The bed is a thin mattress on an iron frame. There’s just a dirty threadbare quilt. Full of fleas most likely. There’s some Turkish kid, perhaps 14 or 15 on a mattress in the corner. We may have hit rock bottom. Oh well that’s what life on the road is all about. Experience.

From Ahmet’s notebook:-

The hotel is full. Even a couple of infidels showed up. Of course they put them in the cellar with me.

Still no proper job. I spent the day scrubbing turnips. Maybe tomorrow I’ll ask around the lorry drivers. They sometimes need young blokes like me to clean the windshields and check the oil level. I could do that all right. Now I’m really tired but I have to listen to the bloody infidels talking…

‘My parents are weird.’ Says one.
‘They seem normal enough to me.’ Says the other one.
‘That’s what I mean.’
‘Well you can’t be weird and normal can you?’
‘My parents can.’
‘We’re two sides of a coin you and me.’
‘How so?’
“Narciss and Goldmund.’
‘You mean the polarization of Narcissus's individualist Apollonian character in contrast to the passionate and zealous disposition of Goldmund?’
‘Oh for fucksake.’

I couldn’t understand a word of it. I just wished they’d stop talking so I could have a wank and go to sleep.

From Simon’s notebook:-

What a shitty night. The bed was cold and damp and the cellar where they put us was the same place they stored the dry cow dung. Ahmet spent the night wanking. Trying to keep warm probably.

Arthur's Hermann Hesse book was missing this morning and he was quite upset about it. We had a pretty good idea who took it but there was no going back. He’s decided to be philosophical about it. Some kind of omen he says. He's really serious about this quest business. But does he expect to find what he's looking for in a book? I suppose he does. Most people do. The Jews have their Old Testament, Christians have the new one...these Turks have the Koran. Believers. The more I see of religion the less I like it. These bloody believers are going to get us all killed one day.

From Arthur’s notebook:-

Couldn’t find ‘Journey to the East’ this morning. Simon thinks I must have left it in the ‘hotel’ inverted commas. I bet that young Turk nicked it. Oh well... hope he enjoys it.

Never mind, says Si, it’s hardly indispensable is it? We’ll get you another copy. But that’s not the point. These things don’t happen by accident. I was enjoying it too. It’s funny. I mean weird. It’s about a spiritual journey through space and time. I can even see parallels with what we’re doing now but I’m not going to mention that to Si. He’d just say something sarcastic.

From the Author’s notebook:-

This isn’t working. The original idea was for a sort of spoof of Hermann Hesse but it hasn’t turned out the way I’d hoped. Dick’s fault. He couldn’t hit the right formal Germanic tone

From Dick’s notebook:-

Formal Germanic tone my arse. Nobody reads that Kraut stuff anymore anyway.

From the Editor’s notebook:-

Sorry Dick. You can’t say that.