Hard Rain

Last night I dreamt Martin Amis... last night Martin Amis... last night in my dream there was this picture of Martin Amis on the cover of Newsweek. He was dressed like a politician and he had a loud-haler and he seemed to be...prancing. Then we were in a hotel room on a hill in a brown and green - dust. Africa... or Sri Lanka, I like to think it was Sri Lanka. In the hotel is food, a lot of food on the buffet dinner table, and there we are, Martin Amis, my friend Rob and me. I am telling Martin what he needs to hear. I notice his ears are neat, like equations. I see some of my words go in, but others, sometimes crucial ones, they miss the mark and fall into a bowl of jelly and custard situated half way between him and me. I scoop the poor dears back up with a spoon and swallow.

Look here Martin, I am saying, and Rob is nodding emphatically without point of agreement, look I need you to write your next book. I need it quick. And not one of these flimsy ones either, I need something long that will take me a year to read, and I read quick. She does, inputs Rob. Something with the beauty of the Fields and the dark wit of the Cash. Hey, you should collaborate with Rushdie, for length, density...(I spoon Rushdie out of the jelly), you never know what you might find.

Martin is looking around wanting to pay the bill, It's ok, I tell him, we are in that Milan's book, Slowness, the waitress is outside in the pool and all of this is free. It's a conference. Martin looks at me and accepts, then he looks down at the copy of Newsweek I have on the table next to my fork. That's a month old you know, he says.

The three of us move outside. Outside's got that smell of pre-Something.

Then we see the elephants.

They are in lines. About three lines of 12. They aren't your regular elephant, they are halfway between regular and Jumbo. In unison they sit back on their haunches and look at each other as if checking for numbers. Then they look up at the sky. We look: clouds, gathering. In the pits of our stomachs the dreadful feeling of something big about to fall. The elephants raise their trunks to the sky, straight up, trumpets, and we three hit the ground, I have sand in my mouth. The elephants are like Ancients or something, a tribe. They are wise I see that out of the corner of my eye. Martin isn't too far away, he is clutching the Newsweek.

Then the elephants trumpet and the rain starts. It's rain but it's also everything. The universe is raining, I think. Everything turns to rain, and then it's just me. Rain is even falling from underneath me. This is the biggest thing to ever have happened.

Once it's over the elephants mooch off and Martin and I stand up and look at each other with shrugs. Covered in mud.

I think you'll have to do this one Martin, I say, looking at my hands with regret.