Stone Arabia (22 page)

“Of course. Poor Mama. I will come over. Just rest if you can. I will be there soon and I will take care of everything.”

“Thanks, honey.”

“He’ll turn up, I bet.”

“No, I don’t believe he will.” There was a pause. Denise could hear Ada exhale smoke.

“What will you do without Nik?”

“I’m going to lie down.”

Denise hung up the phone. She looked around the room. Nik’s bed was neatly made. Clean sheets just for her, no doubt. She pulled back the covers and crawled in. She held one of the pillows in her arms. She pushed her face into it. She lay on her side and pressed her face into Nik’s pillow until she fell asleep.

When Denise woke up, it was dark out and Ada was in the room. She was hunched over the desk, looking at Nik’s Chronicles. Denise sat up and rubbed her puffy face. She had been sleeping deeply, and it took her a moment to remember what had happened, where she was, and why Ada was there. Why Denise was there. Why. Ada came over to her and put her arms around her.

“How are you doing?” Denise said. Ada looked weepy and leaned in to her mother.

“How can you be so sure he isn’t coming back?” Ada said. “I know, you just know and it is, whatever, a thing between a brother and a sister, or at least between you and Nik. You then must have a clue where he went?”

Denise shook her head. “I really don’t. He took some of his guitars, he took, from what I can tell, some clothes. He took his car. But other than that, he left everything behind. All his Chronicles? His records? I don’t get it. He doesn’t have money. Wait—he has some money. I gave him a little money. I don’t know—it is possible he went off to—” Denise looked around. “I don’t know.”

Ada made the call to the police. They would have to go in to file a missing person report. Ada said she could tell the police were not much invested in this missing person—he was in the willful-disappearance category, what they called a Voluntary Missing Adult. Which happens all the time, wives and mothers and daughters (and sisters) left by men who just want to disappear. They said people often return within a week or two. They also said she should get Nik’s dentist to send over his dental records. Denise was nearly delirious. She got stuck, for some reason, on why your teeth were your body’s only distinguishing feature, then she figured it out, and then she felt worse.

Denise didn’t want to leave Nik’s place, but Ada insisted they go back to Denise’s house. Denise took a bath and Ada made some dinner. Denise responded to emails and called her boss. Tomorrow she would have to go to work, go to the police,
and see her mother. She made a plan for the day. Ada stayed over. She would extend her trip for a few weeks.

“I’d like to finish my film,” she said. Denise sighed. “I don’t think I am being crass. I think more than ever Nik would want it finished.”

“Well, he gave you an ending, didn’t he?”

“I just think he left behind everything for a reason. So I want to go and explore his archives. I want to film the details of his collection of stuff. I want to record the handmade labels, the collages, the intricate systems of order and reference. It would be so great.”

“I don’t think I like that idea. I don’t think you should go through his stuff.”

“In case he comes back?”

“He has only been gone two days, so I’m just not sure you should tear through his stuff.”

“I thought you were so sure he was gone for good,” Ada said.

Denise nodded halfheartedly. “Okay.”

“What, honestly, would he want?”

“It’s fine, film there. Just be careful with his things.” Ada nodded, and she sat next to her mother on the couch. “What?”

“I need something more,” Ada said.

“Yeah?”

“I need to film more of you. Maybe you can go through the archives with me. Maybe—”

“Not right now. No, I don’t think I want to do that.”

“But Mom, you are all that is left.” Denise smiled at Ada. “Think about it.”

“I will think about it, honey, but you must give me a little
time. And absolutely no filming at the police station. That’s too much for me.”

“Okay, okay.” Ada poured some wine for her mother and then held out her glass. “To Nik, wherever he is.”

“To Nik, that selfish prick,” Denise said, and started laughing. She took a long sip. She put a hand in Ada’s hair and pushed it back from her face. Ada lifted the same section of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “Do you have any of your film with you? Do you have the Nik interview you did?”

“Oh yeah. Of course. I mean, I have it all with me all the time. I have DVDs in my purse, in my car, everywhere. I can show you the Nik interview if you want to see it.”

“I think I would like that.”

“Are you sure?”

Ada’s camera follows Nik as he walks through his studio and his apartment. There are books to the rafters, shelves everywhere, a drum kit, guitars, recording equipment. Any wall space is covered with notes, photos, charts, drawings. There are no empty spaces, but it looks highly organized. It has the look of systems and purpose. Nik has an unlit cigarette dangling out of his mouth. The camera follows him as he goes outside, walks around the yard, and then they go through the outside entrance to his garage studio.

NIK

That’s it, where I have worked the past twenty-four years. Western Lights, the headquarters of Playpen Studios.

ADA
(offscreen)
:

And Pause Collective, and Medium Effort …

NIK

Yes, the headquarters of so many record companies. It all happens here, kids.

Nik sits down on a stool and pulls his well-worn Gibson dreadnought guitar onto his lap as he ducks under the strap. We can see rows of the thick black binders of the Chronicles behind him with different years on the spines. Some years get multiple binders.

ADA

You have lived here for how long?

NIK

I moved here in 1981, so close to twenty-four years.

ADA

Do you own it?

He laughs and smiles down at his guitar as he strums a little.

NIK

No, I don’t own it. I’m not like your mom and everyone else in this country. I have no desire to take part in the great ownership society.

ADA

Do you consider yourself a political person?

NIK

Not really, I just don’t pay attention. I’m too much of a narcissist. I mean, I’ll vote against the president this year. I hate the president. But how much do you have to pay attention to realize George Bush is a thug?

ADA

The Chronicles are not just a casual hobby, are they? They are extremely elaborate, the work of a lifetime of effort. They appear to be considered down to the tiniest detail.

NIK

You want to know how detailed? Let’s put it this way. If the Chronicles are dug up two hundred years from now, the readers would find them entirely plausible. It would be hard to believe they are conjured from nothing. Particularly when I have all the music. I kept close track. I kept the internal logic and continuity. I have the accompanying scholarship. Verifications could be made.

Nik looks at the volumes lining the shelves. He laughs.

NIK

It isn’t just these binders. And the various iterations of recordings. There are movies and videos. There are
separate books by some of the characters, there are items of merchandise, there are tie-in promotional products, there are court documents, spin-off projects. I have the collected writings of some of my “reviewers” and so on. Have you ever seen these?

He pulls out a deck of playing cards. Each one has a painting and then writing inked over the painting, sometimes wrapping around to the other side. He shuffles through them.

You remember those
Rock Dreams
books from the seventies? You wouldn’t, would you? They were these very popular books. They had dreamy psychedelic paintings of rock stars. Some of the images seemed like lyric illustrations. Others had little stories or poems about the rock star. There were a couple volumes of these books—you were supposed to stare at the paintings while you were listening to the music, I think. They were rock-and-roll-fantasy paintings. Anyway, I thought they were kind of corny, but I also really liked these handmade playing cards I saw, I think maybe at this gallery, ages ago. They were made by Wallace Berman or someone like Wallace Berman. And each card had a poem with a painting or collage on the back. So I stole that idea and combined it with
Rock Dreams.
And I thought the Demonics would release them for their fans as listening decks. Anyway, I made decks for all six of the Demonics records. They are all painted and drawn by hand, no repros. And one
edition. I don’t know if your mom has even seen these. I think I am the only one who has looked at them, but I have to admit, they are pretty cool. Ha. I am my own biggest fan.

Nik laughs and puts down the cards, then he pulls his guitar in close again.

ADA

But the question is why. Why did you go to such lengths? Can you tell me about why you started keeping the Chronicles?

Nik doesn’t say anything, seems to be tuning his guitar. He strums a little.

NIK

It was kind of fun, far away from everyone.

ADA

Is that a lyric from one of your songs? Could you play it?

He sings the song:

NIK

I’m riding static, I hope you hear me

hiding in attics, among old Christmas trees

these widow’s flowers, drier than dust

they haven’t crumbled, seems that they must

I’m working again, I’m going to break it

I’m playing again, if playing you call it

It happens again, every day

It was kind of fun, so far away …

… from everyone

I’m riding static, I hope you hear me

hiding in attics, among old Christmas trees

Can’t you hear me yet?

Can’t you hear me yet?

He has a coughing fit, stops playing, takes a drink of beer.

I know this will be hard to believe, but I just wrote that. (
Laughs.
) It is called “On the Occasion of Being Interviewed for My Niece’s Documentary.” It is what you call an occasional song.

ADA

Who are you addressing in the song? The world? Yourself? Your sister?

NIK

I’m just making stuff rhyme, and I haven’t a clue what it actually means. Interesting, of course, to hear what other people think. I mean, I guess.

ADA 209

Who is your audience?

NIK

Myself. Other than that, I don’t have one, I suppose. Some family and friends.

ADA

My mother.

NIK

For instance.

Nik laughs a big long laugh. Then in a mock theatrical voice:

But sisters don’t count. Sorry, Dee Dee. Sisters and mothers don’t count, you see. I have no audience.

He strums some more.

Don’t mistake me, I don’t mean Denise doesn’t count in any big sense. My sister doesn’t count as my audience because she feels like an extension of me. She’s, well, an alternative version of me.

He pauses, reaches offscreen. He takes a drag on his cigarette and exhales. He shrugs.

What were the Chronicles? Accumulations, like memory but better. A thing to look forward to every day.

ADA

But why make a fake life? Why not do it with real life and get a real audience for all your work?

NIK

It wasn’t fake, it was real. And I grew to like not having an audience. Imagine being freed from sense and only having to pursue pure sound. Imagine letting go of explanations, of misinterpretations, of commerce and receptions. Imagine doing whatever you want with everything that went before you. Imagine never having to give up Artaud or Chuck Berry or Alistair Crowley or the Beats or the
I Ching
or Lewis Carroll? Imagine total freedom.