Litro #110 Street Fiction Teaser

110 STEVEN APPLEBY JAC CATTANEO JESS GREEN IAIN MOLONEY JOSH PACHTER PENG SHEPHERD JILL WIDNER

AGAZINE

LITRO MAGAZINE

FROM THE EDITOR

WELCOME TO ISSUE 110 OF LITRO What do we mean by Street Fiction? Is it a movement, a place, a feeling? Is something ‘street’ just because it’s set down a dodgy alley on a council estate, and if so, what about the gracious avenues of South Kensington or the quiet roads of a suburban village? Streets can be mean or easy, paved with gold or riddled with potholes – but every street tells a story.

As anyone who’s walked around London (or New York, or Barcelona) knows, each street is different, with its own history, architecture, residents and legends; and, to paraphrase film noir classic The Naked City, there are a million stories in the naked street. This month we bring you six of the best.

This issue of LITRO is truly international in flavour, featuring stories set all over the world, from Japan to Hawaii. The effect of reading them, I hope, will be of taking a wander through a wonderful, strange and sometimes dangerous global city, where every corner you turn takes you to a new and different place.

There’s fiction from the humid streets of Honolulu in Bethel Street, You Could Be Barcelona by JILL WIDNER, street kids locked in a London flat in JESS GREEN’s Chelsea Brice’s Boys, and a fantastic flight above the streets of Geneva in the award-winning Lessons in Tightrope Walking by JAC CATTANEO, You’ll meet sad streetwalker Geja in Ga je mee? by JOSH PACHTER, set on the red-lit cobbles of Amsterdam’s sex district, IAIN MOLONEY’s text-happy Tokyo skater in Old School and PENG SHEPHERD’s hard-working restaurant manager, transplanted from her home in North China to America, in Wolf Eyes.

There are even more streets to explore on our website at www.litro. co.uk, where you will find arsonists, alcoholics and even fashionforward crabs in our online-exclusive Ones To Watch and audio stories, updated weekly. So put your best foot forward and get lost in our stories.

See you on the streets!

Katy Darby

Editor October 2011

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www. l ocand a o t t o e me z z o.c o.u k

CONTENTS

07

BETHEL STREET, YOU COULD BE BARCELONA Jill Widner

17

OLD SCHOOL Iain Moloney

21

CHELSEA BRICE’S BOYS Jess Green

30

GA JE MEE? Josh Pachter

37

CARTOON: HOW TO MAKE A NEW MEMORY Steven Appleby

38

LESSONS IN TIGHTROPE WALKING Jac Cattaneo

45

WOLF EYES Peng Shepherd

50

EVENTS Alex James

BETHEL STREET, YOU COULD BE BARCELONA JILL WIDNER They hadn’t spoken in nearly a year. Not since she had stashed the brown paper bag on the shelf for packages in the Asian Studies faculty mailroom, his name scrawled across the front, Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching taped-shut inside. Not since she had slipped the three-byfive index card in between the pages like a bookmark, you fucking coward, emblazoned across the surface with the damp fumy strokes of a broad-tipped, black felt marker.

She supposed at the time she had expected the gesture to prompt him to prove to her that he was no such thing. As it happened, the only effect her outburst had on either of them was discomfort and, in the end, he had kept his distance.

Until last night. When she had decided to send the text message.

Rather, until this morning. Fourteen hours later. When she had received his reply: I wouldn’t object to having lunch with you. Haven’t much time.

Perhaps best to meet downtown.

In less than a minute, Elizabeth had texted back: Corner of Nu’uanu and King? One o’clock?

From where she is waiting, half-guarding a vacant parking space, half-scanning the two avenues for his car, Elizabeth glances at the rain clouds in the sky. When the light turns green, she almost doesn’t recognise him approaching in the crosswalk. She had forgotten the apish swing of his arms, the way his thumbs flip back and forth against his jeans, slightly out of synch with his footsteps.

“I’ve already parked,” Stephen says, stopping to light a cigarette.

“But thanks,” he adds, nodding through the smoke in the direction of the parking meter. He glances from her face to her throat to her shoulders to her hips, taking in the way she is dressed – the jeans, the hooded sweatshirt, the rubber slippers. He brushes his palm down the back of her head. “Where did you say you’re taking me?”

07 | LITRO

OLD SCHOOL IAIN MOLONEY Step

step

step

step step Kctrararararararara

cladanck

We were sitting out on the steps and the cracks and the rolls and the silence before landing I was sitting out on the small brick wall enjoying new spring sunshine trrrrrrrrrrr tchi trrrrrrrrrrrrrr tchi

trrrrrrrrrrrr tchi

trrrrrrrrrrrrrrr tchi

I dug out the old SKOOL hip hop from the days of youth Kctrarararararara

Krankachan cha

Beats beating through new Sony phones I got for my birthday Surfed the subway to Sakae to hang at the skate park >>From: Yoko Nothing yet. Going to pharmacy after work.

Will buy test. xx It’s the kind of skate park you’d draw if you were drawing the classic skate park for a comic or movie storyboard. The highway high above like some hideous concrete milky way. Between sick green structural supports are halfpipes, ramps, metal rails, wooden benches. There’s a basketball court. There are hip hop dancers. There’s a little graffiti, though not the levels you’d get in somewhere like America. Japanese kids just too polite, I guess.

There’s this Mexican kid with a backpacker’s beard and a green t-shirt. He’s tied his beat sneakers together and is trying to swing them over a tree branch. I always wondered why shoes ended up over cables and lampposts.

Krrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr sh-tank 17 | LITRO

CHELSEA BRICE’S BOYS JESS GREEN The curtains were still drawn, the bed was made, the photograph of me and Steven outside the laundrette was still gone, along with the only gold ring that she had left. I still expected her to be lying in bed painting her nails.

The wardrobe doors were open, revealing her row of black dresses and pile of shoes at the bottom.

Her three perfume bottles were clustered on one side of the dressing table; two were small, square and empty. The apple-shaped bottle had a centimetre of liquid left. Holding it in front of my neck as I’d practised, I sprayed once, twice, shivered. Her red lipstick lay on its side in a black case; I’d worn it down to a stump. I dragged it across my bottom lip.

In the darkness of the mirror my eyes seemed to glow white. My bottom lip appeared swollen as though filled with blood. The brown line around my neck was getting thicker, the skin below my eyes sagged and my spots had started to spread over my cheeks, towards my ears. My underpants were yellow against my pale, goose-pimpled body. I stared so long that the image blurred and I was only aware of my eyes and lips.

The baby started crying again. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and ground the lipstick hard into the dressing table.

On the landing I looked at the locked door behind which the baby must have been writhing in its cot.

In the hall the postman had added to the pile of red envelopes. I went into the living room. The orange curtains were closed but they didn’t quite reach the bottom of the window and the gap created a stretch of wintry light on the opposite wall.

Steven, also in his underpants, was astride one of his biggest boxes, digging his heels into the cardboard sides and saying ‘Yeeha!’ He had a Morning Flakes box on his head. His greasy blond fringe stuck out 21 | LITRO

GA JE MEE? JOSH PACHTER The first time I saw her was in the Enge Kerk Steeg, the Scary Church Alley, in the walletjes, in the ouwehoerenbuurt, in the red-light district of Amsterdam.

They call it the Enge Kerk Steeg because the Old Church at the end of the alley really is frightening in its way, a massive hulk of filthy stone looming ominously over the twisting alleyways and canals of the ouwehoerenbuurt. It’s not only scary, the church, it’s also one of the most incongruous sights I’ve ever seen in my life, and I love it for that, this once-majestic house of worship now ringed by a threequarters circle of dismal storefronts, each with its red fluorescent bulb glowing softly over a picture window streaked with grime, and behind each window a bored female on display, te koop, for sale – from young to old, from anorexic to grotesquely fat, from pasty-white to midnight black, from fully dressed to clad only in the wispiest bits of see-through lingerie – always bored, usually perched languorously on a cheap leatherette stool and surrounded by the tools of her trade (a camp bed, a sink, a towel), sometimes working a crossword puzzle, filing her nails, knitting a sweater, stroking a tiny lap dog that seemed better cared for than its mistress, often strung out on heroin, yet ever alert to the passing window shoppers and the possibility of doing business.

I was in Amsterdam on business, but not that sort of business. I had lived in the city long before, had survived an unsuccessful marriage to a Dutch girl I had little in common with; now my home was in Bavaria, in the south of Germany, but I came back to Holland once or twice a year to visit my publisher. There were favourite restaurants I liked to visit, too, and favourite sights I liked to see – the Begijnhof, for instance, and Barney’s Beanery in the Stedelijk Museum, and Onze Lieve Heer op Zolder.

I’d just left the latter place, Our Dear Lord in the Attic, a 17th-century merchant’s house with a secret church hidden away above the living quarters for Catholics still forbidden to adore their God openly in the last dark days of the Reformation. I was on my way back to my hotel, and took a slight detour in order to pay my respects to the Oude Kerk LITRO | 30

Steven Appleby’s work has appeared in newspapers, on television, on Radio 4, on stage at the ICA and in over 20 books. His Coffee Table Book of Doom was published in September, and his website is: www.stevenappleby.com 37 | LITRO

LESSONS IN TIGHTROPE WALKING JAC CATTANEO The girl in harem pants stopped just in front of the painting, blocking my view. As I craned to see my favourite Chagall in the Musée Rath, I noticed the silver crown tucked into her hair, the long plait twisting down her back. She turned to look at me. Her eyes were green.

‘Do you like the circus?’ she asked, gravely, not smiling. She spoke in English, with a trace of an accent – French? Italian? Then she stepped sideways so that I could stand next to her.

‘The artist walked from Russia to Paris,’ she said. ‘I think he understood how people might dance in the air.’

In the centre of the blue ring a ballerina pirouetted on the back of a yellow horse. She also wore a crown. The ringmaster smiled and raised his hands, as if he were waving. Acrobats in conical hats leapt across the canvas; an enormous orange sun glowed, inside the Big Top. I think a trapeze artist was supposed to be balancing on a wire, but the painted line had missed his feet. Was he falling? Chagall’s work leaves a lot to the imagination.

‘Dance in the air?’ I asked.

She laughed. ‘I am called Federica. If you are interested in walking on air, I can teach you.’ Then she shook my hand, as if we were making some kind of a deal.

‘My name is Ruby,’ I said.

‘Ruby. Like a glass of red wine held up to the sun.’ She didn’t let go of my hand. My fingers tingled, as if I’d plunged them into ice water.

‘We could go for a coffee,’ I said, shyly. Apart from an unholy encounter with a Spanish waiter called Jesus, I hadn’t made any friends since I moved to Geneva.

LITRO | 38

WOLF EYES PENG SHEPHERD I am fix broken cash register when gunman come inside.

I don’t know he has gun first, because gun inside pants, under jacket, and I don’t see. He look at menu, at appetizer section, thinking which is better, fried dumplings or eggrolls. He just stand there read menu, like normal person, but I know something wrong. I don’t like his eyes.

In China, we can say we know man is good or bad from eyes. If man has Wolf Eyes, he is bad. Always true. Never wrong. I am very good at looking people’s eyes. This man has Wolf Eyes.

I wait behind counter, still try fix cash register, pretend be busy. I always have bad customer at nights, always drunk, sometimes drug, always want free food, or want some other bad thing, but I get used, I know how take care these bad men. But never get Wolf Eyes Man come inside. All three years in America, I never see Wolf Eyes Men here. This American’s face different from Chinese face, maybe even some Chinese who no look close don’t notice, but I always look close, I can see. I try open cash register again. Still not work. Very long time I don’t see a Wolf Eyes Man, since I was little girl, when grandma took me in crowded train station, only station in my whole town, to teach me how to see Wolf Eyes. We sit all day, look hundreds people, until she find one at last. She show me in secret, make me look until I almost cry, I so scared his Wolf Eyes.

Cash register just can’t be fix. I sit on stool with one bad leg. I need new stool, because will break very soon, but I can’t find cheap one.

Back home, everything so cheap. Here, even I charge $6 for five fried dumplings, I still can’t have money for new stool.

Wolf Eyes Man still look at menu. He is big, big shoulders and big hands, he can barely fit in takeout shop. I hold still. Maybe Wolf Eyes Man just come to buy some food, some crab puffs or chicken chow mein, maybe will do evil things later. Even Wolf Eyes People have to eat. I don’t look his Wolf Eyes. I think maybe if he don’t see my eyes know his Wolf Eyes, he just order food and go away, like all other customer.

45 | LITRO

LISTINGS OCTOBER FROM LONDON COCKTAIL WEEK TO AMAZING ASTRONOMY, MASK-MAKING TO MAGIC LANTERNS, VIA FESTIVALS, BALLS AND LIVE LITERATURE, THERE’S PLENTY OF SEXY AND SPOOKY STUFF TO GET UP TO THIS OCTOBER: SO MAKE THE MOST OF AUTUMN IN LONDON WITH LITRO’S PICK OF THIS MONTH’S EVENTS, COMPILED BY ALEX JAMES.

Until 31st December, 10pm Wed/Thu only: Recipe for a Perfect Wife @ Charing Cross Theatre, Villiers Street, £15 50s-themed comedy stage show in which five ladies compete to become Britain’s best housewife on live TV. Hosted by husband and wife duo Betty and Bertie and singing trio ‘Kitty and Her Cats’, no stone is left unturned as the contestants fight it out to be the most beautiful, obedient cake-baking spouses the world has ever seen … Includes post-show 50s-themed party in the theatre bar, with free cake and dancing until late.

See: http://newplayers.whatsonstage.com/

Daily until 31st October, various times: The Secret Lives of Stars @ Peter Harrison Planetarium, Royal Observatory, Greenwich, £6.50 This spectacular new show, narrated by Patrick Stewart, explores the fascinating life history of the stars, from the smallest red dwarf to the largest blue giant. Using state-ofthe art digital simulation, it charts the life of a star from birth through to death and beyond, and looks at what impact this has on the universe around us.

See: www.nmm.ac.uk

LITRO | 50

11th October, 7.30pm: Liars’ League: Fear & Loathing @ The Phoenix, 37 Cavendish Square, W1G 0PP, £5 Short fiction event Liars’ League celebrates its 51st event with a night of stories to chill and thrill you in the run-up to Hallowe’en, including a brand new story by horrormeister Stephen King, courtesy of Granta.

See: www.liarsleague.com

12th October, 7pm: Cruel Deeds and Dreadful Calamities with Linda Stratmann @ 11 Mare Street, Hackney E8 4RP, £7/4 Victorian publication The Illustrated Police News infamously thrilled the public with gruesome pictures and melodramatic headlines. Crude content describing lewd and terrible crimes (including Jack the Ripper’s murders) in great detail, with images to match, meant it acquired a sensationalist reputation not unlike tabloids of today. Historian Linda Stratmann delves deeper into the crimes themselves, and defends the publication’s reputation, insisting it was a landmark in journalism.

See: www.thelasttuesdaysociety.org

14th to 16th October: The UK Rum Festival, various times, venues & prices.

Rum was a favourite tipple of literary greats such as Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson and Charles Dickens. The UK RumFest is the ultimate rum experience for rum drinkers, rum aficionados and rum lovers who have travelled to the tropics to sample the music, the food, the partying and people associated with drinking rum, with over 400 rums to sip, savour and buy. You can try cocktails mixed by the UK’s best mixologists.

See: www.rumfest.co.uk

51 | LITRO

18th October, 7.30pm & 9pm: Scratch & Sniff @ The Book Club Basement, 100-106 Leonard Street, London EC2A 4RH, £2 on the door Join Odette Toilette for a scented journey around the world.

With guest ‘nose’, Columbia Road’s own Angela Flanders, we’ll be discovering East London’s hidden perfumery heritage before jetting off to exotic locations from the comfort of our seats, sampling Angela’s perfumes to take us there. Prepare to have your nostrils tickled, and to leave smelling delicious.

See: www.wearetbc.com

19th October, 6.30pm: Life Drawing - 7 Deadly Sins @ The Book Club Basement, 100-106 Leonard Street, London EC2A 4RH, £2 on the door The Book Club’s week-long birthday celebrations sees the return of the Life Drawing Extravaganza. Host Morris invites you to challenge your objectionable vices and confront humanity’s inclination to sin. Take a ‘Dante’ style journey through the ‘Inferno’ and witness depictions of the human body representing all of the cardinal sins. Morris’s concept of Hell will present wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy and gluttony. Witness, draw, drink and discuss.

See: www.wearetbc.com

20th October, 7pm: Halloween Mask Making Workshop, 11 Mare Street, Hackney E8 4RP, £12 The Cabinet of Curious Creatures Mask Making workshop will focus on creating individual Halloween based creatures encouraging you to delve into the darkest corners of your soul. You will be making 3D bespoke structures that you will then decorate using a wide variety of sumptuous material to help facilitate the birth of your foreboding creature. All materials are included.

See: www.thelasttuesdaysociety.org

LITRO | 52

29th October, 8pm: Belle Epoque Halloween Special @ The Grand Hall, Shoreditch Studios, 29 New Inn Yard, London EC2A 3EY, £20 Indulge in the seductive side of partying at Belle Epoque.

Featuring jawdropping acrobatic feats, showstopping music acts and eye-popping outfits, the ball will enrapture your soul, trick your mind, and release your inner exhibitionist. Step into a fantasy world where masked villains melt into the crowd as corseted courtesans drape themselves over gilded balconies.

For this Halloween Special, guests can dress up and delve into a dark, dreamy and depraved world, with absinthe fountains, a make-up boudoir and live bands and DJs playing an eclectic mix of music throughout the night.

See: www.belleepoqueparty.com

30th October, 3pm: Storytails @ The Drop, Stoke Newington, FREE. The Sunday afternoon literary event returns in October with readings of short stories and novel extracts from up and coming London authors you’ll wonder why you haven’t heard of. The vibe is relaxed and entry is free, so just turn up and enjoy.

See: www.storytails.org

31st October, 7pm & 9pm: Halloween Gothic Magic Lantern Show with Mervyn Heard, 11 Mare Street, Hackney E8 4RP, £10.

“Astonishment seized me. My bones shivered within me. My flesh trembled over me. My lips quaked. My mouth opened.

My hands expanded. My knees knocked together. My blood grew chilly, and I froze with terror.” Such is the might of the shadow lantern, and on Halloween, Professor Mervyn Heard will conjure up the black art of Phantasmagoria with his 19th Century Magic Lantern. Shudder as skeletons waltz across the wall and nuns bleed to death despite a life of virtue!

See: www.thelasttuesdaysociety.org

53 | LITRO

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LITRO MAGAZINE IS LONDON’S LEADING SHORT STORY MAGAZINE. PLEASE EITHER KEEP YOUR COPY, PASS IT ON FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO ENJOY, OR RECYCLE IT WE LIKE TO THINK OF IT AS A SMALL FREE BOOK.

Artists’ Laboratory 03

Nigel Hall RA Opens 7 September www.royalacademy.org.uk

Supported by the Friends of the Royal Academy Nigel Hall RA, Death Valley (detail). February 1969. Oil pastel, 22.3 x 28.5. Image courtesy of the Artist.

LITRO | 110 STREET FICTION

I don’t know why I stopped. To this day I ask myself what it was about her – or about me – which made me turn around after I’d already passed her and come back and touch my hand to her arm and say to her, in English, “I’m sorry.

Is there anything I can do?” She was a whore, she was probably a junkie, she was certainly none of my business.

- Ga je mee? by Josh Pachter Page 6

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