We’re collaborating on a paper. W.’s written his half and brought a hard copy with him on his visit, formatted in the way W. likes to format things, with a title page with details of his name and affiliation. ‘There’, he says, giving to me. ‘Where’s yours?’ And then, knowing the answer, ‘Why can’t you ever finish anything on time? What’s wrong with you?’
It’s true, I never finish anything, no matter how many months I take to write something. There are always huge gaps – most of the paper – where I have to ad lib. ‘I like to watch you flail about’, says W. He has to admit, I’m quick on my feet. ‘You always think of something to say. It’s impressive.’ Sometimes, in our presentations, W. will turn very quickly to me and ask me to elborate on his point. I can always think of something. ‘I was checking to see if you were asleep’, he tells me later. ‘You looked asleep. It’s amazing how you can wake up like that. It almost makes you look intelligent.’
W. is certain his IQ is a few points higher than mine (‘it makes all the difference’), but he conceeds I may be quicker. ‘It’s you curse’, he says, ‘it means you never have to do any work.’ And then, ‘you’re lazy. La-zy.’ I tell him I’m nothing of the sort, that I spend months in preparation for any speaking engagement. I work hard, but it never seems to come together.
‘It’s my decline’ I tell him. ‘Ah yes, your decline.’ W. is as puzzled by this as anyone. ‘To what do you attribute it?’ – ‘I drink less coffee’. – ‘Yes, yes.’ – ‘My job is much more busy than yours.’ – ‘Undoubtedly. But I never thought of you as flappy, but that’s what you are, aren’t you? Flappy.’ I have been flapping about our paper, it’s true. My half wouldn’t come together. There’s W.’s, all printed out, with a title page, and there’s mine, handwritten notes, a few printed paragraphs, and vast gaps in which I will have to ad lib.
‘Something went wrong’, I tell him, ‘I’m not sure when. I think my brain is softening.’ I think of a cactus that was bought for me that fell prey to a disease. When I came back from a week away, it had rotted from within and collapsed upon itself. ‘That’s my brain’, I tell W. ‘It’s collapsed.’
W. finds this the collapse of his protege quite fascinating. ‘When did it all start going wrong? When did you first become aware of it?’ There’s something spectacular about my decline, W. decides. Something Faustian. ‘What kind of bargain did you make with the devil back then? How did you appear so intelligent?’ And then, ‘well, he’s carried your soul off now, hasn’t he?’
Then, in a spirit of diagnosis, ‘Describe your work day to me. What do you do?’ I get up very early, I tell him. ‘How early.’ – ‘Never later than six thirty.’ – ‘I get up at five. earlier sometimes!’ – ‘Then I do two hours of work.’ – ‘What kind of work? What does it involve.’ – ‘I read …’ – ‘What kind of reading? In the original language? Primary, rather than secondary?’
‘I write …’ – ‘Ah, that’s your problem. You try to write too soon. You have to slow down. Read more slowly. That’s why I read things in the original. To read more slowly.’ – ‘Then I go to the office.’ – ‘Ah, your office,’ says W., ‘that’s what stops you from writing your magnum opus, isn’t it?’
For his part, W. is busy on his introductory volume. He’s finished chapter two, he tells me. ‘It’s terrible. What I’m doing to Heidegger – my God!’ And then, ‘You should write an introductory book, you know. It’s good for you. You have to be clear. Cle-ar. You’re never clear, are you.’ I point out that he always said it was me who taught him clarity. ‘Not clarity, you fool. Idiocy! You taught me idiocy!’
A little later, ‘Your decline. Where were we? What are your plans? What are you writing?’ I tell him. – ‘You should do another book,’ says W., if only so I can hear you whine. I like it when you whine at your blog. Like a stuck pig, crying out! No, it’s more plaintive than that. Like a sad ape. A sad ape locked up with his faeces.’
No more books, I tell him. I’ve had enough. ‘Yes, I definitely think you should do another book. Look at you! You need help.’ W. had set some reading for me on another collaborative project we’re working on. The idea was to recommend one another five books to read, and then report back. ‘Have you read them?’ – ‘What do you think?’ – ‘And what am I supposed to read? Give me your list of five books.’ I tell him I’m working on that, too.
‘So, are you ready to speak tomorrow?’, says W. – No. God, no.’ – ‘I am.’ He waves his paper in front of me. ‘Are you going to let me down again?’ – Definitely.’ – ‘Actually, I think it’s funny. Everyone does.’ – ‘I can’t help it. My brain’s softening!’ – ‘No, it’s because you’re lazy. La-zee. And because of your stupid blog. You should give it up.’ – ‘I thought you liked my whining.’ – ‘Oh yes, like a sad chimp, at the limits of his intelligence.’ And then, ‘are you going to flap now? I like it when you flap.’ – ‘No, come on, it’ll have to do, let’s go for a drink instead.’
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