Canada is the only way out, W. says. Only Canada can save him. But Canada is as remote as the moon. Canada is buried, hidden in the night, and all he can see is the night.
Where is he heading? Into what darkness is his world turning? Towards me, W. thinks. He's turning towards me. How did I become his leader? By what turn did he end up before me?
He took my advice, that was his mistake. He asked for my advice, and he took it. But why? Why does he turn to me again and again? I have a sense of urgency, he'll give me that. I live in a perpetual state of emergency. I'm always panicked, paranoid. I always think it's about to end, and want to take mad leaps, want to madly escape, like a fly banging against a window.
What's my new plan, for example? To emigrate to Ireland to rear rare kinds of chicken! It's incredible, W. says. What kind of plan is that? How could anyone have such a plan: emigrating to Ireland to rear rare kinds of chicken! But that's what I'm advocating, and with great vehemence. Going artisan! Taking the artisanal turn!
What experience do I have of rearing chickens? W. knows the answer. None. None of rearing chickens, let along rare kinds of chicken, and none, indeed or farming. What experience do I have of rearing anything? Do I think I've reared myself?
He can come with me, I've told him. We can breed rare kinds of chicken together. We'll start a farm, a co-operative, I've told him. We can supply restaurants who want the old kinds of chicken, not the new kinds, which get so fat they can't walk and taste only of corn and bulking agents.
Lean chickens, that's what we should go to Ireland to raise, I've shown him my books about smallholding and self-sufficiency. I've spoken to him at length about the artisanal life. Of A life outdoors, in the fields! Even he's persuaded.
There's a market for lean chicken, I've told him, especially in Ireland. They value the artisan over there. There are restaurants who want lean chickens, not the great, fat, tasteless ones. It's going to be the new thing after free range chicken and organic chicken, I told him.
W., inspired, says he might go to Canada to raise goats. We could go together, and breed chicken and goats together to make chicken-goats or goat-chickens.
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