False Story

All right, everyone settled in? Do I have all your passes and coupons? Okay then. My name's Bill, and I'm your guide. I've been running this tour for four months now, it seems it's all I can do in this town anymore. Hope you don't mind a guide who eats as we go along. Okay, let me just radio in to Control, and we'll be on our way.

So, where's everyone from? Oh wow, sir, you win, all the way from Tokyo, Japan! I think you get the prize, you get to drive, just kidding. Couple from Ohio. Boston, Alberta, you know, people really ought to get out, see their own town, even after all my time here, I'm still finding out things that I use in my patter on this tour. Certain facts have come to light since I started, you understand? Things I didn't know then that I know now. And if I'd known four months ago what was really what, well, things probably would have turned out very differently. Very differently. This chicken is delicious, so what.

Okay, this street we're on, Smith Street, is one of the oldest streets in the city. Can you guess why it's called Smith? Yes, right you are, the blacksmith of the hamlet that was the original settlement in this area was right down near the lake, where there's lots of water, see. The road proceeded north from there; right here's the original town limits.

Look out to your right and you'll see, I'll slow down here, not much traffic for a Tuesday night, there's a bar, you can see it, The Big Burger Bar and Grill. That's where the ultimatum was made. She said, "You've got to stop seeing that slut. I can't believe you! I thought we were something special. I thought you were the one. I really believed that, you know. No. You can't get away that easily. It's not an option. Yeah, you say it's over, you say you'll change, but from what I read I can see there's more to this than just a quickie somewhere. And the photographs, my God! And I want you to understand that if you say no, if you don't do what I want you to do, then something pretty drastic is going to go down. I don't care about the fucking cops or fucking jail or anything. Just you watch it." Open till two every night fantastic wings I recall.

Let's drive on.

That's City Hall there. The marble inside cost over $100,000 dollars when first constructed in 1911, worth a hundred times that today. Oak supports as decoration, but the walls are reinforced concrete. The architect included his own image as the gargoyles that surround the tower.

This is King's Cathedral, Holy Roman Catholic Church. Built 1858 to 1868. The apse measures precisely three hundred feet across in respect to the trinity. Down below is a hall for youth dances and so on, and about eight months ago, like yesterday, anyone for some of this ham?, a naughty photography session went on down there in one of the cloakrooms. The images themselves, alas, were intentionally destroyed—they're no more—but they were pretty standard I guess: blurry because the camera was trembling and grainy because there wasn't much light and the camera was a cheap thing purchased in a discount store we'll be passing in five minutes or so. I'm slowing down here. The photographs were a mad and silly thing born of wickedness, as if the whole sordid thing wasn't sordid enough. Now the curious thing about the creation of pornography is that it's so damn hard to get rid of. I remember reading some columnist or another recommending getting rid of your porn stash by leaving it in a public park: "It'll vanish in fifteen minutes." But I'm getting off topic, aren't I?

So the digital photographs, that's what's the subject here. Of course there were other photographs taken that day that didn't have to be deleted. The apse was photographed, and the plaque that stated it was three hundred feet across. And the place was empty, and exploration was done, and that's how the cloakroom was discovered, almost by chance, then nervously did certain acts take place and certain photographs were taken. Macbeth says something about wading across a river of blood if you're already in the middle, doesn't he?

And no-one really knows about this except for you folks here in this little bus. These buses were manufactured in Detroit, Michigan. They're pretty spacious. Seating twenty-one people including yours truly. Anybody have any mustard? I love mustard on ham. It's better if the mustard is heated to room temperature because coldness ruins the even flavour and texture. Okay, we can move on now. Let's go into a particular residential district for a bit, not as famous as it should really be.

Most of the houses here were built, I mean to say this street was originally developed, in the 1930s as houses for the workers who worked in the brickworks. It was almost exclusively Italian for the longest time, until the second world war is the general take, the interpretation of modern history's what I mean; then as the original population aged, a lot of college students moved in here after the boom, and in the general idea of urban population drift it will get richer and richer. Maybe you're not learning a lot from this part; I mean, you could look it up in any book; I think Jane Jacobs talks about it somewhere.

This house here got moved into eight years ago, with a couch, a television, clothes, a cat, dishes, a computer, some chairs, a kitchen table, clothes, a special bowl for the cat, curtains, books, movies, records, photographs, memorabilia, greeting cards, a bed, a television, a dresser, and boxes of general stuff too insignificant to sort through.  Everything got put in its place for its inhabitation. This all happened in a July. A half-year later, at Christmas, the cat was its sole resident for two nights. She probably wandered about looking for some person or other. She had lots of food and water ready. She didn't throw up once.

Cozy domesticity. A couple nights a week at restaurants. Job prospects, advancement, plenty to eat. Friends over, or over to their place. The couple's life. Plans for trips, plans for the future. A bit less sex than dating, but the columns by therapists said that was normal. Learning to cook, weekend breakfasts or brunches out. Staring out the window when least expected to be staring out a window, wondering why. Newspapers, too, on the weekend. Occasionally a slight illness, discovering it's nice to have someone around when one is ill: but sleeping on a couch sometimes. A new respect from parents and employers, the ability to look but not touch. Feeling like other touches might not be so bad after all, just touches. Women passing by the window, neighbours and even some daughters of neighbours. Old friends who call in the middle of the night. Looking things up on the new Internet. Pictures on the Internet.

Anybody for a peach? I've got a whole basket of them. Get 'em now before they're all gone.

This office building. Doesn't it look like an ordinary office building? Six stories tall, grey concrete outside, windows all rectangular and even, and it's like that on the far sides too. Six windows across on all six floors, one entrance smack dab in the middle, one elevator. Well, that's about all I can tell you about it because I've never found out when it was built or by whom. However, I do know something about it, something that might or may not be a secret. In the basement there's an unused storage room in which it appears nothing has ever been stored. That is to say, it's clean and not dusty at all.

Two years ago, a young woman walked into this building: it was her first day for work at a small design firm on the third floor left. She was the twenty-first employee, counting everyone.

She was "shown the ropes" in a very friendly way because it was a nice day. She was grateful for this. She felt she had found someone she could trust. After all, there was a live-in girlfriend involved, so went the subtlety. She had a desk and a telephone and besides she was almost involved with someone herself even though she thought I don't know his middle name yet. But: it was almost certain to be something that would lead to something. She had a nice computer, too, and she was shown how to work it in the work-approved manner and she was shown the special design programs they used and she proved herself that day to the next desk and to the boss too. How was she to have known then, she had no way of knowing then, about the storage room or about what amazing and mind-blowing events would take place in it?

Would anyone like a cheese sandwich? Anyone?

Let's go. I'm taking you to another place. I'm going to drive fast. I've locked the door. That was close!

You know what hotels are like. Any of you ever worked in a hotel? Yes, the lady from Ohio. What was it like? How much sex goes on in hotels? Isn't it the case that 90% of every hotel rocks every single night? Isn't that the case? Well, check out this hotel to the left. Move over if you can't see well enough, move. Only seven stories, but at least ten rooms on each floor. Now, what do you think happened in room 203 a little over four months ago? Imagine it. The woman from the design firm is crying. She's sitting on the edge of the bed and she's crying. She is being told that It's just got to end. She knows everything about it and she made me promise. Besides I can't take this struggle and this guilt any more. We can still see each other. Who hasn't been told such things? It's the most common event in the world, being crushed, or crushing even. Maybe she was thinking about her boyfriend. Oh who knows what she was thinking? She was in pain, pain caused by someone else. Maybe she was thinking of other times, maybe she was thinking of the church with the three hundred feet in it. Maybe she was thinking about some kind of animal. Maybe she was thinking of murder, which would be ironic.

I know I've got more here, wait folks. Yes, some more sandwiches. You don't want a sandwich any of you? It's been at least forty minutes since you could have eaten. I don't how you can stand it, being so hungry all the time.

I seem to have driven on, folks. Without paying attention. Oh look, look at where we are, we're here, at the point I, at the place where everything important starts. Look.

This is a university. Built in, I don't know, 1888; it didn't plan to grow to be with 10,000 students or so, absorbing other smaller colleges, gothic architecture, look, see that building? I would take you inside if I could, this is a later addition and maybe if it had been a prettier building instead of this art brut monstrosity then maybe she, ten years ago, might not have been looking around at her classmates (and maybe the eventual friend might not have been looking for a girlfriend at the time (though he was)) thinking Who do I want to talk to? and she talked to this person who was out there looking.... Sorry, folks. Let me start here again.

This building was where. She was caught up, she thought he's weird, but she was caught up, and she was charmed by a trembling hand. Almost.

Then there was a cock trying to get into her; but it didn't quite get in, even after a whole evening of trying. Was it her fault? She might have wondered. Both wondered: have we made some kind of mistake here? But then they slept together. She thought it was nice to sleep with someone beside her.

Anyone for a hamburger? What about some fish? I can't stop. I've got bags and bags of fruit. Come on. This is my life here I'm talking about. Don't you know that already? Eat something. Please. Eat something.

1888. Not a mason knew, or cared, what would come of it all.

Oh look, said the tour guide disingenuously. We're back in the residential zone, in front of the house we were at not a half hour ago. Why do you think we're here again? Because, because I have more to tell you. Beets. Built before the war, I think. Don't quote me on that though. And don't take my word for what I'm about to say to you. Because I wasn't there at the time; I was working late at the office—and this time I really was working.

You see, I'd left the camera, not quite in plain sight, but in the room I have as my home office. And she found the camera. Let's imagine she sat down in the chair. Carrots. Let's see her finding some church pictures—and see her think When did he ever go into a church? Then she goes forward a couple pictures—and despite the shaky image, despite the graininess of the low light, it's all there for her to see. I don't have to describe them, do I? Raspberries. But, she wonders, what do these pictures mean? Because of course seeing isn't believing and there could be some innocent explanation for them all, all of them, you understand? There must be an innocent explanation for this ... and she walked around the house, upstairs and down, working hard to understand, at some moments breaking into a sweat when she believed the pictures were meaningful and then laughing because, no, of course it can't be true. How could he be screwing around with some other woman? Who is the woman? maybe she thought. Maybe she thought: this means the end. Maybe she thought about where she would go, what she would do; up and down the stairs feeling all alone because there was no-one she could call because she was somehow embarrassed about the whole thing, if it was true. She didn't know what to do.

Bread with jam. You can almost imagine her going up and down the stairs in there, passing by the windows. And you, my tourists, would see her and you would not know she was in a torment. She would look perfectly ordinary, passing by that window, passing by that door. Yet it was a most extraordinary event for her, perhaps the most shocking event of her whole life. She had to know: has it all fallen apart?

She turned on his computer. She guessed his password: a goddam dog's name!

One more stop, there's just one more stop! We're going back to the hotel, let's go! Cheeseburgers, cheeseburgers for everyone! Past the hotel, here's a park, it's a part of the bus's route don't you know, part of the regular route, the kind you'd be taking if you were on a normal tour! A little over four months ago, look, this is something I saw with my own eyes, my own dead eyes! Look, imagine this!

She came out of the hotel. She had tracked me there, you see. She knew where I was! It was on the computer! How could I have made such a mistake? So there she was, leaving the hotel. She was staggering along, then she stopped. She went over to a tree and threw up, she must've been remembering all the blood she'd spilled, and while she was throwing up she saw the blood on her pants, she smelled the blood on her pants! This was in the afternoon, about three o'clock! Almost precisely this time right now, with you here now! She had blood on her, and it horrified her, it was the proof of what she'd done!

Eating, I have to eat more, just wait! Wait!

She saw all the blood on her pants, the blood of two people on her pants! Her eyes clouded up then, with tears both from the puking and somewhat from starting to cry or something; she shoved herself away from the tree at that point, I saw it all, I was nearby. Unrestful, hungry, cut short ... but not vengeful. She looked up at that point, up into the tree; maybe she was thinking about the tree, I don't know—but she looked up at it. She moved forward a few steps, looked down at her hands. And then she ran.

She ran across the park you're seeing, she ran this way, as a matter of fact. She ran, not really seeing where she was going. She got closer to the road, at almost exactly the time of day it is now. And she ran into the road, without looking where she was going and, and, and, and a horn sounded, the horn of this bus. Just passing by. Going from place to place, completely innocently. Just a tour bus; that's what ended it all.

We've come to the end of our tour.

Thank you for listening.

Feel free to come back tomorrow to see it all again.

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