The Heart's Invisible Furies

by John Boyne

‘Every man is afraid of women as far as I can see,’ said Julian, displaying an understanding of the universe far beyond his years.

‘What you know about women,’ replied Maude, ‘could be written in large font on the back of a postage stamp and there’d still be room for the Lord’s Prayer.

There was something inside me that longed for the intimate friendship and approval of my peers in ways that others never did.

From a distance, his hair looked brighter than ever, like a beacon leading a sinking ship to safety.

‘Anything is possible,’ I said. ‘But most things are unlikely.’

The darkness concealed my crimes but convinced me that I was a degenerate, a pervert, a Mr Hyde who left my benevolent Dr Jekyll skin behind on Chatham Street as soon as the sun went down and the clouds passed slowly to cover the moon.

‘I remember a friend of mine once telling me that we hate what we fear in ourselves,’

Then they leave again on Sunday afternoon, back to their civil-service jobs with Monday-morning hangovers, convinced that the whores enjoyed the five minutes they spent with them just because they smiled through it all and gave them a kiss when they were leaving.

A line came into my mind, something that Hannah Arendt had once said about the poet Auden: that life had manifested the heart’s invisible furies on his face.

‘I seem to have moments of clarity and moments when I don’t know what’s happening. It’s a strange thing to know that you’re living your last hour on earth.’

‘Ghouls,’ she said as she watched their departing backs. ‘The types that slow down when they see an accident on the motorway. I won’t have people using this room to stare at someone else’s misfortune.’

‘They talk about Christianity and yet it’s just a concept to them, not a way of life at all.’

As I left, I looked back and saw her sitting upright on the seat, staring at the crucifix, and it struck me that here was a strong woman, a good woman, and what kind of God was it who would allow her to lose one son, let alone two?

‘You reach a point where you realize that your life must go on regardless. You choose to live or you choose to die. But then there are moments, things that you see, something funny on the street or a good joke that you hear, a television programme that you want to share, and it makes you miss the person who’s gone terribly and then it’s not grief at all, it’s more a sort of bitterness at the world for taking them away from you.

That she has more power than every man in the room combined, because men are weak and governed by their desires and their desperate need for women

I’ve spent so much time pushing the boat out that I forgot to jump on and now it’s out beyond the harbour on the high seas, but it’s very nice to look at.