Step by Step

Carl Davos

Description

Working for a bank in Switzerland, Ches Adarsh's life is thrown into turmoil when refusing to join a conspiracy with friends and co-workers (now going by 'The Magnificent Seven') means he must go into hiding. One fabricated funeral later, Ches evades the authorities and leaves the country to start a new life. It is by no means, however, a happily ever after from here...Step by Steptakes you on a rollercoaster ride packed with action through Italy, Russia, England and back to Switzerland asChes explores alter egos. Encountering the absurdity that infiltrates every stratum of society, Ches must find a way to revealthe machinations of The Magnificent seven as he questions everything he thought he knew.

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 20 novembre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781800467194
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2020 Carl Davos

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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ISBN 9781800467194

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A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

For a woman I met near Cathédral Notre-Dame de Paris

‘I think a man is doing his reporting well only when
people start to hate him.’
V.S. Naipaul
‘Truly speaking, it is not instruction, but provocation,
that I can receive from another soul.’
Ralph Waldo Emerson
‘We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.’
T.S. Eliot
‘Why does a writer write?
To relive the past and imagine the future.
To show that whatever we see could be
other than it is.
To show worlds that may exist.
And finally, to answer the question “why?”’
C.D.
‘ Alle Philosophie verbirgt auch eine
Philosophie.
Jede Meinung ist auch ein Versteck
und jedes Wort auch eine Maske.’
Nietzsche
‘There is nothing either good or bad
but thinking makes it so.’
Shakespeare
‘How one becomes what one is.’
Nietzsche
Contents
Prologue

Part One
The Funeral
The Journey Begins
The Talk in Rieterpark
The Flight
Moscow
London
Shaun

Part Two
Simon
Graham
James
Philosophy and Art at the Boathouse

Part Three
The Limits of Reality and How They Were Crossed
Moscow Revisited
The Conversation
Aftermath
Revenge is the Delight of the Gods
The Park Revisited
Prologue
I met him years ago and came to know him pretty well; however, I can’t say we were friends, and as far as I knew, he had no friends at the time. All I knew was that he’d lived in numerous countries, was divorced and had a daughter. I have never seen him since then and don’t know where he is now and what he’s doing, but what he’s told me will stay with me forever. I would very much like to meet him again, and hope someday I will since I enjoyed his company despite him being sometimes rather difficult, but at the same time we were in a way pretty close to each other. I mean, we were frank in whatever we discussed and we were pretty like-minded. At the time, I must say, he was the only one with whom I could talk about anything; however, I didn’t learn much about his background, and I’m not sure whether he told me his real name, but I have no reason to doubt that a story he told me was untrue because in a way I was sure about his honesty, and I’m still sure that what he told me had really happened.
We frequently saw each other because we enjoyed each other’s company, and because we were neighbours living in Queen’s Gate in London.
His name was Ches Adarsh which was a bit unusual, and I found the meaning of it only after he had left London. Anyway, he wasn’t British. He was in his fifties, tall and well built, casually dressed, neither elegant nor shabby. There was something about his eyes – they were grey marked with green and black spots, and when you looked in them longer, you felt uneasy.
How we first met? – By chance, I’d say. It was in the morning on, I can remember exactly, 20 th of March. I had just come out of my house and when I approached my car I heard someone laugh, and it was a very joyful laugh. I looked around and noticed a man and woman standing close to each other and it was her laughing. Never saw them before. They saw me looking at them, and the woman greeted me with a wave of her hand and I responded likewise. They weren’t far from me, and I could see that she was very attractive. Later on, when I eventually met Ches in person, I learned that she was his third wife, Beatrice, but I’d never met her before, for at the time I met him she’d been overseas. I sometimes wonder whether our acquaintance was something which is called destiny, in which I am not inclined to believe. Whatsoever, I still value knowing him then and wish I could see him again. And I sometimes have a strange feeling that our meeting might have already been prearranged by someone, and if so, it could have been that man about whom Ches told me, and what I learned about the man from Ches, it wouldn’t have been difficult for him at all. I don’t really believe that, but then I know that there are things you can’t really explain. Anyway, I often feel as if Ches were nearby and often imagine that we are talking, travelling again and having some adventures. I do miss him, especially now that I am on my own, alone, and there is nobody to talk to. I know a few people, but they are not who I could turn to looking for a frank and truly understanding conversation, for they are far away from the way I think and feel, not like him whom I could always trust and rely on. Whenever I needed him, he was there, and first of all he helped me to see many things aright, and therefore I will always be deeply in his debt. Without his good word, I could have been lost many times over, and some things he told me I’ll never forget. Whenever I look for a solution to a problem, I miss him and his words, yes, he once told me that he who lost his faith in words lost his faith in life. Now I simply cannot bear the rambling of those I know, for I know they don’t give a damn about me so, the things are for me as Charles Bukowski said: ‘I don’t hate people, but I always feel better when they aren’t around.’ Thus, I’ve liberated myself from people in a way, but at the same time crave for intimate contact with them and still have a great eagerness for life, but not being close to anybody I’m getting stale.
All I can do now is to recollect our time together, and the stories he told me; however, he didn’t say much about himself, and a story he left with me is the only story of his life I got to know. But I don’t really know why he left his writings with me. Yes, I may say again we were pretty close to each other, but at the same far away from each other.
We both used to go for long walks during which we had our most significant conversations, and during one of those he quoted Nietzsche, ‘A sedentary life is the real sin against the Holy Spirit. Only those thoughts that come by walking have any value.’ Ches was an anxious reader of Nietzsche and I myself was drawn to his writings. And what is my life now? For hours, I’m sitting, watching films, reading and dreaming despite being able to do many other things, but I prefer fantasy, for I know that a dream is much more certain than reality, and I can rely on what I’m dreaming about. In a dream, I can have everything and achieve anything, whereas in reality I would fail to get what I really need. And I relive the past all over again – people I knew, events and places, pleasures and failures as if I had been living my past life again. Now I ask myself What for? I live now and can’t find the answer. I wish you were here, Ches , I keep saying to myself, longing for the times we were together, but I know that all I can do now is to wait to meet him again, and I know I will, for I still believe in miracles.
A few weeks past our first encounter, I met him again. This time when as usual I went to Baker Street Leisure Centre and entered the swimming pool, I saw him swimming. When he got out of the pool and saw me, he came up and shook my hand. “So,” he said, “you too?”
“Yes”, I said. “Do you come here often?” I asked.
“Yes, almost every day, and you?”
“I’m the same,” I replied.
“What about the sauna?” he asked.
“Surely, let’s go there.” And it was in the sauna where our first conversation took place.
That conversation wasn’t long, but I immediately recognised a fellow-soul, and somehow knew we would be close to each other in a way. And we met at the Centre quite often, but we usually didn’t talk much there, we tried to make the most of the place instead. Most of our talking took place either at my place or his, and at restaurants, especially a Hungarian one, for we both enjoyed their food.
What were we talking about? The usual answer is ‘about everything’, but actually there were some particular subjects we focussed on, and it was history, philosophy and foreign countries we both had been to. I’d been to quite a few and he himself had been pretty familiar with many more and told me things I’d never known and couldn’t find in any book or on the internet afterwards.
Ches told me a few things about himself, and I told him things about myself. But he never wanted to discuss his personal affairs. No, it wasn’t a taboo, he said. However, it was, he said, a sphere where nobody else might enter directly, so to speak, he said. “You could get there,” he said, “through listening to what I’d be telling you, and then you might get to know something about myself.” There wasn’t any other way, he said, for we actually aren’t able to say anything totally frank about ourselves. “‘Everyone is furthest from himself,’” he quoted Nietzsche. “You know,” he said, “whatever you say about what you do, wh