Malmo ferry to Copenhagen – Sat 20 July 68
Absolutely exhausted. My arm still itches where my “graduation day” poison ivy used to be (celebrating in the woods with Toss) you can see the faint scars. Horsefly bites on top of that. So I’ll be attractively swollen when I see Toss. Great. This ferry takes an hour and a half so should make it to the ferry terminal about midnight. Utterly insane. I could have spent the night in a beautiful Swedish farmhouse surrounded by miles of sunlit fields but I was ready to go. All I can think of is Senior Parties at McKenzie’s, leaning with Toss against a horse fence admiring the sunset while he lights his pipe. I don’t mind spending nights at airports with these kinds of memories to keep me company. I’m thoroughly at home in airports – spent some of the best days of my life in airports. Don’t even know where I’m going since all I have is a voucher – Hamburg is probably my best bet. I shouldn’t be exhausted since all I did was sit in a truck for six and a half hours but I think it’s a cumulative emotional thing. Getting over a cold. Last night Rex and I went out rowing on a marsh-like primeval lake while the others celebrated – it was quiet and a bit cold. Steam rose from the water and invisible creature slipped through the weeds – we seeing only their wake. In the AMI volunteered for kitchen duty – 3rd time in a week – can’t imagine why others hate it so much. Unlike painting and grouting it has an end and you get to eat and stay warm. Spent an hour cleaning up after “second breakfast” then it was time to go. Rex drove down with me – we cuddled under blankets in the lorry – he was singing nonsense songs. “Make love to Elizabeth Taylor, catch hell from Richard Burton.” I read Chateaubriand. Heavy going; declines and deaths of assorted female friends & relatives. Modern psychologists would like to get their hands on his sister Lucie – a classic paranoid. At least he loved her. Maybe that’s better than understanding her. We arrived at Charlie’s parents farm outside Malmo (reminds me of Toss’ place in Berkshires) at about six thirty. Charlie is Pablo’s lover – it’s really kind of cute to see them fighting and kissing. We spent an hour trying to get the truck out of the soft sand into which Norwegian John had backed it. Charlie’s parents were going into Malmo and I was eager to get moving. Kissed Rex, Pablo and even vulgar old Giovanni goodbye. “Will you write me?” Each one asked. Sure! Most certainly! (I’m writing you here.) Goodbye Philadelphia…goodbye Giaconda. Força, Força, says Pablo. Now I’m on my second cup of cocoa and feeling pretty good. Will I forget everything? Will my time in Sweden seem like it never happened? Not if I keep writing here… Gulls wheel around the boat as an old lady clears my chocolate cup. 68 hrs from this moment I’ll be seeing Toss’ face. Hallelujah! Copenhagen Airport – Sunday July 21 - 68 Took a taxi from dock to airport – a glass and steel blob. Those wretched Danes won’t let me into the airport goodies without a ticket and I can’t buy a ticket till tomorrow. Copenhagen airport is full of well-dressed women with helpless men hanging off their arms like lapdogs. Odd. I see Lufthansa has a flight to Hamburg - $30 – most agreeable. Then we’ll see how long it takes to get to Luxembourg by train. Till then I’m camping here. In blue jeans, Cuban boots and dusty parka I think I look rather strange. But they are used to such as I. Sacked out on blue couch till a man woke me up to vacuum it. Then he let me get back on. Mercifully. 9:10 AM Great airport to be in once you’ve got a ticket. Washed face and hands and ate my weight in Danish pastries. Strong pulls at coffee, then 15 mins in cheese store trying to choose. (Gouda? Ermenthaler?) Bought Mini-Fynbo. So there. Wish I had Toss here to show him off – the Danes are famed for beauty but he’d be handsomest in the place. After you meet someone who wears his soul on his sleeve other people look pretty mild. As for me I feel like Greta Garbo in my questionable jeans and paint-splattered shirt. I’m going home! Tempted to purchase a split of Piper Heidseck. Reading Jack Kroll in Newsweek on the New American Novel. All druggy black humor alas for the Summerfield Blues. I doubt this age will be remembered for its novels – more for Music. (Vanilla Fudge plays Look of Love). Doors, Blues Project and Tim Buckley are our prophets…Druggy black humor very dated in a hundred years but It’s All Over Now Baby Blue will last forever. Drop magazine to reread Toss’ latest letter in which he fears the Winner of the Class of 1914 Reading prize must have very extravagant ideas about lovemaking. And I have. My plane leaves in 20 mins. Better find out from where. Train from Koln to Koblenz – 7:10 PM – An hour on this train before I change for Luxembourg- pull in just before 11. Not o bad – should be able to find a hotel – giving some hope of cleaning up for Tom – at least removing the layers of filth accumulated in two days of traveling rough. People stare at me so much as I write you would think it was some indecent, private act. If they ask I’ll tell them it’s my forthcoming book: Grubbing through Europe. Fun dinner at Koln. (4711 a very big deal there. Bought a huge bottle.) Ate my way through gritty steak, mounds and mounds of pomme frites and watery salad. Barely able to restrain myself from having a sundae – don’t want unsightly lumps when I see Toss not after all the praise he’s showered on my poor body. He’s so passionately pure, so carved – a wrestler – always fasting. The nut. Yet he has plenty of gusto – a real joy in life. Had my ghastly dinner in the very shadow of the great black lace cathedral – needs serious cleaning and is marred by layers of construction. I’m not as much of a culture vulture as Mom, mostly I’ve looked at people, balancing babies on hips in grocery stores, counting out pennies in train stations, sleeping open mouthed on subway seats. I drink it up. After working my way through Chateaubriand I needed a chaser so picked up Iris Murdoch’s A Severed Head. Isn’t this supposed to be her best book? She writes awful tripe sometimes – how can the critics be so dim. The Unicorn was better. Really if this is the sort of stuff they like there is no hope for me. Is she an unsung lesbian? She tries so hard to write in a masculine manner. According to her masculinity is monstrous selfishness. Rex is also English and I’m sure he’d disagree. Ms Murdoch your problems bore me and your people do not exist. You’d be surprised how much readers prefer a pencil sketch to a carpenter’s diagram. At one point she actually begged us to overlook the fact that the thing bears no relation to reality. Weird. Lucky that I caught this train. Tomorrow I’ll have a chance to do a little shopping before 14 hrs on the plane. I have just enough Sominex to carry me through. Oh Toss I love you so terribly! Will he really be glad to see me or be plagued by mixed feelings? I’m just going to fall all over him. So desperate I’m reading about the Democratic Convention. Apparently McCarthy has the closest position to Saint Bobby so the likeliest chance of winning.
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Alysse Aallyn
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