The Face in the Nile

Then there was the face in the Nile.

We were at the Companions. Or was it the Walmer? Anyway, one of those times we just sat and talked. Pints of Directors – if it was the Companions ... or K and B if it was the Walmer, probably. Two packets of Marlboros on the table between us; an over-full ashtray; people pushing past me, perched on a stool at the low table, Saturday evening noise and smoke. Students, mostly, and under-thirties. If it was the Walmer. Or over-thirties, and the electronic organ wafting waltzes and foxtrots to the locals, if the Good Companions. It’s all the same, anyway.

God knows what we’d been talking about. Probably the latest on his disastrous house situation. Marcie’s husband having turned up, in answer to the ad in the Argus, when they were looking for a "fourth" to share expenses. I forget, now. It was such a mess.

No-one could tell an anecdote like Matty.

I’d want to put an arm around him, when he was telling me about Marcie and Sylvia kicking him out, because they didn’t want him there, ruining a supper party they’d arranged. And he’d tell it in such detail, with so many colours, describing the smells of the cooking, and the contingencies, as he’d put it. And he’d be laughing. He’d be laughing about how they told him he should wash more often, and that his teeth were bad. I’d want to put an arm around him, as he raised another pint of warm, brown ale to his crooked lips, spilling ample amounts into his tangled beard.

But I never did.

And in one of those pauses, with the idiotic laughter at the bar ... or the inanity of ’Strangers in the Night’ he suddenly changed direction, leaning towards me, and putting a heavy hand on my forearm.

’Look at me a minute ... No, don’t laugh! Look. I just remembered something that happened to me this morning. Or maybe yesterday morning: I can’t be sure. Look at my face. There. What do you see?’ ’What am I supposed to see ...?! Same old Matty: beard, hook nose, thinning hair, shining forehead, ... brovn eyes nothing new. Yep,’ I concluded, ’it’s Matty, all right. No doubt about it. Couldn’t be anyone else, unless ... oh, no! You’re not going to tell me there’s two of you ...?!’

’Don’t think so ...! No, but something very funny happened this morning ... or whenever it was. I was just washing my face ... nothing funny in that – unless you listen to Marcie and Sylvia! ... and I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I wasn’t exactly looking, but I caught a glimpse. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, either ... you know, probably thinking, "Oh, God, here we go again, bloody four L, first period, and I drank too much last night ..." that sort of thing.’

’So what happened ...?’

’Nothing. Nothing happened. I just caught a glimpse of myself. But I suddenly felt like ... like it wasn’t me. Or rather, like it wasn’t only me.’

’Schizophrenia. You should lay off the booze for a bit.’

’No, no ... it wasn’t ... how can I describe it? It was like ... for one moment, I knew that there had been someone like a long time in the past – in Egypt – someone who had washed his face ... in the Nile ... and he’d seen himself, like that. In the water. A boy ... not my ugly mug but someone else who saw himself, and knew that ... that someone else would see himself ... washing his face, one day and ... and …’

I didn’t often see Matty struggling for words. He reached for another cigarette. I needed one, too, and leaned forward to light his, before helping myself from the red and white packet nearest to me. I looked at him, seriously, now, and he was frowning, as he drew in the smoke, and then sat back, to breathe it out of the corner of his beard, and from his nose. He reached for his pint.

’It was ... very strange. Very odd, I mean. There was this face ... in the Nile ... but it could have been anywhere ... anyone ... I just said, "the Nile", but it could have been anywhere. It just felt like it was a long time ago, and ... and like a river. A wide, slow, profound ... but now I’m making it up.’

He laughed, to break the tension, and I smiled back, taking a drink from my pint pot, and tapping the ash from my cigarette into the pile of butts and debris.

’But it was decidedly ... odd! Have you ever had ...? I mean, have you ever felt you were ... someone else ...?’

’I’ve often wished I was someone else! But that’s different! No ... I’ve never seen anyone but me in the mirror. At least ... I don’t think …’

I’ve always remembered that "face in the Nile". I think that’s what I’ll always remember best about Matty, and yet, it wasn’t his best anecdote – or the most dramatic thing he ever told me. But I can still ... see ... that face in the …