The Best Book in the World

CHAPTER 6

Deadlock


Astra has barely left the flat before the doorbell rings again. Titus has just opened the fridge to see if there is a very last beer to be found there. Cold and refreshing, a farewell that must quench his thirst for a long time to come. It would be a waste to pour it away. But the fridge is empty. Damn it! He slams the fridge door and goes and opens the front door instead.

Astra again.

‘Hello Titus. I forgot to give you a couple of important things!’

‘Oh, right…’

‘You’ll have to start by reading this book. It’s called Cleaning. It is brilliant. You’ll get a completely new attitude to cleaning when you’ve read this, I promise you. You’ll start to feel comfortable at home. You’re worth it.’

‘Yes, well…’

‘And in this bag is the tool you’ll need to cope with the project. A laptop.’

‘But I’ve already got a computer…’

‘Read the contract and you’ll see that you must write the book on the computer supplied by the publisher.’

‘Oh, really! For what reason?’

‘It has the security features that we deem necessary. Your own computer looks extremely unreliable. This new machine has a memory that can only be opened and read if you have the right codes. The hard drive makes automatic back-ups to the memory stick which you put in here on the side. As you see, there are several extra sticks. When we want to check on your progress, you simply give me a memory stick so that I can read the manuscript. But most important of all: this computer has a BAC lock… in other words, a breathalyser. You must blow into a tube and the computer will only start if you are stone cold sober.’

‘A breathalyser! What the f*ck? Don’t you trust me? Haven’t I already agreed to far too much? This is totally sick!’

‘Alcoholism is an illness.’

‘But I am not an alcoholic, I’ve told you!’ Titus shouts.

‘No, of course not,’ Astra snaps back. ‘That’s fine. Then there’ll be no problems with logging in on the computer either.’

‘This is just bloody f*cking unbelievable!’

‘Take it or leave it.’

‘Okay, okay. Yes!’

‘Right you are, be seeing you, then. Good luck!’

Titus says goodbye to Astra, looks for an empty surface and opens the lid of the laptop. As he does so, a plastic tube pokes up from where the start button is usually found. Titus stares at the tube sticking out expectantly. Should he degrade himself and blow into the device? Does he have any choice? He puts his mouth round the tube and blows.

After a couple of seconds the screen lights up and a text box appears:

Welcome Titus! For the time being you cannot access me. It is estimated that you will require eight hours to metabolise the alcohol in your blood. You are very welcome to return after 7 p.m. Have a nice day!

The screen goes blank.

He feels deeply offended. Degraded. At the same time, he feels a bit shaken. Sure, he has sometimes asked himself whether he has the wrong attitude to drugs and alcohol. It feels like he has overdone it thousands of times. But he loves partying. That’s almost the only thing he is good at nowadays.

Nobody has ever said that he is an alcoholic. At least, not to his face. Somebody might have said that he ‘should calm down a bit’ or ‘be a little kinder to yourself’ and that sort of thing. But from there to being accused of being an alcoholic is quite a big step. This doesn’t feel comfortable.

How many people have actually been going around thinking that Titus is an old drunk? To hear Astra it sounded as if the whole world thought it. At any rate, everybody at Winchester Publishing. Is that why people laugh at him when he does his improvised book readings? Is he just a pathetic pisshead who says funny things as soon as you fill him with spirits and drugs? How would he himself regard somebody like him – if he hadn’t been Titus Jensen himself, of course… completely ‘objectively’ that is…

The insight hits him like a baseball bat. He falls onto the sofa and remains seated a long while, with an absent stare.

He is a pisshead. Once he was an intellectual author who had something to say. Now he is a joke. A pathetic nutter of an author dressed in black who loves alcohol and drugs of every type. He stinks like a skunk. He looks like an old rag. When did it go wrong? When did the partying become more important than everything else?

Can he manoeuvre his hull back into the shipping lanes? He must. If he doesn’t succeed in writing The Best Book in the World, then he’s finished. This project is more important than anything else. It’s time to choose now, Titus Jensen. Are you a man or a mouse? An author or an alkie?

Yes, The Best Book in the World is his last chance. He can feel that with every nerve in his body. This is the turning point for which he has waited so long.

A sense of calm gradually takes over his brain. Lots of small doors of worry and desire are slammed shut. He is well aware that the only chance of keeping them shut is to let the energy from The Best Book in the World fill him. Every minute must be filled with energy. And when a new, completely empty minute approaches, he must take charge immediately. Get that minute to work. And the next minute, hour, day and week. Better to be obsessed than dependent, he thinks.

With the help of the cleaning book he starts to clear the mess in his flat in a wild frenzy. He fills binbag after binbag with the remnants of his old life. He vacuums, scrubs and sweeps. Runs back and forth to the laundry room in the cellar. Irons his shirts. Mangles sheets. He can do it! He wants to do it! His forehead drips with sweat and his skin steams with the poisons leaving his body.


Better to be obsessed than dependent, he repeats time after time to himself.

Better to be obsessed than dependent.