As you probably remember from a previous case story, Dorian K. needed no clues from my mysterious employers in order to be photographically investigated. His photographic investigation always happens spontaneously. In this case my subject was his upcoming book -that he was writing for the last few years- on human coexistence. I believe this is his subject. As I was investigating him I told him to hurry up because I would like to read it - at least I was ambitious to try. A photographic investigator warms herself up before any demanding task, because she needs to always be prepared -as humanly possible, that is. So my mysterious employers -with whom I have a telepathic connection- left for me Julio Cortazar’s “Rayuela” (Hopscotch) in a place where I would easily find it during my morning walk. And I did. And knowing that it’s a masterpiece and that it demands a special way of reading it -following the writer’s instructions about the order of the chapters- I delayed starting it. A photographic investigator’s knows better that anyone that there are no coincidences. Maybe delays -in reading, in writing, in publishing, in everything- are not really delays, but a part of the plan. (My mysterious employers plan, to be clear).
My new subject was a talented chef that I met when I was working undercover as a sous-chef for another assignment… The clue given to me by my mysterious employers was “Luke Skywalker” and it was to the point, since from the first moment of our encounter I knew that his presence was not “total”, meaning that he was there but he thought he wanted to be somewhere else. I knew there was a poem that was written for him and I was decided to not publish my investigation until I I was sure which one was it. And now I know. It is called What to Remember When Waking, by David Whyte
When Tandoori met Biryani it was a not very cold Sunday, a few days before the new year and the streets of Athens were not as busy as expected. Everything was new and for that reason it was a fine day. Indian food is only eaten in fine days (by photographic investigators, anyway…).
Born investigators do not look for subjects. Born visionaries don’t ask for visions. William Blake could see into the spiritual world, but how would a photographic investigator possibly grasp what he saw? Waking up this smallest day, this longest night, it was William Blake’s “assistance” that I seeked. But alas! It was a bleak poem that I found, “To the winter” it’s called. I guess it’s appropriate for today, the longest night of the world…
Very often in Venice, spies like to disguise as fashion models. And it's a good disguise because it allows them not to avoid photographers while hiding. One of the paradoxes of the ingenious venetian spy web that I have come to know so well in the last years. The only clue that I had about the place of this photographic investigation was a word: Arcana. At first I though that it had to do with tarot cards (and started cursing because I had forgotten my tarot deck in Athens), but then I remembered Corto Maltese's "Corte Sconta called Arcana" in his adventure "Fable of Venice". Of course I was one of the 5 people who had the key to this secret place. There are no coincidences in the photographic investigation business. He was there, waiting. I did my job, as I always do.
My subject was radioactive. And the only way to photographically investigate a radioactive boy -as well as a radioactive toy, by the way- is through myopia glasses. Luckily, they were available.
The job totally depended on it… He pretended to be a performer and the only way to investigate him was to pretend I was a celebrity photographer. It always works. But to do so, I needed sunlight coming through a window before sunset that particular evening. So it all depended on the weather in London that day, because that's where my photographic investigation was taking place. When I saw the clouds parting I knew no force in the 'verse could stop this investigation. The weather in London was agreeing with my intentions... and for that to happen, they just couldn't have been my intentions… I just thought they were. That reassured me even more.
He was there, no doubt about that, but it was obvious to me that he was a projection from a parallel dimension. In my photographic investigations I have come very often across incidents like that-some call them "accidents", but not me. I knew how to recognise the "trespassers". The trick was to look at them with the corner of your eye. Then you could see them standing in both places. Everywhere and nowhere. I shot him. That was my job.
"The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me. The rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to fit them." George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman
