Murmuration -Chapter 22 – Gloria

Chapter 22 – Gloria

After a few minutes of standing around and . . .  well . . . I am not really sure what are doing. We all agree that the party sounds good. DJ’s sound system and more drugs are on the cards.

Soon, we are heading along the promenade on the way to Russel Square. The night was clear and cool, and I couldn’t help but watch the moon as we floated along. Suddenly, Katie jabbed me in the ribs and pointed in front of us. I looked up to see Manny walking with one arm around Gloria, and the other punching the air as they both sang loudly.

“Like a soul without a mind, and a body without a heart, I’m missing every part.”

We all join in on the “hey hey, yeah yeahs”. Smiling and laughing as we repeat to fade.

My smile breaks a little, and I lean into Katie “So did you find anything out about her?”

“Not really,” Katie said conspiratorially “, She was pretty guarded. She has been in town for a few months and has met a bunch of musicians and ravers. She loves the cool and alternate vibes of Brighton,” she accompanied with an eye roll “, and the beautiful people”, she accompanied with a two fingers down her throat gesture.

“Was it just a coincidence that she was at the gig and the club?” I wonder out loud. “It all looks a bit stalky to me.” I laugh, half joking, or at least not sure how much I am joking.

As we turn into Russel Square, we hear a loud exclamation of “Tune!! Yes!!!” Yes, Massive Attack, as a group of people around our age, walk towards us, looking as if they are in a very similar state to us. Well, all bounce and jump around to our own singing and engage in handshakes and how-do-you-dos. At the back of the group is a cool-looking girl with dark hair and sharp features wearing a red beret, or possibly a red Kangol hat, Adidas Gazelles and flared cords, carrying a box full of records. As we dance and sing, Dutch Rod starts chatting to her as she puts the box down. Then she pulls a record out and holds it high in the air. I recognise the giant hand on the sleeve and laugh as it looks like an oversized extension of her arm. Manny cheers and screams, “Fucking nice one, LL Cool J!!! Top tune!”

We make our way noisily to the front door, and both Gloria and LL Cool J push their way to the front to ensure we can get in. Gloria pushes the furthest forward and makes a show of throwing her arms around whoever opened the door, “Darling!” She cries, “How are you? Is everyone here? I bought some friends,” She then pushes past him and scurries up the hallway without looking back to see if we are welcomed. The guy at the door then smiles at LL Cool J and rolls his eyes a little, “How are you Staya?” It sounds like he says, “Are you ready for your set?” I can’t hear what she says, but she looks a little nervous, and he follows up with “You are going to fucking kill it, mate. And your pals are very welcome too, although they look like they have had a good night already.” He laughs.

We all walk past and say our hellos, offering handshakes and high fives. As we walk down a narrow hallway, I try to focus on all the rave flyers that line the walls, then I notice a proud red poster that exclaims ‘Big Brother is watching you.” A reference to Nineteen Eighty-four, although I haven’t read it. What really grabs me, though, is a photocopy picture of an American-looking guy with neat hair and a pip that has been stuck over the top of the original character. Also, between the words ‘Brother’ and ‘is’, someone has crudely written ‘Bob’. I stand hypnotised by both the shoddy workmanship and my confusion. “Big Brother Bob is watching you”, I say out loud as the phrase drifts untethered around my hollow mind. I turn to share my discovery, but find that no one is here. I am alone in the hallway. This fact fills me with mild panic until I move to follow the others. I walk into a large open room, empty but for a couple of massive speakers and an ad hoc DJ set up in the corner, sitting on top of milk crates and speaker boxes. Rod and LL Cool J are busying themselves at the decks and flicking through boxes of records, next to what can only be described as a couple of arse cracks leaning over the equipment, trying to breathe life into it.

Suddenly, the sound of an electronic snare bounces around the room, chased enthusiastically by another . . . and another. Behind them, a boom of bass shakes the room and its surrounding occupants from their stupor. I start to move and dance, my eyes locked on Katie as we build and jump excitedly. It feels like almost immediately the room is full and everyone is jumping and dancing in time to Cool J as she looks up tentatively from the decks. A smile inching across her face as she controls the room and brings joy to u all. The lights start to flash, and the room turns into a dancefloor, and the dancefloor into a party. “As fucking simple as that”, I mutter under my breath, laughing as I remember how it took us two songs at the Richmond to even get the crowd to fucking notice we were playing.” Cool J has everyone in the palm of her hands inside about 20 seconds.

The highlight was the ending, though, the Paul Oakenfold mix of Unfinished Sympathy, which had us all, at least us and our new friends, somewhere between dancing, stumbling and falling arm in arm, singing and punching the air. Something about this tune is signalling a change, really not just this song, but a lot of Cool J’s set as well. It was something lighter,  more soulful, a touch of jazz? Something beautiful. It's hard to describe, but it's cool as fuck.

As the night moved on, the DJs seemed to shift and move to a harder edge. Brilliant music and brilliant MCs whipping the crowd to a frenzy. But the music and the crowd moved a little too far for me. Illustrated by the arrival of the white glove and glowstick crew. Really not my thing, so I take my leave. I turn to see Katie, Manny, Gloria and a few others enjoying themselves on the dancefloor and then walk outside for some fresh air. Pulling a Benson from the battered packet in my pocket, I catch Rod’s eye as he is sitting with Cool J. “It's all gone a bit toy town, eh, Alien?” I nod my agreement as I approach them, offering both a cigarette.

“Alien, this is Steya.” Rod Smiles.

“Steya?” I reply, “Thank god, I can stop calling you LL Cool J now”

There is a strange silence, although I am not really sure why. I try to move on from this by offering her my lighter. I sat down and smoked as we talked about music and her set. I was struck by how wide and varied her musical interests were. We talked about dance, Massive Attack and more surprisingly, indie and Shoegaze, still a title I struggle with. Especially as this tag was meant as a put-down when it was originally coined.

When I asked about her name, things changed. I feel the world focus in and from that moment I was struck by the feeling that Steya, Rod and I are the only people in the world.

Steya’s eyes narrow, and she almost whispers, “You really wanna know?” My head almost emptied, and I felt a familiar anxiety at this level of intimacy. I look over at Rod, and although I am overcome with doubts about my ability to act appropriately around what is about to happen, I know I have to follow the script. We both nod.

She starts to tell us that her name is short for Austeja, which is Lithuanian for ‘to leave’, and the story behind it is a bit of a doozy. She continues that his name is in reference to her mother's upbringing after the end of World War II. At this time, the rest of Europe were celebrating the surrender of the Germans. The Balkans, however, were living, consumed by the fear of the impending invasion by the Russian Red Army. As Europe was carved up, the eastern countries were basically sacrificed to Russia. Steya’s mother, Drasa, with her parents and three brothers, moved to a private country house that her grandfather had bought during the war and kept secret from the government. It didn’t even feature on any official maps. This was largely because her two oldest brothers had been press-ganged into fighting for a Lithuanian unit of the German army. Because of this, they would be rounded up and sent to a Siberian Gulag.  

While they were hidden away from the world, Drasa’s three brothers all joined the resistance against the Red Army. It isn’t long before Drasa is involved too, working to pass messages to the group known as the Brotherhood of the Forest. The Brotherhood is made up of a wide variety of people, including members of the Nazi party, avoiding capture by the Allies, and members of Jewish groups. The notion of a common enemy bringing people together has never been so vivid. So Drasa’s innocence and age are basically her camouflage in keeping hidden from the Russians. No one would expect her to be doing what she is doing.

During her time working with the Brotherhood, she struck up a friendship with one of the younger members called Galeti. I assume that this must be Steya’s dad, but I am struggling to see how this all fits together and how she ended up here. I have so many questions and struggle with my impulse to blurt them out in a string of words that will undoubtedly ruin this story. I just nod and try to do an interesting smile. I mean, I am actually totally captivated by this story, but I am struggling to deal with my blowming mind as I reflect on the banality of my own family history in comparison to this insanity happening so long and so far away. How does this shit affect someone?

As time moves on, Drasa and Galeti have fallen in love, enjoying fleeting stolen moments as they carry out their duties. This growing love is contrasted against the backdrop of the crumbling and dying resistance against the Red Army. Eventually, it all becomes too much, and Gelati’s fear for Drasa overcomes his love for her. During one of her deliveries, she is taken and bundled into the back of a delivery truck. Terrified and confused by her kind treatment at the hands of her assailants, she is presented with a collection of her things and a letter from Gelati.

The letter explains that Galeti has become more and more aware of the impending defeat of the brotherhood and is unable to bear the idea that she will be hurt... or worse. The last few messages she has been delivering have been making arrangements for her unconsented escape. She is to be smuggled through Latvia and into Sweden in the back of this delivery lorry.

She ends up in Sweden, staying with a well-to-do Latvian family until it is safe to return to Lithuania. There is a decent Balkan community in Sweden, and one of the friends she makes there is Karolis, a free-wheeling bohemian rich kid with a growing interest in beatniks and the counterculture. Drasa is living a very comfortable life in Sweden, but struggles to escape the memories of the forest and a home and family she cannot return to. Her fears and concern for the well-being of Galeti are realised when she gets word that most of the Brotherhood in their area had been caught and sent to Siberia.

Drasa decides that she cannot stay in this Balkan community, full of reminders, well-meaning questions and sympathy. She moves to London with Karolis. Steya tells us that she has been given different and conflicting information about Karolis’ reasons for going with Drasa. This time, I am right in my assumption that Karolis is her father, and she makes it clear that his reasons were directly linked to how her mother felt about him at any given time. It was either because they were in love, he was tempted by the 60’s counterculture and drugs or was sent by the community to look after her.

For Drasa, the drugs and social life of 1960s London was the perfect way of forgetting. She became a model and actress, earning decent money and living in comfort on the King's Road. Karolis became a dealer and apparently liked to think of himself as the Dr John of the Fashion world. According to Steya, he was more like a parasite feeding vulnerable women drugs in return for money and anything else he could get. I wonder if this was her mother’s view of things over time.

By the early 70s, they were barely functional as a family, and as individuals, Karolis was seriously addicted to heroin, and various revelations and behaviours had turned off the tap of money from his client base. The house was chaotic and filled with a variety of lowlives, with her father diving down a rabbit hole of drug advocacy, becoming a disciple of Timothy Leary.

“Which is where I come in.” Steya stops and looks at us in turn with tears clearly building in her eyes. “Born into dysfunction and dilapidation”, she continues laughing unconvincingly.

Rod exclaims, “Shit, that is some story... like fucking crazy” I nod, unable to find any useful words to help or encourage. “You don’t have to keep going, ”Rod continues, “We understand,” holding out his hand for comfort.

She takes it and smiles, “I would like to finish if you don’t mind. I haven’t told many people this, and it kinda feels good to share.”

“A problem shared is a problem halved.” I blurt clumsily and, judging by the looks I am given, rather inappropriately.

She takes Rod’s hand and smiles at me, “Thanks, Alien, there really isn’t much more to tell. My dad died from an overdose when I was like three, and my mum spent most of my childhood trying to keep the 60s going and resurrecting her modelling and acting career. After my dad died, his parents moved to Lindfield to help get me away from London and look after me. They kept a room for Mum to try and help her, too. She did eventually, but way too late as far as I am concerned. Now that she has managed to get her shit together, she is overcompensating for being absent for my whole childhood. I wish she . . . “

She stops again and looks at the floor “I don’t know. Look, sorry guys, this must be bringing you right down. She squeezes Rod's hand and smiles, “I must be off my tits, I just shared that with two complete strangers.

“What a fucking story though”, I blurt again “, a brilliant story”, I continue with all the situation deafness I can muster.

“Yeah, a brilliant story,” she laughs “, but not a brilliant life”

I realise my error and go to apologise, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t apologise, mate, just help me live a brilliant life right now”

I reach into the bottom of my Benson pack and pull out two pills “Well, I think I can help with that... Cheeky half?”

She dries her eyes and takes the half along with Rod and me, and we disappear back to the party.