Mama's Boy Behind Bars

by David Goudreault

  Edith struggled to turn around while I took the blade out of my pants. Her eyes widened in fear.

  It’f me! There’f nothing to be afraid of.

  I put her terrified look down to surprise. And maybe pain. She’d cut her forehead when she fell on the floor. And her chin. It was bleeding pretty good.

  She stared at my knife, trembling all over. The phone rang. Already? This was all moving too fast, I needed some time to think and sort myself out.

  Don’t move, Edith! Don’t move!

  Between the alarm blaring and the phone ringing, I was having trouble concentrating. I needed to buy myself some time, ask them to call back in five minutes.

  Call me back in five!

  I slammed the phone down, but it just rang again. I turned to my sweetheart, who was even more stressed than I was, her body wracked with spasms, crouched in a corner in the fetal position.

  You truft me, Edith, remember, I know you do, you told me fo yourfelf. I truft you av well…

  I crouched down beside her, stroking her hair, trying to relax her.

  Thif fank wav for you, I juft had to take you hoftave fo that Big Dick could efcape, but I’m going to do more than that. Do you underftand, Edith? I’m doing thif for you, for the two of uf, for love. Do you underftand?

  Guessing my intentions, she burst into tears.

  It’f all going to be okay, we’re going to be together, juft the two of uf. I lay down next to her. She pressed up closer to the wall. I shifted closer and spooned with her. It was nice. Her hair smelled of soap. I hugged her hard so she’d stop trembling.

  It’f going to be okay, Edith, pleave don’t cry, I’m here for you.

  She stiffened, reassured. Don’t kill me!

  Girls are such romantics, always looking for drama.

  Of courfe I won’t! What are you faying? I’m leaving, but I’m not going to kill you. I’m taking you with me!

  She cried harder. Now I was getting emotional. I wished this hug could go on forever, but we’d need to leave soon. It was getting to the crucial moment of giving orders to get Big Dick evacuated. Then I needed to get the doors opened for myself and escape with Edith. I really needed to focus.

  I pressed my face into her hair, I clutched her to me and breathed her in. A little puff of courage. She held on to my arms, her nails digging into my skin, holding me back. She was afraid I was going to leave. The scent of her hair was intoxicating. I moved down toward her neck. At long last I could touch her skin, the soft, damp skin of her neck, salty on my tongue.

  She tried to block my hands and keep them on her waist. Our desire was too strong. This wasn’t the moment, but I followed her lead. It was hard to move my body, with her gripping my arms so passionately.

  Relacf, bae, everything’f going to be fine.

  I cupped her breast under the rough fabric of her shirt. My other hand rested on her crotch, on her work pants. She was panting and moaning.

  No…no…

  I know, Edith, thif ifn’t the plafe. We fould ftop.

  Yes, please stop!

  But we were possessed by our desire. She wouldn’t let me go and kept her nails dug into my flesh. My body could no longer wait to escape, to liberate itself. I couldn’t wait anymore. We had to make love. Now. Make love just once, here, and then leave together.

  As clumsy as the young lover that I was, I unbuttoned her shirt, using the knife to undo the big leather belt. It was like we were in a hardcore romance novel, both of us with tears in our eyes, awkward, seeming as though we were fighting in our clumsy attempts to take off the clothes that were stopping the marriage of our genitals. And our teeth kept bashing together in our rushed kisses. I was the gallant knight, covering her with a thousand kisses and smearing tears and blood over her face.

  I was overjoyed to discover, with my exploring fingers, that her pussy was pretty tight. She’d waited for me: my lady love was still a virgin. I sucked my fingers and pushed my way inside her. She tensed up, twisted with fear, but I soothed her.

  It’f normal to be nervouf the firft time. We’ll take it flowly.

  I didn’t let myself get distracted by the ringing of the phone or by the prison alarm, nor by the negotiator who was bellowing into his megaphone. I simply savoured our bodies, united at last, after so much desire and waiting.

  I focused attentively on our pleasure. Nothing else existed, not even the tactical police squad gathered behind the door as we orgasmed loudly, gasping with love.

  When I opened my eyes again, I could only see her tears. Such happiness, such intensity. Was she crying with pleasure, satisfaction, love, or all of the above? I’d been a man for too long to cry wholeheartedly along with her. I had to take care of my responsibilities. Then they came to me, the only words—the only poem—worthy of the moment. I love you.

  19

  Detachment

  Butterfly was dead. Since the previous evening, Butterfly had been as dead as a dodo. There had been no chance of him coming out of his vegetative state, but he was in a stable condition and could have lived for decades with the hole in his neocortex. But his family had decided to donate his organs and pull the plug. In reverse order, luckily for Butterfly. It killed him. With a family like that, you’d be better off being an orphan.

  But what did Butterfly have to lose by waiting around awhile? You never know with science: maybe researchers would have found a cure for comas. Tomorrow? In ten years? Who knows. Even Walt Disney thought it was worth taking a bet on cryogenics. But Butterfly’s future died with him. His family killed him, but I’m the one who’ll be found guilty. Another injustice to add to the list.

  I’ve been rotting in the hole for more than six hours, with no food or water. The guards are depriving me of my fundamental rights. And the two officers from the SWAT team guarding the isolation cell don’t reply to any of my demands. My lawyer gave me a bottle of water through the bean slot. I needed water to swallow everything they were telling me.

  From the depths of the hole, I got hammered with the bad news, the tanker full of bad news. Bad news never comes singly, but this was like a birthday party at Octomom’s house.

  * * *

  Big Dick is a fucking asshole. A rat. A snitch. He squealed on me. To protect himself, I’m guessing. When they strip-searched me, they found the instructions I was supposed to read, the details of his evacuation from the interior yard. They must have interrogated him right away. I mean, I guess it was partly my fault. But still, it’s unbelievable, he broke the omertà code, the law of silence, the cornerstone of every self-respecting criminal organization. I thought he was one of the good ones. I feel hurt and disillusioned. You can’t trust anyone, not even a notorious criminal. I should just be a gang of one.

  If Big Dick had double-crossed me, then everyone else in the wing would do the same. So that left me in deep shit. The biggest surprises are often unexpected: not content to just grass me up for the attack on Butterfly, which ended up being a deferred murder, with a little help from his family, he was also denying all involvement in the hostage taking. That really takes the cake!

  They were abandoning me again, and this was one time too many. If I’d drunk a drop of arsenic for every time I’d been betrayed, I’d have drowned a long time ago.

  But I wouldn’t go down alone! He thought he could fuck me over without any consequences? I’d screw him too, Big Fat Dick, right up his ass.

  He denied being the author of the written demands they found on me. He even insisted he’d never spoken to me. The traitor! Like I’d just hallucinated the whole thing.

  I’m a fcyhopath, fir, not fychotic! Let’f not get the two thingv micfed up!

  My lawyer insisted I had to calm down, he couldn’t stay and advise me if I was so agitated. How could you not be agitated if heaven and all its demons were falling on your head?

  And I want to know how Edith’f doing.<
br />
  You can’t be serious, the lawyer said, shaking his head incredulously.

  Of courfe I’m feriouf!

  We’d just made love when they battered the door down like savages. I barely had time to stroke her hair and give her one last hug. Everything had been going so well, I could hear a chopper, I just needed to answer the phone, read the notes, leave the Italians a bit of time to get Big Dick out, then I’d start in with my own demands. And then it would be all wrapped up. There was no rush. They must have been imagining some bad shit on the other side of the door, thinking I was threatening Edith’s life or something. They must have imagined the worst when I didn’t answer the phone. But actually, the best was finally happening to me. Love at last.

  This moment of grace was spoiled by those overexcited zealots from the SWAT team. The door, which had guarded our privacy, was ripped off its frame by a steel battering ram. It was like being in an extremely realistic video game. Helmeted and armed, spraying us with gas and yelling, an entire commando unit stormed the office. Flattened on the ground, I wasn’t soaring anymore. Eeeeediiith! They took her away under my very eyes, crying hot tears. From the gas. And maybe from emotion too. Seconds later I was handcuffed, overpowered, on my back, gagged, and informed of my rights.

  I was lifted off the ground by two workhorses armed to the hilt, and then dragged to the hole. Where I still am.

  You’ll be staying here until your court appearance on Monday. The practical benefit of crimes committed in prison is that it saves on transport costs. This is no small saving for the good taxpayer.

  We’ll know more in court. For now, no news on Edith.

  The lawyer guessed she was being supported by her team. The unit head had gone to the hospital with her, where she was probably going to be diagnosed with nervous shock.

  Thofe baftardf traumatifed her, they didn’t even give me a fhanfe to negofiate. They’re barbarianv…

  And I was sure Jocelyn was making the most of his chance to comfort her. There was no doubt about it, he’d be having a field day, taking advantage of my absence to tell her that I’d be convicted again, that it was no use waiting for me, and that she had no future with me. I punched the wall, fracturing a bone in my hand. Oooowwww! Fuckety fuck!

  They’re going to accuse you of premeditated murder, taking a hostage, illegal confinement, aggravated rape, and tutti quanti. My lawyer listed off the charges, shaking his head in discouragement. I didn’t even know what a tutti quanti was, but I was sure I could defend myself on that count. The rape too. In all the commotion of the fighting, they’d spotted our lowered pants, and the fact that her face and both our genitals were bloody. I could see how it could be misunderstood. Edith would tell them that we were in a relationship and I hadn’t raped her. My lawyer seemed pretty unconvinced. He was laying it on thicker than Marilyn Manson’s foundation.

  My valiant soldier of the law told me I could be added to the sex offenders registry. I couldn’t see any advantages to that. It’s basically just some professional guild, it’s a group for people who like titles, and it protects the public more than it protects its members. I’d be challenging that too!

  Things were looking bad for me. Very bad. He rattled off a litany of aggravating circumstances. He flopped theatrically into his chair and let out a weary sigh. He was playing the game, the poor sod. He was putting on these exasperated airs, but he seemed pretty happy about having all this on his plate.

  * * *

  I had nothing to eat until the next day. The guards were tormenting me. In the confusion after the hostage taking, they could claim they’d just forgotten. The bastards thought they were taking justice into their own hands. I took the fight to them and announced I was going on hunger strike. Ha!

  I stared at the wall while I waited for my lawyer to visit again. I repeated the serenity prayer over and over, reminding myself that whatever happened, nothing could happen to me. I still had the essentials. The essentials are what’s left when everything else has gone.

  I had something stronger than justice, more powerful than the Mafia, more noble than the greatest reputation: I had love.

  From my prone position on the floor, I stared miserably at the wall. I didn’t know when I’d get anything to eat, or if I’d be transferred, or what revenge the underworld was planning against me, but I had love.

  And underneath everything, here it was. Deep down inside my body, and carved into this wall forever: Edith and me, our initials scratched inside a heart. Forever.

  Epilogue

  Like a bonobo on ecstasy, Jocelyn must have jizzed happiness all over the prison. He’d managed to convince Edith to demand a permanent no-contact order for me. They even gave me back the thirteen letters full of poems I’d written her. The lawyer warned me to prepare myself psychologically: she could testify against me. They were messing with her head, those dirty sons of bitches.

  And rumour had it there was a bounty on my head, nice and juicy, in the five-figure region. After everything I’d done for it, the Mafia was letting me down. I was tangled up in multiple family beefs. My life was in danger, and I was in danger of getting a life sentence.

  But apparently all is not lost. My lawyer solemnly confided that he had a few precedents up his sleeve. We can plead erotomania in the case of Ms. Edith Arsenault. As for Mr. Carol Quirion, alias Butterfly, we’ll try legitimate defence. If not, we’ll plead insanity for all charges, and then you’ll be shipped off to the psychiatric hospital, but there won’t be much chance of getting out of there.

  But I will get out. And quicker than you’d think. I have a mother and a wife to reunite with outside. I don’t give a shit about your expertise and your rehabilitation. From now on, I’m only going to listen to my own conscience. Organized crime has fucked me over, too bad, so sad. I’ll be a sole trader, and one day I’ll trade their souls. With my mother and my woman at my side.

  It doesn’t matter where you lock me up, I’ll escape. I’ll escape and I’ll get my revenge on all the people on my list. If you think I’m dangerous now, well, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

  But for now, I’m just hoping they’ll send me to the psychiatric hospital. Prison’s too crazy for me.

  Acknowledgements

  The author would like to thank Book*hug, Jay and Hazel Millar, JC Sutcliffe, Marie-Eve Gélinas, Carole Boutin, and all the inmates of the world for the inspiration. Read free or die!

  The translator would like to thank David Goudreault, Marie-Eve Gelinas, Hazel Millar, Jay Millar, Stuart Ross, Malcolm Sutton, and Christopher Dummitt.

  About the Author

  David Goudreault is a Quebecois novelist, poet, columnist and social worker. He has published three novels with Stanké, including La Bête à sa mère (Mama’s Boy, Book*hug Press, 2018); La Bête et sa cage (Mama’s Boy Behind Bars, Book*hug Press, 2019); and Abattre la bête (forthcoming in English from Book*hug Press in 2020). He has also published three poetry collections with Écrits des Forges. He was the first person from Quebec to win the Poetry World Cup in Paris (2011), and he has also received many other awards, including the Médaille de l’Assemblée Nationale (2012), the Prix des Nouvelles Voix de la Littérature (2016), the Prix de la ville de Sherbrooke (2016), the Grand Prix Littéraire Archambault (2016), and the Prix Lèvres Urbaines (2017). His work has been published internationally in France and Mexico. Goudreault lives in Sherbrooke, Quebec.

  JC Sutcliffe is a writer, translator, book reviewer, and editor. She has translated several Quebec novels into English, including David Goudreault's Mama's Boy, Document 1 by François Blais, and Worst Case, We Get Married by Sophie Bienvenu.

  Colophon

  Manufactured as the first English edition of

  Mama’s Boy Behind Bars

  in the spring of 2019 by Book*hug Press.

  Type + design by Tree Abraham

  Copy edited by Stuart Ross

  bookhugpress.ca

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