The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  He decided to walk a stretch of road on foot. Walking in solitude was becoming a habit that helped him relax. He thought he should make supplies for the house: food, detergents, hygiene products. He had long neglected his lodging, for one reason or another; however, he didn't feel like shopping at that moment. The streets were more crowded than usual and William bumped more than one person as he dragged himself to the distant Southeastern Road stop. The sunlight came and went, alternating dazzling light and gloomy shadows. Stopping for a moment to read the menu of a diner, William had the impression of being followed. He turned around, but did not notice anything strange. He blamed his growing paranoia of playing tricks on him.

  The south-eastern part of the city, which at its end included Numbered District, was not at all a pretty sight. Ugly workshops and small stores selling cheap products, a low level of cleanliness and many smelly areas. William went on straight without window shopping. The disgust put off his appetite and he had a little acid reflux. In general, he had been suffering from gastric hyperacidity for quite a while, the umpteenth gift of that crazy period of his life.

  A little further, that strange feeling came back, and that time it was accompanied by a sound of footsteps. William turned around again, but more slowly. There were some people, mostly housewives, besides the shopkeepers busy in their matters; nothing that would trigger the alarm. While walking by the shops, he came to believe that was the sound of his own footsteps, just a strange echo caused by the walls around him.

  The row of shops ended with a curious little shop selling religious items. The place was closed but, through the window, it was possible to admire statues of various sizes, necklaces with crucifixes, bandages wrapped and sealed with red ribbons that looked like they were ancient. The sky clouded over and the dim light allowed William to see, beyond the window, a particularly bright sign above the shop counter. It carried an inscription in a language unknown to him, perhaps an archaic language: 'Que Soy Era Immaculada Councepciou'. He tried for a while to decipher that unpronounceable string, then he had to give up when he felt being grabbed from behind by a superior force. Someone put an arm under his right armpit, gripped his neck and, taking advantage of the weight of his body, made him fall with his face to the ground. The impact was violent and William's senses faded. He was about to faint when his assailant shouted at him: «Not so fast!», lifting him from the ground just long enough to knee him in the kidneys. William gave a strangled scream. He was breathing heavily but tried to move away, dragging himself with all remaining strength. The attacker allowed him to take a few steps and catch his breath, then assaulted him again. He kneed him even more violently, after launching himself from almost a ten feet distance. William stopped moaning and dropped to the ground, overwhelmed by such fury. Female voices were heard screaming in fear, but the attacker did not care and just made sure the subject of his anger did not look at his face and memorize it. «You're a disappointment, Deveux», he told him in a calmer voice. «Just a wimp.» He dealt one last kick to his already battered face - as if William's head was a can to kick - and left without showing any hurry. A trickle of blood came out of William Deveux's left nostril, forming a red circle that gradually expanded on the pavement. He looked lifeless.

  A squawking voice helped him awake from that unconscious state. The sun was low, it had been evidently a long time – perhaps hours - since he had fainted, and the rays were so bright that he had to close his eyes so as not to be dazzled. The voice was annoying and incomprehensible, William would have liked to turn it off and continue to rest, but the noise gave him no break, so he gathered all his strength to try to lift himself off the ground. The lady who made all that racket, seeing that the man who had collapsed to the ground showed signs of life, began to shake him firmly. William Deveux tried to extend his arm to drive her away but, realizing that his attempt had been unsuccessful, he surrendered and little by little pulled himself up, but just for a few seconds: he felt so tired that had to sit on the ground. Every part of his body ached, more or less. He rubbed his eyes and so could admire the person who gave herself so much trouble to try to revive him: an elderly lady, with oriental somatic features, with her hair tied back and with few teeth in her mouth. William could not understand a single word spoken by the woman, he could not believe there were still people who spoke foreign languages in East Eden, since Militia did not look favorably on those who did not use the official idiom. However, William certainly didn't need a translator to understand what kind of questions the lady was asking him: 'Are you well?', 'Are you hurt?', 'Do you want to go to the hospital?'. William reassured and thanked the woman for her concern, patting her on the shoulder, then looked around try to remember where he was. He shuddered when he noticed a militiaman leaning on his service car, no more than a dozen paces away. He was busy fiddling with his communicator, but, noticing William recovering, he decided to interrupt the fun, slipped the object into his pocket and slowly walked towards him. The old lady, meanwhile, seemed to be distressed by William's nose, which was stained with dried blood. She pointed at her own nose and William's to urge him to check its conditions. He instinctively put his hand to his nose and touched the clotted blood that had drawn a small path to his upper lip; in any case, seeing the militiaman approaching, he made gestures to tell the woman to be quiet and not to panic. Once arrived, the militiaman carelessly asked if everything was all right. William thought about it for a while, then answered affirmatively. The militiaman, without changing his distant tone of voice, then asked him if he felt okay and what had happened. William Deveux's mind calculated in a few seconds that there was no need to add other nuisances to the many issues that had involved him for months, so he trivialized the episode, clarifying that he just slipped and banged his head. He tried to laugh, so as to be more convincing, but his side hurt and he had to grit his teeth. The militiaman looked sideways at the blood stain on the ground, now brown in color, and asked William one last question, that is if he wanted to request a health vehicle. The answer was negative and William, to avoid suspicion, did his best to get back on his feet with ease. He felt all beaten up, he had no idea who had attacked him, but it was surely someone used to hand-to-hand fighting; someone who did it - or had done it in the past – for a living. Maybe a militiaman. Irrelevant, in any case. He had no proof to accuse anyone, and blaming a militiaman without hard evidence meant digging his own grave. What witnesses could he produce? An elderly oriental lady who spoke an unknown language? Just wasted time, better to go on like nothing happened, hoping his assailant vented enough.

  Meanwhile, the militiaman - with a laziness that would make a ferocious animal fall asleep - explained that he would have to fine him for having smeared the road with his blood. However, after assessing the situation, he agreed that it was an unintentional event and there was an evident lack of mens rea, so he judged that there was no need to proceed. «This time, we turn a blind eye. Go home now, and take a rest.» William Deveux didn't wait for him to repeat it and said goodbye with a wave of his hand, leaving the unusual pair staring at him as he limped away.

  Guided by the sunset light which sprinkled its orange rays all over Numbered District, William came home exhausted and threw himself half dead on the bed. Returning home exhausted was becoming kind of a routine; a habit he would gladly do without.

  Chapter XVIII

  It was Caroline Morton who organized Dominic Deveux's funeral, as well as contacting William's relatives, friends and work colleagues. She bothered his boyfriend – who was completely numb - just to ask him for some phone numbers, some hints about who might be worth contacting or minor details like what color the coffin had to be or if he had any preferences about what clothes Dominic had to wear. All matters that Caroline tried to manage on her own, knowing well how little William could care about them at that time; if she asked him for help, she would just make him nervous. In some circumstances in which she preferred not to consult him, she also secretly peered at William's address book to trace peopl
e that should be notified of the tragic incident, getting to the point of interviewing people at random to ask their opinions about who else she should call. Besides, she was unaware of the circle of relatives and friends of her boyfriend. Most of the time it was just the two of them.

  When someone was so bold to ask her why William had not called him or her personally, Caroline usually came up with the most plausible excuse among the best ones that her mind could create. In a few days she became a perfect liar, providing ever more convincing versions of reality, even though the refrain she had learned to repeat more often was that they shared the tasks to save time; which was almost true, after all, except that her share of work was way, way larger than William's.

  It was always Caroline who suggested how to dress on the day of the funeral, and who worked with the funeral home to choose the type of treatment to be applied to the body to make him more presentable, as well as negotiate the price, asking the agency to be understanding, given the untimely and violent demise. William was only informed of the final amount he would have to pay and, as a sign of his gratitude, he grumbled to his girlfriend about the price. The only task that William could not delegate was the completion of the procedures concerning the release of the body. Or rather, the release from seizure. The night they went to the Road Crimes Office, the two young men could not take Dominic's body away. It was too late to contact someone to take care of everything and they were too distraught to make any decision. They told the caretaker that they would come back the next day, even though in fact they let three days pass. Overwhelmed by the tasks to be carried out, Caroline proposed to her boyfriend to leave the body in the same place he had occupied in the previous days until they completed the various chores and, above all, made precise agreements with the funeral home.

  William, at the indication of the custodian, went to the morgue early in the morning. The pot-bellied and unfriendly employee had warned him to show up early because the return procedure was long and required several authorizations. He had not exaggerated: William finished in the early afternoon, so he called Caroline and asked her to contact the funeral home right away.

  Caroline was caught off guard when the funeral home asked her what kind of religious ceremony would have to be performed. Those few times she had approached the subject of religion with William, he had seemed skeptical and almost uninterested. Dominic, for his part, had previously used expressions such as 'God only knows' or similar ones, but it was really too little to take such responsibility alone. She then asked the funeral home if it was possible to resort to kind of a ‘hybrid’ funeral rite, which could be good for different confessions. The answer was that, in certain circumstances in which the deceased had not shown a particular religious inclination, they celebrated a sort of secular rite in which they referred to heavenly goodness and to peace in the afterlife. Topics that could go more or less well on every occasion. And so it was.

  The funeral procession was joined by people who were perfect strangers to Caroline. She directly knew only Gwen Deveux, William's aunt; the only one, during the procession, who cried relentlessly. She had seen a couple of times in the past the only two William's colleagues present at the ceremony, Kate Ramos and Katherine Spender. In Caroline's eyes, Spender was dressed properly to attend a mournful event; Ramos, on the other hand, aroused her disappointment for wearing a suit that was too tight and with summer nuances. In the meantime, William seemed to her much more sullen than sad.

  The procession circulated far and wide through Harrington district. Mike Sprout - the funeral home employee with whom Caroline had related - had advised her to pay a small additional sum and resort to the 'long ritual' to give “greater prominence to the event”, his words. William snorted all the time. Caroline preferred to walk two steps behind him to let him vent in his own way. Every now and then William turned to look at the caravan of people, a parade of amorphous and mostly alien figures.

  After almost twenty minutes of walking, a man in a ceremonial suit, who looked like a preacher, stopped the row and started speaking. His words were heartrending, he spoke of a tragic day that no one would have liked to witness. He praised the deceased, his self-denial, his attachment to the family, the spirit of sacrifice. He reassured the family that his spirit would always be with them and he would watch over their lives forever. He wished Dominic a “good journey” to his new existence and begged him to forgive all of them for failing to protect him, for failing to prevent such an unexpected and shocking tragedy. Then he invited everyone to gather in silence for a minute to wish the best to their dearly departed. Everyone except William obeyed the command. William remained staring at the preacher, wondering about those apparently touching words yet expressed without a minimum of emotional involvement. And how could it be otherwise: that man had never known his father.

  The procession resumed immediately afterwards and ended its journey once they arrived at the Deveux residence. The preacher knelt in front of the walnut-colored, enamelled coffin, which contained Dominic's remains and stayed for a moment with his head bowed; then he got up again and, with tears in his eyes, virtually embraced the onlookers and thanked them for participating. William's colleagues ran to hug him and say goodbye; they were eager to return to their daily chores. Kate Ramos asked him to call them for anything, if only to let off steam a little. After the long process of hugs and kisses ended, William looked around for Caroline. The young woman noticed it and immediately rushed to his side and placed her arm around his waist. One of the funeral home employees then came and asked if they could proceed with the transport of the body to the city cemetery, inviting William and Caroline to get into the funeral car.

  At the Riverbank cemetery they found another employee who was already waiting for them, wearing a kind of gray tunic with a red scarf around his neck. When he saw the two guys coming, he hurried to meet them and greet them with a kiss. Immediately afterwards he moved closer to the side of the pit that would house the remains of Dominic, which had been excavated the previous day. While the coffin was being laid, the master of ceremonies murmured words in a low voice, incomprehensible, and made gestures that William could not associate with any known religious confession. In less than a minute he finished what was probably supposed to be the last rites, so he waved his hands in farewell and hurried away, leaving the two young men in the company of the undertaker and – a little further - the driver that would take them back home.

  Once returned to Harrington, William, without taking off his jacket or emptying his pockets, placed himself near the window, as if searching for something in the courtyard. Caroline did not pay any attention at first, mainly concerned with preparing something quick to eat; then, seeing that he seemed to have no intention of moving from there, she approached him and put her hand on his shoulder to urge him to speak. William trembled a little, as if awakening from sleep, and began in a soft, broken voice to speak.

  «My father was a Baptist», he clarified. He left the thought hanging for a few seconds to wait for a possible reply from Caroline. «I haven't seen anything Baptist in that ceremony. That imbecile at the cemetery also gave him that sort of... extreme unction. He looked like a monkey.»

  He imitated the gestures that kind of priest had performed at the cemetery, but he exaggerated them to make them appear more like a clumsy parody. Caroline took her hand off William's shoulder and remained speechless for a while, not knowing what words to choose at that moment: should she exonerate herself or cheer him up? She opted for justifying herself eventually, explaining that she did not know which religion Dominic was devoted to, so she had relied on the funeral home to organize a ceremony that was the most suitable for him.

  «Of course», argued William, «what could they possibly know about my father? Yet it wouldn't have taken much effort, they could have just asked someone. Well, let me think who...» William scratched his jaw and pretended to think about it for a moment. «Oh yeah! They could have asked me, for example! Don't you agree?»

  «
I... didn't want to bother you», Caroline clarified, swallowing the lump down her throat. «You looked so... worn out, so sad.»

  «Oh, sorry. It was just my father who died, after all. I should try to smile a little more, you're definitely right.»

  «I didn't mean that», Caroline said promptly.

  William took another short break before starting arguing again. «Don't worry, anyway. We'll make sure to be better prepared for the next funeral.» He then turned around and, with a chilling sarcasm, concluded: «Too bad my father can't die again!»

  Caroline burst into tears. Her lips trembled in an attempt to respond to such fierce accusations, but all she could say was: «It's not fair, I don't deserve it.»

  «And what do you think that's fair?», William asked her. «Killing someone and getting away with it? Leaving someone dying on the ground and not giving a shit about it?»

  «Wait, you'll see that they'll find out the truth», Caroline replied, wiping her tears with a handkerchief. More than trying to encourage William, she was comforting herself.

  William eventually moved away from the window and went to sit at the kitchen table, hiding his face with his hands.

  «They won't find anything», he said. «I don't think they're really investigating. It's just nonsense to them. Those people go hunting for real criminals, those who endanger their authority!», He concluded, raising his voice.