Against God

by Patrick Senécal

  - What were the chances of that alarm not working? One in a thousand? In ten thousand?

  your life, the guy punches you then, a right hook to your left cheek, and he bellows asking whether you’re crazy, whether you’re the one who pushed the stroller, you fall to the floor, he kicks you twice, you take the beating, you make no move to defend yourself, you don’t budge, you feel the metro stopping, you hear the woman scream at her spouse to hurry, they’ve got to catch the train going the other way, running footsteps, cries and sobs growing distant, the train starts up again, slowly you get to your feet, just in time to see the couple make a dash for the platform stairs before the train vanishes into the tunnel, you sit, rub your bright red cheek, your aching belly, the old woman farther up eyes you in horror, you ignore her and stare into the emptiness, then you get off at the next station, take the stairs to street level, the heart of downtown, a light snow falls still, you walk aimlessly, cross streets without looking, are honked at several times but you don’t react, you peer at each business you pass, restaurants, clothing stores, movie theatres, jewellery shops, then the DVD store, you enter, a score of people browse through the movie aisles, four TV screens all broadcast the same picture, you find the sports section, for a long time you look at DVDs on hockey, baseball, car racing, then you take first one, then another and another still, and since your two hands aren’t enough to carry them all, you fetch a basket and you fill it, the cashier flashes a big smile, asks if you won the lottery, but getting no response he doesn’t insist, thirteen hundred dollars, all on your credit card, you head out of the store with two full bags, one in each hand, the snow has stopped, you walk for some twenty minutes, you take an overpass, stop in the middle, set the bags down on the ground, lean over the railing, an expressway eight metres below, cars racing by, you pull out the first DVD, hold it over the drop and let go, it falls between two cars and is crushed in under a second, you pull out a second DVD that you throw, this time it bounces off the hood of a jeep, then a third DVD, a fourth, a fifth, you throw them all onto the expressway, one by one, some cars swerve, slam on the brakes, but that’s all, you still have a dozen movies left when a voice shouts at you, a pedestrian, a man in his fifties, outraged, he asks you what you think you’re doing, he tells you you could cause an accident, so you throw a DVD at him, the man jumps back, a look of stupefaction on his face, then you throw a second one, the man hurries off, yelling that you’re a nutcase, and you turn back to the railing and throw your last DVDs onto the expressway, increasingly feverish, you yank your wallet from your pocket, you pull out your local gym membership, you throw it into the void, then your other cards follow, business cards for your sports gear store, health insurance, social insurance, driver’s license, Petro-Points, Air Miles, you throw them all out except your bank card and your credit card, then you stumble upon two pictures, one of your wife and the other of your two children, you stare at them for a long, long time, you bite your lip, your eyes fill with tears, but you stretch your hand out toward the void, you spread your fingers and the two pictures flutter for a second before gliding down, like two dried leaves falling from a tree, but you don’t watch them fall to the ground, you turn on your heel and away, you walk aimlessly for a while, hunger has set in but you don’t think of eating, finally you sit on a snow-covered bench, your hands in your coat pockets, you feel a piece of paper in your pocket and pull it out, that girl Mélanie’s address, you think, you stand, hail a passing taxi, give him the address, the taxi starts up, the driver is Haitian and in fine form, talking non-stop, commenting on the mild winter, forever smiling, you say nothing for a moment then you ask him in an expressionless voice how he can be in such good humour after what happened in his country of origin a month and a half ago, the Haitian’s serenity instantly evaporates, silence, uneasy glances at his rearview mirror, then his voice sounding

  - It’s . . . terrible what happened over there, I know, sir, but . . . What do you want me to do?

  pitiful, and you, hearing those words, you nod, you

  - You’re right there . . . Anyways, your indifference is probably the best way to tell him to bugger off . . .

  mutter slowly, and the driver, hearing you, asks who you mean, but you don’t answer, the driver says he has no idea what you’re talking about, insists he is not at all indifferent to the plight of his people, you just stare outside in silence, gently massaging your sore ribs, ten minutes, you’ve arrived, back in yesterday’s working-class neighbourhood, you recognize Le Losange two blocks away, you’re across from a five-storey building, a sign on the door reads “Apartments for Rent, Contact Suite 1,” you walk inside, a list of tenants with a mail slot by each name, no buzzers, you go to the inside door and give a push, it isn’t locked, you check your piece of paper, go up three flights, door 7, you knock, no answer, you sit down on the floor for a minute then, you lean against the wall, you think, finally you get to your feet, take the stairs down, out on the sidewalk you look around, weary, worn-out, you read the sign on the door a second time, then you go back into the building, over to door number one, knock, a woman in her thirties with furrowed skin and a rasping voice, she’s the landlady, there are two apartments for rent, a semi-furnished two-bedroom for the year and a furnished one-bedroom by the month, you visit the one bedroom on the third floor, rickety furniture, grimy oven and fridge, misshapen mattress, creaking bed, you say it’s perfect, you take it then and there for a month, five hundred dollars, you pay cash, then you stock up at the supermarket, canned goods, frozen fries, mounds of chips, a case of beer, everything for two hundred and fifty dollars, back to your apartment, you put the food away in the freezer and in the cupboards with their peeling paint, you remove your suit jacket, you open a beer, take a few swigs as you lie down on your bed, then you drop off almost immediately, shifting dreams of your children and wife falling into nothingness, the sound of footsteps on the stairs awakens you, six thirty, your beer has spilled onto the floor, you go to the door, you look through the peephole, you recognize Mélanie climbing the stairs, you hesitate for a second then you step out, you greet her, she stops halfway, she recognizes you, she’s stunned, she’s happy, even reassured, she comes down to you and explains that, as it happens, she’s just come from Le Maquis where she hoped to see you again, then she asks what you’re doing in that apartment, you tell her, again she’s surprised, you explain that you’ll never go back to your house, just as you’ll never go back to Le Maquis, she nods her head gravely, silence, then Mélanie smiles, says again how glad she is to see you, on impulse she invites you over for dinner at her place, just like that, you accept indifferently, almost absentmindedly, she needs to get ready, you may come up in an hour’s time, finally you notice that her jeans are old and paint-spattered and that her face sports a few yellow spots as well, you return to the apartment, head for the bathroom and peer at yourself in the mirror, your white shirt, your black pants, your three-day stubble, your unkempt hair, you eye the shower, thoughtful, then in the end you leave the room, open a beer and drink it sitting on the couch, you do nothing, you wait, seven thirty, you go up to the fourth floor, Mélanie has had a shower, Mélanie is wearing clean clothes, Mélanie is cooking pasta, you scan the apartment vacantly, threadbare furniture, simple decorations, three movie posters on the walls, Titanic, Pretty Woman, Amélie, she asks if you would like something to drink, yes, a beer, she brings you one, you both have a seat in the living room, you’re surprised she’s not drinking but she shakes her head, evasive, maybe later, she notices the small bruise on your cheek, asks you what happened, you say it’s nothing, silence, the bubbling of the pasta cooking, you look around, two generic paintings, framed and sitting on the floor in a corner, Mélanie follows your gaze, she clucks, she says she’s been wanting to hang them for weeks now and always comes up with some reason not to, you don’t respond, silence, Mélanie doesn’t take her eyes off you, as though expecting something, you rub your nose, you set your empty bottle down on the table then, you stand up then,
you take two steps then in the direction of the door intending to leave, but Mélanie chooses that moment to return to her stove and cry out with exaggerated enthusiasm that it’s ready, so you take a seat almost reluctantly at the table, you both eat, spaghetti and meat sauce, you make no comment about the food, Mélanie apologizes for not having any wine, silence, then you state, your mouth full, that you don’t know why you accepted her invitation, she isn’t upset by your comment, she even seems happy with the turn the conversation has taken, she swallows her food before

  - Because you know we can help each other . . .

  answering, your face twitches in annoyance, you race through the meal, you say that’s not it at all, you’re only here because you want to sleep with her, I know you’re just trying to provoke her, shock her, but her lips stretch into a sad smile, her fork twisting the spaghetti, a couple of bites, not a hint of irony or

  - You don’t wanna go back to your store, you don’t wanna go back home . . . Just erase it all, is that it? You don’t want a single tie left to your old life . . . You think that’s the answer?

  accusation in her voice, so you ask her point blank if she’s done this often, hung around bars to pick up poor wretches in the hope of helping them, this time your words seem to affect her, this time she looks down, says no, it’s just that she, too, is suffering, she reminds you that you yourself could tell as much last night, she has experienced great misfortune and it has opened her eyes to all kinds of things, to people, all of a sudden you start to panic, you interrupt her, you raise your hand, you warn her that you don’t want to know what happened to her, other people’s misfortunes don’t interest you, you haven’t asked her for a single thing, but Mélanie isn’t offended, she nods, understanding, she clarifies, choosing her words

  - Me either, I don’t want to hear your story, but one thing’s for sure, misfortune brings us together, we can help each other. I’ve already started to help myself. You know what I did today?

  carefully, but you jump to your feet, remind her that you’re not interested, thank her brusquely for supper, head for the door, then it’s Mélanie’s turn to get up, a tad concerned, she wants to know what your plans are for the evening, you say you’re going to a bar, she wrings her hands, suddenly timid, she asks if she can go along, you look undecided, say you don’t know, that you want to find someone to fuck, her or someone else, more provocation, you detect pity in her eyes, she says she understands, she understands your attitude, she understands that you’re still angry, but you shake your head with a sardonic grimace, tell her it’s not anger, tell her it’s worse, silence, she says again that she has no desire to sleep with you but she wants to be with you, you tell her you’re leaving right now, she pulls on her coat, the two of you step outside, it’s really cold out now, you walk toward Le Losange but Mélanie doesn’t want to go there, she’d rather be someplace where no one knows her, Mélanie would rather remain anonymous, you shrug, indifferent, you tell her you don’t have a car anymore, she doesn’t ask any questions and offers to take hers, you climb into her little green Honda Civic, you stare outside in silence, the other cars, the shop windows, but above all the people, your eyes follow them for a long time, you want to go to a nightclub, Mélanie doesn’t much feel like dancing, you point out curtly that she shouldn’t bother following you then, end of story, she stays quiet for a moment, says she knows a club that’s popular with people other than teens, fifteen minutes, stop, then into the dark establishment, blaring rock music, not many people yet, a deserted dance floor, head for the bar, you order a beer without asking Mélanie what she would like, she orders the same, a few sips in silence, the bass makes the floor vibrate, the other patrons are in their thirties or late twenties, thirty minutes, already four beers downed, you start feeling drunk, a 90s hit sweeps through the room, you want to dance then, you practically order Mélanie to follow you, she complies showing neither pleasure or displeasure, you both end up on the dance floor, and you shimmy, and you shake, and you play air guitar, Mélanie’s dancing is more restrained, she watches you with a sad gentle smile, three other dancers join you on the dance floor, two women and a man, all a bit younger than you, and you wave your arms wildly, and you close your eyes, and you don’t open them even once in fifteen minutes, until Mélanie whispers in your ear that she’s going back to sit at the bar, your chance to look around, more people than before, five dancers on the dance floor, and you dance even harder, and you close your eyes again, and you thrash about for another thirty minutes, finally exhaustion sets in, you’re winded, you stop, your hands on your thighs, deep breaths, hair pasted to your forehead with sweat, drenched shirt, now there are over a dozen dancers surrounding you, including a girl, early thirties, cute, a good dancer, you sidle over and literally shout that you’d love to sleep with her, she stares, gives an incredulous laugh then turns her back on you, but you insist, but you take her arm, but you ask her what she has to say, and she wants you to leave her alone, she wants you to let go, she wants to get away, and the guy with her finally steps in, he asks you what you think you’re up to, you explain that all you want is to screw his friend, but the guy doesn’t find it funny, the guy stares you down, the guy orders you to back off, and you confront him full of

  - It’s gotta be fifteen years since my last fight, but I’m sure it’ll all come back to me in no time! I gotta say, I like the idea!

  arrogance, the guy looks puzzled then, he must think he couldn’t win against you, you’re smaller than he is but more built, so he gives a nervous laugh instead then turns his back on you, but you grab his shoulder, but you jerk him round to face you, but you punch him in the nose, and the guy reels, loses his balance, falls to the floor, confusion among the dancers, the girl’s cries, your right foot connecting with the guy’s ribs, your foot raised for a second go, but arms pull you back, Mélanie’s arms, Mélanie telling you to stop, but you push her away, kick him twice more as he lies moaning on the floor, then you stop, you moisten your lips convulsively, the patrons circling you, worried hostile expressions, the girl sobbing hysterically, two customers head toward you with fire in their eyes, their intentions couldn’t be clearer, but Mélanie grabs your arm again, tells you you’ve got to leave right away, you walk to the exit then, outside, you pace back and forth snickering, Mélanie appears a minute later, she’s got your coat, you put it on, open wide your arms as you breathe in the cold night air, literally

  - Damn! How did I go without that for so long!

  exulting, Mélanie tells you your attitude leads nowhere but you cut her off roughly, nothing happened to you so she can stop her lecturing, Mélanie sighs, Mélanie runs a hand through her hair, Mélanie says she’s going home, and you retort that she can do whatever the fuck she wants, you’re going to another club, you start walking, you hear her behind you begging you not to do anything stupid, so you turn and your cries engulf the