CARMEN
The building’s lobby was dirty and derelict. Carmen lounged on the stairs, smoking. Sax wasn’t surprised to find her there, waiting for him. He unlocked the door to his apartment and invited her inside.
He felt tired after running earlier. He pulled off his denim jacket and threw it on the sofa, then took off the Saxon t-shirt and carefully arranged it on a chair. He remained dressed in a white t-shirt with long sleeves.
“You fought again,” he noticed with a lack of interest.
“Mmm.”
Carmen sat down on the sofa and took off her jacket. She’d stubbed out the cigarette in the hall and now she was rolling it nervously in her hand. “Actually, it wasn’t a fight, but I’m tired of all his crap. He’s the big shot and we’re the fools. He thinks that …”
The story went on while Sax made sandwiches. He offered one to her and when she refused, he ate it slowly, forcing himself to look like he was listening.
He went to the fridge for a beer. He offered her one. She refused again. The story of Kiss and Carmen’s relationship unfolded, the events the same as the previous twenty times in the last year.
He put on some music: Jimmy Owl and the Bad Mice, for atmosphere—dark, depraved, depressing, and sexual, it was a shift in mood after the rush he’d just experienced. Anyway, Carmen was bored with listening to metal all day long; it was part of the diet Kiss had imposed on her, accompanied by punches and kicks. On the other hand, Sax knew, she still held the same sexual allure for him he’d felt from the beginning; that vicious attraction wrapped in the fragrance of snowdrops that had always fascinated him.
He wondered how his sister was doing at the hospital, then he checked for email messages. Jimmy Owl wailed, “Darling you’re the punishment / For all my former dreams” in the middle of Carmen’s story, the words slicing through the usual description of violence and abuses.
The request came out of nowhere, as always: “Kiss me, James.”
He looked at her. “Why do you do it, Carmen?”
“I thought you were my friend.”
“What’s that got to do with this?”
She threw her arms around his neck. “Do you think anybody cares?” she asked him and kissed him right when he opened his mouth to reply.
There was the snowdrops fragrance in her hair and the fatigue of experience in her kiss. They lay down on the sofa and made love slowly, tenderly, with the habit of old lovers.
“How long have we been together, Carmen?”
“A bit more than a year, why?” She rose on her elbow to watch him curiously.
Sax tried to feel the girl’s essence, to catch again that sweet-familiar-dusty aroma, imagining it in a shop window, inside a small bottle with a golden label: CARMEN, written in capitals.
“You didn’t leave anything behind,” he said.
“That’s shit and you know it!”
“No, shit is what you’re doing now with me, behind Larry’s back. I’m only asking for a little something because I’m nice to you.”
Carmen had withdrawn to the edge of the sofa and leaned over for her t-shirt. “You never used to talk like that. You were a sweet boy when I met you and I’ve always had the impression you stayed the same.”
“But I didn’t. Give me that amulet you’re wearing around your neck.”
She clutched it. “I can’t. I’ll give you a tress of hair, or something else, but not this.”
“No, I want that because it means something to me.”
“What could it mean to you? You’re being mean.”
He watched her stretching the silk stocking up her leg. “The amulet is the only thing I want from you. And if you don’t give it to me, we’re finished. I don’t want to see you here anymore. Don’t look for me. Stay away from me even when we’re with the gang.”
“Why? What’s this about?”
“This is not fair for me or Kiss. Once in a while you should pay the fare.”
“Fuck you, and all your requests!” Her cheeks burned red. She looked unsure, ready to leave but still not knowing what the limit was, or the price. She swayed between surprise and anger.
“A few months before we split, you got that amulet from Larry. After he fucked you for the first time.”
Carmen swallowed hard. She opened her mouth as if to talk, but no words left her mouth. Her face turned from red to purple and in that moment she was almost ugly, Sax surprised himself by thinking. Why are you doing this? He had no answer. He just felt the need to do it.
“In our last month together, Larry told me about you two, how he’d given you the amulet to draw my attention. You fascinated him all the more because you were my girlfriend. Anyway, I believe I’ve earned the right to it. I’m the one who brought you two together.”
“Why, James?” she moaned. “He’ll kill me. Please!”
She was crying. Her carefully styled hair sagged now, and Sax noticed for the second time that she looked ugly. The spell was broken. The subtle fragrance had clotted and he was fed up. He rose from the sofa and pulled on his trousers.
He felt something warm touch his arm. Fine curves on a polished surface. Carmen was offering the amulet to him. A charge passed from the small wooden figurine to his skin and he shook.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. She’d stopped crying, but tears the size of small pearls were still rolling down her cheeks. Sax felt that something had broken inside him and the past, like a shadow, had slipped into forgetfulness. He didn’t care anymore about Carmen’s present, but he took it nonetheless, like it was a trophy, and passed its chain over his head. He didn’t say a word while he dressed.
MAMA
They were silent on the way to the hospital. Everything had been said and their relationship had been destroyed in a single act. But this happened to Sax every night—on his way to the hospital, he fell utterly silent.
Carmen stayed in the reception area to wait for Christine. The hospital was still busy. Dinner had just finished and the patients were settling into their beds, or crowding into the lounges to watch TV.
Sax knocked quietly on the door and someone opened it from the other side. Christine hugged him and kept her arms around his neck for a few seconds as she stared at the wall behind him. She didn’t say a word, just picked up her bag and left. She would go to Kiss’s place with Carmen and spend the evening there. Trompi should be there too; they would drink beer, listen to some music. Around midnight, Christine and Trompi would go to Sax’s and her apartment, now only a place to sleep and eat in between changing places at their mother’s bedside at the hospital.
Their mother was staring at the ceiling. She lay on the bed, covered by a blue hospital blanket. Her body had grown small and weak, aged fifteen years in the last two. Besides her incurable illness, her potassium levels had fallen, the doctor told them as simply as he could. She couldn’t move on her own; most of her muscles had atrophied. And she had forgotten almost everything about herself and all those dear to her.
Sax went to her, knelt next to the bed, and stroked her hair. “Hi, Mama. It’s me, James.” He swallowed, his mouth dry at her lack of reaction, and kissed her on her forehead. He helped her rise to sit on the edge of the bed. Her chin rested on her chest. She didn’t have the strength to raise her head and hold it upright. He took her arm and put it around his neck and she leaned on him. Then he pulled her gently to her feet. All her weight was on him now.
She started moving her feet, shuffling with great effort, every step lasting an eternity. She’d developed the reflex that, exactly at this hour every evening, she had to walk to the bathroom at the end of the hall, where Sax had more room to help her.
They crossed the twenty meters of corridor in half an hour. He sat her on a stool beside one of the bathtubs and washed her face and neck, her arms and feet. He brushed her hair and changed her nightdress. Then he moved her along the same twenty meters of corridor for the next half-hour. He didn’t care how long it took. His every step was in rhyth
m with hers, his every movement was synchronized with her movements; for that interval, they moved as if they were one body. He didn’t sigh, he didn’t look at his watch, he didn’t think of anything else but the next step. He wasn’t interested in how much time was passing in the world, what fascinating events occurred outside the hospital, what he could have been doing out on the streets with his friends. What mattered for him was spending as much time as possible with his mother, taking advantage of every moment spent next to her to feel her living, breathing, fighting, still loving him in her subconscious.
Back in the room, he gave her her medication, then fed her dinner, mostly liquids that were easy to swallow and digest. Afterward he wiped her hands and brushed her teeth and put her to bed. She looked at the ceiling, her arms stretched alongside her body, the blue blanket covering her up to her neck.
He pulled the Deep-V out of his jacket pocket, placed the earphones in his mother’s ears, and pressed Play. Old romances, as she’d called them, wafted through the tiny speakers; sweet and aged, but specially remixed to inject freshness.
He switched off the light and lay down next to her. Taking her in his arms as if she were his little sister, he placed his head on the pillow and listened to her breathing.
PLAGUE’S CHILDREN
The morning dawned, sunny and mild. Kiss and Trompi were waiting for him in front of the hospital’s main entrance. Christine had replaced him immediately after breakfast, ready to take over the daily routine of caring for their mother.
They strolled away from the hospital, the two friends respecting his silence. Stopping as usual at the Tim Hortons on the corner, they bought coffee, then settled on a bench in a small green space between buildings. They chose the same playlist—an old one featuring Beggars’ Inheritance to fit the mood while they drank their coffee and told each other what they’d done since they had parted. Sax saw Kiss looking at the amulet’s shape beneath his Saxon t-shirt, but he said nothing. In a way, the problem had been solved between them long ago.
They wandered the deserted streets around the Zone. South of Dundas, the Plague hadn’t yet touched the city and people still spent time there, in the square or the Eaton Centre. They crossed Yonge and headed toward Church Street. Passing Church, they stopped at St. James high school’s basketball court. Although summer vacation wasn’t over and it was early morning, four kids had already been playing. Now they stood, one with the basketball under one arm, confronting two guys who’d interrupted their game.
“Barbarians cross the road / The road is full of smoke …” the Beggars chanted in Sax’s ear. He touched Kiss’s arm to stop him as he and Trompi started moving away. “Kiss, man, isn’t that Rat?”
Kiss turned and looked. “Which one, man?”
“The small, stocky one. That one is Rat and the other one is Stub.”
Rat was insistently requesting the ball from the kids, his demands peppered with expletives and slobber. Stub stood to one side, glaring threats at them, grinning with malicious anticipation. Suddenly Rat’s hand shot out, he swung a thorny silver chain over the kid’s hand. The boy holding the ball dropped it and clutched his hand.
In Sax’s ear, the rhythm intensified, the Beggars obsessively chanting, the music pummeling the blood. Sax started trembling and absently touched his left hand. An old scar stretched from his wrist down to his thumb. He’d been only nine years old when Rat acquainted him with the famous silver chain, in the elementary school courtyard.
“Kiss, man, these guys are looking for trouble.”
“Sax, fuck them.”
“Do you know the two gentlemen?” Trompi tried a slide toward humor, but Sax was already through the gate. Trompi swore nervously and followed.
Sax strode over to his old acquaintance and caught the free end of the chain. He kicked the other bully in the solar plexus, taking him by surprise, and then aimed another kick between his legs.
“Do you remember me, Rat dick?” Sax growled.
Trompi caught Stub from behind and Kiss joined Sax as he went for Rat, both punching and kicking him viciously. Rat crumpled to the ground, but produced a knife and tried to cut Sax’s tendon. Avoiding the blow, Sax stomped on the hand clutching the knife, still yanking on the silver chain. It was attached somehow to the guy’s sleeve and he couldn’t let go. Again Sax stepped on Rat’s hand, then kicked him twice in his mouth, sending him back down to the ground.
“Remember me, motherfucker?” Sax yelled as he jumped on Rat. He launched a furious series of punches at his face. “Remember me?”
They heard shouts—the police had arrived. Trompi and Kiss grabbed Sax and dragged him off Rat, who lay there, almost unconscious. The trio ran toward the fence at the back of the schoolyard, scaled it, and jumped into the garden of a private house. They ran through two more gardens before exiting behind some Cabbagetown apartment blocks.
Trompi stopped for a second, then noticed a few cops still following them. “Fuck, man, they’re still after us!”
“Where now?” Kiss asked. “Into the Zone again?”
“Again,” Sax said.
They ran for Bloor, taking shortcut after shortcut, but the cops followed. They entered the Zone without looking back, although they could still hear the footsteps of pursuers a few dozen meters behind them. A few observers and a research group turned puzzled looks on them as they passed. The soldiers grabbed their weapons, but they were too far away, and the three friends easily avoided them. The police had not yet reached the corner, and didn’t see the trio vanish into the same building they’d visited the night before.
They ran down the stairs to the basement and stopped at the bottom. They moved into the first room and listened carefully for a few minutes. Their playlists had ended while they were being chased. It was quiet. They heard only their own panting breaths. We lost them, Sax thought. Lucky two times so far with these basements.
On the way to the power plant, they stopped in shock. In the wall, beneath the translucent protective layer, three apparently human bodies were visible. They had penetrated the wall and entered the bubbling fluid, but they hadn’t detached themselves completely; they were still half captured in the crystalline layer. Their gray skin looked petrified. Winding shapes’d fused directly to their skin, especially on their necks and heads. Enormous bubbles rolled along the three bodies.
Trompi edged closer to the wall, screamed in terror, and bent over, spraying vomit. Sax realized why. The bodies bore crude renditions of their own faces. It was as if the Plague had duplicated the three friends. They stared in disbelief at the Plague’s creation of their own features and only when Sax felt the gurgle of vomit in his throat he turned and left stumbling. He and Kiss drew Trompi after them as they entered the second room.
“Julie,” shouted Kiss. “Julie!”
Like a draft, the whisper licked their ears: “I’m coming!”
The voice startled them. Sax felt a cold sweat break out on his back. He looked toward the narrow window near the ceiling, wanting to glimpse the familiar, the usual light of day. The sun was climbing higher and its rays crept through the metallic grid on the window.
“Morning,” the voice chirped next to them.
They jumped as if electrocuted, then turned. Sax hadn’t sensed her coming at all. When he saw her, he exhaled in relief. Her appearance, however inhuman, relaxed him simply because he knew her.
“You seem a little bit tense,” she observed.
Sax watched a snake wave around her ankles. It had an … exotic aspect. It coiled around her leg and with a few movements it slithered onto her shoulder.
“Fuck me …!” Kiss blurted.
On her vividly colored skin, one could read articles and admire nude pictures, all in small sections on her skin, like a patchwork quilt. The creature’s head wasn’t that of a snake, but of a woman—rich, curly blonde hair, fine features that were almost beautiful. Everything was in miniature, in scale with the small, tubular body.
“Don’t be scared,” Julie
soothed. “She’s Sue. That was her name in the magazine, so I gave her the same name. She won’t hurt you—in fact, nothing here is dangerous. You may see the other models from the magazine swarming through the area. Although I think by now, they’re in who-knows-what corner, flirting with the denim snakes left in the other room yesterday.”
“Fuck me …” Kiss murmured again.
“I hope you didn’t bring anything else,” Julie said, ignoring him, “because I don’t intend to open a zoo here.”
Trompi gestured, although no words came out of his mouth. All three followed Julie’s pointing finger. The sun’s rays had reached the window’s lip and, as if in response to some sign, they spilled inside, snatching the basement from the darkness. On the wall behind them, under the translucent crust, now visible in full sunlight, five women had grown from the concrete into the Plague’s liquid.
“I believe you’ve already seen yourselves in the other room,” said Julie when the silence stretched, punctuated only by labored breathing. “The girls here”, she pointed to the five women in the wall, “are the models from the magazine you left me. It seems that this being that has invaded Toronto is trying to learn about us and wishes to communicate.”
“Are they alive?” Trompi managed to mumble. “Are we alive in the other room? What are these … things?”
“I don’t know. But I believe it would be better if you meet the angel. Come with me.”
They followed. Sax put his earphone back into his right ear and, like Kiss and Trompi, changed the playlist to Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.” He’d heard it said that that song was more than just music, that it reached sublime levels which made otherwise untouchable cords in people’s souls vibrate. That, if indeed there was something above this world, or after death, “Stairway to Heaven” was in reality a step toward enlightenment, toward divine knowledge. It was a blasphemy with pretensions of holiness, or a holiness with a blasphemous appearance.
Dark Horizons Page 13
