Milosz

by Cordelia Strube

  Milo descends the stairs two at a time. ‘Would you stop fixing things? Why do you have to fix things all the time?’

  Gus, screwdriver in hand, nods and smiles. ‘Cześć.’

  ‘This is nuts. You’re supposed to have forgotten all this shit.’

  ‘Milo,’ Pablo calls, ‘Tanis wants to talk to you.’

  He expects her to hurl accusations or crutches. Regardless, he intends, as lovesick Amy advised, to tell her to fuck right off. But she sits demurely on his steps.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it,’ she says. ‘Maybe you should take Robertson to see Christopher. It’s not for me to decide. They have to make their own decisions about their relationship. I’ll call the centre tomorrow and tell them you’re going to take him.’

  Great, so what is he supposed to do now? How can he possibly explain? Why did he rush it? Nothing good ever happens in a hurry.

  ‘Sal misses him badly,’ she says. ‘She’s always looking for him. Robertson talks to her. I try but she’s not interested. I don’t speak her language.’ She absently jabs the end of a crutch into the dirt. ‘I’m so lonely. I had no idea I could be this lonely.’

  He sits beside her, wanting to prolong this intimacy, her vulnerability.

  Is lying an option? Would the yoga-panted women join him in collusion and deceit?

  ‘I’ve been trying to imagine my life without him. Parents do that, I’m told, when their kids turn into teenagers. They can see it coming: university, lovers, spouses. They have to let go. But I’ve never even considered that, I mean, that’s always been so out of the question with Robertson, I just can’t … ’ Her voice wavers and he fears she’s repressing tears. He has never seen her cry.

  ‘I mean,’ she continues, ‘it’s impossible to imagine him being on his own so I don’t. I just assume we’ll always be together. Maybe that’s wrong.’

  Milo doesn’t know if it is. He just wants to hold her tight, like he held Robertson.

  ‘I mean, who am I to say what’s right for him? I don’t know, I just don’t know anymore. It was simpler before. I saw a mother in a garden with her three-year-old. He wanted to help her, was busy digging in the dirt. Robertson used to do that.’ She covers her eyes with her hand. ‘I miss him so much. But when he screams at me, it’s like … I don’t know who is he or what he’s capable of. I thought I did but I don’t. Maybe somebody else can see it more clearly.’

  ‘I took him to see Christopher this evening,’ Milo confesses. ‘They were great together, no problems.’

  Immediately the bite is back in her voice and she’s pulling away from him. ‘What do you mean you took him to see him? They let you take him out without notifying me?’

  ‘I had a letter from Christopher.’

  She covers her face with her hands and remains scarily still. Somewhere a dog barks, a car door slams, a child’s toy squeaks, but Tanis doesn’t move.

  ‘Robertson was really happy to see me.’ There’s that imprecise word again. ‘I mean, he didn’t hesitate to come with me. We had ice cream, and even rode on a bus. We met an amputee who showed Robertson his leg, the false one and the stump. Robertson thought it was totally badass. I think he had a good time. I mean, I think he was glad to get out.’ He doesn’t mention almost losing him twice.

  She reaches for her crutches and stands awkwardly, without looking at him. ‘That’s the problem, Milo. As much as I want to, I can’t trust you. Please keep me informed about your plans for my son.’ She hobbles to her deck.

  ‘Of course. Are you picking him up tomorrow?’

  ‘I will seek the counsel of the professionals caring for him and will make a decision based on their feedback. Good night.’ The doors slide shut behind her.

  Vera’s asleep in the chair again. He pats her hand. ‘Vera, I brought your tea and bickies. Drink it while it’s hot.’

  ‘What? Oh yes. Thank you, Milo.’

  How cruel the aging process is, he thinks, making us grow to look the same despite life experience making us distinctly different. In every white-haired, wrinkled and shapeless body is an individual screaming to get out.

  ‘Is Wally back from the office?’

  ‘I forgot to check.’

  ‘He’s all I’ve got, Milo.’

  ‘What about your sisters?’

  ‘Oh, they have their own troubles. They never forgave me for marrying Wally’s father and moving here in the first place.’

  ‘Why did you marry him?’

  ‘Seemed like a good idea at the time. England was a mess for years after the war. Did you know he had Parkinson’s disease?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Wally’s dad. Wally doesn’t like to talk about it, I think because he’s afraid he might get it. We didn’t know about it till long after I’d left the witless dingbat. He was living in a trailer up north. Wally went to see him. Of course the old man didn’t recognize him and was half bats already. He chased Wally out with a fork. Next thing we heard he’d stopped eating and died. It’s a good way to go, Milo, if people will only leave you alone.’

  ‘Yes, but he had a progressive illness. He had a good reason to kill himself.’

  ‘What’s a good reason? I think people drag it out terribly.’

  ‘A debilitating illness is a good reason.’ He offers her a biscuit. She takes one but doesn’t bite it.

  ‘We all have our reasons. Everybody else should just sod off.’

  He finds Wallace in an Irish bar he frequents after junk removal. A portly man saws at a fiddle while another, resembling a leprechaun, blows on a pipe. Wallace stares at the musicians but doesn’t seem to be listening. Milo taps his shoulder.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Wallace demands. ‘No way am I buying you a beer.’

  ‘We’re all worried about Vera. We think she might be starving herself to death.’

  ‘No such luck.’

  ‘You can’t really want your mother to die?’

  ‘I don’t see you too excited about your dad moving in.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want him dead, though.’ Or would he?

  ‘Could’ve fooled me.’

  ‘Why don’t you just talk to her?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Anything. All she wants is to be part of your life.’

  ‘What if I don’t want her to be part of my life? What’s my say in all this?’ He muzzles himself with his beer mug, taking several gulps, before slamming the empty mug on the bar. ‘I don’t get how we get stuck with these parents. We didn’t ask to be born. They screwed and out we popped. Now they’re dotty and we’re supposed to look after them till they shit themselves to death. It makes no sense.’

  ‘They looked after us.’

  ‘Yeah, but we didn’t ask them to, did we? It’s not like we got to choose. We got stuck with them, broke loose and now that their party’s over, we get stuck with them again. It makes no sense.’

  Milo could talk about duty and responsibility but he doesn’t really believe in these abstractions. He tries to think of what Pablo would say. ‘She loves you, Wallace.’

  ‘She loves her idea of me, dickwad, the little boy in that picture she carries around. She doesn’t even fucking know me.’

  ‘So, let her get to know you.’

  ‘“Hi, Mom, I’m a sexually disoriented junk remover who suffers from erectile dysfunction and hasn’t fucked a woman in years. Sorry about those grandkiddies you’ve been counting on. Guess you’ll have to get some kittens you can kick around.” I’m tired of this game, seriously.’

  A tanked man and woman get up to dance but stumble into one another.

  ‘She told me your dad had Parkinson’s.’

  ‘Yeah, now there’s a gift you want to pass on to future generations.’

  ‘He didn’t know he had Parkinson’s when you were born.’

  ‘He didn’t know much. That’s the problem. People breed like rabbits and don’t know shit. And somehow we’re supposed to grow up and forgive them.’

  ‘W
hat do any of us know?’

  ‘I know I’m carrying around a gaga gene. I know I’m totally fucked up and would totally fuck up Junior. You don’t breed for the sake of breeding. We’re not animals. It’s not like the planet needs more humans. What’s the total now, seven billion? We’re worse than fucking locusts.’

  Wallace has never spoken so freely or frankly to Milo. He can’t think of a good argument. If Pablo were here he would tell Wallace about a movie with a happy ending.

  •••

  He checks his email. Love, the Final Solution has not contacted him regarding a call time for tomorrow. Doubtless, Guard Number Eight, in squeak-free boots and an earring, will be doing the whipping scene. Does this mean Milo won’t get to die? Guard Number Twelve is supposed to be shot by the Russians. Milo died so well in his audition; surely the heavy-lidded queen will remember and request his participation in the Red invasion.

  There is, however, a message from his agent regarding a commercial for cellphones. And Sammy Sanjari is asking how Milo and his dad are ‘getting along’ and if they can arrange a time to ‘wrap things up.’ Milo doesn’t reply. He phones Tanis even though he knows she won’t pick up. He phones Christopher even though he knows the hospital blocks incoming calls after nine.

  The casting director, whose hair looks as though it has been licked by a large cow, greets him effusively at the door. Milo would like to ask him why he has called him in when he behaved so unprofessionally in the audition for the beer ad, but the casting director immediately pulls him aside. ‘Go wild with this one,’ he urges. ‘He wants crazy. You’d be perfect. Just don’t hold back.’ He pushes him into the audition room where a paunchy man in a leather jacket sits behind a table.

  ‘How’s it wagging?’ the man asks. ‘You’re surprised to see me, right?’ He has a puff of youthful hair that contradicts the many lines on his face. ‘You’re thinking, “no decent director auditions solo,” am I right?’

  ‘It is unusual.’

  ‘Well, you know what? I’m an actor’s director. I like to know what I think before the bean counters tell me what they think. Make sense?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You play guitar?’

  ‘A little,’ Milo lies. ‘It’s been a while.’

  ‘Have you ever been in love?’

  ‘Sure,’ Milo says, although he isn’t sure. Unless his chronic longing for Tanis’s approval qualifies, or his desire to lick her legs. Or his pining for Zosia, and his need to fondle her silk scarf. He keeps imagining he sees her on the street, keeps hoping for that chance encounter in which he’ll be able to explain his feelings.

  ‘Okay, soldier, here’s the thing. You are so in love with this woman you get hard just thinking about her. 24/7 you’re thinking about her.’

  ‘I’m hard 24/7?’

  The director touches his youthful hair as though to make sure it’s still intact. ‘That’s funny. I like it. I’ve heard about you. You come from theatre, is that right? Do something for me.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Hamlet or something. Can you do Hamlet? The slings and arrows bit. That’s a good one.’

  A trained classical actor, always prepared, Milo begins the to be or not to be soliloquy but the director stops him at a sea of troubles. ‘Okay, now do it like it’s a comedy.’

  ‘You’re insane,’ Milo says and starts to walk out.

  ‘Okay, okay, sorry, see that cell?’ A cellphone is propped against an Evian bottle on the table. ‘The woman you love is on the phone, gazing at you from that little screen and you want to fuck her in half. But instead you grab your guitar.’ The director points to an electric guitar. ‘And you play your lust out to her. Can you do that?’

  ‘It’s not plugged in.’

  ‘Whatever, act it. Think bitch in heat.’

  Milo, feeling the inevitability of gradual decline pressing upon him, grabs the guitar and starts wailing, ‘Baby, baby, I want you … ’ He hops around, jabbing the neck of the guitar at the phone. He howls and yowls, repeatedly thrusting his pelvis, and yanks his shirt open. All of this excites the director who also hops around howling and yowling and thrusting his pelvis. ‘Baby, baby, I need you. Baby, baby, love me too … ’

  Milo grabs the phone and starts licking it. The director, sweating below his puff of youthful hair, stands back. ‘They warned me you were wild.’

  Milo starts to shove the phone down his pants.

  ‘Okay, okay now, cool it,’ the director says, holding up his hands. ‘I get it. You win.’

  Milo doesn’t know what he has won. The casting director, probably alerted by the howling and yowling, squeaks open the door and says, ‘How’s everything going?’

  ‘We’re done here,’ Milo says and walks out into the exhaust-scented morning.

  •••

  Travis, the sports fan, is asleep but still his TV drones. Christopher doesn’t seem surprised to see Milo. ‘Look who it isn’t,’ he remarks.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t bring Robertson.’

  ‘Did you even try?’

  ‘I told Tanis we’d been to see you. Did she call you?’

  ‘She did indeed.’

  ‘Is she going to bring him?’

  ‘She hasn’t decided. She’s seeking professional guidance. As I have no time for professionals our conversation was brief.’ How can a man trapped in a bed have no time?

  ‘You’re in the care of professionals here.’

  ‘Yes, and look how well I’m doing. A man with multiple fractures fell off a gurney last night outside this very room. We heard his anguished cries. Apparently he was left unattended because the professionals were otherwise engaged. And yet I am expected to make it to rehab where professionals will roll me around on an exerball. That’s what they do, I’m told. Sit you on a big rubber ball and watch you crash to the mat Humpty Dumpty-style over and over again until you figure out how to balance. It takes weeks apparently. I couldn’t be more excited.’

  ‘Well, it’s good they’re talking about rehab,’ Milo says.

  ‘It’s all good. That’s what my roommate here says frequently. It’s all good. My wife has informed me that our marriage is over, and that she may or may not let me see my son. My body is broken in many places and the only person who visits me is you, Milo. It’s all good.’

  Frantic garbling over the intercom suggests another patient may have tumbled from a gurney.

  ‘I might have killed Billy,’ Milo says. ‘It was an aneurysm. I might have caused it.’

  ‘You can’t cause an aneurysm. It’s already there. It’s like a ticking bomb.’

  ‘Yeah, but me roughing him up might have caused stress that made it rupture. That’s what Tanis thinks. She thinks I killed him.’

  ‘Oh, well, in that case, bring on the executioner.’

  ‘I think she wants me to turn myself in.’

  ‘Yes, well, her world is black and white.’

  ‘You don’t think I should?’

  ‘To what purpose?’

  ‘A clear conscience.’

  ‘We don’t live there. Is my associate asleep?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Turn the TV off before I go postal.’

  Milo sneaks around the curtain and presses the power button. Travis, on his back with his mouth open, snores. Strewn about his bed are sports sections and empty pudding cups.

  ‘A few months ago,’ Christopher says, ‘Robertson developed an interest in a girl at school. He swore me to secrecy but couldn’t have been hiding his crush very well because Billy broadcast it in cyberspace detailing the sick and perverted things “the retard” planned to do to the girl. Then Billy took her to a movie and shoved his fingers up her vagina. I know this because the father of the girl was one of my clients. Like me, he didn’t want to put his child through the humiliation, stress and futility of seeking justice. And so the Billies of this world go on damaging lives until nature takes its course, or someone accidentally kills them. No matter how hard my lef
t-of-centre mind works at it, I can’t perceive his demise as a tragedy and nor should you, unless, of course, you enjoy wearing a hair shirt.’ He sucks on a straw sticking out of a large Styrofoam cup. ‘But there’s no denying I’m not the best person to judge, given that I am the father, and up close and personal with nature’s course myself. All the lines that used to be clear to me have become blurred. Like any good atheist I’ve always considered the Earth, the intractable world of matter, to be the basis of consciousness. Our births are real, but after that, all bets are off, randomness rules. Of course now I’m hoping for wings and pearly gates. Very predictable and disappointing.’

  He sucks on the straw again. ‘So the field is open, Milo, if you want to fuck my wife.’

  ‘I wish you’d stop saying that.’

  ‘You know what I find extraordinary? I didn’t think it was about us anymore. Didn’t think our relationship was that important. When you have a kid, you just don’t matter that much anymore, to you anyway. I found this liberating, not being bound by my ego and needs and aspirations. I lived for Robby, did everything for Robby. Meanwhile my marriage was ending without me knowing it.’

  ‘But you left.’

  ‘At her insistence. And because I was afraid I might hit him again. Now I know I could never hit him again. My understanding was that the arrangement was temporary.’ Christopher starts his laughing/crying combo again. ‘But whaddayaknow? The wife says it’s over. Finito. Kaput.’

  ‘Who turned off my TV?’ Travis demands.

  ‘I did, asshole,’ Milo says, suddenly incensed at the injustice of it all. He strides around the curtain. ‘Wear fucking headphones. You’re driving him nuts. Me nuts. You don’t want me nuts.’

  ‘I’m calling a nurse.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she’ll rush to your side, after she lets some poor fuck fall off a gurney. Wear headphones, dickwad.’ He points to his ears. ‘The hospital provides them.’

  ‘All right already. Just back off.’

  Milo realizes he is leaning over Travis’s bed rail. ‘Call your mother,’ he quips before ducking around the curtain where Christopher gives him two thumbs up. Milo slouches in the chair.